New Medievalisms 9781443888578, 1443888575

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Tables
Introduction
Part I: New Approaches to the Study of Medieval English Language
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Part II: The First Medieval English Poem Revisited
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Part III: Medieval Echoes in Contemporary Literature
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part IV: Translating Medieval Culture
Chapter Twelve
Part V: Bridges across Medieval Culture
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part VI: Innovative Approaches to the Teaching of Medieval Language and Culture
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Contributors

Citation preview

New Medievalisms

New Medievalisms Edited by

Javier Martín-Párraga and Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero

New Medievalisms Edited by Javier Martín-Párraga and Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero This book first published 2015 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2015 by Javier Martín-Párraga, Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-8702-1 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-8702-1

CONTENTS List of Tables …....…………………….……………….……..………… ix Introduction .………………………….…………………………..……. xiii Part I: New Approaches to the Study of Medieval English Language Chapter One …………………...………………….……….……….……. 3 Metonymy and Metaphor in the Emergence of the Quantifier Meaning of the noun “Lot” Antonio Barcelona-Sánchez Chapter Two ……...……………………………….……….………..….. 19 About the Pigginization of Middle English: The Enlightening Relevance of Diachronic Analysis for EFL Studies Eulalio Fernández-Sánchez Chapter Three …...…...…..……………………….……….……………. 27 The Glamour of Grammar Olga Blanco-Carrión Part II: The First Medieval English Poem Revisited Chapter Four …………………..………………….………...………….. 53 Sutton Hoo and the importance of Archaeological Methods for Rediscovering the Anglo-Saxon Period Marta Rojano-Simón Chapter Five ……...…………………………….……….………...……. 65 Beowulf in the Electronic Age Javier Martín-Párraga Chapter Six …………….………………………….……….…...………. 79 The Influence of Christianity in Beowulf: Grendel’s Mother Elena Cantueso-Urbano

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Part III: Medieval Echoes in Contemporary Literature Chapter Seven .………………...………………….……….…………… 97 Beyond Equality, Freedom and Toleration: Echoes of Tufayl in Attar’s Works Magdalena López-Pérez Chapter Eight ……………..……...……………….…..….…………… 109 Female Pilgrimages in Medieval England: Space, Travelling and Power in The Book of Margery Kempe María Luisa Pascual-Garrido Chapter Nine …..……..…………………………….……….………… 121 Medieval Morris: Artist, Craftsman Poet and Translator Vicente López-Folgado Chapter Ten …………...…….…………………….……….……..…… 137 Enfaithing Poetry: Denise Levertov’s Integrative Beholding of Julian of Norwich Cristina M. Gámez-Fernández Chapter Eleven ...…………………..…………………….……….…… 149 Literary Overtones, Self-Fashioning and Poetics in Chaucer’s The House of Fame Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero Part IV: Translating Medieval Culture Chapter Twelve ………......……………………………...……….…… 179 Looking for the Lost Paradise: Cultural Diversity, Translation and Film Adaptation in the Contemporary Dissemination of Medieval Culture, Stereotypes and Values (Eco, Tolkien, Chréntien de Troyes, Follet and Lucas) Emilio Ortega-Arjonilla Ana Belén Martínez-López

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Part V: Bridges across Medieval Culture Chapter Thirteen …………………………………..…….……….…… 239 Arturian Topics in Medieval German Epic: Erec, Iwein, Parzival María del Carmen Balbuena-Torezano Chapter Fourteen …...…….……………………….…….…………….. 255 Breton Lais in Middle English: Reception and Continuity Manuela Álvarez-Jurado Chapter Fifteen .…………......…………………….……….………….. 269 Echoes of Greek Tragedy in Medieval Literature: The Case of Oedipus Israel Muñoz-Gallarte Part VI: Innovative Approaches to the Teaching of Medieval Language and Culture Chapter Sixteen ………......…………………………….……….…….. 289 Development of ICT's and Mobile Applications to Teach Medieval Language and Literature: A Proposal from the Didactics of Geography Daniel D. Martínez-Romera Chapter Seventeen …..……....………………….……….…………….. 301 Using Video Games to Teach Medieval Culture Verónica Marín-Díaz Chapter Eighteen …………....…………………….…….…………….. 309 Podcasts about the Middle Ages and their Educational Potential Begoña E. Sampedro-Requena Contributors …………………………………………………………... 319

LIST OF TABLES Table 1-1 Summary the role of metonymy in the extension of lot from a concrete to a multal quantifier noun ..……….…….……….………….… 11 Table 1-2 Semiotic relation “content1 motivating content2” …………………… 14 Table 2-1 Chart from Danchev (1995, 84) …………………………………...…..22 Table 12-1 Loanwords of culture-specific words from the Italian Culture maintained in Italian when they are translated into English or Spanish ………………………………………………………………185 Table 12-2 Loanwords of culture-specific words from British or American Culture which are used in English when they are translated into Spanish ….………………………………………….……..... 185 Table 12-3 Loanwords of Culture-specific words from French Culture which are used in French when they are translated into English or Spanish ……………………..………………………….…………… 186 Table 12-4 Pantone System ……………………...….…….………...….……… 186 Table 12-5 Musical Terms .………………………….…….………....………… 187 Table 12-6 Loan words and translation ….………….…….…………………… 187 Table 12-7 Umberto Eco: The Name of the Rose ………….…………………… 189 Table 12-8 Ken Follet: The Pillars of the Earth ……………….………....…… 190 Table 12-9 Chrétien de Troyes: Romans de la Table Ronde …………...……… 190 Table 12-10 Films based or inspired by Arthurian topics and literature (selection) ………………………………………………………….… 191 Table 12-11 TV miniseries or films for TV broadcasting based or inspired by Arthurian topics and literature (selection) ......………………..…… 192 Table 12-12 J. R. R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings & The Hobbit ………...… 193

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Table 12-13 George Lucas: Star Wars ………………………………………… 193 Table 12-14 The Name of Rose: The Novel and the Film ……..…..……...….… 194 Table 12-15 Gaudeamus Igitur (excerpt) ……………………………………… 196 Table 12-16 The Name of the Rose: Main Characters ...………………...…...… 198 Table 12-17 The Name of the Rose: Character groups…...….…….……....…… 199 Table 12-18 The Pillars of the Earth: Main Characters ...…..…….…....……… 201 Table 12-19 The Lord of the Rings: The Books ..…….…….…..….……...…… 202 Table 12-20 The Lord of the Rings: The Films .…….…………….…..…..…… 203 Table 12-21 The Lord of the Rings: Main Characters ...……………........…..… 205 Table 12-22 Chrétien de Troyes: Main Characters ...…………..…..………..… 209 Table 12-23 Legendary Knights of the Round Table ………...….…..........…… 209 Table 12-24 Films and TV miniseries based on Arthurian Topics……......…… 211 Table 12-25 Star Wars Films …………...………….……..…...…….………… 212 Table 12-26 Star Wars: Main Characters ...……………………...……....…..… 214 Table 12-27 Jedi Order and Sith Organization .…….……..………...…….…… 215 Table 12-28 Star Wars: Planets …..………..………….…….….……....……… 217 Table 12-29 The Name of the Rose: Medieval Inspiration for the Main Characters …………………...…………………………………………… 218 Table 12-30 Orders of Knighthood and Religious Orders ….….………...……. 226 Table 12-31 The Sword as a Symbol of Power ………………...…...……….… 227 Table 12-32 The Influence of Courtly Love ….…….…….…………....……… 228 Table 12-33 Reminiscences of the Biblical Battle between Good and Evil……………………………………………………………….………… 230 Table 12-34 Reminiscences of the Myth of the Fallen Angel ....…….………… 231

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Table 12-35 Symbolism of the Numbers ………….……...………….………… 232 Table 16-1 Jeuring, van Rooij, and Pronost .……………..………....……….… 294 Table 18-1 Goals and Didactic Proposals ………...…………………………… 315

INTRODUCTION There is a renewed interest in medieval culture, literature and society, as recent fictional artefacts such as Game of Thrones or the cinematographic adaptions of Tolkien’s pseudo-medieval universe clearly prove. From a merely academic viewpoint, there are many excellent journals and book series devoted to a scholarly analysis of the medieval English language and literature. While “traditional” medieval scholars do have several valid vehicles of communication (including some excellent volumes that have appeared previously in this same publishing house, such as In Search of the Medieval Voice: Expressions of Identity in the Middle Ages, 2008 or more recently Medieval Metaphysics, or is it "Just Semantics"?, 2011), those researchers that decided to favour new ways or to combine more eclectic approaches are often not given the same opportunities. Nonetheless, their academic prestige and the quality of their papers deserve to be published in a collective volume. Another reason why we consider this book will be interesting for the scientific community is related to the new educational paradigm across Europe, taking into account that the Bologna Process for Higher Education clearly implies a multi-disciplinary approach to university education. It must also be borne in mind that all the English Studies programmes around Europe include at least one subject that is directly or indirectly related to Medieval England. Thus, we do consider it evident that there is an important target audience for a publication like this in the European academic community. New Medievalisms, thus, includes six themed segments that are both inherently different and cohesively connected. The book opens with “New Approaches to the Study of the Medieval English Language”, in which three internationally renowned experts offer new insights on the medieval English language, as well as its implications in the evolution of the language and its acquisition by foreign learners. In the first chapter, Antonio Barcelona-Sánchez deals with the motivation of the emergence of the multal quantifier meaning of the noun lot occurring in the partitive and multal quantifier (quasi-) determiner a lot of. Eulalio Fernández-Sánchez, in the second chapter, focuses on the psycholinguistic implications of the simplification experienced by Middle English for second language acquisition processes, and at the same time he provides a

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diachronic evidence for the psycholinguistic accessibility of English as a foreign language at present. Olga Blanco-Carrión, in chapter three, considers the surprising link between the words “grammar” and “glamour”, which comes from Middle English. In this section the most salient corpus findings for both word-forms gramarye and glamour are summarized. The second segment, entitled, “The First Medieval English Poem Revisited”, includes three chapters. The first one, authored by Marta Rojano-Simón takes readers on a journey to the Sutton-Hoo archaeological site, which is extremely connected to the first poem written in England: Beowulf. Thus, a link between medieval society and literature is established. In the next chapter, Javier Martín-Párraga moves from ancient times to contemporary pop revisitations of the same medieval epic poem, taking into account graphic novels, comic books, movies and even videogames. Elena Cantueso-Urbano closes this part with an exciting paper in which the author traces back the influence of Christianity in Grendel’s Mother, paying special attention to the innovative topic of the myth of the femme fatale that appears for the first time in English literature in Beowulf. The third segment centres on “Medieval Echoes in Contemporary Literature”, starting with Magdalena López-Pérez’s study about the extensive literary production of Attar, including books in both English and Arabic concerning literary criticism, translation, language teaching and creative writing. Consequently, a bridge across Eastern culture and Medieval England is discovered. Next, María Luisa Pascual-Garrido examines the account of pilgrimage provided by Margery Kempe against a representative corpus of medieval writings dating from the late fourteenth century, illustrating how Kempe’s narrative is strategically used to question different sources of male authority and subvert them so as to empower herself. Vicente López-Folgado, in the following chapter, studies Morris’ translation of Beowulf in depth, applying an original perspective within the field of study. Cristina M. Gámez-Fernández shows the deep impact medieval English author Julian of Norwich had on the literary production of the American poet Denise Levertov, focusing on how the contemporary author recreates Julian of Norwich’s figure and writings as a starting point from which to widen her knowledge of the mystic as a way to meditate on religious faith. The author who closes this section, Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero, approaches Chaucer’s seminal composition The House of Fame, objectifying the self-representation mechanisms that shape the poet’s identity in the process of artistic exploration.

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The fourth segment, under the title “Translating Medieval Culture” is composed of only one extensive and pioneering chapter, co-authored by Emilio Ortega-Arjonilla and Ana Belén Martínez-López. In this piece of research these scholars analyze in depth translation and film adaptation in the contemporary dissemination of medieval culture, stereotypes and values. Hence, this paper does not only consider translation itself but also the fundamental influence medieval English literary texts had on some of the most popular and mainstream contemporary fictions, such as The Name of the Rose, Lord of the Rings or Star Wars. The fifth segment, “Bridges Across Medieval Cultures”, contains four original texts. The first of these, written by Carmen Balbuena-Torezano, takes us to the Arthurian Court, analyzing the deep impact the British Arthurian cycle had on German epic literature. The author will transport us from Germany to France in a poetic voyage in which Breton and Middle English lais are compared. Thus, these two chapters can be viewed as two sides of the same coin, as they both deal with the English mythical King in two of the most powerful European cultures and civilizations. Then, Israel Muñoz-Gallarte dives even deeper into history, throughout a philosophical and meta-literary consideration of the echoes of Greek tragedy in medieval literature. Pedro Marfil-Ruiz and Christopher M. Courault devote the final chapter to Henry Swinburne’s Planimetry, which is the first publication of the planimetry of Cordoba’s Mosque. The concluding segment, “Innovative Approaches to the Teaching of Medieval Language and Culture”, offers three original and contemporary ways of presenting Medieval England to a wide range of students belonging to different educational levels, from primary education to postgraduate programmes. Daniel D. Martínez-Romera presents a state of the art proposal by the means of which educational software is applied to medieval themes. Verónica Marín-Díaz asks the reader to reconsider some widespread misconceptions on videogames in general. From a more specific perspective, this expert reflects on how videogames can be beneficial for the teaching of the British Middle Ages. The last chapter of this part, which also closes the book, is not less ground-breaking since Begoña E. Sampedro-Requena applies one of the latest technological advancements: podcasts to the didactics of medievalism. Javier Martín-Párraga Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero Editors

PART I:

NEW APPROACHES TO THE STUDY OF MEDIEVAL ENGLISH LANGUAGE

CHAPTER ONE METONYMY AND METAPHOR IN THE EMERGENCE OF THE QUANTIFIER MEANING OF 1 THE NOUN “LOT” ANTONIO BARCELONA-SÁNCHEZ Introduction This paper is a brief study on the motivation of the emergence of the multal quantifier meaning of the noun lot occurring in the partitive and multal quantifier (quasi-)determiner a lot of. The motivation for the development of the corresponding quasi-pronoun a lot is also briefly discussed. It is argued that the main motivational factor in both cases is conceptual metonymy. I presented two earlier versions of this paper at two different cognitive linguistic conferences (in 2007 and in 2010). A short initial version was published as part of Barcelona (2006), and a brief, revised version was part of Barcelona (2009); some paragraphs of both papers have been reproduced with some minor changes in later sections of the present chapter. A definitive longer, more detailed version will be published in Barcelona (in preparation). The quantifying expression a lot of, which is regarded by some standard grammars as a compound determiner lexeme (cf. Quirk et al. 1985, 264), is semantically similar to the quantifying determiners much and many, but different in syntactic behaviour from these fully-fledged determiners. A lot of is not a fully grammaticized compound determiner (Langacker 2010), one of the reasons being that it can sometimes be interrupted by adjectives, as in the ironic idiom A fat lot of good that’ll do you! or even by a whole phrase, as in They have a lot—maybe even a whole collection—of impressionist paintings. Therefore, we will treat a lot of as a quasi-determiner. The homonymous quasi-pronoun a lot and the quasi-adverb a lot seem to have arisen from the quasi-determiner on the basis of a form metonymy (see below on quasi-pronominal a lot).

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The next section includes the study of the role of metonymy in the motivation of the lexical-semantic changes leading to the present-day multal quantifier sense of lot in the context of the quasi-determiner a lot of; it also deals with the motivation of the development of the quasipronominal form a lot from the quasi-determiner. The third section contains the conclusions.

Metonymy in Lexical Change: From “Piece of Wood” to Quantifier to Pronoun This section has two parts. The first, longer sub-section is devoted to the development of the multal sense in the quasi-determiner a lot of. The second section deals briefly with the later development of the corresponding quasi-pronoun.

From Lot as a Concrete Physical Noun to Lot as a Multal Quantifier Noun in the Quasi-Determiner Expression a Lot of The multal quantitative meaning of lot in a lot of is the result of a series of metonymic extensions from the basic, oldest meaning (still alive) of the noun lexeme lot. This basic meaning is that of “an object used in deciding a matter by chance, a number of these being placed in a container and then drawn or cast out at random one by one” (Webster’s Dictionary, sense 1a of lot). The Oxford English Dictionary (henceforth OED), in its entry 1a for the noun lot, says that this object usually was “a piece of wood”, and it describes the basic meaning of lot like this: (...)[An] object (app. usually a piece of wood) used in a widely diffused ancient method of deciding disputes, dividing plunder or property, selecting persons for an office or duty, etc., by an appeal to chance or the divine agency supposed to be concerned in the results of chance. The ‘lots’, each bearing the special mark of one of the competitors, were placed in a receptacle (in Homeric Greece a helmet); according to Greek procedure the vessel was shaken, the winning lot being that which fell out first; in Scandinavia (...) the winning lot was drawn out by an uninterested party.

The first metonymic extension is the one leading from the basic meaning to a minor sense of the lexeme, namely sense 1b in the OED, reproduced below:

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Sense 1b in OED: “In abstract sense: The casting or drawing of lots, or the use of any equivalent process, to obtain a decision. Chiefly in the phrase by lot”. An example might be The ancients knew that election by lot was the most democratic of all modes of appointment. The metonymy leading to this extension is instrument (object used in the action of casting lots) for action (the action of casting lots).2 The second metonymic extension, chained to the former, is the one leading from sense 1b in the OED to sense 1c in the OED. Sense 1c is described like this in the OED: “The choice resulting from the casting of lots; in the phrase the lot falls on (a person or thing)”. An example from the OED is The lot fell on Egmont to devise some suitable livery. Two chained metonymies seem to be involved in the motivation of this extension. The first of them is casting lots for deciding/choosing by casting lots. This metonymy can be categorized as an instance of the high-level metonymy action (casting lots) for result (deciding/choosing by casting lots). It motivates the meaning “make a decision” of such expressions as cast/draw/throw, etc. lots and probably also the use of the verb fall when lot is used in sense 1c (because the decision depended on the place where the lot, i.e. the object used in the decision-making procedure, fell). The other metonymy, likewise a manifestation of action for result, is the action of deciding/choosing by casting lots for the result of the action (the result being the course of action decided upon/chosen, or the actual choice made). That is, an expression such as The lot fell on Egmont to devise some suitable livery is not understood as meaning that Egmont would have to decide who would devise the livery, but that the decision taken (by casting lots) was that Egmont would devise the livery. 3 Sense 1c in the OED leads to one of the present-day prototypical senses of the noun lexeme, described in a part of the meaning complex presented as sense 2a by the OED. Sense 2 in the OED: “What falls to a person by lot”. This sense includes four sub-senses in the OED, i.e. senses 2a, 2b, 2c, 2d. The relevant sub-sense for our purpose is 2a. Sense 2 a in the OED. “That which is assigned by lot to a person as his share or portion in an inheritance, or in a distribution of property; a division or share of property made by lot” (I have set the relevant part of this definition in italics). The sense described by the part italicized can be regarded as prototypical because it contributes a semantic attribute shared by several other senses of the lexeme, namely the notion “what is assigned to

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someone as his/her share”. This notion is a part of other current senses of the noun lot (see senses 2b, 2d, 4a, 4b, 5, 6a, 6b in the OED). This notion thus constitutes a sense of lot which lies at the centre of a sub-network of senses within the overall polysemous sense network in this lexeme. This third metonymic extension is motivated by a metonymy that maps the course of action decided upon or chosen by casting lots (specifically the assignment of a piece of property to someone) onto the piece or portion of property affected by the assignment so decided/chosen. This metonymy constitutes a manifestation of the higher-level metonymy action for object involved in the action (Kövecses and Radden 1998). This metonymy operates in one of the situations typically motivating the casting of lots: the situation in which several people have a claim on the same piece of property and lots are drawn to decide which part of that property should be assigned to whom, i.e. a decision is made involving each resulting piece of property. The metonymy maps the act of division and assignment resulting from the casting of lots onto the part of the property so divided and assigned.4 Prototypical sense 2a facilitates the emergence of another sense of the lexeme, namely sense 8a in the OED. Sense 8a in the OED: “A number of persons or things of the same kind, or associated in some way; a quantity or collection (of things); a party, set, or ‘crew’ (of persons); also, a quantity (of anything). Now only colloq., except with reference to articles of commerce, goods, live stock, and the like. Often with some degree of depreciation, either implied, or expressed by an epithet (cf. sense 3)”. The now obsolete OED sense 3 mentioned in the sub-entry for sense 8a is: “In the Ormulum: A part, portion, or division of anything; a number of things forming part of a larger whole. Obs. (Cf. sense 8)”. Sense 3 is older than sense 8a but later than sense 2a, and thus seems to have been a bridge between senses 2 and 8a. The OED sub-entry for sense 8a is actually a conglomerate of senses. The detailed study of these senses would require a lengthy discussion, but they all presuppose the two (both obsolete) senses gathered by the OED in its sub-entry 3: “a part, portion, or division of anything” and “a number (of things or persons) forming part of larger whole”. The first of the senses in OED sub-entry 3 is directly linked to OED sense 2a and is motivated by a generalization of the notion “part of an object resulting from its division by lot” to the notion “part of an object resulting from any type of division”. This generalization is facilitated, if not directly motivated, by the metonymy member (portion of property) for category (portion of any entity). This generalization constitutes the fourth

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metonymic extension. This extension also seems to underlie in part OED senses 4a-b, 5, 6a-b (these senses are also directly connected to OED sense 2a), and 7a-b. The second sense in OED sub-entry 3 appears in one of the examples cited by that sub-entry (the orthography has been adapted to present-day English conventions) such as This lot of all Christian folk, i.e. “This portion of all Christian people”, which implies “This number or amount of all Christian people”. This second sense in OED sub-entry 3 is due to the highlighting of an implicature potentially invited by the notion “portion resulting from the division of an object into parts”. This implicature is that the portion may itself consist of smaller parts which can be counted, and that, even if the portion cannot be divided into smaller parts, the “size” of the portion can be measured. In other words, the notion of portion invites the notion of quantity or amount. This implicature is guided, in my view, by the metonymy entity (portion) for salient characteristic (quantifiability). A salient property of a portion is its quantifiability (manifested as the countability of its distinctive parts or its measurability as a whole); hence the sense “number (of things or persons) forming part of a larger whole”. The notion “larger whole” is implicit in the opposition “whole-portion”. This extension to quantity is the fifth metonymic extension. An important property implicit in that opposition is the homogeneity of whole and portion of a physical object or of a substance; as we will see below, this homogeneity holding in whole-portion is later transformed, in sense 8a, into a category bind (“kind-of”) connecting categories and members. The two metonymies just discussed now definitively free the two senses in sub-entry 3 in the OED, and their heir, the senses in 8a, from any direct connection to the original “lot-casting” or “lot-drawing” context. Sense 3a frees lot from any necessary connection to the notion of ownership (it can now denote a part, portion or division of anything, potentially including people and other types of “things”); and sense 3b generalizes the notion portion into its internal quantifiability, thus bringing about the first quantitative sense. This decontextualization, together with the fact that people or things are often understood as members of classes (categories), explains why the lexeme “lot” can now be applied to a “number of people or things”. The importance of the obsolete senses in OED sub-entry 3 for the emergence of the present day multal quantifier meaning of lot in the quasi-determiner and the quasi-pronoun is that they contribute the first purely quantitative sense of the noun lexeme lot. The main senses in sub-entry 8a in the OED, therefore, seem to arise as a generalization from the second sense in sub-entry 3: from “number (of

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things or persons) forming part of larger whole” to “number of persons or things of the same kind, or associated in some way”, and from the latter to “a quantity of anything”. Complex heterogeneous physical entities (unlike homogeneous, mass-like entities), both physical and abstract, consist of a number of clearly distinct parts which may be very different from each other (imagine a car, with its various parts, or the staff in a university department, with its various members). The conceptualization of these complex entities includes the knowledge that they exhibit a basic part-whole (i.e. meronymic) connection between the parts and the “larger whole” and other connections of a variable nature between the various parts. These connections are ultimately mental connections in the conceptualization of complex entities, and the existence of these mental connections is a salient property of those entities; these can thus be metonymically understood from this salient property: salient characteristic (mental connection of parts to whole and between parts) for entity (complex heterogeneous physical entities). Likewise, the conceptualization of categories includes their salient property of exhibiting mental connections (“kind-of” connections, e.g. a car is a kind of vehicle) between categories and category members, and also other connections of a variable nature between the various category members. Categories can be understood metonymically from this salient property, which is a salient subdomain in the domain of categories: salient characteristic (mental connections of categories to members and between members) for entity (categories). These two metonymies jointly bring out the abstract structural correlation between categories and complex heterogeneous physical entities, thus motivating the metaphor categories are complex heterogeneous physical entities like buildings or collections of living beings or of objects (see Barcelona 2000b and Radden 2000 on metonymy-based metaphors). The existence of this metaphor can be justified on independent grounds (as witnessed by such examples as He has built a sophisticated category / How to Build Your Category’s Taxonomy,5 or by the frequency with which linguists, philosophers and educated speakers in general talk about categories or classes as having parts and about categories as wholes: This part of the category is less clear than the other/The central part of the category/We must take into account the whole category. Categories of individual entities (people, animals, things) are in fact (indefinitely large) collections of individuals of the same kind. The metaphor categories are complex heterogeneous physical entities endows categories with part-whole structure, since its metaphorical source has part-whole structure, which is mapped onto the domain of categories.

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Therefore, the metaphorical notion of categories includes part-whole structure as one of the properties of categories. The conceptual entity category can then be metonymically activated from this subdomain: salient characteristic (PART-WHOLE STRUCTURE) for entity (CATEGORY). This is a metonymy which motivates the extension from the sense “number (of things or persons) forming part of a larger whole” (OED 3b) to the sense “number of persons or things of the same kind, or associated in some way” (OED 8a) i.e. to “number of people or things forming part of the same category”. This is the sixth metonymic extension. The “larger whole” to which the people and things belong (sense 3b) is actually a category of people; but the category is not presented as such: it is simply presented as a whole group of entities, of which lot designates a part. An important difference, in this respect, between sense 3b and the first main sense in 8a is that in 3b (a) lot designates a subcategory (with its own distinguishing properties), which is presented as a part within a larger category, which is presented as a whole (this lot of all Christian folk, i.e. “this sector within the whole Christian people”); whereas in 8a (a) lot designates a number of members of the larger category, the category being now presented, not as a concrete whole-part configuration, but as an abstract notion (a “kind of” relation): “This sector of Christians”. This latter sense is further generalized to the sense “a quantity of anything” on the basis of the metonymy member (people/things [forming a category]) for category (any entities6 [forming a category], i.e. anything). This is the seventh metonymic extension. As the OED states, the senses gathered in sub-entry 8a are now in restricted use, but they contribute the abstract quantitative sense applied to entities in the same category that leads directly to the present day multal quantifier sense. One normally uses the quasi-determiner “a lot of” or the quasi-pronoun “a lot” to denote a number of entities belonging to the same category (or to an amount of the same substance category). In I ate a lot of chocolate and a lot of biscuits one refers to two amounts of two different categories, and in I ate a lot, one (in principle) refers to an amount of some type of edible entity. The multal meaning (“a great number or amount”) of the present-day quasi-determiner and quasi-pronoun is registered in sub-entry 9 of the noun lexeme lot in the OED, which defines that meaning like this: A considerable number, quantity or amount; a good deal, a great deal. Used in sing. (a lot) and plur.; also as quasi-adv. Often absol, without explicit mention of the persons or things intended. Also with adjective, as a good lot, a great lot, (this, that) little lot.

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This meaning seems to be motivated by the metonymic connection between the notion a quantity of any noncount entity and the notion a large quantity of such entity (and, correspondingly, by the metonymic connection between the notion a number of any count entities included in a category and the notion a great number of such entities). The route of extension seems to be this one: The notions a number of entities / an amount of an entity, that is, the notion of quantity, can activate the top degree in the scale of quantity, on the basis of the metonymy whole scale for upper end of the scale (Radden and Kövecses 1999, 32). In other words, the notion of quantity can trigger metonymically the notion “high/great quantity”. This extension constitutes the eighth metonymic extension. Other instances of semantic intensification seem to be motivated by the same metonymy.7 Once the noun lot acquires the sense “a great number or amount”, its frequent use as the head of the indefinite NP a lot before partitive of (a lot of books/money) becomes partially lexicalized as a sort of compound lexeme and partially grammaticized as a quasi-determiner in the determinative syntactic function.8

A Synopsis and a Comment The previous account of the role of metonymy in the semantic evolution of lot from its oldest sense to its present multal quantitative meaning as part of the quasi-determiner a lot of can summed in figure 1, where the metonymies motivating the various semantic extensions constitute two chains linked by a metaphor into a larger chain. Basic sense: (OED 1a) Object used in deciding a matter by chance by drawing / casting lots  1. Sense Casting or drawing of lots to obtain a decision (OED 1b) motivated by INSTRUMENT (OBJECT USED IN THE ACTION OF CASTING LOTS) FOR ACTION (THE ACTION OF CASTING LOTS)  2. Sense The choice resulting from the casting of lots (OED 1c) jointly motivated by ACTION (CASTING LOTS) FOR RESULT (DECIDING / CHOOSING BY CASTING LOTS) and ACTION (ACTION OF DECIDING / CHOOSING BY CASTING LOTS) FOR RESULT OF THE ACTION (THE ACTUAL CHOICE MADE BY CASTING LOTS / THE COURSE OF ACTION DECIDED IN THIS WAY) 

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3. Sense What is assigned by lot to a person as his share or portion in a distribution of property (OED 2a) motivated by ACTION (COURSE OF ACTION DECIDED UPON OR CHOSEN BY CASTING LOTS [SPECIFICALLY THE ASSIGNMENT OF A PIECE OF PROPERTY TO SOMEONE] FOR OBJECT INVOLVED IN THE ACTION (THE OBJECT DIRECTLY AFFECTED BY THAT COURSE OF ACTION [NORMALLY, THE PIECE OR PORTION OF PROPERTY AFFECTED BY THE ASSIGNMENT SO DECIDED/ CHOSEN])  4. Sense A part, portion, or division of anything (part of OED 3, obsolete), motivated by MEMBER (PORTION OF PROPERTY) FOR CATEGORY (PORTION OF ANY ENTITY)  5. Implicature “portions are quantifiable” (guided by ENTITY [PORTION] FOR SALIENT CHARACTERISTIC [QUANTIFIABILITY] motivates the quantitive part of sense A number of persons or things forming part of a larger whole (part of OED 3, obsolete)  6. “Category” part (same kind) of sense A number of persons or things of the same kind (first main sense of OED 8a), motivated by SALIENT CHARACTERISTIC (PARTWHOLE STRUCTURE) FOR ENTITY (CATEGORY) (in turn motivated by metaphor CATEGORIES ARE COMPLEX HETEROGENEOUS PHYSICAL ENTITIES)  7 “Universal” sense A quantity of anything (second main sense of OED 8a) motivated by MEMBER (PEOPLE OR THINGS [FORMING A CATEGORY]) FOR CATEGORY (ANY ENTITIES [FORMING A CATEGORY])  8 “Multal” sense A great number or amount (OED 9) motivated by

WHOLE SCALE

FOR UPPER END OF THE SCALE

Figure 1-1 The main motivation of the extensions is a mixed metonymic chain (Barcelona 2005, and in preparation). Four important comments are in order at this stage. Firstly, the relative order of extensions 1, 2, 3 and 4 is only hypothetical, and is neither clearly supported nor disclaimed by the OED chronology, since the latter is somewhat inconsistent with respect to the senses corresponding to extensions 2, 3 and 4. However, the relative order of the extensions from 4 to 5 and to 6–7 (the latter two are presented almost as simultaneous by the OED and then from 6–7 to 8 seem to be supported by the OED chronology. On the other hand, the last five extensions displayed in table are the most relevant ones for the emergence of the multal quantitative meaning. Secondly, in the foregoing analysis, the sense dates that have been taken for granted correspond to those of the earliest registered example of those senses which is cited by the OED. However, the corresponding sense may have been in actual use in speech for a variable period of time before

12

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it was registered in writing. Therefore, even though the order of extensions 4 to 8 seems to be clearly supported by the chronology offered by the OED and can, moreover, be explained in terms of the conceptual (mainly metonymic) links between the senses, the emergence of a particular sense may have taken place long before the earliest date given by the OED. In some cases, what is viewed today as a later sense may actually have arisen at about the same time as senses that in the OED chronology appear to be earlier, both the “later” and the “earlier” senses forming part of the polysemy of lot at a given point in time. And in some (hopefully exceptional) cases, the putatively later sense may actually have occurred earlier. Thirdly, not all of the ten major senses of lot (both current or obsolete) registered by the OED have been mentioned in the preceding attempt at identifying (some of) the conceptual factors underlying the emergence of its multal quantitative sense. Only those that seem to constitute clearly relevant stages in this path of development have been explicitly taken into account and reproduced in Figure 1-1, because each of them is clearly connected semantically to an immediately earlier or later stage while at the same time being clearly different from it. However, most of the other senses of lot registered by the OED in a way participate in some of the stages of this development. There is not enough space for the discussion of these other senses (to be found in Barcelona n.d.), but we can note that sense 1d reinforces (i.e. contributes to the entrenchment of) sense 1c (for example, 1d reinforces the “course of action” element in sense 1c); that senses 1e, 2b-2d and 6a-b reinforce some elements of sense 2a (for example, 6a reinforces the “assignment of portions of property” element in 2a); that senses 4a-b, 5 and 7a-b reinforce the two main elements of sense 3 (“division of anything” and “number of things forming part of a larger whole”); and that sense 8b (in the expression the lot, with the meaning “the whole of a certain number or quantity”), chronologically older than sense 9, reinforces the “upscaling” element of the latter (“A great number or amount”). Fourthly, as has been stated above, the metonymies motivating the development of the multal quantitative meaning of lot seem to constitute two chains, in turn connected to each other by means of a conceptual metaphor. In Barcelona (2005, 2007; in preparation), the notion of metonymic chaining is treated at length and studied empirically on the basis of five detailed case studies; see also Hilpert 2007 on a different yet related notion of metonymic chaining. There is not enough space here for a detailed analysis of the chains operating in this case (the analysis is in Barcelona n.d.). I will only thus here briefly justify the claim that there are

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two chains. The first chain involves extensions 1-5 in Figure 1-1. As can be seen, the target of the first metonymy roughly corresponds to the source of the next one and so on. On the other hand, the element “part of a larger whole” in extension 5 (sense 3b) furnishes the source PART-WHOLE STRUCTURE to the first metonymy in the second chain (involving extensions 6–8 in Table 1); this metonymy operates within the metaphor CATEGORIES ARE COMPLEX HETEROGENEOUS PHYSICAL ENTITIES, which, together with sense 3b, constitutes a conceptual link between the two chains. In the second chain, too, the target of the first metonymy roughly corresponds to the source of the next one and so on.

From a Lot of to the Quasi-Pronominal Noun Phrase a Lot For the sake of brevity, I will omit any detailed discussion of the motivation for the emergence of the homonymous quasi-adverb a lot (as in John travels a lot). The pronominal use of a lot is here claimed to emerge from the multal quasi-determiner a lot of, and that this emergence is motivated by a “form metonymy” i.e. by a metonymy operating only on the level of form, not of content. The earliest register by the OED of the multal quasi-determiner use of a lot of is older (1835), than its earliest register of the pronominal use of a lot (1901).9 Both dates are attested by sub-entry 9 in the entry for lot (noun) in the OED. The quasi-pronoun a lot seems to have emerged from the quasi-determiner a lot of through repeated ellipsis of the prepositional phrase governed by of in instances in which the quantified thing or person can be contextually recovered, given the very close meaning of the quasi-pronoun (“an identified type of entity in a great number or amount”) and the quasi-determiner (“a great number or amount of X [a variable type of entity]”).10 If this was actually the case, then the ellipsis leading to the emergence of the pronoun was guided by metonymy. The metonymy in question is SALIENT PART OF FORM FOR WHOLE FORM (a frequent metonymy; see Barcelona 2005 and Barcelona in preparation). To the extent that the complex noun phrase “a lot + of-NP” was an entrenched construction, the most salient part of its form is the sequence a lot. It is comparatively salient because it provides the essential quantitative meaning to the overall construction, and because (as required by prototypical ellipsis) the ellipted prepositional phrase can be supplied from context on the basis of the prompt provided by the sequence a lot, but not vice versa (of-NP is not normally a prompt to recover a lot). The entrenchment of this type of

Chapter One

14

ellipsis must have led to the emergence and conventionalization of the quasi-pronoun with the meaning “an identified type of entity in a great number or amount”. 11

Conclusions Metonymy appears to be a plausible factor motivating the semantic changes more or less directly. It is a cognitive factor interacting with other types of motivation, like experiential, cultural and ecological factors (Radden and Panther 2004, 29). The type of semiotic relation where metonymy is claimed to have operated to motivate the polysemy of lot is what Radden and Panther (2004, 15) call “content1 motivating content2”. See Figure 1-2 (adapted from Radden and Panther 2004, 15).

Source

Target

Content1

Content2

Form

Form

Content1 originates Content2 Figure 1-2 In this semiotic relation, there are two form-content pairings with the same form; one of them constitutes the source for the emergence of the second pairing, and the content of the source motivates (via metonymy) the content of the second. This semiotic relation may give rise to polysemy (although, given the very different abstract meaning of lot in the multal quasi-determiner and quasi-pronoun use, there can be grounds for regarding its connection to the basic sense as one of homonymy from a synchronic perspective). The semantic evolution of lot into its quantifier

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meaning is at the same an instance of grammaticalization in Hopper and Traugott’s (2003) sense. The analysis presented here also supports Traugott and Dasher’s (2002) “Invited Inferencing Theory of Semantic Change”, since metonymy is a prime factor in invited inferencing (Traugott and Dasher 2002, 78–81; Panther and Thornburg 2003; Barcelona 2003; 2007; 2009; in preparation). A limitation of the present study is constituted by the fact that the hypotheses offered above are only based on the entry for lot in the latest edition of the OED. Therefore, a detailed corpus investigation of the behaviour of the lexeme is needed to confirm and/or refine them with a richer set of data. In any case, even with corpus support, we can only make reasonable hypotheses (like those presented above) about the exact semantic evolution of a linguistic item, as suggested by as Radden and Panther: “(. . .) the attribution of motivational sources to linguistic phenomena by the linguistic analyst is usually based on post hoc abductive reasoning, i.e. inferencing from some observed fact plus assumed general principles of reasoning (which may be merely probabilistic) to a conclusion that “best explains” the observed fact” (2004, 10).

Works Cited Barcelona, Antonio (ed.). 2000a. Metaphor and Metonymy at the Crossroads. Cognitive Approaches. Berlin–New York: Mouton de Gruyter. —. 2000b. “On the plausibility of claiming a metonymic motivation for conceptual metaphor”. In Barcelona, Antonio (ed.), 31–58. —. 2003. “The case for a metonymic basis of pragmatic inferencing: Evidence from jokes and funny anecdotes”. In: Panther, Klaus-Uwe & Thornburg, Linda (eds.), 81–102. —. 2005. “The multilevel operation of metonymy in grammar and discourse, with particular attention to metonymic chains”. In Ruiz de Mendoza, Francisco, and Peña Cervel, Sandra (eds.), Cognitive Linguistics: Internal Dynamics and Interdisciplinary Interaction. Berlin / New York: Mouton de Gruyter. 313–352. —. 2006. “Metonymy in meaning and form, with special attention to its role in lexical semantic change”. In Vázquez González, Juan Gabriel; Martínez Vázquez, Montserrat and Pilar Ron Vaz, (eds), The

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Historical Linguistics-Cognitive Linguistics Interface. Huelva: Universidad de Huelva, 19–57. —. 2007. “The role of metonymy in meaning construction at discourse level: A case study”. In: Radden, Günter; Koepcke, Klaus-Michael; Berg, Thomas; Siemund, Peter (eds.), 51–75. —. 2009. Motivation of Construction Meaning and Form: The roles of metonymy and inference. In Klaus-Uwe Panther; Linda Thornburg; and Antonio Barcelona, eds., 363–401. —. in preparation. On the Pervasive Role of Metonymy in Constructional Meaning and Form and in Discourse Comprehension: A Corpus-Based Study from a Cognitive-Linguistic Perspective (Provisional title.) —. in From “piece of wood” to “high quantity”: On the motivation for the multal quantifier meaning of lot in a lot (of). Hilpert, Martin. 2007. Chained metonymies in lexicon and grammar. A cross-linguistic perspective on body part terms. In: Radden, Günter; Koepcke, Klaus-Michael; Berg, Thomas; Siemund, Peter (eds.), 77-98. Hopper, Paul and Elizabeth Closs Traugott. 2003. Grammaticalization. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press (substantially revised and enlarged second edition). Kövecses, Zoltán & Radden, Günter. 1998. Metonymy: Developing a cognitive linguistic view. Cognitive Linguistics, 9.1, 37-77. Lakoff, George. 1993. The contemporary theory of metaphor. In Ortony, Andrew (ed.), Metaphor and Thought (2nd edition) (202–251). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 2009. Metonymic grammar. In Klaus-Uwe Panther; Linda Thornburg; and Antonio Barcelona, eds., 45–71. —. 2010. A Lot of Quantifiers. In: Rice, Sally and Newman, John (eds.), Empirical and Experimental Methods in Cognitive/Functional Research, 41-57. Stanford: CSLI. 2010. Oxford English Dictionary. 1989-1997. Second edition on CD-ROM, version 4.0 with Additions volumes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Panther, Klaus-Uwe & Linda Thornburg, (eds.). 2003. Metonymy and Pragmatic Inferencing. Amsterdam–Philadelphia: John Benjamins (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series). Panther, Klaus-Uwe; Linda Thornburg; and Antonio Barcelona, eds., Metonymy and Metaphor in Grammar. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Quirk, Randolph, Geoffrey Leech, Sidney Greenbaum and Jan Svartvik. 1985. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman. Radden, Günter. 2000. How metonymic are metaphors? In Barcelona, Antonio (ed.), 93-108.

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Radden, Günter and Zoltán Kövecses.1999. Towards a theory of metonymy. In Klaus-Uwe Panther, and Günter Radden (eds) 1999, 17– 59. Radden, Günter and Klaus-Uwe Panther Radden. 2004. Reflections on motivation. In Günter Radden and Klaus-Uwe Panther (eds.) 2004. Studies in Linguistic Motivation (2–46). Berlin–New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Radden, Günter; Koepcke, Klaus-Michael; Berg, Thomas; Siemund, Peter (eds.). 2007. Aspects of Meaning Construction. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Traugott, Elizabeth Closs and Richard B. Dasher. 2002. Regularity in Semantic Change. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary of the English Language (1978) Second edition. Main editor: Jean L. McKechnie. Publication place not indicated: Collins and World.

Notes 1

The present paper has been supported in part with the financial aid granted by the Spanish government to project FFI2012-36523. 2 As the OED indicates, this sense can itself be extended metaphorically (meaning simply “chance”, not necessarily associated with casting lots or to a similar procedure), as in The only remaining possibility is either the lot, or the decision of some external will. This metaphorical extension is metonymically rooted in the connection between the physical casting of lots and the chance determining the winning lot. 3 Metaphor may also relevant for the use of fall in such expressions as The lot fell on X. This use is probably a reminder of the rite in which the winning lot actually fell out from the vessel where it was placed and shaken. However, this physical lot did not actually have to fall on the winner, because the mark of the latter was already on the lot. So it seems that in the lot fell to X the word lot already has the abstract sense of “choice”, “decision”, and the use of the lexeme fall is probably also motivated by metaphor ([UNFORESEEABLE] EVENTS ARE OBJECTS MOVING TO THE ENTITY AFFECTED): A terrible misfortune came to us / fell on us, etc, perhaps connected to the EVENT STRUCTURE METAPHOR (Lakoff 1993). 4 An apparent problem for this account is that the written registers in the OED for sense 2 are over a hundred years older than senses 1b or 1c. But this does not mean that these senses of the lexeme did not exist earlier—older written evidence for them may not have been collected by the OED, or they may simply have been in oral use long before they were used in writing. On the other hand, senses 1b and 1c are implicit in sense 2 (by lot in “that which is assigned by lot” implies an

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Chapter One

understanding of ‘lot’ in its sense “casting of lots”—1b—, and the notion “that what is assigned” implies understanding ‘lot’ in its sense “result of the casting of lots”—1c). If the role of senses 1b and 1c in the development of sense 2 were not accepted, then the only metonymy linking sense 1a to the relevant part of sense 2 would be INSTRUMENT USED IN A DECISION (the lot cast or drawn in the decision procedure) FOR THE OBJECT OF THE DECISION (the property assigned by the decision). In my view, this metonymic account is less satisfactory than the one proposed above, because it skips a number of plausible conceptual links between sense 1a and sense 2. 5 At http://www.dmoz.org/docs/en/newsletter/2001Sep/buildtaxonomy.html. Last retrieved March 26, 2015. 6 Including count and noncount entities. 7 This metonymy also accounts for the use of the verb to speed to indicate, “going too fast”. The noun speed denotes the neutral scale of velocity, but its conversion into a verb denotes the upper end of the scale, as in Henry is speeding again, paraphrasable by “Henry is going too fast” (Radden and Kövecses 1999, 32). In Spanish, the quantitative partitive expression pedazo de, in one of its colloquial uses, is also subject to semantic intensification on the basis of the same metonymy: Tiene un pedazo de casa, meaning “He has a very big house”. Here the relevant scale is a scale of size. 8 Similarly, the use of the noun lot in plural before partitive of leads to the emergence of the quasi-determiner lots of, whose conceptual motivation in the multal meaning is somewhat different from that of a lot of. A determiner is a type of lexeme whose syntactic function is always that of determinative. A determinative, on the other hand, is a pre-head syntactic element in a noun phrase that provides the “grounding” of the NP with respect to the identification of its referent. In English, this function is performed by determiners or by an embedded genitive NP with certain meanings (see Quirk et al. 1985). 9 This pronominal use is referred to by the OED as the “absolute” use of the noun. 10 Take this dialogue: A. John has a lot of money. B. Peter has a lot, too. As we can see from this example, the quasi-pronoun still often alternates (for the purpose of identifying the reference mass, i.e. the type of the quantified entities) with the quasi-determiner. The quasi-adverb a lot (also emerging from the quasideterminer) does not require the specification of a reference mass, as it results from a metaphorical mapping of QUANTITY onto other scales such as INTENSITY of an action (He’s suffered a lot) or FREQUENCY (He smiles a lot). 11 The historical emergence of the quasi-pronoun, given the dates registered by the OED, seems to have occurred in a period during which the quasi-determiner was not yet fully conventionalized as such, thus leading to the analysis of sequences like a lot of people as instantiations of the structure “a lot + of-NP”. This analysis would be replaced today by many grammarians by “a lot of +NP”, thus recognizing the near-lexical status of a lot of.




CHAPTER TWO ABOUT THE PIDGINIZATION OF MIDDLE ENGLISH: THE ENLIGHTENING RELEVANCE OF DIACHRONIC ANALYSIS FOR EFL STUDIES EULALIO FERNÁNDEZ-SÁNCHEZ Introduction The motivation of this contribution is the cognitivist attempt to give an explanation rather than a description of a psycholinguistic process that millions of people all over the world experience, that of acquiring English as a foreign language. The variety of perspectives and points of view is huge, and the novelty of our contribution will be the diachronic nature of our approach. That is, we will try to look into the history of English so as to make sense of the process by means of which English is learned and acquired as a foreign language nowadays. In more concrete terms, we will focus on the psycholinguistic implications of the simplification experienced by Middle English for second language acquisition processes. So, our goal is to provide diachronic evidence for the psycholinguistic accessibility of English as a foreign language at present. The attempt to connect the diachronically-proved morphosyntactic simplification of a language, on the one hand, and the psycholinguistic process of second language acquisition is not new. Schumann (1974) first pointed out the parallelism between pidginization and second language acquisition processes. According to Schumann’s pidginization hypothesis, a list of linguistic phenomena were proved to be present in both processes, in such an enlightening manner that pidginization was proposed as a model for understanding the early stages in the acquisition of second languages. Two decades later, Tyson (1994) concluded that pidgins, creoles and the interlanguage of foreign language learners shared different degrees of fossilization, so that the insight gained in both areas could be profitable for each other.

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Chapter Two

However, these findings may be specially fruitful when approached from a methodological position devoted to making sense of the internal and mental subprocesses that English as a foreign language learners undergo at the initial stages in their interlanguage, within an epistemological method inspired by the cognitive paradigm known as the BRaIN method. The evidence provided by this interdisciplinary evidence gains a significant relevance under the light of the cognitive paradigm, concerned with an explanation of the psycholinguistic processes involved in the acquisition of foreign languages rather than on the description of these processes.

Theoretical Assumptions Schumann (1974) stated that the pidginization process could be used as a model for early second language acquisition (SLA) and that creolization could serve as a model for the later stages of SLA. Later on, Schumann (1978) concluded that the influence of social and psychological distance could result in the pidgin-like interlanguage of second language learners. So, it is on the basis of this assumption that pidginization can account for early SLA that we pose the thesis of this contribution. First, it is required to provide a clear definition of pidginization. The article by Hsiao-Ping (2007) provides our work with a clear elicitation of this process. This author (Hsiao-Ping 2007, 140) makes reference to Holm (2000, 5), according to whom: a pidgin is a simplified language containing target language lexicon and including features of the speaker’s first language. A pidgin is a reduced language that results from extended contact between groups of people with no language in common; it evolves when they need some means of verbal communication, perhaps for trade, but no group learns the native language of any other group for social reasons that may include lack of trust or close contact. This pidgin, as Holm explains, “is […] stable and has certain norms of meaning, pronunciation and grammar, although there is still variation resulting from the transfer of features the from speakers’ first languages (Hsiao-Ping 2007, 141).

Hsiao-Ping (2007, 141) also mentions Lipsky’s (1994) insight out of his analysis of Afro-Hispanic. According to Lipsky (1994, 97; Hsiao-Ping 2007, 141):

About the Pidginization of Middle English

21

some of the language attributed to Africans was a transparently exaggerated travesty, but in general the features of pidgin language emerge: elimination of verbal conjugation; lack of nominal and adjectival agreement; short, simple sentences; reduction of pronouns to a single set; and considerable phonological simplification tending toward open syllables.

On the other hand, Hsiao-Ping (2017, 141) incorporates the functions that Schumann recognizes in any language: communicative, integrative, and expressive. The author quotes Schumann to explain that: pidgin languages are generally restricted to the first function – communication. That is, their purpose is merely to convey information. Since pidgins are always second languages, the integrative and expressive functions are maintained by the speaker’s native languages. As a result of this functional restriction, pidginization produces an interlanguage, which is simplified in outer form and reduced in inner form (Schumann 1974, 139–140; Hsiao-Ping 2007, 141).

Within our diachronically-evidenced psycholinguistic approach, it could be argued that the three functions referred to by Schumann could be recognized in the evolution of the English language: the communicative and integrative function in the late Middle English period, mainly motivated by the historical and political context, and the expressive function in the early Modern English period. As for the definition of second language processes, our approach introduces the concept of interlanguage, first identified in the early seventies (Selinker 1972).1 This term can be understood in two main ways: both as a process and as the specific periods and stages that L2 learners undergo. Selinker first provided SLA research with a suitable instrument for considering the acquisition of second languages as a continuum consisting of clearly differentiated stages, which has proved to be a fruitful contribution for understanding SLA processes. When SLA is approached as a psycholinguistic process consisting of clearly differentiated stages, whose permeability and evolution depend on the convergence of internal and external aspects, pidginization may become an enlightening construct in order to make sense of the initial interlingual stages. After this theoretical and epistemological analysis, the question immediately arises: how can a diachronic process of pidginization experienced by a linguistic system enlighten the psycholinguistic SLA process undergone by an individual nowadays? The answer is connected with the simplification underlying any process of pidginization (widely acknowledged in Middle English) and the initial interlanguage of L2 learners.

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Chapter Two

Evidence of Linguistic Simplification both in Pidginization and in Interlanguage Although there is not a consensus on the existence of a creole language on English soil during the Middle English period, what undoubtedly existed was a process of simplification that affected most linguistic components.2 According to Danchev (1995, 80), “it would be therefore more appropriate to use the term pidginization rather than creolization when referring to Middle English”. In order to find a reference for the evidence of the simplification experienced by Middle English, we will show the parallelism between the processes detected by Priya Hosali (2000) in her analysis of the so-called butler English and the morphological aspects revealed by Danchev’s (1995) study of Middle English. The evidence of a simplified language provided by Hosali (2000) shows off the lexicological, phonological, morphological and syntactic features that reveal an explicit process of simplification, whose details mostly coincide, in broad terms, with Danchev’s (1995) analysis of the grammatical aspects present in Middle English, creole languages and interlanguage, as shown below: A juxtaposition of the creolization feature in ME (Middle English), CL (Creole Languages) and IL (Learner Interlanguages) ME CL IL 1. Simplified segmental phonology + + + 2. Prevailingly CV (CV) structure + + 3. Lack of (or reduced) noun morphology + + + 4. No (or reduced) gender marking + + + 5. SVO order + + + 6. Morpho-syntactically marked passive + +/7. Preverbal tense, mood and aspect marking + 8. Verbal (and other) serializations ? + ? 9. Verbal periphrases + + + 10. Reduced use of be copulas + +/11. Use of the same verb for possession and + +/existence 12. Non-finite verbal forms + + 13. Relexification + + 14. Lexical circumlocution + + 15. Overall analyticity + + + 16. Prepositions HN RN RN

Table 2-1

About the Pidginization of Middle English

23

According to Danchev’s analysis the linguistic processes which are present both in pidginization and interlanguage processes are the following: Simplified segmental phonology Lack of (reduced) noun morphology No (or reduced) gender marking SVO order Verbal periphrases Use of the same verb for possession and existence Non-finite verbal forms Overall analyticity.

Grammatical Simplicity of Pidginization and Interlanguage Resulting in Psychological Learnability due to Lack of Parameterization The double sense of the term interlanguage proposed by Selinker (1972) allows for a wider interpretation of the simplification inherent in pidginization processes, as a process and a state. This twofold consideration provides researchers with the ability to connect descriptive and explanatory hypotheses. Whereas synchronically oriented approaches into pidginization and interlanguage are mainly descriptive and focused on the description of the systemic state, a diachronically oriented approach into pidginization and interlanguage will be mainly explanatory and focused on the explanation of the individual psycholinguistic process of SLA. It is possible to give a psycholinguistic explanation for individual processes on the basis of the evidence provided by a description of social and systemic linguistic phenomena. The application of the pidginization hypothesis into the evolution of English results in a revision of Schumann’s model. The absence of consensus on pidginization and creolization referred to above may find a way out when revisited in the form of pidginization, fossilization and creolization. The evidence of the evolution of English language proves that the simplified initial stage of pidginization process experienced by the English language during the late Middle English period fossilized into a stable beginning of a creolization process, that is, the initial stage of a parameterization process of nativization, creating a natural language. Thus, the history of English reveals a very peculiar and, let me say, a very peculiar example of creolization occurred in the early Modern

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English period which developed out a fossilized pidginization process that took place in late Middle English. So, English is a language whose morphosyntactic components have a degree of analyticity very similar to the interlanguage generated by second language learners; in both cases parameterization is mostly absent.

Corollaries and Conclusions The convergence of linguistic and descriptive evidence with psycholinguistic and procedural evidence provides us with an enlightening approach that allows researchers on SLA process to give an explanation for the accessibility of English as a foreign language: English, for many different reasons, is a singular example of transformation of an pidginization stage into a systemic element. The simplification inherent in pidginization processes is fossilized in the systemic seed for a subsequent creolization process. The discontinuity of Schumann’s model, when applied to the evolution of the English language, presents English foreign learners with a morphosyntactic system similar to the interlanguage they are likely and naturally expected to develop, resulting, consequently, in a favoured accessibility into the elementary levels of that language.

Works Cited Danchev, Andrei. 1995. “The Middle English Creolization Hypothesis Revisited”. In Studies in Middle English Linguistics, edited by Jacek Fisiak. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 79–108. Ellis, Rod. 1986. Second Language Acquisition and Language Pedagogy. Bristol: The Long Dunn Press. Holm, John. 2000. An Introduction to Pidgins and Creoles. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hosaly, Priya. 2000. Butler English: Form and Function. London: B.R. Publishing Corporation. Hsiao-Ping Hu. 2007. Selected Proceedings of the Third Workshop on Spanish Sociolinguistics. Somerville, MA: Cascadilla Proceedings Project. Krashen, Stephen. 1988. Second Language Acquisition and Second Language Learning. London: Prentice-Hall International. Leganés, Enrique. 2013. Aprovechamiento de la especialización fonetológica en la adquisición de segundas lenguas. Aplicación del

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BRaIN Method. Córdoba: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Córdoba. Lipski, John. 1994. Latin American Spanish. New York: Longman Group. Schumann, John. 1974. New Frontiers in Second Language Learning. Massachusetts: Newbury House Publishers. —. 1976. “Second Language Acquisition: the Pidginization Hypothesis”. Language Learning, 26, 391–408. —. 1978. “The Relationship of Pidginization, Creolization and Decreolization to Second Language Acquisition”. Language Learning, 2, 377–379. Selinker, Larry. 1972. “Interlanguage”. IRAL - International Review of Applied Linguistics in Language Teaching, 10, 209–232. Tyson, Rodney. 1994. “Pidginization, Creolization, Interlanguage, and Language Fossilization”. Arizona Working Papers in Second Language Acquisition and Teaching, 2, 50-59.

Notes 1

Hsiao-Ping makes reference to Ellis (1994) and Krashen (1982) for approaching second language acquisition processes. Whereas Ellis presents this process in a structural way, Krashen provides our field with the terminological tools that have made it possible for future research to review the nature of SLA processes and the elements that play a role in it, such as the distinction between acquired and learned knowledge, the role of input, the existence of a natural sequence of acquisition, the role of learners through their monitoring and, finally, the relevance of affective and emotional aspects. 2 See the article by Danchev “The Middle English Creolization Hypothesis Revisited” in Fisiak, J. (ed.) Studies in Middle English Linguistics, for the details of the debate.

CHAPTER THREE THE GLAMOUR OF GRAMMAR OLGA BLANCO-CARRIÓN

Introduction Although nowadays two well differentiated meanings motivate the existence of the two words “grammar” and “glamour”, this was not the case originally as the meanings coded by them were included under the same lexical entry in dictionaries. This fact constitutes the starting point of the research presented here, whose focus is on unveiling how the realities evoked by two different senses of the word gramarye gained conceptual distance in order to cause the emergence of the word glamour. That is, the general aim of this paper could be paraphrased as an attempt to show the evolution of the meaning(s) conveyed by the original word “gramarye” from the definition(s) provided in etymological dictionaries to the definition(s) provided by contemporary dictionaries. Dictionaries register the different senses of a word but they typically lack detailed information about (i) the prototypicality of one of its senses, and (ii) the contextual information which facilitates the evocation of one of these senses over the rest in the mind of the natural language user. This paper also aims at filling this information gap. For this, etymological and contemporary dictionaries have been used as well as a corpus of texts carefully created ad hoc, ranging from the fifteenth century to the end of the nineteenth century. The fieldwork presented here is theoretically grounded within the field of cognitive linguistics, especially within that of cognitive semantics. For the study of the relationships between the different senses of a word-form1 I follow Brugman and Lakoff’s (2006) approach to lexical networks in their study of the preposition “over”, where they consider the role of cognitive processes such as conceptual metaphor and conceptual metonymy. From a cognitive linguistics perspective, metaphor is a conceptual operation consisting in conceptualizing an abstract domain of experience in terms of another, more physical and better known than the

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abstract one (Lakoff and Johnson 1980). Domains of experience are represented in the mind as concepts given as mental frames; therefore we talk about “conceptual metaphors” (Kövecses et al. 2015). Conceptual metaphors and conceptual metonymies are expressed in capital letters to distinguish them from what is known as linguistic metaphor and linguistic metonymy, i.e. linguistically expressed. For instance, they are going in different directions instantiates a linguistic metaphor and evokes the conceptual metaphor LOVE IS A (COMMON) JOURNEY (used by various linguistic communities). Conceptual metonymy is even more pervasive than conceptual metaphor in our everyday thought and language. It is defined as a conceptual mapping linking two entities within the same conceptual domain (Lakoff and Turner 1989). Although this cognitive operation has been redefined by various authors, for the present purposes the definition provided will suffice. As in the case of conceptual metaphor, there is a distinction between a linguistic metonymy, or linguistic expression of a conceptual metonymy, e.g. I just got a Picasso, and the conceptual metonymy evoked by it, i.e. PRODUCER FOR PRODUCT. The term “lexical network” refers to a net illustrating the way in which the different, but related, senses of a word or linguistic frame are interconnected. In fact, polysemy constitutes one of the main areas of research within the field of cognitive semantics as it constitutes one of the most pervasive language phenomena. The research introduced in this paper may be understood as a study of the polysemy of gramarye (original term for “grammar”) as well as an analysis of the cognitive processes that led to the emergence of the word-form glamour (or glamor) to code one of its senses. This part of the research will be dealt with in the second section. When undertaking the analysis of the meaning of a word, context plays a pivotal role. In fact, from a cognitive linguistics perspective, a word only acquires meaning in its context of use. For example “coffee”, a word typically denoting a physical (or concrete) entity, may actually refer to (or mean) many different things depending on its context of use, such as: • the produce; • the bean; • the liquid obtained from the bean; • a prototypical breakfast drink in Western cultures; • a stimulant drink prototypically taken in periods of time when concentration and productivity are required; • a social gathering to chat while having a drink (not necessarily coffee), e.g. The Spanish expression “quedamos para tomar un café” (let’s meet for a coffee sometime), actually means meeting

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to catch up with the other person or just relax chatting while having a drink; • a break during one’s working hours: coffee-break. As can be observed, a word’s meaning is highly dependent on the context in which it is used. Another issue to be taken into consideration is the notion of “context”, as it is a notion that may mean several things, from the linguistic context, i.e. co-text, to what speaker and hearer share about the communicative act that takes place when they act as interlocutors, or the conceptual and cultural frame in which a word is used. A frame, as defined by Fillmore (1982, 1985), is a cognitive entity evoked in the minds of natural language users when they use a word, e.g. in I bought this dress for ten euros, both speaker and hearer know that the verb “buy” refers to an instance of a commercial event, so the “commercial event” frame is evoked in their minds. The activation of the frame in their minds makes them aware of the existence of other conceptual entities, e.g. “a buyer” and “a location where the commercial transaction took place”, which play a role in the frame even though they may not be mentioned in the utterance. The notion of frame is highly dependent on cognition and cultural practices, therefore, from this perspective 2 , there is no strict division between semantics proper and pragmatics. In sections 3 and 4, I provide a detailed analysis of some passages in which the target words “grammar” and “glamour” are observed in context, understanding this notion in a broad sense.

“Gramarye”: Some Etymological References In this section, the information provided by two etymological references, the Online Etymology Dictionary3 (henceforth OED) and the Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology (henceforth ODEE), is commented on in order to shed some light on the evolution of the meaning of this word. First, I will focus on information provided by the OED for the word gramarye: late 14c., “Latin grammar, rules of Latin,” from Old French gramaire “grammar; learning,” especially Latin and philology, also “(magic) incantation, spells, mumbo-jumbo” (12c., Modern French grammaire), an “irregular semi-popular adoption” [OED] of Latin grammatica “grammar, philology,” perhaps via an unrecorded Medieval Latin form*grammaria. The classical Latin word is from Greek grammatike (tekhne) “(art) of letters,” referring both to philology

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Chapter Three and to literature in the broadest sense, fem. Of grammatikos (adj.) “pertaining to or versed in letters or learning,” from gramma “letter”.

With the above information two lexical networks can be drawn, one illustrating the evolution of the meaning of the word from Greek to its first usage in English and the second illustrating the evolution of the meaning of the word from the fourteenth century onwards. The following lines deal with the evolution of the meaning from the Greek to the English word and the cognitive processes involved in it. From the Greek noun gramma (written letter) originates the Greek adjective grammatikos (pertaining to or versed in letters or learning) via a process of generalizing metonymy, as gramma ceases to mean “written character of a letter” to entertain a broader conceptual unit, i.e. “letter”. The cognitive process involved in this case of meaning change is known as conceptual metonymy, which deals with granting access to a frame via a cognitively salient part of it. In this case, the meaning change from written letter to letter results from the operation of the conceptual metonymy PART FOR WHOLE. In addition to this, this metonymy is an instance of a “generalizing” metonymy, as meaning shifts from a specific referent (written letter) to a more general one (letter). The OED also provides the definition of the Greek grammatike (tekhne) as “(art) of letters, referring both to philology and to literature in the broadest sense”, from which the Latin grammatical, defined as “grammar, philology”, originates. Therefore, the transition from Greek to Latin implies a reduction in the meaning scope of the word, as the Greek included philology and literature whereas the Latin only includes grammar and philology. This reduction in the meaning scope is granted by a “specializing” metonymy. It is a conceptual metonymy because the meaning evokes the same conceptual frame, i.e. that of letters and learning, but unlike the previous case is “specializing” because of the more specific meaning of the Latin word. Then, Old French gramaire inherits this meaning, and finally, “grammar”, first attested in English in the fourteenth century, evokes the learning of Latin only. In addition to this, the OED provides a second sense for this word in English, “grammar, incantation, spells, mumbo-jumbo”, 4 which seems conceptually distant from the first one. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, gramarye acquires the meaning of “a treatise on grammar” (ibid.). The meaning shift from “learning Latin” to “a treatise on grammar” is due to the workings of conceptual metonymy. The frame upon which the metonymy works is that of learning languages. The frame as a whole is accessed via a part of it, a learning tool, i.e. the treatise. Two readings are possible here as the OED

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does not provide information regarding the language dealt with in the treatise. If the treatise was on Latin grammar, the meaning shift would be due to a specializing metonymy, as the meaning of the word evolves from learning Latin (or Latin grammar) to the learning tool, i.e. the treatise. On the other hand, if the treatise was on the grammar of another language, the process involved would be that of generalizing metonymy, as the meaning scope of the word broadens. A possibility could have been that the meaning shift, from learning Latin to a treatise on grammar, provided that the OED referred to the grammar of any language, included an intermediate period of time in which the treatise exclusively referred to Latin grammar. The OED also records that the Middle English word gramarye meant “learning in general, knowledge peculiar to the learned classes, which included astrology and magic”. The italicized part of the definition is highly relevant as it narrows the conceptual distance between senses (1) and (2). This fact establishes a connection with the secondary meaning “occult knowledge” in the late fifteenth century. This connection occurs due to a specializing metonymy, and is lexically recorded in the Scottish form “glamour” (recorded in 1720). Therefore, Scottish encodes the conceptual difference between the two senses of the English word. The recording of a sense under a different spelling contributes to widening the conceptual distance with the other sense as both will now evolve separately, especially when the use of the Scottish variant “glamour” becomes popular.5 In fact, at the beginning of the seventeenth century the sense of glamor as “magical beauty, alluring charm” is already recorded in dictionaries. For instance, in Jamieson’s 1825 supplement to his Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language, the lexical unit glamour-gift is defined as “the power of enchantment” and is metaphorically applied to female fascination. The information provided by the second dictionary used, the ODEE, is similar to the one provided by the OED and summarized in the following lines. Gramarye evokes the notions of grammar or learning in the fourteenth century. It derives from the Old French form gramaire, and its evolution into the meaning of occult learning and magic occurs in the fifteenth century. This dictionary includes a cross-reference to the word “glamour”, of Scottish origin, defined as magic or spell in the eighteenth century, and as magic beauty in the nineteenth century. In addition to this, the ODEE adds information regarding the form with “gl”, which finds its origin in the Medieval Latin word glomeria (“grammar”). The adoption of the Medieval Latin spelling in the Scottish variant is believed to be unrelated to its meaning.

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Finally, both dictionaries provide information regarding the use of this word in two noun-phrases. The ODEE records the “magister glomeriae” as a title of a former official in the University of Cambridge. In fact, Huber et al. (1843) relate the word glomeria to the origin of the University of Cambridge, which seems to have been of monastic character, in which the older grammatical studies (e.g. Latin) were pursued. In Cambridge, they further add (ibid.: 400), the “Glomeria” later became a mere “grammar school”. The OED defines grammar-school (late 14c.) as originally a school for learning Latin, which was begun by memorizing the grammar.

“Grammar” in use A secondary aim of this paper is to show how some collocates, i.e. words or phrases that typically co-occur with a word, motivate the evocation of one of its senses over the other. In this section, I provide examples of the word gramarye, and its variants such as grammere or grammar in context. They are followed by a commentary outlining the most salient aspects of meaning related to the target word, highlighted in italics. The examples are from a corpus created ad hoc containing a selection of texts that are chronologically ordered to check if this sheds some light into the evolution of the meaning of the target word. Most of them are from the eighteenth century onwards but one by Chaucer dated in the fifteenth century. The passages are extracted from two main sources, the Corpus of Modern Scottish Writing (henceforth CMSW) and the Oxford English Dictionary (henceforth OED). The first extract is from the Prioress’s Tale (Chaucer 1478). His fellow, which that elder was than he, Answer'd him thus: “This song, I have heard say, Was maked of our blissful Lady free, Her to salute, and eke her to pray To be our help and succour when we dey. I can no more expound in this mattere: I learne song, I know but small grammere.

In this passage, the Middle English word grammere seems to refer to knowledge about languages or erudition. The fellow who speaks talks about a song devoted to a lady. He says he knows the song but does not know much “grammar”. The word grammere collocates here with knowledge and ability to explain without difficulties.

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The second extract is from “On Wit: The Tale of the Manting Lad” (Ramsay 1721): There’s mettled wit in story-telling, In writing grammar, and right spelling; Wit shines in knowledge of politics, And, wow, what wit’s amang the critics!

In this passage, the narrator talks about wit and argues that there is strong wit in writing grammar. He refers to sense 1 of the word grammar mentioned in section 2. The target word collocates with the verb “write” and with the notion of “wit” which is considered knowledge. He argues that there is extraordinary skill or knowledge in writing grammar. The third example found in CMSW deals with the notion of the grammar school, whose origin was provided by the OED in the previous section, and also extracted from Huber et al. (1843), who elaborated on the notion of “magister glomeriae”, spelt “Master of a Grammar school” in the text below. This extract belongs to a document titled “Answers in the David Woodburn case” (1769): “The proceedings of a Master of a Grammar school within the sphere of his authority are not surely less reviewable than those of the preceptors of a College.” Grammar here collocates with proceedings, authority, and preceptors of a college, all of them evoking the frame of the Academia. Passages 4–7 extracted from The Lay of the Last Minstrel (Scott 1805) illustrate the second sense of the word gramarye, as outlined in the previous section. He took him to Lord David’s tower, Even to the Ladye’s secret bower; And, but that stronger spells were spread, And the door might not be opened, He had laid him on her very bed. Whate'er he did of gramarye Was always done maliciously;6 He flung the warrior on the ground, And the blood well’d freshly from the wound. (Canto Third stanza XI, lines 9–17)

In this part of the Canto, the wounded William after a battle with Cranstoun is taken to Branksome. It is important to mention that in the storyline Gylpin learns a spell from the Book, but it is a spell of illusion. Lines 3 and 4 evoke the frame of Magic/Witchcraft by the mentioning of prototypical actions such as “spells”, and their effects “opening doors”.

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Therefore, the sense of the word gramarye evoked here is the second one mentioned earlier i.e. magic, incantation, spells. The word gramarye also collocates in this passage with the verb do and the adverb maliciously, which contribute to the evocation of the frame of Magic/Witchcraft and clearly evoke the notion of evil mentioned in footnote 6. Full sore amaz’d at the wondrous change, And frighten’d, as a child might be, At the wild yell and visage strange, And the dark words of gramarye, The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lily flower. (Canto Third, stanza XIV)

The stanza begins with the introduction of the intense emotions of amazement and fear to later present the cause of those emotions as the ground of the predication by means of the preposition “at” (e.g. At the wild yell and visage strange, And the dark words of gramarye, lines 3–4). The causes are the “wondrous change”, “wild yell”, “visage strange” and “the dark words of gramarye”. As can be observed, the notion of “evil” is evoked by the adjectives “wild” and “dark”. The stanzas closes by elaborating on the emotions metonymically, via the most commonly used metonymy for emotions PHYSIOLOGICAL EFFECT OF EMOTION FOR EMOTION. In this case, immobility for fear, e.g. The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lily flower (lines 5–6). The word gramarye (line 4 above) collocates with the concept of darkness (e.g. dark) and the idea of spell (e.g. words), which evoke the frame of Witchcraft. Therefore, the “dark words of gramarye” refers to the utterance of a spell. In fact, the LIGHT/DARKNESS dualism is recorded in the cognitive linguistics repertoire of conceptual metaphors as LIGHT IS 7 GOOD, DARKNESS IS BAD (Lakoff and Johnson 1980). 1 All as they left the listed plain 2 Much of the story she did gain (…) 7 That morn, by help of gramarye; (…) 13 Car'd not the Ladye to betray 14 Her mystic arts in view of day; 15 But well she thought, ere midnight came. (Canto Fifth, stanza XXVII)

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In the passage above only the relevant lines are reproduced and numbered accordingly for ease of reference. Gramarye (line 7) helps the character accomplish his mission “by help of gramarye”. The stanza contains elements of the frame of Magic-Witchcraft such as “mystic arts” (line 14) and the arrival of “midnight” (line 15) as a contributor to the performing of those arts, which cannot be performed “in view of day” (line 14). The connection of the night (or midnight) to evil practices is probably related to the fact that human beings are designed to rest during the night and their perceptual system is not conditioned to function properly in the dark, therefore evil things can be done without being controlled. In addition to this, the concept of “evil” so closely connected to the aforementioned frame is evoked by the word “betray”. Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, To which the wizard led the gallant Knight, Save that before a mirror, huge and high, A hallow'd taper shed a glimmering light On mystic implements of magic might; On cross, and character, and talisman, And almagest, and altar, nothing bright (…) (Canto Sixth, stanza XVII)

In this passage, the frame of Magic/Witchcraft is evoked by words such as “wizard”, and the mentioning of other mystic elements such as a cross, a character, a talisman, an almagest and an altar (lines 4–7). “Dark room” evokes a typical scenario where magic is performed (Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, line 1). Other words evoke the supernatural or create effects of mystery or uncertainty about the unknown, such as “a mirror huge and high” that contributes to meaning with the idea of powerlessness on may experience in front of such a scenario; or the “glimmering light” of the hallow’d taper, which contributes to the idea of mystery or uncertainty. Interestingly, Scott (ibid.) also uses the Scottish variant glamour in the noun-phrase “glamour-might”. The following passage is from Canto Third, stanza IX, (lines 17–18). A moment then the volume spread, And one short spell therein he read: It had much of glamour might; Could make a ladye seem a knight; The cobwebs on a dungeon wall Seem tapestry in lordly hall; A nut-shell seem a gilded barge,

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Chapter Three A sheeling seem a palace large, And youth seem age, and age seem youth: All was delusion, nought was truth.

In this passage, the author refers to the glamour might, i.e. power of enchantment8 contained in a spell from the volume. Lines 3–9 elaborate on the power of enchantment by providing examples of possible illusions. The concluding line attests the meaning of glamour as deceptio visus by acknowledging that all was delusion and nothing real. The next example is from a Bishop Percy Folio manuscript (Percy 1867–68), ii. 604 and 606. My mother was a westerne woman, And learned in gramarye, And when I learned at the schole, u.j Something shee taught itt mec.

This passage illustrates collocation of the variant gramarye with the learning and teaching of knowledge that can be acquired at school. It refers to the first meaning illustrated by the OED in the previous section. In this section, nine passages containing variants of the modern English word grammar, such as grammere, grammar, gramarye, and glamour have been commented on. The variants that collocate with lexical items such as “know” (e.g. know small grammere”), “write” (e.g. writing grammar) and “school” (e.g. Master of a Grammar school) refer to the first sense related to knowledge of languages, letters, erudition outlined in the previous section. These lexico-grammatical collocates are further supported by what I call contextual collocations, which refer to frames evoked by other words in the text, such as that of learning, knowledge, wit or college education. They correspond to the extracts from the Prioress’s Tale (Chaucer 1478), “On Wit: The Tale of the Manting Lad” (Ramsay 1721), and a prose example also from the eighteenth century. That is, the first one is from the fifteenth century and the other two from the eighteenth century. The variants gramarye and glamour, however, from The Lay of the Last Minstrel (Scott 1805) illustrate the second sense related to magic, enchantment, spells outlined in the previous section. Although the dictionaries consulted for the previous section highlighted that Scott popularized the used of glamour, in the passages selected here the author uses both word-forms, i.e. gramarye and glamour, in the same work. Despite the fact that both refer to the second sense, as mentioned above, and at first glance they may appear to be synonyms, a careful analysis of their collocates seems to point in a different direction. On the

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one hand, gramarye seems to be understood by Scott as the knowledge behind the actual performance of magic. The collocations found for the word-form gramarye are: the dark words of gramarye frightened someone; by help of gramarye, her mystic arts cannot be shown in the day but must wait for midnight to arrive, the dark room of gramarye, the mystic implements of magic might. Gramarye in these contexts evokes the frame of knowledge or skill in magic. On the other hand, the instance in which the word-form glamour appears mentions a book having much of glamour might. In this sense, glamour could be proposed to be a synonym of the “magic might”, as Jamieson’s Dictionary of Scottish Language records, the power of enchantment that someone skilled in gramarye can perform. A possible parallelism to understand this case lies in the difference in meaning between “competence” and “performance”, i.e. between possession of a skill and the potential to use it. However, metonymy, being one of the most pervasive cognitive tools used, may lead us to confusing grounds when trying to establish a clear division between both concepts, as the author might use gramarye to mean performance in the appropriate context.

“Glamour” in use In this section, examples of the variant glamour (or its variant glamer) are analysed in context. In the following lines, fifteen passages containing the target word are reproduced and commented on. They are extracted from two main sources, the Corpus of Modern Scottish Writing and the Oxford English Dictionary. They have been arranged in chronological order—despite their relative proximity in time—in case this ordering could shed some light on meaning change or on the relevance of the collocates. As mentioned in the previous section, although the meaning of “occult learning” for the word-form gramarye is evident in the fifteenth century it is not until the beginning of the eighteenth century that the Scottish variant glamour emerges. Therefore, the instances found in the corpus range chronologically from the first attested instances of the word (1720s) to its contemporary use (1940s). The word in each passage is highlighted in italics. The first example, extracted from the CMSW, is from Poems (Ramsay 1721):

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Chapter Three Like Belzie when he nicks a Witch, Wha ſells her Saul ſhe may be rich; He finding this the Bait to damn her, Caſts o’er her Een his cheating Glamour: She ſigns and ſeals, and he affords Her Heaps of viſionary Hoords; But when ſhe comes to count the Cunzie, ’Tis a’ Sklate-ſtanes inſtead of Money.

In this poem, glamour is presented as a force “cast by someone over sb.” [Caſts o’er her Een his cheating Glamour, line 4]. In other words, the experiencer of the force does not have control over it, i.e. she has no choice but to experience it. It is shared knowledge that when one is subject to external control one feels bad. The notion of “control” is in the essence of the cognitive domains of Agency and Possession. This apparently human need to control is also reflected in the orientational conceptual metaphors HAVING CONTROL OR FORCE IS UP and BEING SUBJECT TO CONTROL OR FORCE IS DOWN. These conceptual metaphors illustrate what Lakoff and Johnson call “embodied cognition”, i.e. the fact that we think they way we do because we have a human mind in a human body, which constrain our mode of conceptualization. The orientational metaphors above have the following physiological basis: physical size typically correlates with strength and the victor in a fight is usually on top. This leads us to the conceptual metaphors HAVING CONTROL OR FORCE IS GOOD and BEING SUBJECT TO CONTROL OR FORCE IS BAD. These arise from a combination of the first pair of conceptual metaphors and the metaphors GOOD IS UP and BAD IS DOWN, whose physical basis is one’s body posture (erect or up) when one is healthy, happy, has control over things, etc. Returning to the co-text, the target word is negatively characterized by the adjective “cheating”, i.e. glamour is a force may lead one to an undesirable outcome. In addition to this, there are other concepts in the stanza bearing negativity, e.g. witch [(...) he nicks a Witch, line 1]; damn sb. [he finding this the Bait to damn her, line 3]. The notion of “occult skill or secret knowledge” is also present in the poem [Her Heaps of viſionary Hoords, line 6]. The stanza also contains the idea of “illusion”. The male character in the poem thinks she is rich (line 2) whereas what she really has is stone pieces instead of money (line 8). Basically speaking, the content of this paragraph as a whole is coherent with the concept of the word “glamour”. The second example comes from The Scots Musical Museum, a sixvolume publication that collects the traditional music of Scotland. The song reproduced here, titled “Johny Faa, or the Gypsie laddie”, is collected

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in Volume II, page 189. The six volumes were published between 1787 and 1803. It should be pointed out that Robert Burns9 contributed to the publication with more than 200 songs and participated in the editorial work. The gypsies came to our Lord’s yett, And vow but they sang sweetly; The sang sae sweet, and sae compleat, That down came the fair lady. When she came tripping down the stair, And a’ her maids before her; As soon as they saw her weel fair’d face, They coost the glamer o’er her. (‘Yett’ is the word for the outer gate of a keep door which is made of iron bars.)

In this passage we find the collocation “coost the glamer o’er her” (cast the glamour over her). Glamer is a variant of glamour. In the text, the target word collocates contextually with the gypsies. Actually, as can be observed throughout the paper, this is a very common contextual collocate of the word glamour and the notion of “cheating”, although not evoked by a single lexical item as in the first passage in this section, is present in the fact that the gypsies sang so sweetly that the lady trusted them and when she came down they cast the glamour over her. Glamour is a force cast over a “victim” by a controller or agent (the gypsies in this passage). The third example, found in the OED, corresponds to the fourth stanza of the poem “Captain Grose’s Peregrin” (Burns 1789): Ilk ghaist that haunts auldha’or chaumer Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, And you deep read in hell’s black grammar Warlocks and witches Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, Ye midnight bitches.

The stanza starts by making reference to a ghost that haunts a castle or chamber to then derogatively address the gypsy community as one that deceives and ends addressing warlocks and witches as those illustrated in black magic. As can be observed, the two word forms, e.g. glamor and grammar, appear in this stanza. Although they are conceptually close, as both are instances of the second sense mentioned above, i.e. the sense of magic, enchantment, there are, however, some differences. For example, the semantic frame evoked by glamor is that of enchantment or illusion

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whereas the frame evoked by grammar, especially as it appears in the text, i.e. collocating with the adjective “black”, is that of witchcraft, especially in connection to the use of powers or knowledge possessed only by a few for evil purposes. This frame is also evoked by other lexical units in the stanza, e.g. warlock, witches, conjuring. In line six the author mentions a “conjuring hammer”, this noun-phrase not only evokes the frame witchcraft, as already mentioned, but also evokes rhythm, which is probably connected to the typical rhythmical chants, and maybe movements, of the warlock and witches when performing their rituals. The connection of black grammar and the frame of witchcraft to the night [Ye midnight bitches, line 6] is no coincidence. The fourth passage, extracted from the OED, corresponds to a fragment of Letters on Demonology (Scott 1830). This species of Witchcraft is well known in Scotland as the glamour, or deceptio visus, and was supposed to be a special attribute of the race of Gipsies.

In this extract the author provides the definition of glamour as a type of witchcraft typical of the race of gypsies. He also mentions the Scottish origin of the word acknowledging there is a variant in English. In Spanish there are also words connected to the skilful grace of flamenco dancers such as “embrujo” that evokes the witchcraft frame, and “duende” which, although literally means “goblin”, connects to the notion of unknown or supernatural force. In the following passages, we shall see that from the second half of the nineteenth century, glamour is no longer related to witchcraft or the gypsies but to passion, entities or people that are not necessarily evil. The fifth passage extracted from the CMSW is from Selections from her Manuscripts by Lady Louisa Stuart (1866): She must at first have been persuaded, or deluded, or bewitched, into a contrary belief, before any familiar acquaintance could take place. The glamour cast, the flame kindled, passion came and effectually sealed down her eyes.

In this passage, we find the word “glamour” within the expression “The glamour cast”. This seems to be a very frequent collocation. From a cognitive linguistics perspective, the concept evoked by “glamour”, i.e. magical force which hinders one’s ability to behave according his/her free will, is presented as the figure of the predication, i.e. it is profiled in communicative terms whereas the ground of the predication, i.e. the agent

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who “casts” glamour over her, is omitted. The passage as a whole highlights the loss of control experienced by her as the affected participant of the predication (e.g. she is persuaded, deluded, bewitched, into a contrary belief). The frame “witchcraft” in which the expression “cast the glamour” is conceptually embedded is evoked by the predicate “bewitched” and reinforced by the complement “into a contrary belief” following this predicate. The word “contrary” clearly indicates she is not acting according to her reason. She appears as a victim of the magic force instilled in her, a victim of “passion”. The episode culminates with her sealing down her eyes. Here, “eyes” are metaphorically understood as reason, as vision is said to be the most relied upon sense. Since she is unable to “see”, she is unable to behave according to reason, i.e. she loses control of her free will. Actually, this seems to be a highly salient communicative figure. The following four instances contain the expressions “cast a glamour over sb.” and “throw a glamour over somebody” that highlight the loss of control of the undergoer of the spell. The sixth passage, extracted from the CMSW, is from Lion chapter and intro from Livingston’s “Missionary Travels” (Livingston 1866): I asked them afterwards the cause of their weeping—they were crying “to see”, as the Scotch remark over a case of suicide, their father so far left to himself”. They seemed to think I had thrown the glamour over him and he had become mine.

This passage is an instance in which we no longer see the collocation of “glamour” with a controller related to the world of witchcraft or the gypsy community. The target word collocates with “throw”, a verb with a more salient visual force than “cast” as it is more closely connected to the physical world. The effect of someone’s acting against her own will is present in “he had become mine”. With regard to collocational context, it should be pointed out that the context is negative as can be appreciated in “their weeping—they were crying ‘to see’, as the Scotch remark over a case of suicide, the father so far left to himself”. The lexical items “weeping”, the context which the author provides as an example “over a case of suicide” linked to the clause “he had become mine” contribute to the negative perception of the effect of a glamour thrown over someone. The seventh passage, extracted from the CMSW, is from David Elginbrod (Macdonald 1871): She’s a sly puss, with her shy airs and graces. Her father’s jist daft wi’ conceit o’ her, an’ it’s no to be surprised if she cast a glamour ower you. Mr. Sutherland, ye’re but young yet.

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In this extract, it is no longer a witch or a gypsy but a shy-aired graceful lady that casts the glamour over a man. However, the notion of deceit is evoked by the adjective “sly” in “She’s a sly puss”, as it means that she is a clever lady who can benefit from the man because of his innocence, evoked by the adjective “young” in the clause “ye’re but young yet”. The eighth passage, from the CMSW, is an extract of Bards of Galloway (Harper 1889): If ocht o’ heaven is felt below, ’Tis what the heart, responsive, learns ’Mid true affection’s kin’ly flow At hame amang the guileless bairns. Maist outside joys hae feckless power — They often dee when at the birth, But Eden throws its glamour ower The bairnies at my cheery hearth.

This passage deals with the fact that most outside joys pale when compared to the joy caused from one’s offspring. Eden is said to throw its glamour over the children at someone’s happy heart. Here we have a special construction as the affected entity, marked by the preposition “at”, is no longer the person over whom glamour is thrown but the person perceiving the glamour. This person is different from the controller, in this case Eden. The father or mother is actually enjoying the “glamorous” children thanks to Eden’s doing. The notion of having “no control” pervades the children, who have no choice but to be glamorous. In this passage the use of the word “glamour” is in a extremely positive context and no longer related to the negativity that collocated with it previous passages). The ninth passage, from the CMSW, is an extract from The Master of Ballantrae: A Winter’s Tale (Stevenson 1889): There was no inhibition, so long as the man was in the house, that would be strong enough to hold these two apart; for if it be hard to charm serpents, it is no very difficult thing to cast a glamour on a little chip of manhood not very long in breeches.

Glamour in this passage is said to be an easy thing to cast given the fact that there is superiority on the part of the controller (not explicitly mentioned) as the affected participant is socially inferior in terms of intelligence (not very long in breeches).

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In the next three examples, the force is depicted as something that not only does impair one’s acting or one’s free will, but as a captivating, seducing force, related to the effect real or mythological entities may have on the experiencer, e.g. a mermaid, one’s recollections, a woman. In the first two examples, “glamour” is described as an attractive force; in the case of the mermaid’s glamour it is a “lilting” glamour. Here “lilting” probably refers to the pleasant cadence of the mermaid’s singing. In the second case, it is memory that spreads a “sweet” glamour, i.e. the recollections of some particular event that captivates one’s attention impairing one’s thinking about “the here and now”. In the third example, it is a woman who “cuists (casts) the glamour over the poet”, the collocation of the concept evoked by glamour and the effect of female seduction over a male is already present in the 1871 example. The tenth passage, from the CMSW, is an extract from Bards of Galloway (Harper 1889): Sit down i’ the gloaming dewfall on the green merse side amang the flowers; and if a pair of lilie arms, and twa kissing lips and witching een, forbye the sweet music of a honey-dropping tongue, winna gaur ye believe in the lilting glamour of the mermaid, ye may gang back to England singing ‘Praise be blest!’

In this text, we have another extraordinarily positive context. The word “glamour” collocates here with the description of an idyllic place where there is wild nature (“gloaming dewfall on the green merse side amang the flowers”), romance (“a pair of lilie arms, and twa kissing lips”), pleasant music (“sweet music of a honey-dropping tongue”) and the charm of a mermaid (“the lilting glamour of the mermaid”). The text is an invitation to sit down and enjoy the experience unfolded in the narrative. This positivity leaking from this text clearly distinguishes it from previous instances of the word “glamour”. It seems that the concept evoked by glamour tends to be positively regarded at the end of the nineteenth century. The eleventh passage, from the same corpus, is an extract from “Wi’ The Piper” in Taylor (1893): I felt na the roads, an’ I saw na the nicht, But I seemed in the glow of a glad sunny licht; For memory had spread a sweet glamour owre a’, Frae the auld heather hills that are far, far awa’.

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The tendency observed in the previous passage prevails in this one as well. The context is positive. However the cause/agent of causing the glamour to spread is not an animate but “memory”. Glamour here is “sweet”, which means the recollections brought up by memory are pleasant, and the affected participants are in a mental space of positivity. Using the passage’s words, the effect of glamour is the experience of being “in the glow of a glad sunny light”. The twelfth passage, from the same corpus, is an extract from “The Flower O’Dunblane” in Lewis (1893): And many a bonnie lass whose name chanced to be the same with that in the song has been in her time the suppositious heroine of it, and got the blame of having “cuist the glamour” over the poet.

This passage only adds the fact that it is a nice girl (“bonnie lass”) whose name coincided with that of a heroine in a song the one responsible of having cast the glamour over the poet. Here we can observe how the concept evoked by “glamour” evolves to mean female enchantment. It is connected to the idea of romanticism or romantic bewilderment. The next passage, from the CMSW, is an extract from Annals of a Publishing House: William Blackwood and His Sons: Their Magazine and Friends (Ch. 2: The Tales of my landlord) (Oliphant 1897): Probably ruin would never have overtaken Sir Walter had he been in the steady and careful hands of Murray and Blackwood, for it is unlikely that even the glamour of the great Magician would have turned heads so reasonable and sober.

In this example of the late nineteenth century “glamour” evokes its unequivocal sense as a force that causes someone to act according to someone else’s wishes, or under someone else’s spell. In this case, the property is attributed to the world of magic evoked by the NP “the great Magician”. The pragmatic inferences that can be drawn from the passage in which this concept appears is that glamour evokes a strong force which impairs one’s free will; this can be especially observed in “it is unlikely that “even” the glamour of the great Magician would have turned heads so reasonable and sober”. Like in previous instances in which “glamour” evoked a force that made somebody act against one’s free will and was connected to the world of magic, here the word collocates with Magician and in this sense bears some resemblance to those previous cases, but unlike them Magician collocates with “great” and it is not considered an

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evil being. This example is similar to the one in the fifth passage (e.g. “bewitched into a contrary belief”). The fourteenth passage is from the same text but from chapter 3 titled “The magazine”: John Murray’s pocket book with the thousand-pound note in it cast a glamour over the productions of the humblest author, and why Messrs Cleghorn and Pringle should not be as worthy of recompense as Francis Jeffrey and Henry Brougham was a fact hid from these gentlemen’s eyes.

This example is similar to the seventh one in terms of conceptual collocation of the easiness to cast glamour over a social inferior in this case because of his/her being less experienced (or humblest). The expression “cast a glamour over sb.” used with non-human participants. However, both figure “John Murray’s pocket book” and ground “the productions of the humblest author” are linguistic expressions of the following conceptual metonymy WORK FOR AUTHOR, which is an instance of the more general metonymy PRODUCER FOR PRODUCT. The fact that the use of this conceptual metonymy is possible may be taken to be an indication of the degree of conceptual integration of the concept of “glamour” in the expression “to cast the glamour”. The fifteenth passage from the OED corpus is an extract from Usage & Abusage (Partridge 1947): A girl or a gigolo may possess glamour: and it makes no matter whether the girl is glamorous in her own right or by the catch-guinea arts of her dressmaker or her cinematographic producer.

This twentieth century example provides a definition the word glamour as a property which may be inherent in the person—female or even male—or intentionally created by the arts of a dressmaker or stylist. Thus, glamour is an internal or external attribute of a person. The OED definition defines the property of a person as a possession, the conceptual metaphor PROPERTIES OF A PERSON ARE HIS/HER POSSESSIONS. There is also the acknowledgement that this property may be inherent in the person, arise from some other external cause, or imposed by the observer. In the case of the movie production, the producer functions as the eye that highlights the features of the character to create glamour as an effect. This is a rather contemporary example not only because of its date but also because of connecting the meaning of “glamour” to the world of movie productions. However, nowadays the meaning of “glamour” seems more related to one’s living style and dressing habits than to an actual inherent

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feature of the possessor. It is not only a positive, but also an overrated, value in society as it “belongs” only to a privileged minority. In this section, fifteen passages containing the word glamour or its variants glamor, grammar have been commented on. The chronological ordering contributed to the realization that not only the meaning of the word but its collocates, both lexico-grammatical and contextual, evolved from the first examples (eighteenth century) to its contemporary use (twentieth century). In statistical terms, the most frequent lexicogrammatical collocation is “cast glamour over someone”. It occurs in seven of the examples. This collocation, however, occurs from the eighteenth century examples to the end of the nineteenth century ones, in my corpus. Nevertheless, context, understood in a broader sense, changes considerably. For example, in the eighteenth century examples the glamour is cast by a being with evil purposes (e.g. “cheating” glamour, passage 1), be it a witch or a gypsy. In them, we do have contextual collocates such as bewitched into a contrary belief (passage, passion sealed down her eyes (passage 5), he had become mine (passage 6). However, this aspect still occurs in the fourteenth example (end of nineteenth century) in which “pocket-book with the thousand pound note in it cast a glamour over the productions of the humblest author”. The notion of evil (or not straight) purposes is typically connected to the aim of a social superior benefitting from a social inferior, whatever the reason for inferiority is: age (ye’re but young yet, passage 7), lack of experience (e.g. humblest author, passage 14), lack of moral strength, inferior intelligence (manhood not very long in breeches, passage 9). The basic meaning of the word “glamour” as an external force leading one to act against one’s will, or causing admiration, momentarily depriving him/her of logical reasoning, is a constant from the origin of the word to its current use. However, it seems that from the twentieth century onwards, “glamour” is referred to as a personal possession, i.e. we do talk of someone’s glamour or someone’s having glamour, while examples corresponding to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries focused mainly on the effects of glamour on others (the recipients of this “force”). So when using the word glamour, the figure of the communicative exchange shifted from being the recipient of the force or “victim” to being the possessor or “controller” of the force. Although some exceptions have been found, for example in the case of definitions (passage 4) where “glamour” is claimed to be “a special attribute of the race of Gipsies”. Actually, the possessor of glamour, or the controller of the force cast or thrown over others, also experiences a change. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries it is an evil being (a witch, a gypsy or someone with

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evil purposes, e.g. passages 1–7) to being an “adorable” being/entity at the end of the nineteenth century and twentieth century (e.g. Eden throws its glamour over, passage 8; lilting glamour of the mermaid, passage 10; memory had spread a sweet glamour, passage 11; a bonnie lass (...) cuist the glamour over the poet, passage 12). This realization leads to the observation that the word “glamour” itself seems to have undergone this meaning change from being a negative quality to being a positive, even overrated, one.

Conclusions In this section the most salient corpus findings for both word-forms gramarye and glamour are summarized. Regarding the original word gramarye one can conclude that extracts which range chronologically from Chaucer’s Prioress’ Tale (1478) to Percy Folio MS (1867–8), (passages 1–3 and 9 above), evoke the first sense of the word provided in the etymological dictionaries consulted, i.e. knowledge of languages, erudition. Passages 4–7 above from Scott’s The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805) evoke the second sense, i.e. magic, incantation, spells. This fact evidences gramayre was a polysemous word at least from the beginning of the seventeenth century. In addition to this and, as recorded in Jamieson’s Dictionary of Scottish Language, Scott uses the variant glamour in the same work within the noun-phrase glamour might, defined by this reference as the “power of enchantment”. The passage containing this complex noun phrase is included in section 3, devoted to the word-form gramarye, for two main reasons: (1) to illustrate that Scott uses of both word-forms with the same meaning in the same work, although gramarye is found far more often and as a noun, not as an adjective; and (2) to establish a comparison between that complex noun-phrase and magic might also used by Scott in the same work (passage 7, line 5, Canto Third, stanza IX), and which could be considered a synonym of glamour might (passage 8, line 3; Canto Sixth, stanza XVII). However, Jamieson’s Dictionary of Scottish Language does not provide any information about “magic might”. Interestingly, in Letters on Demonology (1830), Scott provides a definition for glamour as a species of Witchcraft performed by the gypsies, also known as deceptio visus (passage 4, above). The notion of deception visus is explicitly referred to in my corpus in passage 8: It had much of glamour might; could make a ladye seem a knight; The cobwebs on a dungeon wall seem tapestry in lordly hall; A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, A sheeling seem a palace large, And youth seem age, and

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age seem youth: All was delusion, nought was truth; and Section 4, passages: 1 (cheating glamour), 2 (they sang so sweet (...) that down came the fair lady) and 5 (e.g. passion came and effectually sealed down her eyes). The fifteen passages instantiating the word-form glamour in context in the previous section shed light on the following issues. From the eighteenth to the beginning of the nineteenth century this word is connected to the gypsy race and the frame of Witchcraft. Probably due to the popularity obtained by the word in the writings of Scott, it starts being more frequently used in narrative, as its use had been more frequent in poetry until then. In the second half of the nineteenth century, though, two main changes are appreciated. On the one hand, the meaning of glamour is still negative but the focus of communication seems to change from the agent of the Witchcraft doings to the patient or effects experienced by him/her, e.g. passion (...) sealed down her eyes (passage 5); he had become mine (passage 6). On the other, a shift in meaning from negative to positive takes place. The word, then, collocates in contexts with Eden, joy from one’s children, great Magicians, mermaids and appears in expressions such as sweet glamour. Although still connected to the supernatural world, it starts being used in writings with a more neutral, descriptive tone. I hypothesize the reason for the neutral tone resides in the meaning shift from negative to positive and to the fact that the word glamour already incorporated the positive connotation as part of its meaning. It also starts appearing in contexts dealing with female seduction of men. Towards the end of the nineteenth century glamour no longer evokes the frame of Witchcraft as it starts getting closer to its contemporary meaning evoking the frame seduction/attraction instead.

Works Cited Brugman, Claudia and George Lakoff. 2006. Radial network. “Cognitive topology and lexical networks”. In Cognitive Linguistics: Basic Readings, edited by D. Geeraerts. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Forceville, Charles & Thijs Renckens. 2013. “The GOOD IS LIGHT and BAD IS DARK: Metaphor in feature films”. Metaphor and the Social World. Vol. 3. N. 2, 160-179. Huber, Victor Aimé & Francis William Newman. 1843. The British Universities from the German of V. A. Huber. Vol. 1. London: William Pickering.

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Jamieson’s Dictionary of Scottish Language. 1867. Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo. Kövecses, Zoltán et al. 2015. “Anger Metaphors across Languages: A Cognitive Perspective”. In “Bilingual Figurative Processing”, edited by Heredia, R. & A. B. Cieslicka. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lakoff, George & Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors we live by. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George & Mark Turner. 1989. More than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George & Mark Johnson. 1999. Philosophy In The Flesh: the Embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought. Basic Books. Tuggy, David. 2006. “Schematic Network. Ambiguity, polysemy, and vagueness”. In Cognitive Linguistics: Basic Readings, edited by D. Geeraerts. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. The Online Etymology Dictionary. Retrieved from: www.etymonline.com The Oxford English Dictionary (1989). Volume VI.

Notes 1

With the term “word-form” I refer to the written form of a word to distinguish it from “word” which will be used to make reference to a word in context, i.e. a form-meaning pairing. 2 Actually, within the cognitive linguistics perspective semantics and pragmatics are considered to form a continuum, making frame semantics not just a methodology of analysis into the meaning of words but also a semantics of text understanding. 3 Available at www.etymonline.com 4 It is worth mentioning that the dictionary traces the first known use of “mumbojumbo” to 1738, being a worshipped idol among Mandingo peoples of western Africa, and states that the second sense, “big, empty talk”, is first attested in 1896. This word seems to have entered the English language via the conceptual metonymy MEMBER OF CATEGORY (e.g. the idol of Mandingo culture or the behavior typically observed in the worshipping of this idol) FOR CATEGORY (e.g. a similar type of behaviour). 5 The OED states that the writings of Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832) granted popularity to the use of the variant “glamour”. This can be observed in the passages by this author quoted in this chapter. 6 Huber et al. (1843) state that although witchcraft is a complex concept that varies culturally, historically speaking it comes from the Old Testament, where in the conflict between good and evil witchcraft was generally evil.

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Forceville and Renckens (2013) argue that the correlation between LIGHT and and DARK and BAD pervades not only language, but also visual art. The Art historian Arnheim, quoted in Forceville and Renckens (ibid.), believes this correlation probably goes as far back as the history of man. He further adds (1969: 313) “Day and night become the visual image of the conflict between good and evil”. 8 Jamieson’s Dictionary of Scottish Language. 9 He wrote poems containing this word such as Captain Grose’s Peregrin, from which I have used an extract for the third example. GOOD

PART II:

THE FIRST MEDIEVAL ENGLISH POEM REVISITED

CHAPTER FOUR SUTTON HOO AND THE IMPORTANCE OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL METHODS FOR REDISCOVERING THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD MARTA ROJANO-SIMÓN

Introduction Sutton Hoo is an archaeological site (originally a burial ground) located on the right side of the Deben River, in Suffolk, England. Sutton Hoo is considered as one of England’s most significant archaeological sites. Nonetheless, its seminal importance is not related to its dimensions or the richness of the objects that were found in its soil. The real importance of this discovery can only be fully appreciated if we take into consideration the fact that it is indeed one of the very few material witnesses of the Anglo-Saxon occupation of the English territory. The area of study consists of 225 acres (103 hectares), from the shore of the Deben River to the East (52° 5′ 21.55″ N, 1° 20′ 18.31″ E). No superficial material objects have been found, but the area is scattered with ground bumps of different sizes. The biggest among these ground promontories is a mound of vast dimensions that is composed of 20 smaller mounds. The archaeological work conducted at Sutton Hoo in the twentieth century, which will be discussed in more detail below, revealed an interesting stratigraphic sequence that has been studied by researchers who have operated on the site using diverse methods and from several critical perspectives. The archaeological work performed at Sutton Hoo by the research team led by Dr Martin Carver in the 80s revealed that the area was occupied as a settlement during the Late Neolithic and Bronze Age. However, these bulges actually hide pagan burial grounds. Taking into account the richness of the garments and the other grave goods found at the place, it became clear that the grave belonged to a member of the upper class, probably a warrior among a group of Angles that landed on

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the southeast coast of the British Isles from the sixth century on (Care, 13). The researchers who first studied the burial place also identified a lack of material remains from the Roman occupation of the area. Nevertheless, even if it is true the Romans did not occupy this particular area, an overlapping relationship between the two cultures was found. Thus, it is clear that the two cultures left their mark on the grave goods from some of the promontories of land. Among the remains from the seventh century that were discovered there are grave goods, which include various features of Anglo-Saxon warriors, and human remains deposited sometimes in atypical ways. However, recognition of the deposit is given by the finding of a boat 27.5 metres long by 5 metres wide that was buried in a trench containing a decent burial chamber and grave goods of an Anglo-Saxon warrior of the highest rank. Among the retrieved items are gold and silver coins, gold vases and jugs, a shield, a bronze warrior helmet inlaid with precious stones and some decorated weapons. The objects reveal important information about the way of life of the Anglo-Saxons in England, their relations with the Celts, native peoples of the island, and the influence of Roman culture. The dating of these objects positioned the site in the seventh century, that is to say, in the most important age of the Anglo-Saxon invasions. Sutton Hoo was a peculiar necropolis linked to the Anglo-Saxon setting of Ipswich, in the region of East Anglia. Therefore, the historical importance of this site is related to its temporal and spatial origin, since at the time the excavation started in 1938 very little written or archaeological data from the period was available. As a result of this lack of historical sources, this seminal period in the history of England suffered from an absolute documentary darkness. As a matter of fact, the most important written source of information on the period’s way of life and habits was an anonymous epic poem composed around the ninth century. I’m obviously referring to the famous Beowulf poem that deals with continental topics but is the first long poem written in England. Nevertheless, the epic and fantastic dimensions of the narrative made it difficult, if not impossible, to consider it as an accurate and trustworthy source of historical information. Nonetheless, when the team of archaeologists exposed the site and the outstanding burial boat at Sutton Hoo, they soon discovered undeniable similarities between the descriptions in the poem and the archaeological evidence, like the burial of the prominent warrior in a warship or the military equipment found by the human remains (Girvan 1971, 85–98).

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Historical Contextualization From the year 55/54 BC Britannia was connected to the Roman Empire as a protectorate, following Julius Caesar’s early incursions in the territory. Nevertheless, it was Emperor Claudius (10–54 BC) who commanded the full-scale conquest of the island in 43 BC. At this date, the territory was incorporated in the Empire as a Roman province with a colony of camulodunum veterans and a Verulamium Roman municipality (García Moreno 1985, 86). During the fifth century, the Roman troops and the majority of the colonists abandoned Britannia, because the continental Empire suffered from an extreme weakness that demanded as many soldiers as possible to be quartered in critical continental areas. As a result, the Roman legions lodged in Britannia, that was not central to Rome’s defensive interests, were relocated to other European spots. As soon as the Romans abandoned the territory, the British (Celtic) settlers spread throughout the whole territory, organizing themselves in tribes (Roldán 1991, 296). Starting in the fifth century, when the Roman legions had already abandoned the island, leaving the British territory unprotected, there were a number of successive raids from adventurers from the northern shores of Europe (Mitre 1983, 45). Settlers arriving from the coldest areas of Europe conducted the different raids. Among these violent invaders were Angles from Slesvig (Denmark), Saxons from the north-western areas of modern Germany (Saxony, Elbe and Weser) and Jutes, who were originally from Jutland but arrived in England from their settlements in the Frankish and Frisian territories. Three centuries later, a new wave of invasions took place by Vikings from Scandinavia. In October 1066, Harold II of England, Count of Wessex and the very last English king of Scandinavian descendent, was defeated by William I “the Conqueror”, Duke of Normandy, thus ending the Germanic dominion of England and introducing four centuries of Norman rule. The first invasions took place between the year 401 and the year 600 and comprised raids by small groups of around 20 warriors who arrived by sea in small boats and explored the inland areas of England through the River Thames, the Wash and the Humber estuary. The historical sources that shed some light on this period of the history of England are not numerous, the most important ones being the Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (written by the Venerable Bede in the year 731), The Ruin of Britain: “de Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae” (written by the British cleric Gildas in the sixth century) and the History of the Britons, an eighth century book by an unknown religious writer called Nennius.

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According to these informants, the colonists carried with them the habits of their regions of origin but once in British territory were influenced both by the Celts and by Roman culture. As well as hybridizing their ways of life, the small groups of settlers had to unite in order to protect their territories, resist the attacks of the local Celtic inhabitants, establish frontiers and conquer new areas. The Anglo-Saxons’ metalwork is notable, but they did not use stone in their buildings or make ceramics till the seventh century. Nevertheless, this was a golden age for agriculture and stockbreeding in Britannia. Commerce was another significant source of income for these groups, as the finding of several different coins in archaeological sites attests. This period is characterized by urban decay, since the Anglo-Saxons looted the Roman cities but never established themselves in them. On the contrary, they built small wooden houses as well as palaces that employed the same structure but were bigger and richly decorated (Briggs 1994, 68). The Anglo-Saxon tribes centred their social structure and their very existence on war and, consequently, were ruled by a leader who played an active role in their wars against the Celts and against other Anglo-Saxon tribes. The leader was elected to the new territories he had conquered (known as bookland, or lands that could be alienated at free will) since his arrival in the new land. Nevertheless, the leader was also imbued with mythical overtones and regarded as their supreme priest. The Anglo-Saxons could write and sometimes employed rune characters (somewhat similar to Germanic futharks), but the basic vehicle for communicating their culture and ways of life was oral. As for religion, the different Germanic settlers were originally polytheistic but from the seventh century, with the arrival of the first missionaries sent by Pope Gregory, the gradual Christianization of the territory began and it did not take long for the new monotheistic religion to become the most important one in the British Isles. The Celtic and Roman influence on the AngloSaxons’ daily life can be seen in their funerary rites and, as a result, cremation was most frequent in those areas where their interaction with Celts and Romans had been minor. This is the case of East Anglia, where Sutton Hoo is located (Harke 1997, 125). East Anglia is on the eastern shore of England where modern Norfolk and Suffolk stand today. From the beginning of the invasions this territory remained under control of the Angles and their first known king was known as Rædwald, who was Bretwalda (a title given to some of the rulers of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms from the fifth century onwards who had achieved overlordship of some or all of the other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms) and ruled the territories of East Anglia, Kent, Sussex, Wessex,

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Essex, Northumbria and Mercia from the year 616 up to 624. The most prominent settlement in this territory was Ipswich, whose proximity to river Deben guaranteed the fertility of the soil and good commercial possibilities and thus its economy depended on agriculture, horticulture, stockbreeding and trading.

The Sutton Hoo Archaeological Site The archaeological site of Sutton Hoo has had a very extensive history. The earliest examples of curiosity about this place date back to the beginning of the seventeenth century, specifically to the year 1601. The lands in which the site was contained belonged to Sir John Stanhope, father of the first Duke of Chester. Stanhope was quite surprised because of the orography of the land and requested the prestigious cartographer John Norden to carry out a study. The cartographer’s conclusions declared that there was nothing but small bumps in the field without any further scientific interest. Nevertheless, these initial explorations raised Queen Elizabeth I’s interest and the monarch ordered Sir John Dee, the Court’s alchemist and astrologist, to dig one of the bumps. Nonetheless, the project was not developed and Sutton Hoo would remain unexplored for more than two centuries. In 1836, the Ordnance Survey1 carried out new studies that proved that the swellings in the field were in fact burial mounds interconnected and forming a necropolis. Consequently, this institution elaborated a series of maps that included the totality of the burial mounds; at the same time they marked out the extent of the Sutton Hoo archaeological site. The first modern explorations of Sutton Hoo took place in the year 1938, when Lady Edith Pretty (1883–1942), the owner of the property, a cultivated and well-read lady with a great interest in the past of her country and its archaeology, hired Basil Brown to explore the mysterious swellings that seemed to appear everywhere throughout her field. Brown, who was the local archaeologist and worked at Ipswich Museum, was an experimental archaeologist and had much experience excavating the light sand of East Anglia. Brown started his research on Mounds 2 and 3, leaving mound 1, of greater dimensions, for subsequent explorations. In Mound 3 the group of archaeologists found human remains inside a coffin that had been ornamented with byzantine patterns and on top of a platform made of maple wood. Among the grave goods, they found remains of a jar with a chain of bronze in the handle, of Mediterranean influence, together with a

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corroded iron axe. The rest, found in mound 2, consisted of some iron rivets that Basil Brown soon identified as parts of a buried ship. A luxurious set of grave goods that included a gold pyramid, a drinking horn, two piles of bronze, some remains from an iron sword and four fragments of blue glass that were originally part of a jar. Some other findings were fragments of a silver buckle and one seax (a type of dagger typical of the Saxons, whose tribal name derives from the weapon). The human remains that were found in the ship soon received the epithet of sandmen, due to the fact that in the majority of cases all that remained of them was the imprint of their bones in the sand. This situation made the identification and dating of the site extremely complex, when not actually impossible. In the spring of 1939, Basil Brown returned to Sutton Hoo to continue researching the site. This time he had chosen to explore Mound 1. The archaeological technique that he applied in order to gain access to the inner part of the Mound consisted of the removal of the sand from the outside to the inner part and from the centre to the edges. When they reached ground level, the sand revealed a low pit that had to be emptied before accessing the archaeological remains. Two days later, when the archaeologists had delved 50 cm in the pit, an iron rivet, presumably a fixing point from the hull of the ship, was found. It did not take long for Brown to realize that the wood from the ship had not survived and that all they could hope to discover were the deteriorated remains of the metal and the wooden structure imprinted on the sand. As a result, the excavation method required more attention and two additional assistants were required. They excavated a trench from the external part of the mound towards the innermost area that Brown would use to access the remains in a safer manner. Then, the excess of sand had to be removed. The sand to be removed could be recognized because the sand that had been in contact with the wood and metal presented a slightly orange tint produced by the oxidation process. Using as a reference the distance between the different rivets of the ship, Brown was able to calculate the dimensions of the ship at the same time he secured the limits of the site. In his excavation report, Brown stated, “as we go on the ship gets wider and we are certain of a length of at least 50 feet” (Evans 1967, 19). However, the dimensions of the ship surpassed this estimation and ended up measuring over 80 feet long. As the excavation progressed, the archaeological team left a fine layer of sand on top of the remains in order to protect them from possible damage caused by the environment. Finally, at Ipswich Museum, the fragments of bones and metal were dated and, accordingly, they were able to date the site between the last years of the sixth century and the first decades of the seventh.

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The dating of the Sutton Hoo findings raised international scientific interest and very soon archaeologists and historians from all over the world started to show an interest in this unique site in Suffolk. In June 1939, Mr Guy Maynard, director of the Ipswich Museum, decided to get in touch with Dr Charles Philips, a prestigious professor at the University of Cambridge and Archaeological Inspector at the Ordnance Survey. Taking into account the importance of the discovery, professor Philips was invited to lead the project, together with some other eminent researchers such as Peggy and Stuart Piggot and Osbert Guy Stanhope Crawford. In July 1939, a new campaign started at Sutton Hoo, with the purpose of clearing the remains of the ship. During this campaign, archaeological remains of a luxurious burial chamber were found. This chamber included human remains from a cremated body together with some of his grave goods that included a ceremonial helmet, fragments of a shield, a sword, a lyre and a leather bag that contained 37 silver coins from the eastern Roman Empire. At the same place some other interesting pieces were found, like fragments of metal housewares with incrustations and elaborate decoration (drinking horns, plates, vases and spoons with Byzantine decoration). Among these houseware objects, the most important one was a big plate decorated with elements from the eastern Roman Empire and bearing the name of Emperor Anastasius I. The last objects that were found were remains of textile pieces and some clothing accessories with rich incrustations of gold and precious stones. Despite the fact that the astonishing discoveries inspired the archaeologists with the desire to keep exploring Sutton Hoo, it soon became urgent to preserve and recover the pieces they had already identified. After completing a thorough inventory of the different pieces found, the researchers took special care of the most fragile objects, which were preserved with paper and stored in corrugated board tobacco cases. Once all the valuable objects had been recovered, marked and conveniently warehoused, they were shipped to the British Museum, to be guarded and preserved. During the month of August, the Science Museum made several drawings and photographs from the remains of the ship. All these activities had to be done with some urgency because the researchers were very well aware of the possibility of an imminent global war. On September 3, 1939 World War II was declared and any further activity at Sutton Hoo would be impossible for a long period of time. Subsequent studies by Martin Carver revealed that the work the researchers carried out in 1939 was hasty but exhaustive and fully scientific. Furthermore, it was precisely their quickness that allowed the Sutton Hoo remains to be studied at the British Museum during World

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War II. The meticulous examination of the ship revealed very important information not only about the Anglo-Saxons’ way of life but also about their origin, because this particular ship had the same structure and design as other ones found in the Scandinavian peninsula (more precisely in Gokstad and Oseberg, Oslo, Norway). During these years, the ownership of the treasures found at Sutton Hoo was also the subject of controversies and legal battles. The British Government tried to declare them as Assets of National Interest in order to maintain its rights. Nevertheless, Mrs Pretty argued that as the objects had been found on her property she was the legitimate owner and several different court rulings confirmed her status as legal owner of the goods. Finally, Mrs Pretty agreed to transfer the treasures to the British Museum as a perpetual loan, so the investigations could continue. Following Mrs Pretty’s death, she specified that her heirs should maintain the possession of the archaeological site, allowing any further investigation to take place. In 1942 the British Museum commissioned Dr Bruce-Mitford (1914– 1994) to prepare an extensive and detailed guide with all the researches and discoveries carried out at Sutton Hoo up to that moment. The resulting volume was published by the British Museum in 1947. The archaeological campaign was restarted in 1965 under the direction of Bruce-Mitford and took place during the three summers of 1965, 1967 and 1968. On this occasion, the main goal was to continue the in situ research of Mound 1. During the summer of 1965 the archaeologists assessed the damage to the structure of the ship caused by the war and the environment and took the first steps towards the reparation and strengthening of each section. They also developed new fieldwork, drew maps and compiled an inventory of tasks. During the summer of 1967 the possibility was mooted of preserving the ship in situ by creating a small museum that would surround and cover it.2 Nonetheless, this possibility was discarded and the remains of the ship were taken to the British Museum. In order to do so, the vertical section was studied in depth, the remains from the burial chamber were recovered and the base of the ship was covered with a layer of glass fibre that would make it possible to obtain a reliable imprint of the traces of the wood in the sand. Finally, during the summer of 1968, the different sections were transported to the British Museum with the utmost care. During the summer campaigns of 1965 and 1967 the researchers concentrated largely on the burial chamber. All the diverse objects that had been found, as well as the human remains, were in a state of some deterioration due to the damage caused by the action of phosphate, the sun and contact with dissimilar metals. The analysis of the phosphates

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determined that the chamber had been burnt before its burial. This finding was not surprising if we take into account that the cremation of funerary ships was a widespread practice among the inhabitants of Northern Europe, especially in the area of the Scandinavian Peninsula from where the Angle settlers originated. In August 1968 laboratory tests were conducted on all the objects from the funerary chamber. The 1969–70 archaeological campaign, under the direction of Ian Longworth, studied the space between the burial ship and the farthest mound. The exploratory drillings, soil pits and the objects that were recovered provided surprising data: the area of Sutton Hoo had served as a settlement place during the Late Neolithic and the Bronze Age. Therefore, during 1969 and 1970, the researchers demarcated the dimensions of the site, including the Neolithic and Bronze Age remains they had recently found. Once they had completed this task, the archaeological team started working on Mound 5, where they found the imprints of human remains in the sand though on this occasion no grave goods were found. In 1983 a new campaign started at Sutton Hoo, led by Dr Martin Carver, a member of the Birmingham University Field Archaeology Unit and professor at the University of York. Taking advantage of the scientific tools available to archaeologists of the 80s, they re-excavated and reexamined the site with the latest technology, such as radar, computerized demarcation, aerial photography, precise metal detectors, proton magnetometers and flux gradiometers. During a second phase of the campaign, Brown’s 1938–39 interventions at Mound 2 were studied. The results of this revision confirmed the thesis that human beings had inhabited the area since prehistoric times and some objects from this ancient period were recovered. The human remains of the Anglo-Saxon necropolis showed different ways of burial, which was important for the interpretation of the archaeological site. Nevertheless, the main aim of this campaign was to uncover the site in a comprehensive manner. To this end, an area of 14 square kilometres around the site was surveyed, computerizing all the data in order to elaborate the topography and the contour line maps. The resulting data revealed some external incidences, like the passages animals could have made, the damage caused by the war period or some mistakes made by archaeologists from previous campaigns. The survey of the soil offered significant results and proved that under an anti-slip layer made during the war years there was a double fence that enclosed the site during the Neolithic age. After the preliminary exploratory drillings, the stratigraphy was studied and the excavation was carried out using a grid

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system that was coherent with the archaeological methodology developed by Edward Harris during the 50s.

Conclusions The campaigns directed by Martin Carver finished in 2001 and the researchers carried out three simultaneous studies: a comprehensive survey of the site, an exploration of the region to obtain further information on the Anglo-Saxon settlement and a comparative study with other similar archaeological sites in other countries (http://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/suttonhoo_var_2004/). The survey of the site consisted of three phases: the study of the results obtained in the previous archaeological interventions since the year 1938; the evaluation of the damage and archaeological intervention of the selected areas (a hectare in the shape of a cross that comprised a fourth of the total extent of the site) and the analysis of each sequence in each sector with palynological and test studies. During this campaign, the north sector (which contained Mounds 2 and 5), the south sector, the west sector (including Mounds 17 and 18) and the east sector (with Mound 14 and its area) were explored. Dr Martin Carver aimed to find the relation with the environment and to develop a stratigraphic sequence according to the data found at the site. The surface was excavated in modules or grids of 8 x 4 metres, to ease the extraction of the remains by hand in a quick but exhaustive manner. Subsequently, each module was photographed from a height of 5 metres. Each object was identified by function and context, placed in a planimetry and added to a computer database. Before concluding the campaign, the information gathered at Sutton Hoo by Dr Carver and his team was published in the book Sutton Hoo: Burial Ground of Kings? (Carver 1998). Once the campaign was over, the conclusions were published in Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London (Carver, M., et al.: 2005).

Works Cited Briggs, Asa. 1994. Historia social de Inglaterra. Madrid: Alianza. Bruce-Mitford, Rupert. 1970. “Sutton Hoo and the background to the poem”. In Beowulf and the seventh century, edited by Ritchie Girvan. London: Methuen.

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Care Evans, Angela. 1986. The Sutton Hoo Ship Burial. London: British Musseum. Carver, Martin. 1998. Sutton Hoo: Burial Ground of Kings? Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. —. 2004. The Sutton Hoo Research Project 1983–200. Retrieved from: http://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/suttonhoo_var_2004 Carver, Martin and Angela Evans. 2005. Sutton Hoo: a Seventh-Century Princely Burial Ground and its Context. London: British Musseum Press. García Moreno, Luis. 1985. Historia Universal. La Antigüedad Clásica tomo II. Pamplona: Universidad de Navarra. Härke, Heinrich. 1997. “Early anglo-saxon social structure”. In The anglosaxons: from the migration period to eighth century, edited by James Hines. San Marino: Boydell Press. Mitre, Emilio. 1983. Historia de la Edad Media I. Occidente. Madrid: Alhambra. Roldán, José. 1995. Historia de Roma. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca.

Notes 1

The Ordnance Survey is Great Britain’s national mapping agency, founded in 1791. 2 The inspiration for this idea was taken from the preservation actions that were taking place at Labdy, Denmark, where a burial ship was found in 1934.




CHAPTER FIVE BEOWULF IN THE ELECTRONIC AGE JAVIER MARTÍN-PÁRRAGA

Postmodernity and Ancient Cultural Artifacts Up to the twentieth century, there seemed to be many more certainties than doubts in virtually every scientific, social and cultural realm. Scientific laboratories did not stop making advances at an escalating rate and humanity seemed determined to reach levels of technical expertise that would make our future lives longer, healthier and happier. Nevertheless, during the second half of the century though our technical skill would have allowed us to reach an Edenic scenario we used it instead to deploy two devastating atomic bombs and the allies’ efforts to destroy the evil Nazi axis required them to become mass-murderers like Stalin or Machiavellian as Churchill and Truman. In this particular scenario, Adorno raised the famous question of whether it was still legitimate to make poetry and pretty soon thinkers like Derrida, Lyotard, Foucault or Baudrillard concentrated on deconstructing any previous certainty we might have naïvely enjoyed in the past. Needless to say, the radical frames of thought that demolished traditional comforting moral binary opposites were also destined to affect our traditional understanding of the arts. Thus, contemporary readers were forced to reconsider the extent to which a canon was possible and also whether the idea of genre was valid in a time in which, as Schrödinger proved, cats could be simultaneously living and dead. In other words, the barrier between high and pop art cracked and canonical texts that were not supposed to be treated frivolously were deprived of all their long-lasting scholarly traditional armour. Thus, John Barth rewrote many foundational American myths (like that of Pocahontas) and Donald Barthelme did the very same with some passages from the Iliad, just to mention some quintessential examples.

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Together with the new postmodern frame of mind, the twentieth century was characterized by global literacy in a Western world in which it became less and less frequent to have the opportunity to enjoy time in a domestic, familiar environment. Consequently, new means of communication and entertainment like TV, “glossy magazines”, pulp fiction and comic books flourished, trying to satisfy the demands of an increasingly high number of teenagers and young adults that had free time but lacked the company of their parents, who devoted more and more time to work in a capitalistic (sometimes cannibalistic) scenario that placed their safe suburban homes far away from their work places. If we combine a playful philosophy that invited authors and readers to question the very nature of the Western canon and fostered collages and “mutant ways of artistic creation” with a huge mass of consumers that showed themselves to be hungry for escapist fiction, it is no surprise to discover that the second half of the twentieth century was full of science fiction, soap operas, detective stories and superheroes. These new cultural icons populated the bookshelves of libraries, bookshops and airports’ and train stations’ convenience stores. At this point, we might wonder what place ancient cultural artefacts play in this novel and radical world. First of all, old-fashioned moral certainties and the great artistic pieces of the traditional past did not prevent the human race from committing the atrocities of Auschwitz, Hiroshima and Dresden, of the on-going massacres of a Cold War that was absolutely hot if you had the bad luck to live in the Balkans or Indochina, just to name two places. Thus, many postmodern artists rejected the certainties of orthodox art and dived deeply into the remote past or hidden areas of the mind. In search of a purer, less contaminated age, these artists journeyed far away, arriving at places that existed prior to our technological splendour and the simplistic Judaeo-Christian sets of values and beliefs that led us to two World Wars and the ominous shadow of an atomic (and inherently apocalyptic) third one that seemed to be eternally waiting to be unleashed. Thus, prehistoric and aboriginal art (by definition impossible to be reduced to black and white interpretations) was rediscovered and reinterpreted. It becomes necessary to point out that the entertainment industry, located basically in the UK and the USA, was influenced, if not driven, by extremely conservative forces. Thus, science fiction, fantasy texts and comic books would not be allowed to share the extremely radical attitude that was embraced by the writers of novels who on many occasions were not university professors but underground individuals who didn’t need any sort or financial support or social recognition. Traditionally, folktales had

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played a crucial role in transmitting and consolidating values and attitudes that were fundamental to society. Consequently, in this new scenario, with new aesthetic preferences and very few moments in the company of the family, the docere et delectare functions should be fulfilled by new artistic and cultural manifestations. Medieval literature is full of adventures, magic, unknown territories to be explored but is also populated by noble characters and has religious overtones. In this sense, it looked as if medieval texts were simply waiting to be updated and retold by postmodern authors. To sum up, the postmodern approach to canonical texts and heterogeneous narratives invited the rewriting of medieval texts; the social demands of a capitalistic society required that these new versions become real spreaders of social values that were not so different from the ones they had originally been loaded with. In María José Gómez’s words, The appropriation of the poem by popular genres actually shares in the wider cultural phenomenon of the popularization of the Middle Ages, a trend whose roots lie in Romantic sensibility and that is still operative nowadays. Drawing on 19th-century medievalism, modern productions as diverse as the theme park, the role-game or epic fantasy, among others, have implemented an imaginative interpretation and glamorization of the early Celtic and Germanic traditions that has set the pattern for subsequent readings of the medieval past as the enchanted land- scape of adventure, heroism and magic. (2007, 109)

In the present paper, I will focus on some of the most notable of the contemporary adaptations or reinterpretations of Beowulf that have been produced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

Comic Books and Graphic Novels Human beings have been combining images with textual elements from the dawn of civilization, as prehistoric paintings or Egyptian hieroglyphs prove. At the same time, these hybrid cultural artifacts have been especially useful for education, as religious manuscripts or political cartoons of the Enlightenment or American Revolution periods clearly evidence. On the other hand, it is absolutely obvious that comic books and graphic novels are one of the younger readers’ favourite artistic manifestations. Thus, graphic novels, comic books and strips became perfect vehicles for both teaching and delighting.

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Conan the Barbarian The first approach to the Beowulf poem that was printed as a comic book was Conan the Barbarian. Even if no explicit references to the Anglo-Saxon poem were ever made, it becomes obvious that Conan takes this text as an absolute source of inspiration. The original Conan comics appeared in the USA as early as 1932, when Robert E. Howard first included a short story in the seminal magazine Weird Tales. In these first issues, Conan is a roaming hero who devotes his whole existence to travelling in search of glory and honour, no different in fact from the Anglo-Saxon wyrd. As a young hero, Conan finds numberless enemies (both mortal and supernatural), including many monsters, witches of all sorts and dragons. As he grows older, Conan starts commanding relatively large groups of fellow-warriors and conquering many territories, which become civilized. Finally, the reader will meet an ageing Conan who holds the crown of the fictional kingdom of Aquilonia and does his best not only to maintain peace but also to find a suitable heir for his kingdom. The connections with the Anglo-Saxon poem (and, to a lesser extent, with the Arthurian cycles) are self-evident, as we can see. Obviously, there also exist some fundamental differences between Conan and Beowulf. The original Conan adventures were overloaded with some very obvious erotic overtones that aimed at exciting the young readers’ imagination and senses as well as with some (pseudo-)oriental notes that linked Conan not with Beowulf but with later Arthurian and medieval fantasies of the ages of the Crusades. Nevertheless, with a publication history of more than 80 years, the character of Conan has progressively become more distant from the Anglo-Saxon poem, with the addition of numberless anachronisms and very especially with frequent and unjustified cameos for other comic characters, such as Dracula or even Wolverine. The Conan comic books have received three film adaptations. The first two appeared in 1982 and 1984 respectively and starred Austrian bodybuilder Arnold Schwarzenegger. The connections to the poem are similar to the ones found in the comic, as are the differences. The third version of Conan, a remake of the original one directed by Marcus Nispel in the year 2011, departed more often from the Anglo-Saxon source of inspiration, since its main goal seemed to be trying to create a new mythology that recaptured the most spectacular elements from the original film franchise. While the two original movies were designed as blockbusters and did not exhibit a great deal of artistic quality, they are still enjoyable. The recent remake, which was a total failure both in ticket-

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sales and critical reviews, is as visually striking as it is nonsensical and becomes uninteresting after the initial ten minutes of its poor and colourful three-dimensional existence.

Beowulf If the character of Conan the Barbarian was clearly influenced by the mythic hero Beowulf and some of the narrative elements of this comic did resemble some passages from the poem, in the year 1975 DC Comics decided to green-light an adaptation of the epic poem itself. The project was conceived as a mini-series of six episodes that would be written by Denis O’Neall and drawn by Ricardo Villamonte. The first issue of the series, entitled “The Curse of Castle Hrotgar” tried to follow the path of the original poem in a quite loyal manner, since it introduces the roaming hero Beowulf (travelling solo in the comic adaptation, but that could be considered as a minor change, after all) arriving at the Danes’ kingdom and being presented with the task of slaying the evil Grendel and his equally or more diabolic mother. Both evil characters are said to be descended from Cain, as in the epic text. Grendel’s motivation for massacring the Danes’ knights is also identical in the poem and the graphic novel: to silence the noise that came from the royal hall and torture the monster. Nevertheless, from this promising beginning, the rest of the mini-series not only differs from the Anglo-Saxon poem but also goes as far with its fantastic and grotesque plot as to make the fictional contract almost impossible to maintain. As prominent examples of how far this comic goes, it should be mentioned that Beowulf must fight UFOs, Dracula and the Minotaur, travel to Hell and even visit the Lost Kingdom of Atlantis. As Chris Bishop points out: This modern Grendel, then, shares some remarkably medieval qualities with his Anglo-Saxon progenitor and if his position of prime antagonist is somewhat lessened by Uslan’s inclusion of a bevy of subsidiary enemies (minor dragons, giant snakes, swamp men, pygmy head-hunters, minotaurs, laser-wielding aliens and, of course, Dracula) it is something that the original Nowell Codex, with its preoccupation with strange monsters and fabulous beasts, should have prepared us for. (2007, 5)

Nonetheless, it must be noted that the publishing house did not hesitate to market this graphic novel as educational, in the following terms: “An epic poem we’ve all had to read for junior high school English class!

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Don’t tell me D.C. is doing ‘Classics Illustrated’?” (M. Uslan and R. Villamonte, issue 1, opposite page 18). Taking into account that the original mini-series did not prove a commercial success, it is not surprising that DC Comics didn’t bring Beowulf back to any of its diverse and heterogeneous series for more than three decades. But in the January 2008 edition of the Wonderwoman series (issue #20) Beowulf is enrolled on a mission, together with Wonderwoman, Stalker and Claw the Unconquered, to slay the Demon Lord Dgrth. After this cameo, in which the comic version of Beowulf and the one in the poem barely bear any resemblance, in the year 2012 DC Comics launched a new series with its long-lasting collection Sword and Sorcery. The new series of comics, known as The New 52, focuses on a minor character within the DC mythology, Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld, but includes a backup story by Tony Bedard and Jesus Saiz in which the main storyline of Beowulf is narrated. In this retelling of the story, the action takes place in a dystopian environment in which society has reverted to primeval times. The first part of the poem is more or less loyally adapted, until the moment in which Beowulf discovers that Grendel is actually his brother and that Regulus created both of them in order to fight the imminent alien invasion the Earth is going to suffer. Apart from the different DC collections, or independent comics in which the character of Beowulf appears, in 1984 Jerry Bingham published a graphic novel based on the Anglo-Saxon poem. This was the first graphic novel on Beowulf and one of the most artistically exciting and faithful retellings of the ancient poem. In this case, Bingham is not interested in creating an alternative universe loosely based on the original poem, but rather on decoding it into a contemporary genre. Thus, the protagonist is an extraordinary hero, but not a superhero in the DC or Marvel tradition, the scenarios and costumes resemble the historical ones described in the poem and the interest of the supernatural elements is marginal. All in all, Bingham does show that graphic novels can reimagine, translate or simply transmit classic literary pieces in an absolutely respectful and coherent manner. In 2005 Speakeasy Comics published Beowulf: Gods and Monsters, written by Brian Augustyn and drawn by Pierre-Andre Dery. It is an anthology of seven comics in which the reader finds a superhero named Beowulf, Wulf for short, in a somewhat dystopian contemporary Manhattan. The hero fights several fantastic creatures and tries to save innocents’ lives in a way that is more reminiscent of Spiderman, or even Hellboy, than is of the original Anglo-Saxon poem. As a matter of fact, it

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is not until the last issue in the series that Beowulf finally faces Grendel. But, once again, the similitudes with the primal text are far from being convincing. Gareth Hinds’ 2007 Beowulf is very similar to Bingham’s adaptation in the sense it does follow the original poem as its main guide and refuses to alter the hero or his historic scenario in order to achieve a more spectacular super heroic plot or a futuristic scenario that might presumably be more appealing to young readers. 2007 was also the year in which Chris Ryall as a writer and Gabriel Rodriguez as draughtsman published their four-issue series on Beowulf. In this case, they adapt the screenplay Roger Avary and Neil Gaiman prepared for the homonymous film. Consequently, this graphic novel captures the essence of the original poem and exhibits a series of rich and well-documented scenarios and costumes whilst differing from the poem in several ways. The most notable difference between Avary and Gaiman’s Beowulf and the epic poem they’re reimagining is related to Grendel’s mother. In the postmodern version, the monster is King Hrothgar’s mistress. Thus, Grendel is the son of the king (which explains why it is unable to kill the king in the first place). Thus, Grendel’s mother becomes a highly sensual witch who is able not only to seduce Hrothgar but also Beowulf himself. As a result, in this modern version the hero does not kill the monster but has sexual intercourse with her. After the impious matching, Beowulf goes back to Heorot hall to become King of the Danes (once again, this contemporary version separates itself from the poem in a significant manner). The last fundamental difference will materialize when the final monster that Beowulf must face arrives. In this case, the evil dragon is Beowulf’s son. After killing the monster, the fatally injured king dies . . . and the next king, loyal Wiglaf (in this case a mature warrior, not young and inexpert but brave and pure in heart) is tempted again by Grendel’s hideous but sensual mother. The graphic novel, thus, ends in a way that is not only cyclical but also opens the door for future sequels. 2007 was a very prolific year for Beowulf adaptations, because in order to take advantage of the refreshed popularity the Hollywood film brought with it, Markosia Publishing House decided to publish a graphic novel of the poem that was written by Stephen L. Stern and drawn by Christopher Steininger. The visual aspects of this adaption are outstanding, with highly effective black and white colouring and some vivid representations of characters and settings alike. However, this piece of work deserves special praise because it is probably the most loyal and careful adaption of the poem ever released as a comic book or graphic

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novel. In his introduction to the book, Stern proved not only to be familiar with the poem itself and its many translations but also with the literary criticism which appeared on Beowulf, as well as with the archaeological and historical researches that linked the epic poem with the archaeological site of Sutton Hoo. In the author’s own words: In creating this adaptation, artist Christopher Steininger and I have attempted to remain as faithful as possible to the original as the graphic novel form allows. But as in any retelling of an old myth, the key is to be rewarded with the discovery that its meaning is still very much alive today. If you are encountering Beowulf here in these pages for the first time, I hope it will inspire you, as it did me. (2007, 9)

After the many, and excellent, appearances of the old Nordic hero in the graphic novel genre that took place in the year 2007, Beowulf was not approached again by any artist or publishing house till the year 2013, when a Spanish adaptation of the poem appeared from Astiberri publishing house. The authors of this new version are Santiago García and David Rubín, who had been trying to get financial support to make this project viable for a very long time. The resulting book is satisfactory, both from an artistic and literary point of view, since it retells the old epic narrative in quite a faithful manner.

Beowulf on the Silver Screen The Anglo-Saxon hero’s adventures have not only been adapted to graphic novels and comic books, but have also been the basis for three motion pictures. Graham Baker directed the first movie, entitled Beowulf like the homonymous poem, with a script by Mark Leahy and David Chappe. Christopher Lambert, Oliver Cotton, Rhona Mitra and Layla Roberts starred in the film, which had an exiguous budget of three million dollars. The general quality of the movie is sub-standard and the plot seemed to be conceived as a direct-to-video Z film rather than as a genuine cinematic recreation of the original poem. Thus, the prestigious webpage Rotten Tomatoes gives Beowulf a unanimous grade of zero points and it is virtually impossible to find a positive review of this movie. The negative aspects of the movie include terrible acting, very poor direction, careless editing, special effects that were more ridiculous than spectacular and backgrounds that seemed to have been crafted by pre-school students. Also the soundtrack was entirely composed of cacophonous techno songs

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at a terribly high volume during the entire running time of the film (including those moments in which the actors read their most important lines of dialogue). As for loyalty to the original text on which the film is based, the connections are merely anecdotal: the main protagonists share the same name, just like the Hall. Nonetheless, the action takes place in a dystopian universe that is partly medieval and partly high technological and the action is not remotely similar to the one found in the Anglo-Saxon poem. As a result, I can affirm that the failure of the movie at the box office and its null influence on later films is well deserved. Thus, not only will medievalist scholars or fans of the poem be horrified by it, but also general viewers would have a very hard time enjoying this product. The next Hollywood film that was made taking the epic poem as a source of inspiration is absolutely different, both from the point of view of aesthetic and artistic quality and from its fidelity to the poem. I am referring to the 2007 film that was directed by Robert Zemeckis, with a screenplay by Roger Avary and Neil Gaiman. In previous sections of this paper I analysed the fidelity of the graphic novel that was inspired by the movie, so I will now focus exclusively on the cinematic dimension of this production. The first notable difference from the previous Beowulf film was its budget. In this case, the producers signed a cheque for more than $150 million dollars, an amount that allowed the director to have Hollywood stars involved in the project (such as Anthony Hopkins, Angelina Jolie, Jeremy Irons and Gerard Butler), outstanding visual effects and careful and crafted editing and post-editing. Consequently, the final product becomes rich and complex from a visual perspective. Thus, Rotten Tomatoes critics awarded the film a “fresh” classification and the average of 194 reviews goes as high as seven points (which is not a bad grade if we take into account the conservative nature of Rotten critics and their tendency to highlight the negative aspects of movies rather than praising them for their inherent qualities). It is important to highlight two more aspects of this particular movie adaption of Beowulf. First, the director decided not to include real actors in the film but rather a “cartoon” version of them that was created by means of a complex technical process that captured the actors’ physical movements and facial features. The same director had previously employed this same technique in other short films and went on to employ the complex motion-captured technique again in the 2013 film Polar Express. The result of applying this new computer software was polarizing. While many critics became fascinated by the quality of the CGI

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and its possibilities in the near future (Avatar would later on take full advantage of it), some other critics and the majority of viewers felt somehow dizzy and experienced a strange feeling of uneasiness. These feelings can be explained taking into account both Freud’s concept of the Unheimlich and Asimov’s rules of robotics. In other words, the characters in Beowulf do not look either human or cartoonish and, thus, watching them tends to make us experience an uncanny feeling that is not completely pleasant. Nonetheless, I consider that this very uneasiness contributes to transporting contemporary audiences to the ancient and fantastic realm of the original poem; at the same time it states in a definite postmodern manner that films in particular and art in a more general dimension are both real and fanciful, both trustworthy and deceiving. The second important aspect I want to call attention to in this paper is the use of Middle English. In the passages in which Grendel or his monstrous mother speak, they do not use standard modern English, but rather a bizarre pastiche that combines modern English and Middle English. From my point of view, this aesthetic decision is extremely intelligent and effective, since it helps audiences notice that the fictional universe of Beowulf (both in the poem and in its film adaptation) is halfway between the dark ages and the more civilized period in the history of England. At the same time, by making the villains communicate in a language that is clearly understandable but notoriously different from that of the heroes’ and viewers’, their own differences and weirdness are reinforced. In the interval between the two American adaptations I have already considered, in the year 2005 the European movie Beowulf & Grendel was shot in Iceland. This project was clearly independent, or underground, and as a consequence the production budget given to director Sturla Gunnarsson was much more limited than the one Zemeckis had, and even more limited than that for the 1997 version. These obvious economic limitations have an impact on the visual aspects of a film that needs to transport audiences to a dark age and include two monsters and several action sequences with very limited means. Nonetheless, the screenplay by Andrew Rai Berzins is both relatively faithful to the ancient epic poem and appealing to contemporary audiences and the actors do a great interpretative job while trying to portray the characters from the AngloSaxon text. Stellan Skarsgård’s role as Hrothgar deserves special praise as he incarnates the character in a more convincing and natural way than Hollywood star Anthony Hopkins. Finally, I would also like to mention that a television documentary on Beowulf was played on History Channel on September 28, 2009 as part of

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the series Clash of the Gods. This documentary includes the opinion of some renowned scholars, such as John Davenport, Tracey-Ann Cooper, Thomas Finan, Dimitra Fimi and Michael Drout. The 45-minute episode summarizes the main aspects and characters of the poem, at the same time it offers scholarly but straightforward insights and historical context and visits the Sutton Hoo burial place in search of the Anglo-Saxon archaeological evidence that supports the interest of the literary text in order to understand and study the historical period. As well as being interesting from an academic perspective, the documentary film is also exciting from a visual point of view, with many infographics, animations and dramatized fragments from the epic poem.

Conclusions As María José Gómez explains, Beowulf, as a medieval text, is clearly a high culture item requiring a considerable level of learning to read it—linguistic competence in Old English and some familiarity with ancient Germanic poetry, to begin with. Al- though this is not the common cultural background of most contemporary readers, Beowulf has attracted wide audiences beyond the academic circles among those who can just identify the title as one of the classic texts of the English canon. In this line, media and genres as diverse as film, television, the musical, the rock opera or science-fiction and adventure novels have revisited this text more than one millennium old and turned it into one more medieval product catering for popular audiences. (2007, 107–8)

In this paper I have traced some of the most important and influential retellings of the first English poem during the twentieth century and the first years of the present century, paying special attention to how closely they were able to capture not only the literal aspects of the text but also its spirit. During the last decades, a proliferation of pseudo-medieval cultural artifacts has appeared and, in general terms, they have enjoyed both popular and commercial success. In the case of Beowulf, graphic novels and comic books adaptations have consequently proliferated. They all are very different, but it is true that very few attempts have been made to adapt the text in a faithful manner. The reasons why contemporary creators and artists have decided to depart from the source material are several. In first place, the tastes of postmodern audiences are, obviously, quite different from those of the dark ages. As a result, as Fradenburg points out,

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The neomedievalism of our period often takes the form of the fantasmatic relocation of “medieval” privation and risk in a future that prophesies certain aspects of the Real of the present: [...] survivalism, the fantasy of culture as survival, cult as and cult of preparedness, postplague, postapocalypse, technological bricolage monkish techniques of preservation of knowledge, fully militarized hypermasculine vigilance, living to fight and tell. (1997, 209–10)

Secondly, graphic novels, comic books and (maybe to a lesser extent) Hollywood films have traditionally been considered as pop art, not as high cultural artefacts, and thus literary or historical scrupulousness have never been demanded from them. It is true that postmodernism, as I stated in previous sections of the essay, deconstruct those classic binary opposites. Nonetheless, pop art keeps being expensive to produce, distribute and market and, as a direct consequence, companies focus more on profits and creating exciting products than on being faithful to literary referents. As a final remark, I would like to say that even if some of the Beowulf adaptations that have appeared so far are poor and do not do justice to the greatness of the ancient text, it is always positive for the survival of the text to have pop artefacts that try to keep teaching and delighting contemporary audiences with the adventures of the first and possibly greatest English epic hero.

Works Cited Augustyn, Brian. 2005. Beowulf. Toronto: Speakeasy Comics. Bingham, Jerry. 1984. Beowulf. Chicago: First Comics. Beowulf. 1999. Capitol Films. Beowulf. 2007. Paramount Films. Beowulf & Grendel. 2005. Movision. Beowulf. Clash of the Gods. 2009. The History Channel. Bishop, Chris. “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Comics”. Journal of the Australian Early Medieval Association, 7 (2011): 73–93. Conan the Barbarian. 1982. Universal Pictures. Conan the Destroyer. 1984. Universal Pictures. Conan the Barbarian. 2011. Lionsgate Films. Fradenburg, Louise. 1997. “So That We May Speak of Them: Enjoying the Middle Ages”. New Literary History 28.2: 205–30. Gómez, María José. 2007. “Beowulf and the Comic Book: Contemporary Readings”. Revista Canaria de Estudios Ingleses 55: 107–27.

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Hinds, Gareth. 2002. Beowulf. Cambridge: TheComic.com. Howard, Robert E. 1953. The Coming of Conan. His Hyborian Age. New York: Gnome Press. —. 1954. Conan the Barbarian. New York: Gnome Press. —. 1953. King Conan. [Stories]. The Hyborean Age. New York: Gnome Press. Ryall, Chris. 2007. Beowulf. San Diego, Calif.: IDW. Rubín, Santiago & David García. 2013. Beowulf. Barcelona: Astiberri. Stern, Stephen L. 2007. Beowulf. Buckinghamshire: Markosia. Uslan, Michael & Ricardo Villamonte. 1975. Beowulf: Dragon-Slayer. New York: DC Comics.

CHAPTER SIX THE INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY IN BEOWULF: GRENDEL’S MOTHER ELENA CANTUESO-URBANO

Introduction Found in the Nowell Codex, Beowulf is considered the first poem written in English. Based on Germanic oral tradition, it portrays the Anglo-Saxon lifestyle and period (fifth century to 1066). It mixes Germanic folk-belief and Christian belief; even though the poem presents a background of paganism, Christian practices are incorporated too showing the influence of Christianity over the Anglo-Saxon community with the arrival of St Augustine (AD 597) during the Roman conquest. Furthermore, Bede, an English monk and scholar known as the father of English history, introduced Christian ideology. Indeed, it was thanks to the conversion of the monks to Christianity that English literature was possible. However, even though Christianity had a powerful impact on the Anglo-Saxon community, they continued to practise pagan rituals as we can see in some of Beowulf’s passages—especially the burials carried out throughout the poem, the death of Scyld and Beowulf or the monsters that Beowulf had to fight against—Grendel, Grendel’s mother or the dragon. Anyway, we are concerned here with what many scholars such as Müllenhoff, Stjerna, R. W. Chambers or Kahlos have analysed, that is, the wide range of Christian elements incorporated in the poem—God as protector of the hero, monsters as enemies of God and therefore of the hero too, and so on. More specifically, what catches our attention here is one particular Christian element within the poem: the representation of women in the figure of Grendel’s mother. This monster has had several interpretations; the most outstanding one is to believe Grendel’s mother to be a descendant from the biblical Cain so that she represents the Christian motif herself.

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However, she belongs to those figures in Christianity which deserve death since she, both as a woman and as a monster, embodies evil. A particular aspect which calls for some thought when considering Grendel’s mother as evil is the attributes she is associated with. Grendel’s mother was not described in Beowulf at all, but with the dominance of Christian religion Grendel’s mother immediately acquired the form of a beautiful red-haired female as we can see in current representations of this character. It is well known that red hair in Christianity is a recurrent motif when depicting women. Nevertheless, there have been two parallel interpretations/theories about it within Christianity, one symbolizing purity and virginity as it has been embodied by painters such as Botticelli or Leonardo da Vinci and the other as symbolizing evil, sexual attraction and the fall as in the representation of Eve (Christianity), Lilith (Judaism) or the femme fatale (nineteenth-century literature). Finally, what comes to light is that Christianity has offered its own interpretation of the whole poem according to its doctrine; indeed, the death of Grendel’s mother has been interpreted as a metaphorical death of paganism in England. As a conclusion, everything above shows the lack of consistency throughout the poem. So, can we consider Beowulf as a poem faithful to its time through which we can have an accurate idea of Anglo-Saxon practices and life? The present article is intended to support the claim that we cannot really trust Beowulf since it shows certain religious inconsistencies explained by the influences it received from Christianity as from other cultures implying a contamination of the original poem typical of the work of scribes at that time.

The Anglo-Saxon Period After the Romans left, the city went into a decline. The population diminished and large areas of cities were left in ruins. The Saxons came (c. AD 550) to find the villas and palaces that the Romans had built, but they were not interested since they were nomadic communities. The Celts were susceptible to conquest, as were the Saxons. They occupied the territory looking for a better life and resources. First they came in raids for plunder but afterwards they considered the idea of settling in Britain. On the other hand, the Angles were not a homogeneous group; they were made of different tribes with different dialects. The fact was that after conquering Britain, they needed a solid social structure; therefore they became one single community—Anglo-Saxon.

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Once they were settled they changed Britain beyond recognition through their Germanic language and practices. They brought the idea of kinship and divided England into seven kingdoms. The language legacy was Latin and all the books were translated into that language. However, things would change for the language with the arrival of the Saxons. The only poem we inherited from this period was Beowulf, an epic poem which is believed to reflect the Anglo-Saxon period and which at the same time gives rise to doubt about the author, date and place of composition. “The fact that his achievements are framed in a Scandinavian setting, and that the closest parallels to them have to be sought on Scandinavian lands, makes it probable on a priori grounds that the story had its origin there” (Chambers 1959, 100). Following Chambers’ hypothesis would imply the acceptance that the story of Beowulf is a Scandinavian one. Moreover, Chambers notes “the belief which had been held by numerous scholars, that the poem is nothing more than a translation of a poem in which some Scandinavian minstrel had glorified the heroes of his own nation” (op. cit., 98). To this, however, he also adds: “now linguistic evidence tends to show that Beowulf belongs to a time prior to the Viking settlement in England, and it is unlikely that the Scandinavian traditions embodied in Beowulf found their way to England just at the time when communication with Scandinavian lands seems to have been suspended” (Chambers 1959, 100–101); “the earliest Scandinavian poetry we possess, or of which we can get information, differs absolutely from Beowulf in style, metre and sentiment: the manners of Beowulf are incompatible with all we know of the wild heathendom of Scandinavia in the seventh or eight century” (op. cit., 102). So what are we expected to believe on the grounds of such inconsistencies? Anyway, what we can be sure about is that Beowulf “can be used unreservedly to throw light on Germanic habits” (Girvan 1971, 27) as many scholars have argued. It depicts a Germanic warrior society, in which the relationship between the lord of the region and those who served under him was of paramount importance. The events described in the poem seem to take place in the late fifth century, after the Angles and Saxons had begun their migration to England, and before the beginning of the seventh century, a time when the Anglo-Saxon people were either newly arrived or still in close contact with their Germanic kinsmen in Northern Germany and Scandinavia. However, it was not until the tenth century that the story was set down in writing. In historical terms, the poem narrates a pagan story about a Scandinavian legend settled in the Geats lands; it is the story of a hero who became a myth imitating Greek heroic tradition (Virgil, Homer, King

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Arthur and so on). As for its structure, some scholars like Chambers have divided it into two distinct episodes: “The poem is not a biography of Beowulf, nor yet an episode in his life: it is two distinct episodes: the Grendel business and the dragon business, joined by a narrow bridge. Both these stories are broken in upon by digressions: some of these concern Beowulf himself, so that we get a fairly complete idea of the life of our hero” (Chambers 1959, 112). Contrary to this view, I believe the whole poem is a biography of the hero organized into four distinct episodes recounting each stage of his life, namely, his birth (Grendel), his adulthood (Grendel’s mother), his maturity (the dragon) and his death and later recognition highlighting the immortality of the myth. As said before, Beowulf is a pagan poem. Yet the poem was recorded by Christian Anglo-Saxons who had largely converted from their native Anglo-Saxon paganism around the seventh century. Therefore we find a conflict here between two religious practices which the author tries to mix up. In the words of Greg Kaminsky, “the poem can be described as a retrospective on pagan Scandinavia through the lens of Christian morality” (Kaminsky 2012, 4). In Hill’s perspective, the most consistent way to read the poem is to assume that the Beowulf poet had arrived at an essentially ‘humanistic reading of his forefathers’ paganism’ (Hill 1994, 202).

Christianity vs Paganism: Christian Ideas within the Poem We may make reference here to scholars who have broadly studied this issue such as Müllenhoff, Stjerna, R. W. Chambers, John D. Niles, J. R. R. Tolkien, Thomas D. Hill, Howell Chickering, Kahlos or Greg Kaminsky. Throughout the story of Beowulf, Christian philosophy coexisted with pagan practices: man is protected by God, all his possessions come from God, and men should act according to God’s law by being humble and unselfish. However, there is also a strong sense of heroic pride within Beowulf which is at times in direct conflict with these Christian values. Thus, we encounter a double morality in a text which tries to teach us the Christian religion. Kahlos tells us that “it was both the last repressive of years of Constantius II’s reign and Julian’s attack on Christianity in the name of Hellenism in the 360s that brought on the polarization of the Christian and pagan attitudes in the last decades of the fourth century” (Kahlos 2007, 4). Later on Kahlos continues: “During the fourth and fifth centuries Christians faced new challenges in their self-definition. The

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Roman emperors were now Christians, the church strengthened its position in the late antique society, and at the end of the fourth century Christianity became the established state religion” (op. cit., 55). Hence, Christian identity then was being formed and in defining it, Christian authors interpreted old texts from their point of view and consequently judged other religious practices as inferior. By resorting to binaries, Christians reinforced their identity against pagans. In their way, they resorted to literature as a vehicle to spread Christian ideas, as is the case with Beowulf. As Kahlos suggested, “paganism was never a religion and there were no pagans before Christianity. Christians invented paganism, not only as a term, but also as a system. The emergence and phases of the concept pagan illustrates the evolving Christian self-consciousness, Christian eagerness to become separate and different from other nonChristian people” (op. cit., 18). Some scholars like Guignebert, however, consider that Christianity and paganism occurred simultaneously and there were people sharing features from both practices. Kahlos also supports this latter idea by claiming that both are independent of each other and “there could not have been Christians without pagans” (op. cit., 30). This persistent dichotomy the founders of religion have recurrently tried to impose on us, especially between paganism and Christianity as mutually exclusive, resembles that of good vs evil present in literature throughout history. God is constantly present throughout this Anglo-Saxon poem in connection with Beowulf referred to as “The Almighty Judge”, “Lord God” or “High King of the World” (Heaney, lines 180–83). Nevertheless, the constant and simultaneous presence of pagan goddesses and rituals makes us think about the true nature of the story. It is as if the two religions were confronted here; the narrator, together with Beowulf and the Anglo-Saxons, seems to practise Christianity whereas the Danes and monsters are considered pagans. God acts here as the protector of “the man whose name was known for courage” (Heaney, line 340) but he is also a repressive God. He is asked for help before battle but he is also responsible for the fate of the hero and the problems he has to encounter: Not helped to save him: holy God Decided the victory. It was easy for the Lord. The ruler of Heaven, to redress the balance Once Beowulf got back up on his feet. (Heaney, lines 1553–1556)

What Beowulf represents is a long dynasty of old kings and heroes who, being pagans, were condemned by the new orthodox religion. Nevertheless, they are depicted as noble souls who are able to discern and

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recognize the true God and follow him. Hence, heroes are determined by fate marked by God, which they assume: And gladden his heart. I hereby renounce sword and the shelter of the broad shield, the heavy war-boar: hand-to-hand is how it will be, a life-and-death fight with the fiend. Whichever one death fells must deem it a just judgment by God. (Heaney, lines 436–441) If the battle takes me, send back this breast-webbing that Weland fashioned and Hrethel gave me, to Lord Hygelac Fate goes ever as fate must. (Heaney, lines 452–455)

One religious aspect also important to take into account is the burials. We continue to see Germanic funerary customs at a point when they had already been influenced by Christian beliefs. Pagan burials were based on the widespread early European conviction that the soul is not annihilated at death, nor, as in Christian belief, is it released from this world. For this reason, a place was often found for the burial or cremation of a real or symbolic horse, chariot, ship or other vehicle, as well as for the provision of valuable objects that could be of use to the departure, as we can see in the poem: They stretched their beloved lord in his boat, Laid out by the mast, amidships, The great ring-giver, Far-fetched treasures Were piled upon him, and precious gear I never heard before of a ship so well furbished With battle tackle, bladed weapons And coats of mail. The massed treasure Was loaded on top of him: it would travel far On out into the ocean’s sway. (Heaney, lines 34–42)

Death is considered as a mere transition from this world to another and heroes should gain reputation and respect throughout life behaving correctly according to God’s will: He has nowhere to turn. But blessed is he Who after death can approach the Lord And find friendship in the Father’s embrace. (Heaney, lines 186–188) It is always better

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to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world Means waiting for our end. Let whoever can Win glory before death. (Heaney, lines 1384–1387)

One of the clearest examples of Christianity noted by scholars like North (2007) can be seen in the figures of Grendel and Grendel’s mother. Even though monsters belong to Germanic pagan tradition, these figures have been given a Christian reading. In the case of Grendel, Grendel’s mother and the dragon, they represent a direct influence from Latin sources that reached the poet. Grendel and Grendel’s mother are seen as descendants of Cain and the dragon is interpreted following the lives of saints. Indeed, they are openly said within the poem to be God’s punishment to men “‘For the killing of Abel”: In misery among the banished monsters, Cain’s clan, whom the Creator has outlawed And condemned as outcasts. For the killing of Abel The Eternal Lord had exacted a price. (Heaney, lines 105–108)

Grendel is described as a “demon”, a “shadow-stalker”, a “beast”, all adjectives associated with Christianity. In addition, there is a reference to the Great Flood recounted in Genesis. In this reference to the biblical flood, the author of Beowulf is suggesting that the sword’s creators were descendants of those that caused God to bring on the flood, perhaps even suggesting that they were descendants of Cain. Moreover, North proposes an analogy between Beowulf’s fight with Grendel and that of David with Goliath (North 2006, 72) trying to prove the Christian influence we are discussing. As Gwyn Jones says, “Christianity serves a decisive function in refining and humanizing the poem’s declared values”. Overall, there is a clear dichotomy among scholars who consider it a Christian poem and those considering it a pagan one. For some scholars like Chambers or Müllenhoff, Beowulf is rooted in pagan practices; for example, “Yet many recent critics have followed Müllenhoff so far at least as to believe that the Christian passages are inconsistent with what they regard as the ‘essentially heathen’ tone of the rest of the poem, and are therefore the work of an interpolar” (Chambers 1959, 121); “the Christian element is inconsistent with other parts of the poem. A second argument that Beowulf must belong either to heathen times, or to the very earliest Christian period in England, has been found in the character of the Christian allusions: they contain no reference to Christ, to the Cross, to the

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Virgin or the Saints to any doctrine of the church in regard to the Trinity, the Atonement, etc” (op. cit., 125); “the vagueness which is so characteristic of the Christian references in Beowulf can then hardly be due to the poem having originally been a heathen one, worked over by a Christian. Others have seen in this vagueness a proof that the minstrels who introduced the Christian element had but a vague knowledge of the new faith” (op. cit., 126). All these ideas are intended to diminish the prevalent idea that Beowulf could be considered a Christian work. On the other hand, some other scholars like Girvan or Whitelock plump for the other option as we can see in the following quotations: I am protesting against the view that Beowulf carries us directly to the Germanic pagan past, and I shall endeavour to show that little or no trustworthy evidence of life and manners in the migration period, as distinct from later times, can be derived from the poem. (Girvan 1971, 32) Professor Dorothy Whitelock emphasizes effectively evidence that Beowulf was made for a Christian audience who, though lay, had enough specifically Christian education to appreciate and understand Biblical allusions and even Patristic expressions—an audience therefore removed some distance in time from the conversion of their country to Christianity. (op. cit. 529)

What we should understand is that Beowulf is certainly a pagan work being influenced by a later Christianity that was settled and imposed on the British Isles. Hence, it is nonsensical to classify this work in terms of one religion or the other since it shows both of them in a mixture of Germanic and Latin elements derived from the mutation it underwent in the hands of the Christian monks; for that reason, we assume Beowulf cannot be relied on for accurate Anglo-Saxon practices and life: “It has been asserted that, despite a Christian colouring, everything referred to in Beowulf is pagan” (Girvan 1971, 32).

Grendel’s Mother: Interpretations of this Character Continuing from this final statement, I will focus my attention on one particular monster Beowulf fought against—Grendel’s mother. Male heroism within the poem does not allow the introduction of women as some critics believe. However, in Beowulf we find female characters like Wealhtheow, Hygd, Hildeburh, Freawaru, Thryth and Grendel’s mother with a great resonance. Noble women had an important role in politics and at home, leading all sorts of enterprises and granting

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the security and prosperity of their family. We are presented here anyway with a common dichotomy during the Middle Ages, that of wicked or good women. The counter-examples of these noble and faithful women are the two monsters Thryth and Grendel’s mother. The former is human—a princess—whereas the latter is a monster. However, both are representative of evil and horror as opposed to the warmth and hospitality of the others. In this case, Grendel’s mother is an epitome of independence, power and bravery; her character breaks the convention of her time—femininity, passivity, peacemaker—and can be compared in that sense to Chaucer’s Wife of Bath. Even though Grendel’s mother is physically depicted as a monster accompanied by her actions, her behaviour resembles that of a mortal mother caring for her child and seeking revenge for his death. She, together with Grendel, is excluded from society and this rejection can explain her psychological state and consequently her actions; and that is precisely why the reader, at one point in the poem, feels pity for her and identifies with her. Overall, the female characters in Beowulf have a passive role; indeed, they have voice and their opinion is taken into account. In short, they all represent key elements in the development of the plot. The problem when reconstructing the life of women from that time is that we lack direct evidence from their own voice; that means we can only approach women from the male perspective—“Their history comes to us from men’s writings and from the perspective of men” (Sawyer 1996, 2). In the case of Grendel’s mother, her appearance within the poem is triggered by the death of her son Grendel. When Beowulf killed Grendel his mother decided to take revenge and look for “the killing of souls”: Devil-shaped woman, her woe ever minded, Who was held to inhabit the horrible waters, The cold-flowing currents, after Cain had become a Slayer-with-edges to his one only brother, The son of his sire; he set out then banished, Marked as a murderer, man-joys avoiding. (Hall, lines 9–14, XX) Foeman of man. His mother moreover Grendel’s mother comes to avenge her son. Eager and gloomy was anxious to go on Her mournful mission, mindful of vengeance For the death of her son. (Hall, lines 26–19, XX)

It may seem this monster was of less importance than the others since she does not even have a name; she is recalled by her son and her exact appearance is never directly described in the poem. Considering the

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religious perspective, one explanation for that would be that Christians had problems referring to God or evil, and that is why Grendel’s mother as a devilish creature has no name. We just know where she lives—in a lake (a place full of symbolism associated with northern mythology and darkness but also with Christianity since it represents hell). Nevertheless, she is of more importance than we may think. Trying the waters, nickers a-lying On the cliffs of the nesses, which at noonday full often Go on the sea-deeps their sorrowful journey, Wild-beasts and wormkind; away then they hastened One of them is killed by Beowulf. Hot-mooded, hateful, they heard the great clamor, The war-trumpet winding. One did the Geat-prince Sunder from earth-joys, with arrow from bowstring, From his sea-struggle tore him, that the trusty war-missile The dead beast is a poor swimmer Pierced to his vitals; he proved in the currents Less doughty at swimming whom death had offcarried. (Hall, lines 43–53, XXII) The sea-wolf bare then, when bottomward came she, She grabs him, and bears him to her den. The ring-prince homeward, that he after was powerless (He had daring to do it) to deal with his weapons, But many a mere-beast tormented him swimming, Sea-monsters bite and strike him. Flood-beasts no few with fierce-biting tusks did Break through his burnie, the brave one pursued they. The earl then discovered he was down in some cavern Where no water whatever anywise harmed him, And the clutch of the current could come not anear him, Since the roofed-hall prevented; brightness a-gleaming Fire-light he saw, flashing resplendent. (Hall, lines 33–43, XXIII)

Numerous interpretations have come to light when analysing the figure of Grendel’s mother. First of all, she was considered a descendant of Cain. Traditions around the two brothers had started to develop already during Old Testament times, arguing that descendants of Cain had had sexual intercourse with fallen angels, producing giants. Until the late 1970s, all scholarship on Grendel’s mother and translations of “aglæc-wif” were influenced by the edition of the noted Beowulf scholar Frederick Klaeber. According to Klaeber’s glossary,

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“aglæc-wif” translates as “monster, demon, fiend” when referring to Grendel or Grendel’s mother. On the other hand, “aglæca/æglæca” is translated by Klaeber as “warrior, hero” when referring to the character Beowulf. Some scholars have argued that Grendel’s mother is a woman warrior. In 1979, Beowulf scholars Kuhn and Stanley argued against Klaeber’s reading of Grendel’s mother. Another interpretation of this monster (Nora Kershaw Chadwick [1959] and later Helen Damico) was to associate it with the Norse figures of the valkyries and of the goddess Gefion who may be an extension of Frigg and Freyja, an interpretation which reinforces the pagan ideology depicted in the poem. Contemporary representations of Grendel’s mother display a beautiful young red-haired woman with a mixture of animal and human features reinforcing that double religion that informs the whole poem.

Symbolism: Red Hair and Women: Devilish or Erotic? Having introduced the figure of Grendel’s mother and the interpretations that have been raised concerning this monster, I would like to shift my attention to two particular features: one the fact that she is a woman and the other the attribute she is portrayed with in contemporary depictions, namely, her red hair. From ancient times women have been considered either useless or evil in literature. In Beowulf we can appreciate these two conceptions of women. On the one hand we find queens who act as trophy wives just doing what their husbands ask them to do. On the other, we encounter active and devilish women who look for revenge action, as in the case of Grendel’s mother. Nevertheless, as we said before, all of these female characters seem to have a more active role within the poem that is supposed. Let’s make a quick historical review of how women have been represented throughout time: In Greek and Latin mythology, we find witches, sirens, sibyls and wizards; all of them women attempting to destroy men through seduction. Some examples are Helena, Pandora, Eva, Clitemnestra, Hera, Yocasta, Medea, Amazons.

In Genesis and the apocalyptic literature women took the form of snakes, beasts or prostitutes. Christianity has denigrated women by

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associating them with monstrosity, wisdom, craziness and the ability to use tricks in order to destroy men. Therefore, starting with Eve, women were thought of as symbolizing evil, sin and weakness. St Jerome, one of the fathers of the church, says: “La mujer es la puerta del Diablo, la senda de la iniquidad, la picadura de la serpiente, en una palabra, un objeto peligroso” (quoted in Bosch, Ferrer & Gili 1999, 9). Women are associated with the Devil since it is their job to tempt men: “Women are not simply the second sex constantly affirming the primary of the first, but they are the “other” gender which actually manifests evil in the world, and ensnares men, dragging them down to ruin and despair. Women are represented as a power against good, the latter being the natural inclination for men” (Sawyer 1996, 130). In Gnosticism Eve was the one who created Adam from blood and clay. However, Christianity rejected this stance and adopted the vision of women as created by God as imperfect creatures. According to medieval legends, demons used to take attractive women’s form so that they could seduce and use men for their convenience. As Sawyer claims, “Christianity has been the most dominant religious, social, political and cultural influence on women’s lives in the history of western civilization” (op. cit., 41), and has contributed to the construction of binary opposites concerning gender roles persistent in our contemporary society. Those binaries were also constructed concerning religious matters, that is, light (Christianity) vs darkness (paganism): “the light of truth is dimmed by the pagan falsehoods” (Kahlos 2007, 13). In Judaism, it was not Eve but Lilith who was the first woman created by God. She was a mixture of woman and snake, a sinner woman who tempted Eve. As this tradition tells, God created her from faeces and filth. She rebelled against mankind and disappeared into the air. She escaped divine punishment and became the first of a long line of witches, devils and prostitutes. From that moment onwards the church banned any liberal attitude to women. We may remember the fourteenth-century outbreak of witches which became the object of persecution giving rise to the witchcraft trials by the Inquisition. In Judaism, as in Christianity, there is a clear distinction between private and public life for both women and men. Women are secluded at home, being considered inferior to men and denied autonomy and power. They are required to be virginal and pure because they are identified with adulterous behaviour and must be guarded from temptation to behave in such a way. Yet, Lilith represents the epitome of feminism since she challenges the religious conventions of the time for the sake of freedom. In the nineteenth century, the Industrial Revolution marks a watershed as far as women were concerned; they claimed equality and they started to

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be introduced in the public sphere. Women are gaining power now outside the house and men feel their position in society at risk. The model of a merciful and submissive woman is imposed and any opposing attitude will be punished. At the same time, the femme fatale concept arises and gathers strength as a product of a period of big social changes. This dichotomy influenced pre-Raphaelite artists who started to portray that femme fatale with a murky, perverse, sensual, organic and destructive beauty and with a distinctive attribute supporting that entire exotic as well as devilish load—red hair. On the contrary artists like da Vinci or Botticelli employ this particular feature with a totally different symbolism—that of Christianity and purity. Hence, we can see there is a double vision of this particular feature of red hair depending on the tendency/ideology we follow. This myth of the femme fatale will also be absorbed by the great discovery of the century—the cinema, which enabled this myth to be widespread and lasting, a myth which directly associates itself with the past conceptions of women as devilish.

Conclusions In the light of everything written above, we can conclude that it seems hard to trust Beowulf due to its constant inconsistencies and inaccuracies. Overall, it has been adapted through time according to the people who inhabited England and their culture. The mythology and symbolism present throughout the poem have been reinterpreted according to Christian belief; as an example, the death of Grendel’s mother was interpreted as the end of paganism in England (metaphorical death), the dragons were interpreted by Christianity as Jews (monsters which destroy things and gather gold). Nevertheless, the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons did not yield to the abandonment of ancient pagan myths, which indeed were maintained. When Catholicism governed the country, Beowulf was transformed into the example of God vs Evil but that is just one possible reading of the whole poem. So going back to the beginning, can we consider Beowulf as a poem faithful to its time giving an accurate idea of Anglo-Saxon practices and life? As we have seen, Beowulf cannot be considered a “Christian work” since it is built upon a basis of pagan practices. Nevertheless, it resorts to Christianity, as we can see, by using Christian symbolism. R. W. Chambers says:

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Works Cited “Beowulf, An Anglo-Saxon Epic Poem, Translated From The HeyneSocin by Lesslie Hall”. 2001. In Beowulf: A New Verse Translation by Seamus Heaney. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Chambers, Raymond. 1959. Beowulf, an Introduction, London: Cambridge University Press. Chickering, Howell. 2002. “Beowulf and “Heaneywulf”. Kenyon Review, 24: 160. Fred C. Robinson “Beowulf”. In Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 142–159. Fulk, Robert and Dennis Fulk. 1991. Interpretations of Beowulf: A Critical Anthology. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Girvan, Ritchie. 1971. Beowulf & the Seventh Century. London: Methuen & Company. Godden, Malcolm and Michael Lapidge (eds). The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Godden, Malcolm. 2013. “Biblical literature: The Old Testament. In Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 206–226. Gwara, Scott. 2009. Heroic identity in the world of Beowulf. Boston: Brill. Hill, Thomas D. “Christian Language and Theme of Beowulf”. In The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 197–211. Kahlos, Maijastina. 2007. Debate and Dialogue: Christian and Pagan Cultures c. 360–430. Aldershot: Ashgate. Kaminsky, Greg. 2012. “The Religious Theme in Beowulf”. The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–12. Niles, John D. 2013. “Pagan survivals and popular belief”. In Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 126–141. North, Richard. 2007. The origins of Beowulf: from Vergil to Wiglaf. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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O’Keeffe, Katherine O’Brien. 2009. “Heroic values and Christian ethics”. In Cambridge Companions to Old Enhglish Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 107–125. Sawyer, Deborah F. 1996. Women and Religion in the First Christian Centuries. London: Routledge. Tolkien, J.R.R. 1936. “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics”. Proceedings of the British Academy, Vol. XXII 1936, 245–295.

PART III:

MEDIEVAL ECHOES IN CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE

CHAPTER SEVEN BEYOND EQUALITY, FREEDOM AND TOLERATION: ECHOES OF TUFAYL IN ATTAR’S WORKS MAGDALENA LÓPEZ-PÉREZ

Ibn Tufayl’s Hayy Ibn Yaqzan Ibn Tufayl was an Arabic writer, adviser and court physician of the Sultan Abu Ya’qub Yusuf of Morocco and Spain. He wrote his novel Hayy Ibn Yaqzan in Arabic in the second half of the twelfth century (1160s or 1170s). Hayy Ibn Yaqzan is an allegorical philosophical novel which was well known relatively early in Western Europe. It was translated into Hebrew and Moses of Nabonne wrote a commentary on it in 1349; it was translated into Latin by Pico della Mirandola in the second half of the fifteenth century. Another Latin edition appeared in 1671, made from the Arabic by Edward Pococke. The translation was reprinted in 1700. The work then saw several translations into English: by George Keith in 1674, by George Ashwell in 1686 and by Simon Ockley in 1708. This last translation was reprinted in 1711. Dutch versions also appeared in Amsterdam in 1762 and 1701 (Attar 2007, 20–40). Ibn Tufayl’s protagonist, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, whose Arabic name means “the living son of the wakeful”, is a boy born spontaneously on a desert island in the Indian Ocean “where Men come into the world, spontaneously without the help of Father or Mother”. It is the story of a man’s ability to survive in a natural state, free of language, society, history and tradition. It supports the empirical method of the sciences and emphasizes the power of human reason. Tufayl’s hero is a cosmopolitan personality and a rational free thinker who can function anywhere on this earth. What shapes him is how he makes use of his reason and intuition. Hayy is born in nature, without

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parents, and learns how to be self-sufficient. He believes in freedom and toleration. Hayy has no religion. He is neither a Muslim nor a Christian nor a Jew, although a Muslim philosopher created him. As Attar states, When he was placed among other people who entertained different ideas and seemed to worship different gods, he never criticized them, or tried to force them to adopt his way of thinking. What he did was to try to engage their reason. But once they refused to do so he left alone. He knew very well that forcing others to adopt his ideas would lead to violence. Toleration is a very important key to peace. (2007, xiii)

Hayy reaches the conclusion that people are not the same and that the Light shines within each one of them, but some can see it and some cannot. Through his acute observation, experiences and reflections, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan attains philosophical knowledge that is reserved only for the privileged few. According to Hayy, there is a place for everyone on this earth. Conformity is not recommended, and arguments that may lead to violence and endanger the social and spiritual fabric of society are better avoided. Hayy Ibn Yaqzan would never praise any specific race, or religion, or claim that they have exclusively achieved something that no one is able to achieve. For him, we are all human beings, and are able to change the world if we use our reason.

Samar Attar’s Novel As Samar Attar maintains, her “fascination with Ibn Tufayl goes back to childhood. My family owned a huge library in Damascus, Syria. As a child of eleven years old I was able to read many Arabic and foreign books. Authors such as Imru al-Qays, Zuhair Ibn Abi Sulma, Ibn Tufayl, al-Ma’arri, Shakespeare, Goethe, Rousseau, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekove were all there” (Attar 2007, xi). In her book The Vital Roots of European Enlightenment: Ibn Tufayl’s influence on Modern Western Thought, Attar suggests (2007, xii) that birth, family, blood ties, name, language, history and religion are neither necessary ingredients for the construction of identity, nor are they necessary for man’s attainment of happiness. In fact, what constitutes the personal identity for Ibn Tufayl’s hero is the proper usage of reason and inner light by human beings. When writing his book, Attar’s wish was to spread Ibn Tufayl’s ideas about equality, freedom and toleration so that

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they might take root again not only in the West, but in particular among his own people and in the Islamic civilization that had produced him. Indeed, that was her desire the first time she read Ibn Tufyal’s novel Hayy Ibn Yaqzan. Samar Attar belongs to the Al-Mahğar’s Generation, a generation which started at the beginning of the twentieth century in the United States by a group of emigré Arabic writers who translated their own works from Arabic into English and from English into Arabic. Also to this phenomenon belong those works by contemporary authors, such as Ğubrān Ḫalīl Ğubrān, Mīḫa’īl Nu‘aymah, Mīḫa’īl Naṣīb ‘Arīḍah or Iliyā Abū Māḍī, among others. The extensive literary production of Attar, born in Damascus, includes books in both English and Arabic concerning literary criticism, translation, language teaching and creative writing. Also, Attar’s poems have appeared in several anthologies in England and Canada. Her two novels written so far are mainly autobiographical, despite the fact that the main character (the same young woman in both novels) appears under the name of Lina, the name of Attar’s actual daughter. She reveals the identity of the middle-class woman in Syria, and specifically in Damascus, as well as the kind of education received by young women and their not always easy relationships with their parents. All these events are also placed against the background of the political and cultural changing conditions during the 50s and the 60s in Syria. As she herself admits (Attar 2002, 19), her influences are not to be found in earlier modern literature (James Joyce, Marcel Proust, Anton Chkhov, Franz Kafka, Robert Walser, Khalil Gibran, Mikhail Nu‘aymah, and so on), but also in the concrete social, political and religious environment, as can be appreciated from her analysis of the two novels The House on Arnus Square and Lina: A Portrait of a Damascene Girl.

The House on Arnus Square This novel, confessedly inspired by a short story entitled Das Ende der Welt by the Swiss writer Robert Walser, is the first novel, as the author herself states, of a planned trilogy covering the familiar history of the main character and her personal experiences since she left Syria and moved to the West. It was written in Arabic in West Berlin in 1984 and published in Sydney in 1988. It is about the Lina’s experiences on her frequent return visits to her home in Arnūs square, where she was born. She tells about herself in first person and about the daily life of the three women, two

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sisters (Rima and Bahiya) and the maid (Fattum), who have been living there for fifty years. Lina returns to her native home twenty years after her self-exile in western (European and American) countries. Although she has spent a long time in other places, Lina is always yearning to come back to her first home in Damascus, but she suffers from a great disappointment, as she finds no remains that she can remember. The narrator provides the reader with countless and precise descriptions of her “house”, its inhabitants, its surroundings, etc., and she even goes further in her account when she discovers all the intrigues hidden behind the links she had established with her own home.

Lina: A Portrait of a Damascene Girl This novel represents the second book of the trilogy, the third part of which has not been published yet. The author follows the models of the autobiographical novels, especially the complex and dialectical process of development of other writers in her early years of education, in conflict with her religious and political milieu, in a way similar to James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, to which it bears some obvious resemblances, and not merely to the title. In this novel, Attar describes how a Damascene young girl grows up under the shadow of the military governments during the 50s and the beginning of the 60s, until she decides to move away from Syria. The author tells us about the contradictions arising between Lina and the social and political environment that surrounds her. Finally, everything will end up with her regretful refusal of her family, her religion and even her own country: Lina: A Portrait of a Damascene Girl describes the growing up of a young girl in Damascus, Syria, under the shadow of military governments during the fifties and early sixties, up to the point of her decisions to leave Syria. The novel depicts an artist’s struggle against her environment, ending repression that Lina leaves behind still exist in the Middle East today. (Attar 2007, 32)

The violence and repression that Lina denounces, as deep critical elements throughout the book, are still present in the Middle East, which is one of the reasons why this novel has been banned in Syria and other Arab countries. The novel is divided into three main sections, each of them devoted to the three stages of Lina’s life: her childhood, her adolescence and her

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womanhood. It starts when Fattum, the maid, goes together with Lina to the dining room to meet the rest of the family (her mother, her four sisters, her only brother and other members) for a celebration dinner commemorating her father’s death, an event that provokes great astonishment in Lina. This dinner involves quite opposite values and ideas among the different members of the family, making reference above all to some conflicts based on religious, politics, social classes, sexual repression and the special relationships between men and women, developed throughout the whole novel. According to the author, Lina is structured in several levels. At the personal one, the novel describes the life of a Damascene middle class young girl in the 50s, her education at national schools and at the university and her political flirtation with communist and socialist student groupings. At the social level, the book describes the relationships among different Syrian social classes which have actually not undergone many changes from then to the present, in spite of all the attempts at reform.

Similarities and Differences between the Two Authors Ibn Tufayl’s work and Attar’s novels share several characteristic features: both are about a person’s ability to survive in a “natural state” free of society, history and tradition. Both question traditional doctrines and values, suggest innovations in religious and educational concepts and advocate, to different degrees, religious tolerance, nonviolence and peaceful coexistence among people who adhere to various sects. Regardless of the fact that they lived in different centuries and in different countries, adhere to different religions and had different careers and education, both authors Tufayl and Attar expressed their anxiety about religious intolerance through their heroes. However, Ibn Tufayl did not have to flee his country after having written his book Hayy Ibn Yaqzan in the twelfth century. No one accused him of atheism. He was a respected physician, scientist and philosopher and was supported by the king and nation. In contrast, Samar Attar had to leave her country and become exiled. In her novels, Attar not only gives details about historical, political and social events of Syria during the 50s and 60s, but also expresses her ideas and rejections from the point of view of an Arab woman. Samar Attar expresses this point as follows: Few Arabs have read my two novels in Arabic, or have heard about me. My novels are not distributed in Arab countries. Critics never include me with other Arab writers (…). If it were not for censorship I might not have

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The main character of Ibn Tufayl’s work has created his identity without family, history and so on. The same has happened to the main character in Attar’s novels. In fact, the following lines are quite significant as they express the protagonist’s feeling of rejection: My mother told me that learning did not help me a bit. On its account, I rejected my family, society, religion, and country (…). I was tired of being an Arab, a Moslem and a woman. (Attar 1994, 206)

Lina is exiled as a way of fighting against the political system established in Syria. She does not accept that women have no role in Syrian society. She wants to learn, despite the fact that this makes her reject her family, her society, her religion and even her country. The following passage gives an account of this: My mother didn’t leave me alone. She knew I was afraid. But I left her after many years without looking back for even a second. I wanted then to flee, from her, from my house, from Damascus, from everything around me. (Attar 1998, 141)

Equality The general thesis of Hayy Ibn Yaqzan is that since reason is the central human capacity for truth-seeking, and since each one of us is endowed with this reason, there is no need for prophets, sacred texts, religious mediators or conventional religions. However, this thesis will be slightly modified when the main character moves temporarily to a human society. Although all men are equal in respect of their rationality, some are more able than others to make use of it. In this case, one can understand the necessity of conventional religions, particularly for those who neglect to use their reason. In this sense, Hayy and Lina share some characteristics. The following passage shows Lina’s attitude towards equality. In fact, she insists on the primacy of man’s mental and moral improvement. What she is trying to do is to combine two theories, the materialistic and the idealistic. However, they seem to be contradictory, as the first one focuses on the idea that man

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is created and conditioned by his surroundings whereas the idealistic one asserts that man’s mind is free, just the same reasoning as Hayy. In the last conversation with her friend Amal, whose name means “freedom”, Lina expresses firmly her reasons to leave: –But your dream is vague, said Amal in a faint voice, a vision of heavenly existence. Yet, from a historical perspective, it is clear that the vision of one century is often the reality of the next one, said Lina. Don’t you see that the problem is purely economical? asked Amal. Your utopia could not be found unless the economic life is reorganized, and wealth is distributed. And this means that improving the environment will predominate, since with improved surrounding, man’s mental and spiritual progress will follow as a matter of course. Do you believe that we would behave like humans if we were materially satisfied? You are idealistic, said Amal contemptuously. Because I insist on a primacy of man’s mental and moral improvement? Don’t you see I don’t reject your materialistic theory altogether? All that I am trying to do is combine the two theories, the materialistic and the idealistic. This is impossible, said Amal. The two theories are contradictory, the materialistic insists that man is created and conditioned by his surroundings, and the idealistic asserts that man’s mind is free. Both are correct, and I don’t see the contradiction, said Lina. (Attar 1998, 211)

Freedom Freedom is an important concept not only for Hayy but also for Lina. As we have stated previously, Hayy believes in freedom of choice and toleration. For him, being a free person is one of the most important things in life. The feeling of freedom and the fact of being free from everything is the basis for Hayy’s thought. Indeed, Hayy is constantly making reference to this idea throughout his novel: “Sensation, and Nutrition, and the Power of moving freely where they pleas’d, were common to them all” (Ibn Tuyfail 1972, 77); “Bodies were free from one or other of these Tendencies, or would ever lye still, unless hinder’d by some other Body, and interrupted in their course” (Ibn Tuyfail 1972, 81). For Hayy, what determines a person’s humanity is his right to freedom, his capacity to choose whatever he wants, his capacity to decide his religion, his language and so on. In this sense, this is what Lina looks

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forward to. She wants to feel free from everything. She does not want anyone or anything to impose on her what to do, what to think or how to behave. As Attar states (2006, 150), Lina at the end “came to the conclusion that if she stayed in Syria she would be killed, imprisoned, or at best rot like the rest of her people. She chose exile as an alternative space of freedom, rejecting her family, friends, and country” (Attar 2006, 150–176).

Toleration In his article “Toleration as a model Idea”, Peter Nicholson defines toleration as “the virtue of refraining from exercising one’s power to interfere with others’ opinion or action although that deviates from one’s own over something important and although one morally disapproves of it” (Nicholson 1985, 162). 1 Nicholson’s thesis is that toleration is something good and preferable because of the weight of the reasons against intolerance. In this sense, Hayy is the prototype of a tolerant man who has formulated the concept of toleration at a critical historical juncture in order to cope with religious fanaticism which was a continuing threat to civil order and personal security in the second half of the twelfth century Morocco and Spain. Hayy has no sacred texts to subscribe to, no prophets to follow, no prayers to perform, no fasting, no pilgrimage to undertake, no strict rules to adhere to. Since reason is the only judge and guide, Hayy maintains that one must avoid conflicts by all means. Tolerance is to be extended to others who profess different views, creeds and beliefs from ourselves. Ibn Tufayl’s hero is rational and good like the rest of us. His spiritual progress is not an impossible dream. What distinguishes him from many of us perhaps is that he has made better use of his reason, and that he has endeavoured to see the divine light which shines within each of us. His story shows how an individual can progress to perfection if he so desires. And, precisely, this is the final thought of Lina: she needs a free form of expression and the only way of getting that is by leaving her home. She pretends to fight for her ideals from outside her country. Although the issue of diversity and the necessity of respecting individual differences has been raised all through Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, it is only the last five pages of this philosophical novel that deal specifically with questions of social, religious and political toleration. As Attar states (2008, 64–65), Ibn Tufayl’s novel suggests that birth, family, blood ties, name, language, history and religion are neither necessary ingredients for

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the construction of identity, nor are they necessary for man’s attainment of happiness. What constitutes personal identity for Hayy is the proper usage of reason and inner light by human beings. People influence each other regardless of their race, religion, gender, and culture. Individuals and communities have often bound their identities to their families, histories, religions and languages. On the contrary, Hayy and Lina have expressed their anxiety about notions that would eventually lead to exclusion, intolerance and fanaticism. Both main characters disregard name, family, history, religion and language as essential ingredients in the makeup of personal identities. Hayy’s motto is that man must never rely on authority, only on his own reason. There is no clear-cut vision of the world. No one can impose his own views on others, or claim that his way is the only way to discover the truth. Hayy questions conventional religions, but does not advocate their elimination, as he firmly believes in the principle of the one and the many. Equality, freedom and toleration are essential values in any society and, therefore, violence must be avoided. These values are also shared by Lina who is determined to go out and leave aside everything searching for that equality, that freedom and that toleration which Hayy defended. In fact, leaving was the way in which Lina could express herself, could use her reason and could construct her own personality: Aren’t you afraid of loneliness? asked Amal, and threw the remnant of her cigarette butt in the gutter. I will take the risk, said Lina. Even if that means losing your family, your friends, your country? Her voice trembled. Even though, said Lina, I am tired of those chains, whether they’re called family, friends, or country. Since the death of the peasant student, I couldn’t believe in anything more (…) Do you believe that this city will become a reality if you leave? Amal halted a little. The cruel words lashed Lina as if they were whips. Listen, she said to Amal, the ideal city will not become a reality if I were here or not. And if I stay I will end up either in prison or dead. Otherwise, I’ll rot like the rest of you. I reject your false love that prevents me from seeing you as you are. I refuse to serve that which I don’t believe in, whether it is my family, my friends, my country. I’ll try the impossible to express myself the way I want, with the freedom I see fit. All that will not be available to me unless I go away from you. (Attar 1994, 213)

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Conclusions The message of the novel Hayy Ibn Yaqzan is quite clear. People, we are told, are different, although they belong to the same species. One must accept their multiplicity and unity at the same time. The real problem for Hayy is our tendency to glorify ourselves, while denigrating others whom we deem to be different from us. In this light, lofty ideas such as equality, freedom and toleration cannot possibly originate or flourish except in our culture. He realizes that: people may be shaped by conventions and customs; that they tend to rely heavily on social, political, religious and educational authorities and that they hardly allow their own reason to play any role in shaping their identity (…). He encourages people to think for themselves, but he fails. (Attar 2007, 75–76)

Likewise, this feeling of having failed has always been present in Lina. Her primary desire was that everybody could express him or herself without being afraid, that people could learn to respect others’ thought and beliefs. Attar’s both novels, The House on Arnus Square and Lina: A Portrait of a Damascene Girl, end before her departure from Damascus. However, throughout the whole pages, we can discover her attitude towards society, religion, politics and freedom. We are even able to share the reason which motivates her to fly away from her home. Although both authors and both protagonists have lived in different times obviously, the novels can be considered as optimistic autobiographical treatises on human nature. They also have in common the fight for making people think for themselves, without taking into account family, society, religion or language. And, unfortunately, none of the main characters achieved their goals. That was the reason why both became exiled: Hayy, to his Indian island, and Lina, away from Damascus.

Works Cited Attar, S. 2007. The Vital Roots of European Enlightenment: Ibn Tufayl’s influence on modern Western thought. Plymouth: Lexington Books. —. 2002. “Translating the Exiled Self: Reflections on the Relationship between Translation and Censorship”. In Sensus de Sensu: Estudios Filológicos de Traducción, edited by Vicente López. Cordoba: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Córdoba.

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—. 1994. Lina: A Portrait of a Damascene Girl. Colorado: Three Continent Press. —. 1998. The House on Arnus Square. Colorado: Passeggiata Press. —. 2006. “The Price of Dissidence: A Meditation on Creativity, Censorship and Exile”. Meridians: feminism, race, transnationalism. 6, 150-176. Bird, Michael. 2001. “Back to the Future for Higher Education Medieval Universities”. Review of Internet and Higher Education 4. Borys, Magdalena and Laskowski, Maciej. 2013. “Implementing Game Elements into Didactic Process: a Case Study”. Management, Knowledge and Learning International Conference. Zadar, Croatia. Castells, Manuel. 2001. “Identity and Change in the Network Society”. Conversations with History; Institute of International Studies. Berkeley: UC. Cortázar, Julio. 1966. Hopscotch. New York: National Book Foundation. New York. Digital Culture Report. 2013. How Arts and Cultural Organizations in England Use Technology. London: MTM. Evans, R. J. W. and Marchal, Guy P. (eds). 2011. The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States. History, Nationhood and the Search for Origins. Hampshire: Palgrave-Macmillan. Goins, Elizabeth S.; Egert, Cristopher; Phelps, Andrew; Reedy, Chandra and Kincaid, Joel. 2013. “Molding the Humanities: Experiments in Historic Narratives”. Journal of Interactive Humanities, 1. Hampden-Turner, Charles. 1970. Radical Man. The Process of PsychoSocial Development. Cambridge, MA: Schenkman. Jeuring, Johan; van Rooij, Rick and Pronost, Nicolas. 2013. The 5/10 Method: A Method for Designing Educational Games. Technical Report. Department of Information and Computing Sciences. Utrecht: Utrecht University. Ibn Tufayl, A. B. 1929. The History of Hayy Ibn Yaqzan. New York: Frederick A. Stokes. Licklider, J. C. R. 1968. “The Computer as a Communication Device”. In Science and Technology, April 1968. —. 1960. “Man-Computer symbiosis”. In Transactions on Human Factors in Electronics, HFE-1. Nicholson, P. 1985. “Toleration as a Moral Idea”. In Aspects of Toleration: Philosophical Studies, edited by Horton, J. & Mendus, S. London: Methuen. Pavich, Milorad. 1988. Dictionary of the Khazars. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

CHAPTER EIGHT FEMALE PILGRIMAGES IN MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: SPACE, TRAVELLING AND POWER IN THE BOOK OF MARGERY KEMPE MARÍA LUISA PASCUAL-GARRIDO

By the late Middle Ages pilgrimage had become an appealing activity and an accessible form of devotion for both secular and religious members of society. The wealthier pilgrims would cross national borders while the humblest would be able to take shorter and cheaper trips to nearby shrines. The existence of medieval women pilgrims is well documented both in fictional and non-fictional writings of the period (Craig 2009). In this paper I am going to examine the account of pilgrimage provided by Margery Kempe against a small but representative corpus of medieval writings dating from the late fourteenth century. My aim is two-fold: first, to illustrate how different views on women pilgrims competed with each other and to what purpose; and secondly, to show how Margery Kempe’s narrative is strategically used to question different sources of male authority and subvert them so as to empower herself. Pilgrimage offered a unique opportunity of altering, temporarily, an individual’s role in society while obviously enlarging his/her life experience. This change of role in the case of female pilgrims is undoubtedly related to notions of space and mobility, for the pilgrim’s identity was not stable while moving about territories and crossing boundaries. That pilgrims were typically distrusted is evidenced in many late medieval texts—they represented some implicit challenge to authority. As wandering individuals, they seemed potentially upsetting since they could elude the restraining authority imposed on subjects if they belonged or remained in one particular territory. Being no longer associated with the territory where certain power and social relations applied, their identity became unstable and fluid rather than fixed. Following Deleuze, travelling and moving around not only creates an identity in constant flux, but also

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entails a process of “de-territorialization”, understood as a wilful removal of the subject from a certain location to which he/she is united (WestPavlov 2009). Although Deleuze’s theory of space is usually applied to the study of phenomena occurring in contemporary capitalist society, such as migrations or globalization, it also seems quite valuable for the analysis of female pilgrimage in a medieval context, allowing us to examine Kempe’s pilgrimage and her account as a likely scheme for self-government. It is well-known that women pilgrims were very frequently the object of satire and complaint in secular writings of the period, as Chaucer’s depictions of the Wife of Bath or the Prioress reveal in the Canterbury Tales. According to Morrison (2000), this type of sardonic representation of the female pilgrims increases in the post-plague period, fostered by the anxieties about the potential disruption of the establishment, derived from frequent social disorders in England, such as the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. Such negative depictions of female pilgrims are more generally found in secular texts, where the threat and anxiety evoked by the “wandering women” is eventually controlled through satire and irony, thereby reinscribing social order (Morrison 2000, 107). Indeed, there are numerous writings offering factual and fictional accounts of women pilgrims, generally composed by male writers. One non-fictional instance of these is provided by the mid-twelfth century Abbot of St-Denis, Suger, who (in De Administratione) justifies the need for an enlargement of the Abbey Church by describing the overwhelming crowds of pilgrims, which cause “much anguish and noisy confusion” (quoted in Morrison 2000, 107). In this account Suger in fact focuses his attention on: The distress of the women… [which] was so great and intolerable that you could see with horror how they squeezed in by the mass of strong men as in a winepress, exhibited bloodless faces as in imagined death; how they cried out horribly as though in labour; how several of them, miserably trodden under foot [but then] lifted by the pious assistance of men above the heads of the crowd, marched forward as though upon a pavement; and how many others, gasping with their last breath, panted in the cloisters of the brethren to the despair of everyone. (Panofsky-Soergel 1979, 43)

The associations between women’s sexuality and potential social chaos are here evoked by the image of women crying “as though in labour” and the several references to scenes of horror and despair, illustrating that pilgrims were deemed unruly and dangerous when they gathered at holy places.

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It is a well-known fact, too, that in this as in many medieval fictional writings, pilgrims are also depicted as professional liars, skilled in the art of disguise. They are a motley crew of dubious morals and deceptive nature. The Prologue to Piers Plowman (46–57) offers clear evidence of this: Pilgrims and palmers made pacts with each other To seek Saint James and saints at Rome, They went along the way with many wise tales, And had leave to tell lies all their lives after. I saw some that said they’d sought after saints: In every tale they told their tongues tended to lie More than to tell the truth, their talk was such. A heap of hermits carrying hooked staffs Went off to Walsingham, with their wenches behind. Great long lubbers that don´t like to work Clothed themselves in copes to keep distinct from other men, And behaved like hermits to have their ease.

The allusion to the “wise tales”, the lies, and the use of clothing to feign a different personality highlight the bad reputation pilgrims had acquired by the mid-fourteenth century, when these lines were written. Such a disapproving view is also evident in the English translation of the Jean de Meun’s Roman de la Rose and Chaucer’s Legend of Philomela (2373–78), one of the stories included in The Legend of Good Women, where a pilgrimage is feigned. Likewise, in the lesser-known fifteenthcentury English romance Pierre (or Peare) de Provence, the female character Maguelone is able to exchange her clothes with a pilgrimess on a road to Rome, suggesting what was apparently the widespread trick of using a pilgrim’s clothes as disguise. However, many women pilgrims resorted to the use of different clothes, as claimed in The Book of Margery Kempe, in order to stave off male attraction or as a form of protection for females travelling alone who, like Margery, feared being kidnapped and raped. Although there seems to be a widespread sense of distrust and fear of pilgrims in general, it seems that female pilgrims were even more satirically depicted in most medieval writings of a secular nature, as Chaucer’s portrait of the Wife of Bath in the General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales (461–78) illustrates: A worthy woman all her life, what’s more, She’d had five husbands, all at the church door, Apart from other company in youth;

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Chapter Eight No need just now to speak of that, forsooth. And she had thrice been to Jerusalem, Seen many strange rivers and passed over them; She'd been to Rome, and also to Boulogne, Saint James of Compostella and Cologne, And she was skilled in wandering by the way. She had gap-teeth, set widely, truth to say. Easily on an ambling horse she sat, Well wimpled up, and on her head a hat As broad as is a buckler or a shield; She had a flowing mantle that concealed, Large hips, her heels spurred sharply under that. In company she liked to laugh and chat And knew the remedies for love’s mischances, An art in which she knew the oldest dances.

The Wife of Bath is the only secular female pilgrim on the trip to Canterbury in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and it is with this fictional character that Margery Kempe should be compared. Like Margery, Alison belongs to the merchant class and she does not seem to be hunting for material wealth, which is one of the accusations made against some female pilgrims in fictional accounts. While Chaucer’s prioress fulfils the class role of the wealthy religious woman pilgrim, the Wife is probably chosen by Chaucer to illustrate some other vices of married women—pride, lust and wrath. The Wife is conceived as a lascivious character too as the allusions her wide hips, to her knowledge of the remedies of love and to the oldest dances suggest. Responsive to the dreadful reputation female pilgrims had acquired in the late medieval period, even Christine de Pizan cites pilgrimage in The Book of the City of Ladies (Le Livre de la Cité des Dames [1405]) and recommends ladies to avoid it so as to preclude false rumours about their dishonest character. However, this sarcastic portrayal rather belongs to a long misogynist tradition of representing female pilgrimage as a metaphor for unruliness, which clearly pre-dates this well-known portrait of the Wife of Bath. Thus, Ovid in his Ars Amandi already refers to the temple as a place for women to choose a lover (“Say she worships Egyptian Isis,/ And goes where no watchful male/May follow, clashing her sistrum?/ What about the Good Godess,/Banning Men from her temple (except her own/Chosen adherents)?” (quoted in Morrison 2000, 114). Similarly, Le Quinze Joies de Mariage (The Fifteen Joys of Marriage), an anonymous late medieval French composition, parodies the fifteen joys of the Virgin Mary, and looks into the miseries of marriage from a misogynist or rather a “misogamist” perspective (Wilson and Makowski 1990, 142–149). In the

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story of the eighth joy, a wife makes a pilgrimage as a sort of holiday from domestic responsibilities, driving her husband mad. In the eleventh joy, a young woman, pregnant of a man she cannot marry, goes on a pilgrimage to ensnare another gallant who eventually marries her. Their marriage proves miserable afterwards. In the twelfth joy, pilgrimage is conceived by the woman as a means to temporarily escape her husband, who obstructs the wife’s infidelity. Yet, while the secular literature of the time tends to depict female pilgrims in a negative light in order to repress the possibility of domestic insubordination, the existing corpus of religious literature offers a competing perspective of women who undertake pilgrimages devoutly. Late medieval hagiographical works clearly endorse this view. A case in point is the Liber Celestis dictated in Old Swedish by St Bridget of Sweden (1303–73). Her revelations and experience were transcribed by her mentors in Latin and checked by her, and eventually translated into several Middle English versions. St Bridget’s book, which circulated in England, was in all likelihood familiar to Margery Kempe, who being illiterate might have heard it recited and have used it as a model for her autobiography. Following her example, Margery Kempe, already in her sixties, also dictates her biography to two scribes, an issue that has given rise to much discussion concerning the book’s authorship (Ellis 1990; Staley 1991). Indeed, the second scrivener, who undertook the transcription of the first part, apparently poorly written, provides enough detail of the complex process of composition of the Book, but is alert to declare that the protagonist herself supervised the manuscript: And though he did not write clearly or openly to our manner of speaking, he in his own way of writing and spelling made true sense, which— through the help of God, and of herself who experienced all this treatise in feeling and acting—is now truly drawn out of that copy into this little book. (261)1

The Book of Margery Kempe, where her protagonist is referred to as “this creature”, is quite a selective narrative of life events for it leaves aside Margery’s childhood and her experience as a mother of fourteen and focuses instead on the character’s spiritual development and her undertaking of pilgrimages to different holy places. Book I, encompassing as many as twenty-five years of Kempe’s life, tells of the woman’s sinful past, her conversion and pilgrimages to several places in England, the Holy Land, Rome and Santiago de Compostela. Book II includes Margery’s late and exhausting travels to Danzig (Prussia), Wilsnack, and Aachen (Germany), and her return to Lynn, in England.

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The Book details the mental breakdown and spiritual crisis that followed the birth of Margery’s first child. She goes “out of her mind and [is] amazingly disturbed and tormented with spirits for half a year, eight weeks and odd days” (41). Margery uses this image of disturbance and disruption to introduce herself to her readers, highlighting the fact that the female character is a threat to others and to herself: she pitilessly tore the skin of her body near her heart with her nails, for she had no other implement, and she would have done something worse, except that she was tied up and forcibly restrained both day and night so that she could not do as she wanted. (42)

Margery ultimately recovers as a result of her first vision of Christ, who addresses her to comfort her anguished soul. However, after that initial mystical experience the Book still pictures Margery, a married woman and the daughter of a five-times mayor of Lynn, as a vainglorious female, who feels attracted by other males, features she shares with Chaucer’s Wife. It is the sense of despair felt by Margery after the collapse of her brewing and milling ventures that makes her eventually reflect on her wicked behaviour and interpret such failure as a form of divine punishment for her sins. A gradual process of spiritual conversion starts after that: “Then she asked God for mercy, and forsook her pride, her covetousness, and the desire that she had for worldly dignity, and did great bodily penance, and began to enter the way of everlasting life as shall be told hereafter” (45). It seems obvious that Margery is playing consciously with the negative image projected by women who, like the Wife of Bath, were vain and ambitious, to underscore the contrast between her former and her new self after her conversion. The post-conversion episodes first record Margery’s effort to live a life of chastity—a true challenge to male (domestic) authority, which her husband understandably opposes. Margery eventually achieves her goal after twenty years of marriage, fourteen children and a financial bargain with her husband—she agrees to settle all his debts if he vows never again to force her into having sex. In short, she purchases her sexual freedom. It is then that Margery starts a life of pilgrimage, which is not exempt from many trials. Indeed, St Bridget’s experience as a pilgrim, alluded to in chapter twenty of the Book, resembles in many respects that of Margery Kempe. Both women struggle to go on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. Bridget persuades her husband to travel to the Spanish shrine, while Margery eventually manages to visit Santiago on her own in 1417. Bridget has several visions of St Denis and Christ, who command her to visit the Holy Land and Rome, and she has revelations that include the

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Nativity of Christ and so does Margery, according to the Book. For Bridget pilgrimage is a demonstration of her obedience to Christ. Her pilgrim status makes her stand both as one chosen by God and as a replica of him as pilgrim. It is on the life of St Bridget and her Liber Celestis that Margery Kempe clearly models her life as a pilgrim and designs her plan for self-government. Crucial to her empowerment is her capacity to leave her hometown on several occasions by herself. The above examples offer clear evidence that in the late medieval period radically opposed views on women pilgrims were competing with each other. Whereas the figure of the Wife of Bath offered a paradigm intended to satirize the uncontrollable nature of women who resorted to pilgrimages as an excuse for their otherwise proscribed “wanderings”, the model of the pious and chaste female in Margery’s Book describes the life of women who undergo a spiritual as well as social transformation, since the ascetic process is based on the physical pilgrimage and turns into an occasion for the female protagonist to assert her autonomy from any sort of worldly power. My contention is that this dual perspective whereby such conflicting portrayals of female pilgrims emerge is closely linked to the relationship each woman bears to space. Yet, it must be acknowledged that the comparison between fictional and real characters seems a bit problematic since Chaucer’s and Kempe’s narratives differ regarding genre, extension and obviously intention. Yet, both women are presented as disorderly characters—their conduct clearly offends others because they are outspoken and they defy authorities. They are also wives who travel alone and thereby manage to have absolute control of their own lives. Margery’s pilgrimages show her confronting male authority and social convention. Travellers generally find her external manifestations of ascetic elevation deeply disturbing. As a result, she receives harsh criticism and is rejected by other fellow pilgrims on account of her excessive weeping and loud sobbing. She is also scorned for the fact that she starts wearing a white robe, only reserved for virgins, which is interpreted as utter provocation. Being suspected of Lollardy, Margery also suffers religious persecution and is arrested and tried at Leicester and York in 1417. In addition, she also fears being attacked and raped while on pilgrimage in Italy. However, social hostility to Margery’s odd behaviour is also counterbalanced in her Book. She receives comfort and support from several ecclesiastical authorities, like the Bishop of Lincoln (chapter fifteen), the Archbishop of Canterbury (chapter sixteen) and such relevant figures as the mystic Julian of Norwich, who offers wise advice to Margery (chapter eighteen). Although a minority, such individuals argue

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her case against her detractors, and Margery gets praise for her decision to start a devout life and go on pilgrimage unaccompanied. Consequently, the Book narrates mystical experience as well as an overwhelming social antagonism to Margery’s pilgrimages, which, readers are told, God and Christ have commanded. Margery first undertakes short trips around England like the one that allows her to visit Canterbury and Walsingham in her husband’s company, but soon the wife asks leave to travel alone to York, Leicester and Norwich and, later on, abroad all alone by herself. From the very start this seems problematic and she encounters resistance. A wife’s place is at home and therefore a married woman outside the home is seen as a threatening individual, someone outside the controlled space of the household. Hence, her narrative dwells on the different trials she undergoes. After receiving her husband’s permission, she is imprisoned and cross-examined in York for this very circumstance. A woman travelling alone raised great suspicion and, as a result, she is asked by secular and religious authorities to provide evidence of her husband’s consent. To this demand Margery replies: My husband gave me permission with his own mouth. Why do you proceed in this way with me more than with other pilgrims who are here, and who have no letter any more than I have? (160)

Despite such social resistance, Margery Kempe, following God’s instructions according to her narrative, is adamant and starts in the autumn of 1413 a series of pilgrimages abroad that include several European shrines—Assisi, Rome and Santiago de Compostela—and the Holy Land. Indeed, the Book seems intended to justify all of Margery’s actions after her conversion, since they are approved by her husband, and furthermore dictated by divine authority. Thus, Kempe’s seemingly disruptive behaviour—her wish to do bodily penance, to live in chastity, to go on pilgrimage, her boldness of speech against hypocritical church representatives—is gradually revealed as nothing else but blind obedience to God. Likewise, the insight she achieves through contemplative and meditative activity is repeatedly sanctioned by Christ in a sequence of visions and spiritual encounters the Book describes. What is highlighted in numerous episodes is the increasing degree of intimacy with God Kempe reaches, making miracles happen as in the incident when she begs for the extinction of a fire:

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Then she had a new sorrow, and cried very loudly again for grace and mercy, with great abundance of tears. Soon after, three worthy men came in to her with snow on their clothes, saying to her, “Look Margery, God has shown us great grace and sent us a fair snowstorm to quench the fire with. Be now of good cheer, and thank God for it.” (203)

As a matter of fact, and despite her wide experience as a pilgrim, Margery does not dictate a travel narrative. She is not concerned with the physical experience of travel or the material obstacles to her journey but rather with the religious interpretation of that experience. Hence, the Book renders Margery engaged in a profound mystical journey, in a process of spiritual transformation, which eventually effects a gradual alteration in her social role as a woman, allowing her to assert her personal autonomy. While in the opening chapter she is described as a figure who must be subdued due to her insanity and uncontrollable behaviour, as the narrative develops she gradually transforms into a sort of sanctified figure whose authority and miraculous power are derived directly from Christ, to whom she is spiritually wedded. A comparison of the secular and religious accounts of women pilgrims considered here offers certain points of resemblance—both women travel on their own, and as such they abandon their usual fixed location, their home, where the woman is subject to the husband’s control. Moving across territorial boundaries, both pilgrims are able to free themselves from domestic authority. Yet, there is an important difference between the two wives who turn into pilgrims. On the one hand, the Wife of Bath’s destinations—Jerusalem, Rome and Boulogne—are just mentioned as open public spaces without any specific reference to particular buildings. The Wife of Bath is depicted as a compulsive traveller, visiting Rome three times, unable to settle down for too long, and in that sense she rather belongs to what could be labelled as an open-ended “nomad space” (to use Deleuze’s terminology), with no declared destination: “And she was skilled in wandering by the way”. By contrast, Margery Kempe’s pilgrimages have a clear terminus such as a church or an abbey, so she paradoxically arrives in some sort of “bounded space”, which she adopts as a temporary home. It is due to the enclosed nature of space in cells, chapels, churches or abbeys, which must be considered “state space”, that Margery’s wanderings are eventually made more tolerable in the eyes of her readers. Despite being an apparently nomadic figure, Margery ultimately enters a space which is under human control, and beyond that, under God’s spiritual power, transcending the strictly material boundaries of physical space. Margery insists that she undertakes these travels on divine command, which gives

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her greater authority and allows her to persuade her husband and other worldly male authorities of the righteousness of her wishes. However, it could also be argued, against the idea that Margery usually restricts her wandering experience to confined or bounded spaces, that Mary undergoes one of her most intense mystic trances while following the Via crucis procession to Mount Calvary Then they went to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, and they were let in on the one day at evensong time, and remained until evensong time on the next day. Then the friars lifted up the cross and led the pilgrims about from one place to another where our Lord had suffered his pains and his Passion, every man and woman carrying a wax candle in one hand. And the friars always, as they went about, told them what our Lord suffered in every place. And this creature wept and sobbed as plenteously as though she had seen our Lord with her bodily eyes suffering his passion at that time. Before her in her soul she saw him in truth by contemplation, and that caused her to have compassion. (104)

Yet it must be noticed in this passage that pilgrims are constantly being monitored by friars and are led along a planned route to a sacred destination. Such spaces afford Margery her greatest visions and ecstatic moments of communion with Christ. The relevant experience for her is not the physical voyage for she is able to transcend the actual physical location when entering those sacred spaces, as happens on Mount Calvary. Hence, geographical space yields to a non-material, non-historical space. Ascetic experience transports Margery Kempe from the Jerusalem of her day to the non-chronological spiritual moment of the Passion of Christ, and she manages to undergo Christ’s suffering on the Cross. Although she physically travels from England to Jerusalem, her real peregrination is an intellectual one. The obstacles and trials she encounters on her travels are interpreted by Kempe as the symbolic realization of Christ’s tribulations as a man on his way to the Cross. As the apparent lack of geographical and descriptive detail about places of her numerous travels indicates, Margery’s conception of the pilgrimage transcends the purely material level. The pilgrimage turns into a spiritual journey in Margery Kempe’s account. The narrative actually adopts an inward gaze, which allows us to see the pilgrim’s progress in mystical terms (Windeatt 2004). It is through ascetic contemplation that Margery also manages to travel far away to another dimension, the intimate space of “her soul”, a metonymy for a self-governing area where no external material power or authority interferes and she can do as she pleases. To conclude, there are clearly two conflicting views on women pilgrims in late medieval texts which respond to two different purposes on

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the part of the writers. Itinerant female characters were feared by patriarchal society as they could not be contained and controlled in bounded space and hence seemed to threaten the social order by blurring the actual limits and the contrast between nomad and state space. Hence, satirical accounts in secular literature were generally intended to deflate women’s wish to wander free, mocking such fictional characters as the Wife of Bath, who is mainly portrayed in stereotypical fashion from an external perspective. Chaucer’s fictional depiction of the married pilgrim clearly fits into this category, trying to restrain the subversive power of females who joined in pilgrimages as social occasions, or who like Margery Kempe wanted to acquire self-sovereignty in worldly terms. In contrast, the ultimate purpose of Margery’s spiritual account is to counteract such a derogatory portrait of the married female pilgrims, and above all, to empower herself by means of a narrative endorsed by two male scribes who agreed to write it down, bestowing to it greater authority. Furthermore, she is empowered by the divine authority which is manifested in her dream-like visitations and visions. In fact, the Book offers many instances of Margery confronting and challenging male power on the basis of her wilful obedience to godly authority. Undoubtedly aware of all topoi about women pilgrims, Margery Kempe seems to strategically draw on them just to subvert the idea of unruliness that was attributed to self-sufficient women who wished to speak their own mind.

Works Cited Brown-Grant, Rosalind (ed.). 1999. Christine de Pizan. The Book of the City of Ladies, London: Penguin. Chaucer, Geoffrey. 2003. The Canterbury Tales, ed. Nevill Coghill. London: Penguin. Craig, Leigh Ann. 2009. Wandering Women and Holy Matrons: Women as Pilgrims in the Later Middle Ages. Leiden: Brill. Economou, George (ed.). 1996. William Langland’s Piers Plowman. The C version, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Ellis, Roger. 19990. “Margery Kempe’s Scribe and the Miraculous Book” In Langland, the Mystics and the Medieval Religious Tradition, edited by Helen Phillips Cambridge and Rochester: Boydell & Brewer, 161– 75. Morrison, Susan Signe. 2000. Women Pilgrims in Late Medieval England, London: Routledge.

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Panofsky-Soergel, Gerda (ed.). 1979. Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis and its Art Treasures. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Searby, Denis and Bridget Morris (eds.). 2006-12 The Revelations of Saint Birgitta of Sweden, Liber Celestis. 4 vols. New York: Oxford University Press. Staley, Lynn. 1991. “The Trope of the Scribe and the Question of Literary Authority in the Works of Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe”. Speculum, 46: 820-38. Wilson, Katharina M. and Elizabeth M. Makowski. 1990. Wykked Wyves and the Woes of Marriage. Misogamous Literature from Juvenal to Chaucer. Albany: SUNY pres. West-Pavlov, Russel. 2009. Space in Theory: Kristeva, Foucault, Deleuze, Amsterdam: Rodopi. Windeatt, Barry (ed.). 1985. The Book of Margery Kempe. London: Penguin. —. 2004. “Reading and Re-reading The Book of Margery Kempe”. In A Companion to the Book of Margery Kempe, edited by Arnold, John. H and Katherine J. Lewis. Cambridge: Brewer.

Notes 1

All quotations from The Book of Margery Kempe will follow the Modern English version edited by Barry Windeatt (1985). Quotations from other primary sources (Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Langland’s Piers Plowman) will all be cited in Modern English versions.

CHAPTER NINE MEDIEVAL MORRIS: ARTIST, CRAFTSMAN POET AND TRANSLATOR VICENTE LÓPEZ-FOLGADO

Introduction William Morris’s well-known saying that “a man who was unable to turn from an epic to a tapestry had better leave both alone” is certainly reflected and fulfilled in his own person. But if we may deny Morris a chair in mount Parnassus as an original, brilliant poet, we do not hesitate about assigning an outstanding position with regard to the skilfulness of his verses, full of sound and imbued with an innate sense of literary, artistic beauty. I dare say only the antiquarian poet and artist of the Victorian era could feel it. Indeed, the rare and versatile skills of this poet led him to undertake unexpected projects, like translating classic works— the Odes of Horace, the Aeneid and the Odyssey—or Old English— Beowulf—or several Old Norse sagas. The facet of Morris as a translator comes from two likely major sources: the first is its antiquarian interest in design and editing books, fuelled by rare medieval illuminated manuscripts of the Bodleian Library in Oxford, which he attended in his student years. In fact, in 1856 Morris started making illuminations for manuscript books, though little has survived from this early activity. He was determined to imitate medieval manuscripts in Gothic style, with its angular letters and lavishly decorated capital initials and coloured edges. After abandoning this activity, he returned to it with renewed enthusiasm some twelve years later, but in a different style and in collaboration with other artists, especially E. BurneJones, starting with his Book of Verse (Victoria and Albert Museum), the Persian Rubáiyát by Omar Khayyám1 (British Museum), translated by E. FitzGerald in 1859, and the Odes of Horace (Bodleian Library).

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A few years later, Morris turned to the printing craft linked to his bibliophile inclinations, using Gothic-lettering patterns of the first printing of fifteenth-century masters. With this aim in mind, he established his famous Kelmscott Press in Hammersmith, London. From this press came out a series of books of decorated hand-carved woodcuts. Outstanding among them is the work of the English poet Geoffrey Chaucer.2 Together with his friend E. Burne-Jones, at Exeter College, Oxford, he began to seek refuge in the religious and artistic medievalism that pervaded the city, while starting a belligerent crusade against the spirit of the age, which ended in a crisis of religious vocation. They read with devotion the then fashionable essays of both Thomas Carlyle and John Ruskin. In fact, no English intellectual, one might say, could escape the strong influence exerted by Thomas Carlyle in the 1840s and 1850s, “a prophetic, moral and romantic voice”.3 And, besides, Ruskin’s work, The Stones of Venice, 1853, and especially his central chapter, “The Nature of Gothic”, nurtured them with its ancient medievalist sap, in addition to its ethos of the relationships between art and society. The second reason for Morris’s interest in translation was his psychological inclination to write literary utopias, inextricably linked to plastic art. The original was nothing less than the Icelandic Sagas. He was one of the first Englishmen philologically prepared to tackle such a project, although he counted on the invaluable help of a native Icelander. Morris, of course, had to rely on the native and philological knowledge his friend Eirikr Magnússon had of that remote language. Owing to the slow evolution of this ancient language, spoken bilingually by the few inhabitants of this remote Atlantic island, the gap between it and its sister continental languages was at that stage insurmountable. When Magnússon suggested he start with grammar lessons as a first step for translation, Morris reacted against what he believed a useless waste of time: “I have no time for grammar. You be my grammar as we translate. I want the literature, I must have the story. I mean to amuse myself”. He simply had no time. Morris’s undisciplined mentality, so close and familiar to the sagas, surprised Magnússon himself. Morris’s inspiration in works of classical mythology resulted in the long poem The Life and Death of Jason written in 1867, originally conceived as part of a poem of over 600 pages, The Earthly Paradise, a collection of stories in 42,000 verses that took six years to write in the manner of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, told by medieval Greek travellers on their way to eternity.4 To versify was for Morris “a matter of mere craft”, something as repetitive as carpet weaving, which he was already used to doing. This composition has been well defined by the critical E. P.

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Thompson when he noted “an almost mechanical oscillation between sensuous luxury and horror, melancholy and despair”.5 Even if it is the most famous of Morris’s works, which earned him the honour of being invited to hold the chair of Poetry at the University of Oxford (which he refused), it certainly lacks the skills of realistic, vivid language Chaucer had when describing medieval characters. Aware, to a certain extent, of his shortcomings as an archaic poet, Morris described himself rather pessimistically as the “idle singer of an empty day”. This is his verse: I cannot ease the burden of your fears / Or make quick-coming death a little thing, / Or bring again the pleasure of past years, / Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, / Or hope again for aught that I can say, / The idle singer of an empty day.

His efforts to pursue the utopia were only appeased with direct political action as well as with poetic works on Edens and earthly paradises that portray him as a nostalgic romantic, a dreamer of a Rousseauesque world of natural harmony. The socio-religious tradition of Thomas More’s Utopia was still alive in romantic poets like Wordsworth and Coleridge,6 the favourite reading of the next Romantic generation, the Pre-Raphaelites. Morris’s works The Dream of John Ball of 1888 and, especially, News from Nowhere of 1891, are as illusory and unrealistic as the fanciful beauty of his tapestries.7 It seems apparent that for Morris the peasantry was rapidly giving way to an industrialized urban society which was changing social relations as well as the rural landscape, already sadly missed as idyllic and in serious danger of disappearing.8

His Versions of the Classics What the ancient Norsemen exerted upon him was nothing less than a romantic fascination with a supposedly Edenic world. In the idealized image of that pure and unpolluted paradise he sought refuge from the rising tide of materialism and the surrounding commercialism, which he denounced in his essays and speeches. 9 With such aesthetic and antiquarian views, Morris began to concentrate his interests on the translation of ancient poems, anthropological testimonies of rare poetic mysteries of a primitive force and a unique charm. Despite their variety, Morris attributed to them an underlying unity, as parts of a rich tapestry of “medieval” taste.10 It is obvious that the knowledge of classical languages was not the multifaceted and versatile Morris’s expertise, but he managed to seek the

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support of experts, who were not less remarkable than hard to guess, such as the Scottish philologist John W. Mackail. He counted on the expert review of Matthew Arnold and his Oxford lectures (On Translating Homer, 1861). There is not much we can say about his Latin versions, which he did not claim as his own. Nonetheless, in spite of its apparent, unmistakable hallmark as skilful versifier, he appears as editor, calligrapher and printer. Though lacking sufficient philological knowledge, his work as enthusiastic reader imposed itself in the end. Little can we contribute to the assessment of his translation of the Aeneid (1876) and the Odyssey (1887) in iambic hexameters (with alternating trochees), obviously of stressing character, as the typically English metre requires, and rhyming in couplets.11 We may perhaps note that the versions are so “free” that his biographers, conscious of Morris’s creative, profuse fantasy, had them as literary creations rather than as translations sensu stricto. The length of the line, rather rhythmically unsuitable and somewhat heavy, especially impresses the reader. Morris, it seems, made amplifications, thus irrelevantly loading the Homeric simplicity. Like the original, Homer’s Odyssey consists for Morris of 24 songs— called books in English—providing at the end a list of difficult words and names. In his Preface to the translation of The Iliad Alexander Pope argued: Nothing that belongs to Homer seems to have more commonly mistaken than the just pitch of his style, some of his translators having swelled into fustian in a proud confidence of the sublime, others sunk into flatness in a cold and timorous notion of simplicity.12

As in all medieval Anglo-Saxon poems (cf. the best example, the fourteenth-century Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, as the best example), Morris tries to make frequent alliterations in the English verse, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not. Here are the opening hexameters (at times heptameters) of accentual rhymed iambic couplets— needless to say, the Greek dactylic rhythm is impossible to reproduce in English steadily; however, given the nature of English verse, Morris tries sometimes to imitate it by using anapaestic verse, where the morphological monosyllabic words are predominant: Tell me, O Muse, of the Shifty, the man who wandered afar, After the Holy Burg, Troy-town, he had wasted with war; He saw the towns of menfolk, and the mind of men did he learn; As he warded his life in the world, and his fellow-farers’ return, Many a grief of heart on the deep-sea flood he bore,

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Nor yet might he save his fellows, for all that he longed for it sore.

If we compare this version with that of Samuel Butler, done in prose in 1900, we can notice some of the defects that arise in Morris’s verse, like the need to expand the line with long-winded, explicit discourse as can be appreciated in the last two lines, for example. Morris’s version, as you can see, enjoys a great freedom of interpretation, favoured mainly by his desire to endow the poem with an “archaic English” character with the typical Anglo-Saxon archaic alliteration: Holy burg, deep-sea flood, whencesoever ye may, witless or bane-fain for instance, in the next two verses, alongside with the rhyme of different vowels: air /εǝ/ and were /з:/ or even far /a:/ and war /ο:/. Such efforts force the meaning of the original, to the extent that we should talk about a “British Odyssey”.13 With regard to the inevitable loss of content Peter Arnott suggested, mutatis mutandis, for the epic: “Either a translation must be frankly literary or frankly dramatic. Many fail to realize this and try to act the one and read the other. The prevalence of literary translations in the past has created an impression that Greek drama is dull and prosy. Nothing could be further from the truth.” 14 A similar procedure was followed by Morris when translating Virgil’s Aeneid. 15 From the opening lines of his version of the Aeneid we are convinced of the enormous difficulty of Morris’s task. However, if we care to analyse the lines meticulously, we are bound to find frequent failures and instances of unfortunate verse. It was Morris’ intention to preserve the heroic spirit of the poem, together with an atmosphere of archaic beauty.16 I sing of arms, I sing of him, who from the Trojan land Thrust forth by Fate, to Italy and that Lavinian strand First came: all tost about was he on earth and on the deep By heavenly might for Juno’s wrath, that had no mind to sleep: And plenteous war he underwent ere he his town might frame And set his Gods in Latian earth, whence is the Latin name, And father-folk of Alba-town, and walls of mighty Rome. Say, Muse, what wound of godhead was whereby all this must come, How grieving, she, the Queen of Gods, a man so pious drave To win such toil, to welter on through such a troublous wave: —Can anger in immortal minds abide so fierce and fell? There was a city of old time where Tyrian folk did dwell, Called Carthage, facing far away the shores of Italy And Tiber-mouth; fulfilled of wealth and fierce in arms was she, And men say Juno loved her well o’er every other land.

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To translate the twelve songs or books, each of about 800 lines, is a task that daunts anyone, and still more so if the verse is done in alliterative, rhymed heptameters. There are certain strange rhythms (was thereby all this...), forced rhymes (Rome-come) and obsolete words like tost and drave; highly dense, infelicitous expressions, typical of the synthetic construction of English such as And father-folk of Alba-town, and walls of mighty Rome, where too much content is condensed. And with that, we summarize the most salient defects: lack of sonority, despite the compensatory alliteration, in the face of the fluent, agile and sonorous Latin verse; lexical density and monotonous rhythm due to the abundance of English monosyllabic words, something otherwise inevitable. 17 Few tasks, however, of the numerous ones undertaken by Morris would intimidate his stubborn and persevering character. As often noted, he was well known in his circles for his uncommon capacity for work (McCarthy 1994).

Versions of the Norse Sagas His great philological feat was, however, the Norse sagas. This converted him into an enthusiastic learner of Norse culture and mythical legends. Morris made two voyages to Iceland spending about two months there each time. The first trip took place in the summer of 1871 and the second two years later. These trips left very strong impressions, to a great extent sought by him, that make him “feel” the emotional effect of the old sagas.18 That “romantic wilderness” that he saw was chiselled out, as it were, in his mind and lasted in his memory all his life: the bare, rocky desolation, so different to the soft, green landscape of England, made him understand the harsh and violent lives of the saga characters. Without this personal approach to the physical environment,19 he would surely never have understood the harsh life and rough psyche of the Norse saga heroes. His writings ooze admiration for the Germanic nations and people, especially the Nordic nations—and when he met Professor Eirikr Magnússon,20 mutual sympathy gave rise to a plan for a collaborative translation of the Icelandic sagas, after the required summer visit to those distant lands in search of contextual inspiration. The most outstanding of the sagas, translated literally by Magnússon, namely the Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs (1898), was taken up by Morris who versified it, adding all the ingredients he felt the poem must have: metrical grandeur, lexical archaisms and alliterative sonority. The result of such collaboration was very fruitful and it brought

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Morris a lot of praise. Before this, however, he had already translated together with Magnússon the Grettis Saga: The Story of Grettir the Strong (1869) and the Saga of Gunnlaug the Worm-Tongue and Rafn the Skald, also in collaboration with Magnússon (1869), in addition to Three Northern Love Stories and Other Tales (1875). His great skills as versifier allowed him, besides, to extend, with the support of a good philologist, his poetic gift to an ancient Germanic language, namely Old English. The Tale of Beowulf Done out of the Old English Tongue (1895). Even more daring was when, leaning on his knowledge of classical French, studied in his short years in Oxford, he made the literal translation Old French Romances Done into English (1896). In his famous essay on the Germanic literatures, Jorge L. Borges (1978, 76) wrote a scholarly review of that literature and its links with the classical Graeco-Roman world. It should be added, however, that the Nordic languages evolved separately, and they did not come to a standstill, obviously, in the early nineteenth century. Borges says of the Scandinavian heroic literature: Of the Germanic literature the most complex and rich is the Scandinavian. What was originally written in England or Germany has a value, because it largely foreruns or we imagine it does, what it would be written later; in the Anglo-Saxon elegies we perceive the Romantic Movement and in the Nibelungenlied we perceive the music dramas of Wagner. However, the Old Norse literature has a value in itself; those who study it can dispense with the evocation of Ibsen or Strindberg. [My trans.]

Indeed, the primitive character of the poems, both of the eddas and the sagas, reveal a remote, archaic society, adorned with values—such as reckless courage and a radical honour of their lineage—proper to older ages and scarcely in force today. This obviously means ties that, if not cut at all, remain unpredictable with respect to the cultural development of the European bourgeois society of Ibsen and Strindberg. The musical evocation made popular by Edvard Grieg’s Peer Gynt, inspired by one of the Ibsen’s works more firmly anchored in the Nordic folklore, is but a kind of music created for a romantic comedy that was enormously successful on the European bourgeois stage of the time.21 Nonetheless, the Danish antiquarian Carl Ch Rafn had promoted in 1818 the creation of the first National Library of Iceland, the Íslands Stiftisbókasafn and the Literary Society of Iceland, some of whose members kindly welcomed the adventurous Morris (a local newspaper called him, ironically, the “English skald”, in Icelandic “dróttkvæði”). In

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1848 the first national librarian was recruited, the ethnologist Jón Árnason, who would be devoted to the handling, preservation and acquisition of valuable documents, to prevent them disappearing and being lost forever. These were the beginnings of a manuscript collection which was started in 1847 with the acquisition of a huge number of them from the private collection of Bishop Steingrímur Jónsson.22

Morris’s version of Beowulf The first great old English epic poem, Beowulf,23 was translated into modern English by Morris in collaboration with Anthony J. Wyatt. Morris printed it at his famous Kelmscott Press, elaborately decorated with his own drawings, as a work of art and craft. In 1892 Morris wrote to Wyatt, an expert philologist of Old English at Cambridge. Morris asked the scholar to supply him with a prose version of the Anglo-Saxon poem, thus using the same procedure as he had used with Magnússon with the Icelandic sagas, i.e. a prose version that would serve him as a reliable base for his own poetic version.24 We have the letters between Morris and the Cambridge philologist. Morris writes, for example, to Wyatt in August 1892, revealing important information: Of course every word which is it necessary to substitute for the old one... must be weakened and almost destroyed. Still as the language is a different language from modern English and not merely a different form of it, it can, I would hope, be translated and paraphrased merely. Anyhow, I intend to try if I can get anyone to help me who knows Anglo-Saxon, as I do not, and could also set me right as to the text and its grievous gaps.

But despite his lack of knowledge of the language, he knew at least how to identify his greatest thorny issue: the synonyms, rather than the kenningar, which sounded familiar to him. Thus, there are several synonyms for “warrior”: Secg, rinca, guma, hoeleð, etc, usually translatable by a single word in modern English.25 The sheer lack of equivalence, no doubt, destroys much of the poetic and contextual effect. Months later, after receiving the philological version, Morris writes back to Wyatt: “I have rhymed up the lines of Beowulf which you sent me”.26 Consider Beowulf’s famous opening lines in Morris’ version: What! we of the Spear-Danes of yore days, so it was That we learn’d of the fair fame of kings of the folks And the Athelings a-faring in framing of valour.

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Oft then Scyld the Sheaf-son from the hosts of the scathers, From kindreds a many of the mead-settles tore....27

In short, Morris manages to use archaisms that are extinct in modern English, thus being deliberately anachronistic, and therefore hard to read for anyone today, even by guesswork supported by the context. Moreover, Morris’s version is very accurate in its semantic content, certainly giving expansions of the original to compensate for lack of transparency of the relevant syntactic changes made from the Old English. As a result, Morris increases the linguistic material, amplifying the original with the aim of explaining the meaning for the modern reader, even when this is unnecessary. It actually sounds like an excuse to decorate his profuse, redundant verse. The resulting metric expansion makes greater use of unstressed syllables than the original Old English. The iambic hexameter is actually foreign to the original metre; it is the result, rather, of the metrics learned from fourteenth-century Latin and French verse that was based on foot-stressed metrics, which was supposed to be easy to understand. Morris writes to Wyatt, in August 1892: Of course every word which it is necessary to substitute for the old one ... must be weakened and almost destroyed. Still as the language is a different language from modern English and not merely a different form of it, it can, I would hope, be translated and paraphrased merely. Anyhow, I intend to try if I can get anyone to help me who knows Anglo-Saxon, as I do not, and could also set me right as to the text and its grievous gaps.

Works Cited Barringer, Tim. 1998. The Pre-Raphaelites. London: The Orion Publishing Group. Borges, Jorge L. 1966. Literaturas germánicas medievales. Buenos Aires: Alianza. Coote, Stephen. 1995. William Morris: His Life and Work. London: Garamond. Faulkner, Peter. 1980. Against the Age: An Introduction to William Morris. London: Harper Collins. Glendening, P. J. T. 1961. Icelandic. New York: Hodder and Stoughton. Henderson Philip (ed.). 1967. The Letters of William Morris to his Family and Friends. London: Longman.

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Kelvin, Norman (ed). 1966. Collected Letters of William Morris. Bloomington: Princeton University Press. Latham, David (ed.). 2007. Writing on the Image. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. LeMire, Eugene. 2006. A Bibliography of William Morris. New Castle: Oak Knoll Press. Le Quesne, A. L. 1993. Victorian Thinkers: Carlyle, Ruskin, Arnold, Morris. Oxford: Oxford University Press. MacCarthy, Fiona. 1995. William Morris: A Life for Our Time. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Mackail, J. William, 1996. The Life of William Morris. New York: Dover Publications. Marsh, Jan and Frank Sharp (eds.). 2012. The Collected Letters of Jane Morris. London: Boydell and Brewer. Morris, May (ed.). 1910. The Collected Works of William Morris. London: Longman, Green & Company. Parry, Linda (ed). 1996. William Morris. London: Philip Wilson Publishers. —.1996. William Morris: Art and Kelmscott. London: Boydell & Brewer, Woodbridge. Peterson, William S. 1991. The Kelmscott Press: A History of William Morris’s Typographical Adventure. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pinckney, Tony. 2007. William Morris in Oxford: The Campaigning Years, 1879-1895. New York: Illuminati Books. Tompkins, Joseph. 1984. William Morris: An Approach to the Poetry. London: Cecil Woolf. Thompson, Edward Palmer. 1955. William Morris: Romantic to Revolutionary. London: Lawrence and Wishart. Thompson, Paul. 1991. The Work of William Morris. Oxford: Oxford University Pres.

Notes 1

This translation of 1859 is more Fitzgerald’s own poetry than the original Persian, due to his poor knowledge of the Persian language. One can hardly think of it as a translation; rather, it is a Victorian recreation attending to the letter more than to the spirit of the poem. In his translations of Calderón’s plays he omitted and added at will, which was surprising, even scandalous for a linguist. The same can be said of Shelley´s translations of Calderón’s work; both caricatured the

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Spanish playwright. Cf. Timothy Webb, The Violet in the Crucible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976). 2 In his essay “The Gothic woodcuts of books” Morris claimed, after acknowledging the fifteenth-century schools of Florence and Venice: “I am sorry to have to say it, but England cannot be said to have a school of Gothic book illustration; the cuts in our early printed books are, at best, French and Flemish blocks pretty well copied” (W. Morris, Arts and Crafts/Arte y Artesanía, bilingual edition by V. López-Folgado, San Lorenzo del Escorial, Madrid: Langre, 2011, p. 202). 3 Cf. Stephen Coote: William Morris: His Life and Work (New York: Smithmark, 1995). Coote argued: “Ruskin was to open Morris’ mind and eyes to the wonders of Gothic art as well as to the grim exploitation that underlay the contemporary world” (ibidem, p. 16). To this aesthetic and moral influence we made reference above. 4 Robert Graves devoted many pages to Jason in his Hercules, My Shipmate (1945). Morris’s first edition of 1867 had an excellent reception, so Morris made constant revisions and reprints over the following years. The establishment of the famous Kelmscott Press on the bank of the Thames in the 1890s brought several handcrafted editions decorated by Morris himself and his collaborator BurneJones. Perhaps the best examples are The Works of Chaucer (especially his Troilus and Cryseida), and his own poetic version of Beowulf. 5 In E. P. Thompson: William Morris: Romantic to Revolutionary London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1955). One of his best critics and biographers, Thompson stated: “Morris was deeply affected by his studies of medieval art and literature and deeply influenced by the writings of both Carlyle and Ruskin”. Cf. E. P. Thompson, The Work of William Morris (3rd revised edition, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 89. 6 Samuel T. Coleridge and William Wordsworth published together in 1798 a volume of poetry, Lyrical Ballads, which served as the starting point of the romantic era of English poetry. Although the contribution of Wordsworth to the volume was more relevant, what actually attracted the interest of the reading public of the time was the first version of the poem by Coleridge, the longest of the anthology, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. In the autumn of 1798, Coleridge and Wordsworth visited Germany together; Coleridge was interested in German philosophy, especially in Kant’s transcendental idealism and in Lessing’s criticism. Coleridge studied German and translated into English Schiller’s dramatic work Wallenstein and Goethe’s Faust. 7 His readings of the classics were also a source of inspiration for Morris. Virgil replaces the bucolic backdrop of pastoral literature, followed by the Renaissance poets, with countryside realism. (Cf. L. P. Wilkinson, “The Intention of Virgil’s Georgics” in Greece and Rome, 19.55, 1950, pp. 19–28.) 8 Cf. the influential treaty by Meyer H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (Oxford University Press, 1971). 9 That search has led others to look towards an idealized East, a locus amoenus for romance, suitable for the trip to the Middle East and Southern Europe. He

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highlights, above all, Thomas Moore’s Lalla-Rookh, An Oriental Romance in 1817, whose second story, ‘The false prophet of Corassan’, was translated by William Casey, also a translator of Walter Scott (El falso profeta de Corassan: romance historico oriental, Barcelona: Miguel Borrás, 1836). (Ccf. Th. Moore, The Poetical Works. Rev. ed. Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo, 1873. 10 So thought John W. Mackail, a classical philologist, Professor at Oxford, but also Morris’s friend and collaborator, who even shared his political ideas. He published The Life of William Morris, 2 vols. (1899) and William Morris and His Circle (1907), where he says: “Troy is to his [Morris’s] imagination a town exactly like Bruges, spired, gabled, red-roofed, filled with towers and swinging bells.” “The Trojan princes go out like the knights in Froissart, and tilt at the barriers.” Mackail was a translator of the Aeneid (1985) and a specialist in Virgil: Virgil Eclogues and Georgics (1889); Virgil and His Meaning to the World of To-day (1922); Virgil’s Works: The Aeneid, Eclogues, Georgics (1934); An Introduction to Virgil’s Aeneid (1946) among others; but also in the Icelandic sagas, in Shakespeare, Homer (Penelope in the Odyssey (1916); The Odyssey (1932)). He ended up by marrying Margaret, the daughter of Morris’s best friend, the artist E. Burne-Jones. 11 It should be emphasized that the preparation and stimulus of Oxford University in classical languages was notable; even Keats made a translation of the Aeneid in prose. So did Leigh Hunt who together with H. F. Cary planned to make a Corpus Poetarum Graecorum, according to R. W. King (The Translator of Dante, 1925, pp. 19–20). Another recent translational mirror for Morris was the poet Percy B. Shelley, who spoke of the inadequacy of translations in translating Goethe’s Faust and the hard work of avoiding the dangers of literalism, since, in his view, every effort to translate from one language to another is a commitment that is doomed to (relative) failure. In fact, Shelley believed that poetry was essentially organic and as natural and inimitable as a flower (cf. his ideas in Defence of Poetry, Oxford, 1953, pp. 28–31, where he spoke metaphorically of translating poetry as if it were a violet in a crucible: “Hence the vanity of translation; it was as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its colour and odour, as to seek to transfuse from one language into another the creations of a poet”). Literalism, then, kills the spirit of the original, in his opinion, and all that can be done is to try to “recreate” that spirit as faithfully as possible. Such is the maxim followed both by Morris and Rossetti in their poetic “‘recreations” of classical works. Rossetti comments: “The only true motive for putting poetry into fresh language must be to endow a fresh nation, as far as possible, with one more possession of beauty.” Poetry not being an exact science, literality of rendering is altogether secondary to this chief aim. I say literality, not fidelity, which is by no means the same thing.” (Prologue to The Early Italian Poets, London: Smith, Elder, 1861, pp. vii-xi). 12 In Alexander Pope, Selected Poetry and Prose, edited by R. Sowerby. London, Routledge, 1992, pp. 99-106. There, Pope stands between the two extreme positions of imitation of Homeric style. He stands for passion rather than for coldness (“one could sooner pardon frenzy than frigidity”), and claims that there is

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a dignified and elegant simplicity and another poor and tarnished, one resembling a man with neat appearance and another with a dishevelled one (Ibidem). It seems that Morris in his Aeneid has chosen to dress up Homer with clothes full of tinsel and phony jewellery (the alliterative and stilted verse), an outcome of his frenzy for the Greek poet. 13 The form of the couplet verse, although he took it from Chaucer, was frequent in English over the following centuries (it had been cultivated especially by Dryden and Keats), but “no modern writer, however closely in sympathy with a past age, could wholly play an attitude towards love and chivalry which the conditions of modern life have changed profoundly” (F. MacCarthy, William Morris: A Life for Our Time (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995, p. 97). 14 In Peter D. Arnott’s An Introduction to Greek Theatre (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1965), p. 182. He argues below that the word shades (alias connotation) are the main pitfalls for the translator: “Greek dramatists often used words in such a way that their habitual associations and implications coloured the whole context. How is this to be conveyed to an English audience for whom the corresponding word has either no associations or very different ones?” (Ibidem, p. 183). 15 Cf. Geoffrey B. Riddehough, “William Morris’s Translation of the Aeneid”, Journal of English and Germanic Philology 36. 3 (1937), 338–346. The critical assessment of this classicist is not very kind to Morris, demonstrating his obvious shortcomings with regard to Latin, just as with respect to Greek. “In his attempt at a line-for-line rendering, I found necessary and chose the form used by Chapman for his Homer, and before that, by Thomas Phaer for his Virgil —the iambic heptameter couplet.... Moreover, William Morris, although he had read widely in the Latin of the Middle Ages, lacked the equipment necessary for a Virgilian scholarly translator” (Ibidem, p. 338). In effect, he learned little more Latin at Oxford than he had learned in his secondary school at Marlborough. 16 There is a curious series of anecdotes based on the life of the artist and poet; the model for “Penelope” (and before that the Egyptian Venus “Astarte Syriaca”) as used by the painter and poet Dante G. Rossetti was Jane Burden, William Morris’s wife. Dante Gabriel was in love with her and had a passionate relationship with her that survived after the death of his own wife, Elizabeth Siddal. Cf. H. Sussman, Victorian Masculinities: Manhood and Masculine Poetics in Early Victorian Literature and Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) and S. P. Casteras, Images of Victorian Womanhood in English Art (London and Ontario: Associated University Presses, 1987). Robert Graves’ version in Homer’s Daughter refers, curiously enough, to a previous poem where Penelope was an adulterous woman, something already ventured by Samuel Butler in 1897 in his The Authoress of the Odyssey. Butler was a translator of the Iliad (1896) and the Odyssey (1898). The same version is offered by Apollodorus in his Epitome 7. 38: “some say that Penelope was seduced by Antinous and returned by Ulysses to his father Icarius and in Mantinea Hermes had a son named Pan”. 17 Again we quote Pope, who dictates in a laconic but descriptive manner that “Homer was the greater genius, Virgil the better artist. In one we most admire the man, in the other the work. Homer hurries and transports us to commanding

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impetuosity, Virgil leads us with an attractive majesty ... Homer, like of Nile, pours out his riches with a boundless overflow; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a gentle and constant stream” (Pope, op. cit., p. 104). 18 As Fiona MacCarthy argues: “Under the guidance of Burne-Jones, he learned to appreciate Chaucer and Malory and was first introduced to northern mythology and epic” (The Guardian, March 27, 2010). 19 Another great approach to the historical environment were the French Gothic cathedrals—especially the admirable Amiens and Beauvais, where he travelled in the company of his inseparable friend Burne-Jones. These had a great impact on him, to the extent that he spent much of his time and art in the refurbishment of Gothic style. 20 The theologian and linguist Eiríkr Magnússon had come to London in 1862 to supervise the edition of the New Testament in Icelandic for the British and Foreign Bible Society. Morris met him a few years later at his home in London (his house in Queen Square, a real Mecca for artists of varied interests), when Magnusson was already lecturer in Icelandic at the University of Cambridge as well as librarian at the University Library. Interestingly, his close friend Burne-Jones was much concerned with that boundless enthusiasm for Iceland, and was wary of the benefits that such love could bring him. Cf. “A Letter to George Howard” in Memorials of Burne-Jones (2 vols. London: Macmillan, 1904). 21 The plot is far from being typical of the sagas: the young Solveig leaves her family to go into the forest, since her young admirer Peer was banished to live there. After wandering for twenty years, Peer is visited by the Shadow, his “alter ego”, which shows that his destiny is in the arms of Solveig, the woman he loved and who still awaits him. In the final scene, after the contemporary romantic taste, Solveig accepts him and redeems Peer Gynt with her purifying song, and finally, after five years of searching, both meet at last. 22 Interestingly, for about 20 years from 1825, the National Library was housed in the newly refurbished Reykjavík Cathedral lofts. In 1883 Jón Árnason estimated the total number of volumes at about 20,000; this became 100,000 thirty years later, due to the large number of donations. At the beginning of the twentieth century a single building, the Safnahúsiđ, in imitation of the British Museum, accommodated Iceland’s the National Library, National Museum, National Archive and Museum of Natural History. The collections of manuscripts contain about 15,000 volumes; the oldest on vellum dates from the twelfth century, one of the earliest examples of written Icelandic. The majority, on paper, date from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 23 The Tale of Beowulf Done Out of the Old English Tongue translated by William Morris and A. J. Wyatt (London: Kelmscott Press, 1895). 24 It does not seem that Morris had good reviews for this version, and it has even been ignored. His first biographer and friend, J. W. Mackail, observed: “It would seem on the whole, in spite of the love and labour Morris had bestowed on it, to have been one of his failures” (J. W. Mackail, The Life of William Morris (2 vols. London: Longmans, Green,. 1899, p. 284). One of his last biographers, Fiona MacCarthy, agrees: “Few people have had a good word to say for Morris’ Beowulf

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(least of all in Oxford). I will not attempt one. It is Morris at his most garrulous and loose” (Fiona MacCarthy, William Morris: A Life for Our Time (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995), p. 649). 25 This problem of common metaphorical synonymy in Beowulf has been approached in V. López Folgado, “Some Lexical Traits in Beowulf: The Case of the Sea” Proceedings of the Congress of SELIM, IV (1993) (Valladolid, 1996), 217–222. The best Spanish translation in prose is undoubtedly that done by Antonio Bravo: Beowulf: translation and study (S. P. Universidad de Oviedo, 1981). Cf. also the fundamental R. W. Chambers, Beowulf: An Introduction (3rd ed. London: Cambridge University Press, 1959). Today’s most prestigious version of Beowulf into modern English has been done by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney. 26 Curiously enough, Morris used the word “rhyming” though it was something alien to the original text (there was no such concept in Old English, in the eighth century, the time of its composition). Morris’s main stumbling block was the alliterative prosody and its metrics, more than the vocabulary itself, with all the archaisms and the need of a relevant glossary. 27 The original OE text has these initial alliterative lines of outstanding oral and recurrent rhythm: Hwæt, we Gar-Dena in geardagum / ðeodcyninga ðrym gefrunon, / hu ða æðelingas ellen fremedon! / Oft Scyld Scefing sceaðena ðreatum, / monegum mægðum meodosetla ofteah.

CHAPTER TEN ENFAITHING POETRY: DENISE LEVERTOV’S INTEGRATIVE BEHOLDING OF JULIAN OF NORWICH CRISTINA M. GÁMEZ-FERNÁNDEZ But our passing life that we have here in our sense-soul knoweth not what our Self is. And when we verily and clearly see and know what our Self is then shall we verily and clearly see and know our Lord God in fulness of joy. —Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love

Julian of Norwich’s personal life is a mystery: her real name is unknown and her name “Julian” derives from the church of St Julian, in the English city of Norwich. Her birth and death dates are not known exactly either. Her estimated date of birth is 1342 and it is known that she was still alive in 1416. She was an anchorite in the church of St Julian. Anchorites (the word derives from the Greek meaning “to retire”) led a disciplined life, different from that of nuns and hermits, devoted mainly to prayer and meditation together with religious counselling to her fellow citizens, a role firmly established by the Ancrene Wisse, a thirteenthcentury guide to the duties of anchorite women. She lay dying in bed at the age of 30, when she had 16 revelations. After her recovery Julian wrote a short version of the revelations, which contained 25 chapters. Twenty years later she had enlarged the text to 85 chapters with her meditations on the message that these revelations conveyed. Only four manuscripts remain and these were not very widely disseminated. Her Revelations of Divine Love was first published in 1670, acknowledged as the first extant book written in English by a woman. Denise Levertov took an interest in Revelations of Divine Love1 in the early 1980s, and this materialized in her poetry as well. Such influence has deserved exquisite critical attention so far, mainly in the analysis of

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Levertov’s poetic sequence “The Showings: Lady Julian of Norwich, 1342–1416” and her poem “On a Theme from Julian’s Chapter XX”, both included in Breathing the Water (1987). In these poems, Levertov brings into play a contemporary re-reading of the mystic writer, more in the fashion of a tête-à-tête. In her poetry, Levertov indirectly copes with faith issues of her life by exploring different features characteristic of Julian of Norwich. The poet recreates Julian of Norwich’s figure and writings as a starting point from which to widen her knowledge of the mystic as a way to meditate on religious faith. In addition, she also approaches the mystic woman personally and learns from her as an artist who provides images for her poetry. However, Levertov’s interrogation of the British mystic can be furthered by considering a more informative presence of Julian’s message in Levertov’s religious poetry. Therefore, the aim of this chapter is to explore the motivations for Levertov’s interest in Julian, both as a believer and as a writer. Specifically, this chapter seeks to ponder on the theological notions conveyed by the mystic that were so appealing to the poet or, to put it another way, to consider the special characteristics in Levertov’s ethics and aesthetics that made Julian’s figure and significance appeal to her. In this line, Nicholas Watson and Jacqueline Jenkins point out that Levertov does not only address Julian of Norwich’s writings but also writes to her “as an artist in her being more than her writing” (2006, 20). In her biography, Donna K. Hollenberg states that these poems devoted to Julian “mark another revolution in her spiritual development” (2013, 362). The previous revolution referred to is Levertov’s movement from scepticism to Christian belief throughout the late 70s and 80s, which culminated in her conversion to Roman Catholicism in the early 1990s. That first transformation in Levertov was marked by her struggle with faith as evidenced by the famous poem “Mass for the Day of St Thomas Didymus”, included in Candles in Babylon, in which the poet recognizes her inability to believe unless she is able to ground faith in her bodily perception. could only overcome it [her doubt] . . . incorporating in her poetry the apprehended perceptions by using her five senses, breathing or digesting processes. . . . Her struggle for faith progressively vanishes as Levertov discovers that by impersonating other subjects . . . it is actually possible to overcome problems of faith. (Gámez-Fernández 2007, 73)

Dana Greene and Donna K. Hollenberg acknowledge in their respective biographies that Levertov saw a correspondence between her times and Julian’s convoluted times, “whose corrupt, violent, and chaotic

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times Levertov considered much like her own” (Greene 2012, 178). The poet is well aware that “the impious technology in which we have invested our imaginative life will destroy us all . . . Nuclear and other technologies of mass destruction, including the inflammatory language and sectarian ideologies that set cultures in murderous opposition” (Goldstein 2009, 117–18). Specifically, Levertov paralleled Julian’s Medium Aevum with her sense of unprecedented threat by the creation of the atomic bomb in what came to be known as the nuclear age. This fact had a resilient impact during these years in Levertov’s tendency to turn the public and political tone of her poetry more inward. Hollenberg explains the reasons: first, the scale of the world’s problems, difficult for the human mind to grasp; secondly, her progressive appeal to theology; and thirdly, her “new appreciation of the ‘simple intensity of everyday wonders, whether of friendship or of art or of nature’” (Hollenberg 2013, 363). Likewise, Laurence Goldstein explains that in the 90s Levertov’s political consciousness moved toward a different style, not seeing the world in terms of binaries, but from a wider perspective in which there are no innocents, but in which all human beings are responsible for what happens in the world. Goldstein acknowledges that Levertov’s interest “turn[s] from the rhetoric of blame and shame to celebrate wilderness nature in the Pacific Northwest, the consolations of spiritual, indeed of religious faith, and the conditions of solitude and silence” (Goldstein 2009, 116). Levertov’s life and aesthetic struggle between good and evil enacted in her earlier political poetry came finally to a reconciliation of opposites that coincide with Julian’s ideas stemming from the Patristic notions of totality and integration, far from excluding binary terms and from antagonisms. Levertov surely felt attracted to the idea that anchorites were public figures because Julian thus provides a suitable model for the poet of a way of being in the world connecting religious faith and social interaction. Anchorites’ cells were actually attached to churches and she may have been more exposed to social reality than she would have been as a simple nun. The fact that Julian was a public figure is corroborated in The Book of Margery Kempe, in which the mystic recalls her visit to Julian and her discourses about the importance of trusting whatever happens because everything is sent by God. This message given to the community is also appealing to Levertov, since she is working hard to reconcile her doubts. Levertov’s vision of community in a religious sense has been explored by Charles Wright, who states that such a vision is challenging for the Christian reader because it transmits “specific communal contexts for her acts of witness and a narrative that allows for her to celebrate the mysteries of human hope” (Wright 2007, 289). That is, Levertov grounds

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her poetic message by making it available to the community through contexts which make communication with the community possible. What’s more, “Levertov does not take her readers, her poetic subjects, away to another world. Instead, she insists on the power of community and the presence of mystery to point to a salvation beyond poetry” (Wright 2007, 289). Therefore, poetry becomes the catalyst that makes the message conveyed to the community and transformation happens thanks to her poetry. This interconnection between the individual, God and the community originally emerges in both cases from Neo-Platonic notions. Julian and Levertov, despite the time span, are strongly influenced by such ideas. Joan M. Nuth, in her exegesis of Julian’s Revelations, points out that Julian is strongly influenced by “the neoplatonic notion of the eternal, purely spiritual soul, unaffected by human bodiliness, which she calls the soul’s ‘substance.’ . . . by contrast, the soul’s ‘sensuality’ is the soul in contact with the body and affected by the vagaries of time and space” (Nuth 1992, 633). This idea leads the scholar to suggest that for Julian, the eternal substance of the soul, created in God’s image, becomes more through its sensuality, bound to earthly, bodily creation. . . . this union was permanently affected by Christ’s assuming human fleshly existence in time. This perspective allows Julian to place great value on materiality and human bodiliness. They are not to be dismissed as useless or detrimental to spiritual growth. (Nuth 1992, 634–35)

It is commonly acknowledged that Levertov started writing under the aesthetics of the British Neo-Romantics in the 30s. Her poetic development was magnificently analysed in Albert Gelpi’s seminal piece entitled “Centering the Double Image”, which introduced his 1993 edited volume on Levertov. The study carried out by Małgorzata Poks aims at tracing Levertov’s unorthodox religiousness expressed throughout her poetic career against the backdrop of the modernist climate of suspicion, which focuses on the “spiritual implications of beauty and open to the epiphanies of everyday” (Poks 2011, 145). Poks’ argument stems from the general idea that Levertov has a Romantic view of poetry, as the poet believes that “all things are orderly and lovely” and that her task is “to reveal their beauty” (145). Poetic exploration has the power to reveal the inner form or truth of all objects, so this entails that there actually is an order, a set of correspondences, that the poet can unveil. This concept is highly dependent on the Neoplatonic notion that knowledge is more a matter of regaining a lost affinity with the world. This worldview is in

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stark contrast with the Modernist feeling of anxiety and suspicion that reality cannot really be known. Poks focuses on nature poems to show that these “are permeated with a sense of wonder and sensuous joy” (2011, 145), in coincidence with the famous Hasidic I–Thou relationship with reality, and to reject the notion of post-Enlightenment of domination and mastery over nature through technology. Levertov attempts to achieve an unbiased relationship with reality, not mediated by cultural constructs. Nevertheless, this Neoplatonic feature not only circumscribes content but shapes word choices, as manifested by Goldstein: “Her polemical rhetoric always depended, though neither she nor her admirers cared to dwell on the matter, on a nineteenth-century vocabulary that carried with it the integrity and stability of a premodern tradition” (2009, 114). Goldstein recalls Ruskin, Keats or a Pre-Raphaelite aura appreciated in her style. This is symptomatic, for Goldstein, of Levertov’s longing for a British diction which suggests pre-modernity in the sense that there is a connection of the human race with nature, far from technological threats to the planet. However, the critic Sue Yore has pushed Levertov’s definition as a Romantic further, by analysing mystic features in Levertov’s poetry (together with the poetry of Annie Dillard and Iris Murdoch). Yore believes that “postmodernity . . . offers the potential for mysticism to flourish” (2009, 38). Yore reminds us of the basic feature that knowing God or talking to him is impossible; “postmodern mysticism therefore openly embraces paradox and ambiguity and accepts that the sacred remains perennially beyond our grasp” (2009, 39). Levertov’s ultimate aim in her interrogation of reality understood as an integration of human, natural, social and religious aspects alludes to an epistemological meditation and its relation with faith in connection with art. Julian thus provides a sustainable example regarding methodology, poetic craft, religious model and human attitude for the American poet. As Joan M. Nuth states, Julian’s “contemplation over a twenty-year period was focused on reconciling two apparently contradictory teachings regarding sin and salvation: the teachings of her revelations, which she firmly believed were from God, and the teachings of the Church, which she continued to trust as God’s revelation” (Nuth 1992, 621). Likewise, Levertov combined her own poetic instincts with her religious belief. In both cases, the first experience stems from their own perception and experience; the second one is dogma, a set of notions that have to be unnaturally incorporated into their mindframes. Nuth illustrates another interesting aspect of Julian’s methodology that influenced Levertov’s poetic practice, the lectio divina, which is a Benedictine monastic practice

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“through which the prayerful meditation upon Scripture results in contemplative insight into the truths of Christian faith” (Nuth 1992, 621). Levertov, in turn, used numerous biblical passages and approached them through her poetic practices. Many of the poems in her 1997 The Stream and the Sapphire are created on a quotation from the Bible (“In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being”; Acts 17:28), on another poem with religious meaning (“I learned that her name was Proverb”; line in a poem by Thomas Merton), or on a biblical passage (“On the Parable of the Mustard Seed”). This practice which considers the Holy Scriptures as emerging from God and thus creating in the act of speech is reminiscent of Levertov’s understanding of poetry as a living entity. In this process, which for Levertov integrates prayer, religious mediation and artistic creation, sight becomes the fundamental organ that makes art possible. According to Wolfgang Riehle Julian is the only one amongst them [the Middle English mystics] who does not limit herself to very cautiously worded hints about the vision of the hereafter, but rather experiences the theological truths of salvation as a beholding or vision. Beholding in fact becomes almost a fundamental mystical attitude for her, and it is her reaction to God’s shewing (Riehle 1981, 125).

In fact, as Riehle explains, in the Middle Ages three different types of vision were distinguished in a mystic encounter: the corporal vision (visio corporalis), the spiritual vision (visio imaginativa) and the intellectual vision (visio intellectualis). The corporal vision allows mystics to see with their physical eyes things which are invisible to others; the spiritual vision entails that the physical eyes and perceptive faculties close so that the vision takes place either while in prayer or in sleep, so that the seeing is not physical; and the intellectual perception implies that in the vision there is nothing which is perceived physically, only on a spiritual level. This distinction is also found in Julian’s Revelations but this process takes Julian further, since she is able to gain knowledge only by seeing: Even when she has a corporal vision of the Passion of Christ this is not really an end in itself, but serves only as a starting point for some theological abstract knowledge. For example she sees Mary suffering because of the Passion of Christ, and in doing so recognizes Mary’s spiritual relationship with Christ. Julian often sees the abstract theological meaning of a vision as a direct divine communication . . . Since the “seeing” of this “shewing” becomes for Julian a source of knowledge, then for her “see and know” . . . are synonymous terms. (Riehle 1992, 126–127)

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Watson and Jenkins also mention that, despite her interest in reconciling her vision with that of the Church throughout her book, Julian does not make use of any ecclesiastical authority, but only her perceptions, meditations and interpretations (2007, 7). Levertov, who also grounds her faith and artistic procedures in bodily evidence, meditates on the process of knowing the nature of God as a way to transform her poetry. However, humans suffer from a “failure of sight” (Poks 2011, 147) caused by the modernist disenchantment with nature and the intromission of technological advances. In other words, this human epistemological mistake “makes the scientific, non-participatory consciousness that has broken with the pre-modern, holistic perception of life a consequence of a reluctance to see . . . it is a purposeful blindness whose most recent consequence is the ecological disaster” (Poks 2011, 147). Hence, her poetry attempts to be witness to the community of this problem. Other epistemological barriers are pondered on both by Julian and Levertov. Specifically, the essential nature of human historical perspective and God’s eternal one. The astonishingly simple yet all-encompassing idea conveyed in Julian’s sentence “I saw God in a point” (Julian of Norwich 1901, 26) attempts to make God available to human limited grasp. Simply put, human epistemological capacity cannot afford God’s lessons. This is the reason why Levertov’s poem “Visitation. Overflow.” Reads “you must take / my word for it”. Faith and belief in his word is the only possibility available where humans fail to know. Nuth describes this essential feature as “a perspective essentially different from the way humans, conditioned by time, view events as destructive or arbitrary or happening by chance” (Nuth 1992, 630). But this gap existing between human and divine nature can be worked out by humans, both mystics and poets, through their elaborations on the given word through their meditation and poetic practices. Both Clifton Wolters and A. C. Spearing, as translators and editors of respective editions of Julian’s Revelations of Divine Love, muse on a very revealing concept that Julian used in the fourteenth century, yet with great resonance with the postmodern stance: the word “homely”. Chapter 26 reads: “knowing that He is fulness of joy, homely and courteous, blissful and very life” (Julian of Norwich 1901, 54). Julian describes God’s love as “homely”, meaning a comfortable feeling or feeling at home. Although Wolters believed that “for a translator this is a difficult word for which there is no single modern equivalent. It refers to God’s intimacy, his familiarity, his domesticity, his interest in every corner of life” (Wolters 1978, 33), Spearing brightly highlights Julian’s connection of her religious devotion with the culturally imposed female realm of the home: “as she

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sees it, even God accommodates himself to the domestic sphere, the home in which he visited her in 1373” (Spearing 1998, xix). In this respect, Nuth explains that the implications of the use of this term are twofold: first, that God is a human’s “natural place, in which we were created by the motherhood of love or that we are enclosed in God as in a womb, or that God is our clothing”; second, that “we are God’s home, something reflected in the Incarnation” (Nuth 1992, 637). The notion of homely, in contrast with the uncanny or unheimleich, is not foreign to postcolonial theory in the light of identity issues. Julian is original in reversing the nature of God as an uncanny presence for human beings—such as the teachings of the Church proclaimed—into a homely-natured God. Identity in the postmodern sense, versus the medieval notion of identity as explained by Julian, differs especially against the backdrop of naming as a self-definition process, the building of national identities and the war as its ulterior materialization. Levertov turns to Julian’s message of double inclusion when she ponders on the disastrous consequences of the nuclear age and wars in order to synthesize the opposition between good and evil and to move towards understanding. In her later 1990s poems Levertov propounded a more global understanding of the nature of evil and hope of a future for nature and humanity. This crystallizes the impossibility of being separated from God because of this double closeness and inclusion. In addition, the everlasting cyclic process alternating joy and suffering thus becomes integrated in the Julian’s message since opposing elements contain each other ad infinitum as in a mirror. In connection with the human dimension of God represented in Jesus Christ and with the presence of God in the human soul is Julian’s concept of sin, dealt with in Julian’s Thirteenth Revelation: Sin is therefore necessary for the divine plan of salvation, but is unable to thwart the divine intention of universal salvation. But Julian understands sin—and this is theologically rather unusual—not concretely as evil, but as the absence of good. . . . But through sin man is purified, is forced into self-knowledge and obliged to ask to divine grace. The further argumentation in this chapter shows that for Julian the final and real function of sin is to make divine love even more effective. (Riehle 157)

Levertov, who has been a social activist seeking and promoting peace and social justice, especially admires Julian’s power to redeem and forgive the human race for their sins. Julian’s claim for compassion instead of blame allows Levertov to put into a unifying perspective the many aspects of her life: a woman, a poet, a social activist, a Catholic. The fact that Julian focuses more on the individual psyche when analysing sin is more

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in line with Levertov’s contemporary perspective, in contrast with other mystics who focus on the social consequence of sin. There is a message of hope in Julian that is certainly attractive to Levertov: “the fact that the power of God’s love is far greater than the power of sin” (Nuth 1992, 636). Even more important for Levertov is that all the horror caused by sin must be understood in the context of God’s eternal love for human beings. In addition, sin and suffering play another essential role for Julian, which appeals greatly to Levertov’s poetry: Sin and suffering, as Julian explains them, have an epistemological dimension too: they obscure real knowledge, but at the same time they make us long for it . . . In Julian’s theology, suffering is a necessary component of knowledge. It reminds us that we are not God, but only Godlike. It teaches us humility, without which we would be unaware of our incompleteness and our need to know. In practical terms, since our lives are so brief compared to the eternal bliss we are about to enter, pain and suffering are “to be considered as nothing” . . . For Julian, the practice which consolidates these understandings is prayer. Prayer is the ritual through which we remain in touch with, permeated and inspired by the knowledge of the reality of love and therefore protected from its absence as suffering. (Garret 2001, 194)

If prayer consolidates this knowledge, for Levertov it is art that makes the transformation possible. Furthermore, Levertov believes that there is a strong similarity between poetic inspiration and writing and religious mystic experience. Paul Lacey acknowledged that “the interplay of relinquishment and transformation” is experienced by “artists and mystics” (Lacey 1998, 21) when he analysed Levertov’s poem “Contrasting Gestures”, included in her 1992 Evening Train, in which the poet manifests that “artists and mystics want to attain” “that gesture / of absolute abandon, absolute / release into clear or cloudy / inner flow of the lake” (Levertov 1992, 100). Yet despite their similar tasks of submersion as a way to transformation, Lacey summarizes the key distinction between them: “the mystic wants to make her soul; the artist wants to perfect her work” (Lacey 1998, 22). Levertov thus wrote in her mature reflection on poetry and faith: “every work of art is an ‘act of faith’ in the vernacular sense of being a venture into the unknown” (Levertov 1992, 249). The concept of releasement or gelassenheit posed by Meister Eckhart is particularly fascinating when approaching this notion of abandonment or “drunkenness on intuitions”, as Levertov pointed out in her poem. In his explanation of releasement, Meister Eckhart speaks of clinging to a place as a way of clinging to distinction between God’s will and human’s will. This means that one must let go of all preconceptions about God, and must

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even forget about God in order to perceive him anew and more truly. The process of knowing God thus turns out to be a highly complex one. Everything starts with the desire of human beings to know God, and in this process, attention is paid to all the works that God has already done, as a way to know the ones that He will do in the future, if He wishes to do so, because human beings must know only what God wants to be known. From this moment onwards is when faith comes into play. This entails that human beings must be happy about that which is revealed and that which is not. However, in this process, human beings must be extremely cautious about thinking or imagining the nature of such treasure or secret disclosed so as not to act pretentiously and against human nature’s knowledge limits. Meister Eckhart’s idea articulates two major concepts that resound in Levertov’s poetics: will and detachment. Levertov aims at repeating the experience of union, of communion, of sublimity in her poetry, when she is able to connect her present to her memories, or her present to another entity. The idea of becoming entangled in everyday events and forgetful about one’s being lies behind the need of an epiphanic moment which releases oneself from the time and space continuum all humans are subject to. This Patristic concept of the treasure (developed mainly in Julian’s Chapter Thirty-Two) finds a parallel in Levertov’s poetry, since it reminds her greatly of the unexpected revelation received in poetry. “The Secret” (O Taste and See), for example, abounds in the same idea. In this moment one can experience endlessness and infinitude, either individually as a mystic or through art. In their epistemological enquiry, Levertov and Julian must necessarily reflect on the nature and the value of language when communicating with God. Mystical experience, that is, an experience of union with God, “cannot be fully described. God can never be measured by human minds, and intimacy with him exhausts and transcends the power of language and the range of thought” (Wolters 1978, 26). Levertov’s poem “Flickering Mind” exacts this cognitive impossibility: “Lord, not you, / it is I who am absent” (Levertov 1997, 15). Contrariwise, “language . . . sustain[s] the possibility and hope for Levertov that God is not silent, just speaking to us differently than we are able to hear” (Wright 2007, 289). Yet the nature of God’s speech acts does not materialize as humans’ do, so it is through the patterns offered by his creations that humans must seek the message, a message that reveals itself through “the very happenings of history . . . and the recurrent patterns of nature offer plenty of revelatory warning for those with ears to hear” (Wright 2007, 290). Denise Lynch stated back in 1989 that “Levertov finds in the ‘mystic’ Julian no rejection of the physical world, but a longing for ‘supreme

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reality’ to reveal itself through the flesh, as the poet’s metaphor might express vision” (1993, 295). Levertov identifies on multiple levels with Julian’s exploratory attempt since Julian provides her with a religious methodology that also resounds with her ethic and aesthetic craft. Julian’s message helped Levertov to reconcile and move forward in her last stage of poetic excellence. Thus the American poet finally accepts that humans cannot fully understand reality because of humans’ very nature. Therefore, the well-known sentence “I should firmly believe that all things shall be well” (Julian of Norwich 1901, 65) manifest that God’s design is beyond human powers. Levertov’s reconciliation of her political, social and religious dimensions with poetry was possible in part thanks to her intense appreciation for the model that Julian of Norwich rendered to her. The intense examination that Levertov performed revealed a complex and multilayered answer that provided an integrative artistic and religious sustenance for Levertov until the end of her life.

Works Cited Gámez-Fernández, Cristina M. 1997. “‘Help Thou Mine Unbelief’: Perception in Denise Levertov’s Religious Poetry.” Renascence. Essays on Values in Literature. 60.1: 53–73. Garrett, Catherine. 2001. “Weal and Woe: Suffering, Sociology, and the Emotions of Julian of Norwich.” Pastoral Psychology, 49.3: 187–203. Goldstein, Laurence. 2009. “Politics by Parable: Denise Levertov and the Gulf War”. Triquarterly, 135–136: 105–21. Greene, Dana. 2012. Denise Levertov. A Poet’s Life. Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Hollenberg, Donna K. 2013. A Poet’s Revolution. The Life of Denise Levertov. Berkeley: University of California Press. Julian of Norwich. 1902. Revelations of Divine Love. Translated and edited by Grace Warrack. Grand Rapids, MI: Christian Classic Ethereal Library. PDF file. Lacey, Paul. 1998. “‘To Meditate a Saving Strategy’: Denise Levertov’s Religious Poetry”. Renascence. Essays on Values in Literature. 50.1– 2: 17–32. Levertov, Denise. 1992. “Work that Enfaiths”. In New and Selected Essays, 247–57. New York: New Directions. —. 1992. Evening Train. New York: New Directions. —. 1997. The Stream and the Sapphire. New York: New Directions. —. 2000. This Great Unknowing. New York: New Directions.

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Lynch, Denise. 1993. “Denise Levertov in Pilgrimage”. In Denise Levertov. Selected Criticism, edited with an introduction by Albert Gelpi, 288–302. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Nuth, Joan M. 1992. “Two Medieval Soteriologies: Anselm of Canterbury and Julian of Norwich”. Theological Studies 53: 611–45. Poks, Małgorzata. 2011. “The Poet’s ‘Caressive Sight’: Denise Levertov’s Transactions with Nature”. Text Matters 1.1: 145–52. Riehle, Wolfgang. 1981. Middle English Mystics. Translated by Bernard Standring. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Spearing, A.C. 1998. “Introduction”. In Julian of Norwich Revelations of Divine Love: (short text and long text). Translated by Elizabeth Spearing, vii-xxxvi. London: Penguin Books. Watson, Nicholas and Jacqueline Jenkins. 2006. “Introduction”. In The Writings of Julian of Norwich: A Vision Showed to a Devout Woman and A Revelation of Love, edited by Nicholas Watson and Jacqueline Jenkins, 1–60. Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State UP. Wolters, Clifton. 1978. “Introduction”. In Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love. Translated and with an introduction by Clifton Wolters, 11–44. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Wright, David. 2007. “Poets, Witnesses, and Community: The Christian Reader and Denise Levertov’s and Carolyn Forché’s Communities of Witness”. In The Strategic Smorgasbord of Postmodernity: Literature and the Christian Critic, edited by Deborah C. Bowen, 278–91. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Yore, Sue. 2009. The Mystic Way in Postmodernity. Transcending Theological Boundaries in the Writings of Iris Murdoch, Denise Levertov and Annie Dillard. Berne: Peter Lang.

Notes 1

Grace Warrack’s 1901 translation of Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love has been used since this is the edition that the American poet used.

CHAPTER ELEVEN LITERARY OVERTONES, SELF-FASHIONING AND POETICS IN CHAUCER’S THE HOUSE OF FAME JUAN DE DIOS TORRALBO-CABALLERO

The Author and his Context The genius among medieval poets was born around 1340. His life unfolded during the reigns of Edward III and Richard II, coinciding for some years with the monarchy of Henry IV.1 He had the opportunity to travel to France, Spain and Flanders, once as a soldier and on other occasions as a diplomat or a pilgrim. Pilgrimage was customary at the time and it is understood as a massive phenomenon which brought together groups of people of different social strata. This social custom is reflected in the Canterbury Tales, as the characters start their pilgrimage of about 100 kilometres from the Tabard Inn (Southwark) till they reached the tomb of St Thomas Becket in Canterbury. Mutatis mutandis, this motif also appears in the poem considered in this chapter. Chaucer had a public facet and, at the same time, another facet dedicated to reading and literary creation, which he turned to in the second book of House of Fame. At the beginning of the first book of House of Fame he demonstrated literary activity in this manner: That som man is to curious In studye, or melancolyous, Or thus, so inly ful of dred That no man may hym bote bede. (I, 29–32)

These are two clearly distinct aspects, which allowed for the creation of a multifaceted and cosmopolitan identity. He probably received his formal education at the school of St Paul’s Cathedral in London, later

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studying Law at the Inns of Court. In 1357 he was a page to Elizabeth, Countess of Ulster, a soldier, a squire in the service of the monarchy, a border controller who collected taxes for wool, furs and leather in the port of London (1374–1386), a commissioner in some diplomatic missions, a member of parliament for Kent, a construction and building maintenance supervisor for the king and official forester in the woods of North Petherson (Somerset). To his salary, he added his family inheritance, apart from the protection of his patron John of Gaunt. At the end of his days, he lived in the heart of London. He was married to Philippa Roelt, the daughter of a knight. His sisterin-law, Catherine Swynford, was the lover, and later on wife, of John of Gaunt. One of the writer’s sons (Thomas Chaucer) was in the service of Gaunt, accompanying him on an incursion into Spain while Gaunt was trying to enforce his claim to the crown of Castile. Chaucer was a poet imbued with state affairs, which is why he let himself express the following preaching of political character, alluding to the poor governors, which as a synecdoche can be applied to his country and other countries: Loo, ys it not a gret myschaunce To lete a fool han governaunce Of thing that-he can not demeyne? (II, 957–959)

Chaucer’s poetry illustrates his otium cum dignitate (Pask 1996, 51). In this particular case, the thematic pillars are raised upon two themes: fame, and to a lesser extent rumour. In fact, the narrator is going to visit the houses of both. In the first visit, the occasional whims and incongruences of fame become evident (III, 1547). In the second, the plague of lies that circulate among people is revealed (III, 2123, 2129).

The Poem In Medieval England, the languages of literary communication were primarily Latin and French (Moya & López 2006, 145). One of the values of The House of Fame is that it is written in English. In fact, the second book begins as follows: “Now herkeneth every maner man / That English understonde kan” (II, 509–510), alluding to the vernacular language, which was gradually displacing Latin and French. It’s worth pointing out that, according to Pask (1996, 22), Chaucer was bilingual in English and French. The poem comprises three books. The first consists of a preface, an invocation to the god of dreams (I, 69), followed by the story. The second

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contains a preface, followed by the story, while the third presents an invocation and then “The Dream”, which starts on December 10 (I, 111). In the case of the second book, despite the lack of an invocation section per se, there is a clear allusion to inspiration when mentioning the goddess of love and beauty, imploring help in editing the poem and elaborating the rhymes: Now faire blisfull, O Cipris, So be my favour at this tyme! And ye, me to endite and ryme Helpeth, that on Parnaso duelle. (II, 518–521)

The poem is positioned in the oneiric field, specifically when the narrator establishes in the first book: “But as I slepte, me mette I was / Withyn a temple ymad of glas” (I, 119–120). At the beginning of the second book, the dream is emphasized as a vehicle of expression in the poem, and the didactic character of the work is highlighted when declaring “And listenth of my drem to lere” (II, 511). Later on, when the protagonist converses with the eagle that carries him, the bird responds that the journey “is for thy lore and for thy prow” (II, 579). The first book describes the story of the first book of the Aeneid, stressing the semantics of love. The second book describes how an eagle elevates the narrator to the House of Fame, reaching it in the final part of the book: “So here the Hous of Fame, lo!” (II, 1023). Finally, in the third book, the narrator and visitor observes how nine legions of people arrive, making various petitions to Fame. This last book begins by imploring to Apollo “God of science and of lyght” (III, 1091) and closes by reflecting upon fame and postulating that the narrator only means to gain knowledge. In the last book, he reaches the house which gives the name of the poem, which is situated “upon so hygh a roche, / Hier stant ther non in Spayne” (III, 1116–1117). The House of Fame is in a “roche of yse” (III, 1130). In the final section of the poem, the narrator moves to another house, which “Ys ful of rounynges and of jangles” (III, 1960). Chaucer employed easily understandable language, congruent with what he expressed in the second book: “For hard langage and hard matere / Ys encombrous for to here” (II, 861–862), applying certain variations in the styles of the characters (Kean 1972, 199). The Canadian critic Northrop Frye (1969, 119–120) inserts Chaucer in the group of poets (together with Homer and Shakespeare), whose style is intelligible to many types of readers, in comparison to other writers, the decoding of whom requires a more acute interpretation, as is the case with Dante, Spencer and Blake. It should be added that the eagle takes pride in the

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simplicity and easiness of the style (Burnley 1983, 198), implicitly giving Horatian advice (2012, 44–48, lines 14–37). This idea is stressed in the beginning of the third book, when the writer claims he does not pretend “here an poetical be shewed” (III, 1095), but rather aims to achieve “the rym lys lyght and lewed” (III, 1096).

Themes and Plot: Literary Overtones The author exhibited his independence and originality towards the middle of the first book, “Non other auctour alegge I” (I, 314), which in a way alludes to his humbleness, while at the same time focusing on his supposed ignorance. However, the poem presents a notable accumulation of quotes and literary references, as will be demonstrated. With respect to the elaboration of the poem, the writer showed that he did not aim to create a formal display, but rather go deep into its content, with which he demonstrated the duality of depth and form, between “craft” and “sentence” (León-Sendra & Serrano-Reyes 1999, 304). There are more references to writing, as is confirmed in “Loo, how shulde I now telle all thys” (III, 1341). An early example can be found in the first line about dreams since it contains an indirect allusion to oneiric literature, to whose lineage this poem pertains. Another example is appreciated when the narrator refers to people’s temperament (I, 22), as he is mentioning a theory that will endure in literature. It is the theory of the body’s liquids, also known as the theory of the four humours, which underlies the creation of many literary characters from the Greek comedies of Menander or the Latin ones of Plato to Ben Jonson’s play Every Man in his Humour or George Chapman’s An Humorous Day’s Mirth. The characters are paradigmatic and modelled on a set of norms, which guide their behaviour and psychology. By the end of the sixteenth century, “the comedy of humours” was crystallized in the history of English literature and its establishment would set the scene for other creations of the seventeenth century. Another literary pillar which shines through at the beginning of the poem is courtly love, viewed as suffering, especially when mentioning “the cruel lyf unsofte / which these ilke lovers leden” (I, 36–37). Two hundred lines later, the author asked himself whether he should speak about love (arguing that he is not able). It is an art of love, also referred to later on (I, 335): What shulde I speke more queynte

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Or peyne me my words peynte To speke of love? Hyt wol not be; I kan not of that faculte. And eke to telle the manere How they aqueynteden in fere, Hyt were a long process to telle, And over-long for you to dwelle. (I, 245–252)

The references to concrete authors are crystallized in the last third of the first book with the allusion to “Rede Virgile in Eneydos / Or the Epistle of Ovyde” (I, 378–379). Shortly after, the author says “Or Dante, that hit telle kan” (I, 450). As far as intertextuality and influences are concerned, a key episode which serves as a hinge for the narration is Dante’s work, specifically with the confirmation that “Me thoughte I sawgh an egle sore” (I, 499). When approaching the end of the first book, Chaucer focused on the description of the eagle which was to elevate the protagonist—its golden colour, the way it shines and its size. These attributes reappear in the second book when the bird is referred to (II, 529– 530) in a cataphoric way. Dante’s intertextuality is conveniently noted by multiple scholars, such as León-Sendra and Serrano-Reyes (1994, 242), and Kruger (1993, 123). Dante’s influence is explored by Taylor (1989, 20–41), Payne (1989, 59–95), Simpson (1986, 1–18) and Wallace (1985, 5–22), among others. Boethius stands out among the authors cited (Gardner 1977, 165). It is worth remembering that Chaucer translated De Consolatione philosophiae. In fact, the medieval writer quoted a passage from the Roman philosopher himself: “O God,” quod y, “that made Adam, Moche ys thy myght and thy noblesse!” And thoo thoughte y upon Boece, That writ, “A thought may flee so hye Wyth fetheres of Philosophye; To passen everych element, And whan he hath so fer ywent, Than may be seen behynde hys bak Cloude” […] (II, 970–978)

Furthermore, this passage serves the function of corroborating the high position the narrator found himself in when articulating this discourse. Thus, the poet, despite representing himself as ignorant and lay, exhibits his knowledge and digs deep into its classical sources. For example, when

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he invokes the god of dreams before establishing the story, he connects a series of relative sentences in the following manner: Unto the god of slep anoon, That duelleth in a cave of stoon Upon a strem that corneth fro Lete, That is a flood of helle unswete, Besyde a folk men clepeth CymerieThere slepeth ay this god unmerie With his slepy thousand sones. (I, 69–75)

When reaching the temple, he observes and describes in detail the painting of Venus (I, 130–139), after which he inserts the description of the destruction of Troy (I, 151–173), alluding to Creusa (I, 175), Juno (I, 198) and even Aeolus (I, 204). Chaucer was recreating the first book of the Aeneid by Virgil, parting from what appears on the walls of Venus’ temple. In this manner, the poet offers a medieval paradigm of a narrative poem (Kolye 1984, 42), recreating it throughout 330 lines of the 508 lines which form the first book. Later on, when “Fames halle” arrives (III, 1357), he describes in detail the altar where Lady Fame dwells, while listening to Calliope’s song and that of her eight sisters, with which he makes evident the reference to inspiration, tradition and literature. The narrator alludes to “Ebrayk Josephus” (III, 1433) by the side of whom are “stoden other sevene” (III, 1437), going on to specify the presence of the “great Omer”, “Virgile”, “Ovide”, “Lucan”, as well as that of “Julius and Pompe” or “Claudian” (III, 1466–1509). The writer, therefore, demonstrates a large classical tradition and recreates some attributes of each of the names aforementioned. This interaction between literature and painting permits the allusion— at least indirectly—to the cliché, which Sir Philip Sidney would later on recall (2002, 86), about ut pictura poesis when mentioning “a speaking picture”, and which in the first century BC had already been addressed by Horace (2012, 112) in his Ars Poetica in line 361, “Vt pictura poesis: erit, quae, si propius stes”. Having said that, it is necessary to add that some experts like Koyle (1984, 42) dismiss the metaliterary and theoretic interaction of the poem. What is evident is that the first book offers a clear superimposing and a clear relationship between the verbal, the visual and art in general. The theme of pilgrimage, the cliché of the homo viator, is expressed by the narrator before falling asleep, when he remarks that he feels tired as if he had walked two miles in pilgrimage to the tomb of Leonardo (I, 115– 117), revealing the custom portrayed in Canterbury Tales.

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The visitor arrives at the temple of fame and observes the portraits, sculptures and all the art that decorates the place (I, 125–132). From the visions, he begins to describe different episodes of history and literature. An example is the description of Aeneas sailing towards Italy, which is narrated as he observes an engraving (I, 433–438), which—as already mentioned—makes clear his knowledge of classical literature. The references to classical works can be interpreted as a way of crowning the efforts of the poet (Lipking 1981, 79), thus creating a line of contiguity. A kind of history is presented. In the metalinguistic field, the author also interfered when he expressed through the narrator: “How thinketh the my conclusyon? / […] A good persuasion” (II, 871–873). Previously, the eagle proclaimed: “Telle me this now feythfully, Have y not preved thus symply, Withoute any subtilite Of speche, or great prolixite Of termes of philosophie, Of figures of poetry, Or colours of rethorike? (II, 854–859)

This question demonstrates that the poet is capable of differentiating between speech, philosophy, poetry and rhetoric, which makes his skills and knowledge, as well as his talents in reading and writing, evident. Returning to the previous idea, some critics have pointed out that the book contains references to speech, the reason for which can be found in Chaucer’s multifaceted character (courtier, politician, Londoner, diplomat and poet), always paying attention to the diverse registers and acts of speech, to “the unspoken behind the spoken” (Ganin 1990 123), already present in the Book of the Duchess, which entails a “cacophony” of The Parliament of Fowls. The theme of imitation stands out.2 Chaucer highlighted another theme of theoretic nature, mentioning the copying of nature and of art. First of all, when he climbs the hill, the narrator appreciates the unheard-of beauty which nobody is capable of “swich another for to make”: That al the men that ben on lyve Ne han the kunnynge to descrive. The beaute of that ylke place, Ne coude casten no compace Swich another for to make, That myight of beaute ben hys make, Ne so wonderlych ywrought. (III, 1167–1173)

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Later on, he sketched other related ideas, focused on the “wyt”, alluding to the nouns “craft” and “cast”, which allows for the deduction of the innate component of his creative wit, necessary for the writing of the poem. Chaucer, with these parameters, reminds us that the poem is composed by nature and by art, implicitly evoking Horace’s 408 line “Natura fieret laudibile carmen an arte” (Horace 2012, 122). The poet, inspired by the home he sees on the summit, takes up the work of copying the original, “another for to make” (III, 1171). The one who occasionally describes himself as ignorant, does not hesitate now in showing himself overflowing with wit: […] maketh al my wyt to swynke, On this castel to bethynke, So that the grete craft, beaute, The cast, the curiosite (III, 1175–1178).

Next, the poet is more explicit on the subject of the mimesis3 as he takes delight in the music that comes from the harp of Orpheus, Orion and Chiton, together with others, such as the Welsh Glascurion. Underneath them, there were “smale harpers” with their musical instruments imitating the models: Ther herde I pleyen on an harpe That sowned bothe wel and sharpe, Orpheus ful craftely, And on his side, faste by, Sat the harper Orion, […] Sate under hem in dyvers seës And gunne on hem upward to gape, And countrefete hem as an ape, Or as craft countrefeteth kynde. (III; 1201–1213).

These incursions make evident Chaucer’s theoretical knowledge and his incorporation in the tradition established from Scaliger4 to Horace (2012, 102, lines 311–322), and in a preliminary manner engender a theoretical and practical movement which unfolds around the concept of mimesis. The poet mentions art in multiple ways, converting its creation in one of the main omnipresent themes in the poem, as it yields to itself becoming a metaliterary and metapoetic work of art. Another piece of evidence is when the visitor observes many works in the shape of capitals, sculptures and stained glass windows, among others, also showing the

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presence of “munstralles” (III, 1197) who play instruments in the religious celebration and “gestiours” who tell stories on different subjects.

The Poet’s Self-Fashioning and Some References to the Reader In this poem, the speaker is a character-narrator who humbly defines himself from the very start as uneducated, with a kind of lay wit: “Why this a drem, why that a sweven, / I not; but whoso of these miracles” (I, 11–12). Fifty lines later, he indicates he knows the god of dreams through books: a topos repeated on multiple occasions throughout the poem (I, 378, 426, etc.) and which appears in other works, such as “The Legend of Good Women” (29–34) or “The Book of the Duchess” (15–21). The narrator introduces himself as a character thirsty for knowledge: “Ne sawgh I, me to rede or wisse”, “To lerne, saugh I trumpe there” (I, 491; III, 1250), and this idea is maintained until the end of the poem, because, when he leaves for another place (the House of Rumour), the eagle which transports him once more reiterates that its function is to help him “and wisse and teche the aryght” (III, 2024). To docere, Chaucer also adds delectare, thus shaping the binomial depicted by Horace (2012: 106) in his Epistola ad Pisones: “Aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetae” (Horace, line 333). Line 333 of Horace is translated by Chaucer in line 2133 as “Me for to pleyen and for to lere” (III, 2133). Literature, in this manner, emerges as useful poetry. In this sense, a morpho-syntactic technique which stands out throughout the poem is the use of the first person singular pronoun, which makes the voice of the subject tangible: Ne no man elles me beforn, Mene, I strowe stedfastly, So wonderful a drem as I The tenthe day now of Decembre, The which, as I kan now remembre, I wol you tellen everydel. (I, 60–65)

In line 470, another specific reference to the speaker appears: “thoughte I” (I, 470), which confirms the thesis that the author is represented in the text through the use of the pronoun. He is the narrative character. Ten lines later, this procedure stands out once again: When I out at the dores cam, I faste aboute me beheld.

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Later on, it is stated: “And alle myn actes red and songe / Over al thys lond, on every tonge” (I, 347), which focuses on oral and written literature, hinting at two traditions and pointing to the expansion of literary prestige throughout the world. The protagonist begins his dream and sees images, portraits and sculptures within a crystal temple (I, 120–121), located on different levels. This representation gives the setting for different scenes, which are to be represented with regard to fame. They are copies of reality, before which the visitor feels disoriented (I, 128, 479; II, 979), and which he says he does not know (I, 128). In the second book, another reference to literary work appears. The eagle addresses the narrator, confirming the idea that he is not very knowledgeable (II, 621, 688), at the same time claiming that the protagonist spends his time writing books, songs and sayings, and that he does so in verse, with much effort and dedication. Although that in thy hed ful lyte is – To make bookys, songes, dytees, In ryme or elles in cadence, As thou best canst, in reverence. (II, 621–624)

On the one hand, the narrator’s ignorance is expressed, while on the other hand, a subordinate adverbial clause sheds light over the literary work of the character. The references directed to the narrator-character in the work lead towards considering him an alter ego of Chaucer himself. This idea, which has been dwelt upon so far, appears once again in line 632 when the eagle confirms that the character spends the night awake, involved in study and composing literary works: And vertu eke, that thou wolt make A-nyght ful ofte thyn hed to ake In thy studye, so thou writest, And ever mo of love enditest. (II, 631–634)

His literary perseverance and determination are revealed again in the second book, precisely when he says that, once finished with his work, instead of resting, he sits next to his book. This quote further illustrates the value of books, which Chaucer highlights thus: For when thy labour doon al ys,

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And hast mad alle thy rekenynges, In stede of reste and newe thynges Thou goost hom to thy hous anoon, And, also domb as any stoon, Thou sittest at another book Tyl fully daswed ys thy look; And lyvest thus as an heremyte, Although thyn abstinence ys lyte. (II, 652–660)

These personal and autobiographical details, together with the printed character of the work (Pask 1996, 14–18) throw light upon the selfrepresentation of the writer and the consciousness of his literary fame and the perpetuity of his work. Towards the middle of the third book, the narrator-character finds himself in the House of Fame, and, when asked about the purpose of his visit, he responds that “I cam noght hyder, graunt mercy” (III, 1874). The speaker clearly establishes he is not looking for fame or name a posteriori. When asked about the reason for his visit, he answers that “for tol ere, / Somme newe tinges”, which represents him as a person who desires to expand his knowledge, humble and willing to develop. The cliché of false modesty is applied (III, 1095–1098). He confesses that before visiting this place, he did not know fame—desired by people—and adds through a clear alliteration of the negative particle that he did not know what place she inhabited, nor her shape, nor condition, nor “the ordre of her dom” (III, 1905), which manifests the arbitrariness, which the visitor verifies through the answers provided by fame, as it shall be proven below. In the second book, a simile can be found which compares the speaker to a hermit (II, 659), thus generating the semantics of solitude and withdrawal, which Chaucer considered necessary for writing poetry. When the eagle leaves him alone before his destiny, the narrator reiterates “that wil I of the lere” (II, 1057). Soon after, in the antepenultimate line of the second book, the bird wishes the visitor “Some good to lernen in this place” (II, 1087). When the poem is finished, he argues once again that his purpose is “Me for to pleyen and for to lere” (III, 2133). Another topos that stands out in the poem is that of the “poor poet”, which is considered a transcendental being, precisely because Chaucer did not seek enrichment on a pecuniary level, but rather the literary and creative enrichment that he defends so and states in this poem: “As fyn as ducat in Venyse, / Of which to lite al in my pouche is?” (III, 1348–1349). This interpretation differs from Horace’s postulate (2012, 124–128 lines 419–437) about the rich poet.

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More literary clichés palpitate throughout the work, as demonstrated by the theme of puer senex, specifically in line 995 of the second book when he establishes: “For y am now to old” (II, 995). In this case, the humbleness of the ingenious layman is in contrast with his wisdom, which now the narrator affirms in a straightforward manner when asked by the eagle about the learning he is undergoing in his journey to the stars. Precisely in terms of the possible confusion in the names of the stars (when the eagle asks the narrator if he knows them), the bird intervenes metaphorically in the reading of the poem, populating it with similes in this way: For when thou redest poetrie, Goddess gonne stellifye How goddess gonne stellifye Bridd, fissh, best, or him or here, As the Raven or eyther Bere, Or Arionis harpe fyn, […] For though thou have hem ofte on honde, Yet nostow not wher that they stoned. (II, 1001–1010)

While alluding to the reader of poetry, the eagle is preaching about the correlations that literary language generates, as well as the semantic game achieved when the references change meaning. The poem bends to language (Kruger 1993, 127) and creative writing. As far as the way the reader is considered, in the beginning of the poem, the reference to “Wel worthe of this thyng grete ckerkys” (I, 53) stands out, mentioning the wisdom of the audience and stating their intellectual worth. When the narrator is describing his first visions (paintings, sculptures, destruction of Troy), he explicitly addresses the reader, mentioning his desire to “shonly of this thyng to pace” (I, 239). Another method of capturing the reader’s attention and seeking empathy, is the inclusion of proverbs and popular sayings of the time, such as “Hyt is not al gold that glareth” (I, 272) or “he that fully koweth th’erbe / May saufly leye hyt to his yë” (I, 290–291).5 Later, he writes “As men may ofte in bokes rede” (I, 385). On other occasions, the writer inserts the reader in his verse through the use of the pronoun or possessive adjective in the first person plural: “The whiche I preye alway save us, / And us ay of oure sorwes lyghte” (I, 466–467). The esteem of the reader and the consciousness of the work of art that he is creating emerge once again when he is describing the musicians in the third book and asks himself: “What shuld I make lenger tele” (III,

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1282). On different occasions, he pleads with the readers, paying attention to them and stating his wish not to bore them (III, 1300, 1405), at times through almost identical structures: “To make yow to longe duellen”, “To make yow to longe to duelle”. This insertion is connected to the wish for brevity postulated by Horace in his Ars Poetica: “Quicquid praecipies esto breuis, ut cito dicta” (Horace, 335).

Towards the Concept of Fame: “So Here the Hous of Fame, Lo!” The first reference to fame in the poem appears around line 349, defining her as “O wikke Fame”. In the case of the narrator, the eagle informs him that it is taking him to the House of Fame in order to provide “some disport and game” (II, 664) as a reward for his work. The idea of merit and worthiness emerges in lines 669 and 670 of the second book: “And thus this god, through his merite, / Wol with som maner thing the quyte”. This journey to the House of Fame will give the narrator the opportunity to learn where the goddess dwells, get to know her palace, located between the sky, the earth and the sea (II, 715), in a way that Fame may be knowledgeable about all that is said by “any tonge / Be hyt rouned, red, or songe” (II, 721–722). This idea of location is later reiterated in line 846 of the same book. The natural tendency to climb to the Hous of Fame is illustrated by Chaucer through the natural examples of sound, fire and smoke (II, 742– 743), also employing the simile of the rivers that reach the sea in a natural way: “That every ryver to the see / Enclyned ys to goo by kynde” (II, 748). He reiterates that all the sounds have to reach the Hous of Fame (II, 789) and for it he uses the metaphor of the wave generated by a stone thrown in the water (II, 790–806). In the final section of the poem, the narrator, once having reached the House of Rumor, expands on similar imagery to describe rumor and the way information passes from some people to others (III, 2060–2075). The confirmation of the height is highlighted again when the protagonist indicates what he sees from above, which entails a lineal representation of reality, in which the alter ego of the author is positioned above everything, thus being able to see the creation of the species: Tho gan y loken under me And beheld the ayerissh bestes, Cloudes mystes, and tempestes,

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When the protagonist arrives at the Hous of Fame, he hears turmoil, described by his companion as “tydynges” (II, 1027), including “Bothe of feir speche and chidynges” (II, 1028) as well as “fals and soth” (II, 1029), which provides an idea, being a cataphora or prolepsis, since the reader knows a priori that in the temple of fame he will meet truth, lies, praise and insults. When describing the place, he stresses that he can see the names of famous people, yet he cannot read them well since they dissolve (maintaining the semantics of the stone of snow), which points to the theme of omnia transit, the ephemeral and fleeting nature of fame. “What may eevr laste?” (III, 1147). Chaucer defines fame as having dazzling character, capable of eclipsing “Upon these walles of berile, / That shoone ful lyghter tan a glas” (III, 1288–1289), and adds that “And made wei more tan hit was / To semen every thing, ywis” (III, 1290–1291), clarifying “As kynde thing of Fame is” (III, 1292). However, on one occasion, he defines fame as heavy with regard to the fame of Troy: “So hevy therof was the fame / that for to bere hyt was no game” (III, 1473–1474). This imprecation allows him to incorporate the concept of “envye” (III, 1476), which circulates among artists. The narrator-character himself, when asked whether he has come to fame’s castle in order to possess her, answers with no hesitation: “Nay, for sothe, frend” (III, 1874), and specifies that he would be glad if, once he passed away, nobody would remember his name. He is once more employing false modesty, a kind of captatio benevolentiae, and humbleness, which he has been demonstrating throughout the poem. He ends up leading the conversation towards the didactic and pedagogical level: “The cause why I stonde here: / Somme newe tydynges for to lere” (III, 1885–1886).

The Nine Companies Get to Lady Fame’s House: Arbitrariness and Fancy in the Distribution of Fame Upon concluding the second book, the eagle is in charge of explaining to the protagonist that the noise and words said on earth are converted into people when entering the Hous of Fame, which he qualifies as “wonder thyng” (II, 1083). Chaucer makes evident the allegoric undertones

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deposited in his work, as well as the prosopopeias that palpitate throughout the literary discourse. Chaucer explored diverse yearnings for fame in the third book of his poem. The answers that Lady Fame provides are worthy of studying. Those nine episodes expand from line 1520 to line 1867. In the first place, the visitor perceives a sound comparable to the one produced by bees in a hive (III, 1522), after which he observes “a ryght companye withalle” (III, 1528) of different latitudes, human conditions and social classes. In this episode of the poem, the writer is already suggesting the three groups in which the wishes of the petitioners and the answers received can be divided: And seyde, “Graunte us, lady shene, Ech of us of thy grace a bone!” And somme of hem she graunted sone, And somme she werned wel and faire, And some she graunted the contraire. (1536–1540)

Therefore, the diverse groups make a petition before the deity and the answers are granting her grace by giving fame or bad fame (as solicited), denial of the imploration, and granting of the contrary to what was asked for. On the other hand, some visitors tempt fortune (Kean 1972, 233) showing off their freedom.

“That thou Grante us Now Good Fame”: Granting Ignorance The first group solicits “good fame” (1555). They long for their work to be passed on in the future and to have good reputation. Lady Fame’s response is negative. In this case, Lady Fame affirms that no one will speak of them, neither with good words nor with bad ones: “I werne you hit”, quod she anon; “Ye gete of me good fame non”, Be God, and therefore goo your wey. (1559–1561)

Subsequently, she calls for her messenger and asks him to find two trumpets, one called “Clere Laude” (1575) and the other known as “Sklaundre” (1580). Lady Fame wants the trumpet of praise to be played for the chosen ones, and wishes to hear the other defaming and exposing those she decides. The messenger resorts to a stone cave and addresses

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Aeolus, who gives his trumpets to Triton in order to take them to Lady Fame. Triton appears in both Eneida (6.171–174; 10.209) and Metamorfosis (1.333).

“Another Huge Companye”: Asking for Good Fame and Getting the Opposite Then, another group arrives (1607), pleading for good fame so that their work has renown, arguing they deserve to be rewarded positively. Lady Fame’s answer is decisively negative, after which she confirms the granting of bad fame, bad reputation and a bad name, despite deserving the contrary. “As thryve I,” quod she, “ye shal faylle! Good werkes shal yow noght availle To have of me good fame as now. But wite ye what? Y granite yow That ye shal have a shrewed fame, And wikkyd loos, and worse name, Though ye good loos have wel deserved. (1615–1621)

The goddess wants to give them an answer so negative that it does not take her long to call Aeolus in order to take the trumpet “Skaundre lyght” (1624) and spread the bad reputation all over the world, speaking of them in a harmful way. Aeolus seeks his “bake trumpe of bras” (1637), creating a diabolic sound. It is confirmed that “For thou shalt trumpe alle the contrayre / Of that they han don wel or fayre” (1629–1630). The narrator’s pondering serves as criticism of the fortune of this group, which he calls “sory creatures” (1632), subdued to public shame without being guilty of anything.

“Tho Come the Thirddle Companye”: Lady Fame Acknowledges their Good Work The new group arrives before the altar of Fame and kneels to ask her for what they deserve, pleading to be acknowledged and disseminated (1657–1664), to which Lady Fame replies in a positive way: “I graunte”, quos she, “for me list That now your goode werkes be wist,

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And yet ye shul han better loos, Right in dispit of alle your foos, Than worthy is, and that anoon. (1665–1669)

Thus she asks Aeolus to put away the black trumpet and take out the “highte Laude” so he can play it and make it sound throughout the entire world. So he does, taking out “hys trumpe of gold” (1678), playing it in all directions.

“We Han Don Wel with al Our Myght, But we Kepen Have no Fame”: Kindness The fourth group consists of very few people. They arrive and get in line, begging Lady Bryght so that their work and fame remain hidden, clarifying that “han certeyn doon hyt for bounte” (1698): Ther come the ferthe companye— But certeyn they were wonder fewe— And gunne stonden in a rewe, And seyden, “Certes, lady bryght, We han don wel with al our might, But we kepen have no fame. Hyde our werkes and our name, For goddys love; for certes we Han certeyn doon hyt for ounte, And for no maner other thing.” (1689–1699) The deity’s answer is positive, with outstanding brevity which grants the wish that their work goes into oblivion: “I graunte yow alle your askyng”, / Quod she; “let your werkes be ded” (1700–1701).

“To Hide his Thoo Besoughten Alle”: Contemplation The use of the first person singular bursts in (III, 1702) to reveal the expectant narrator-character, astonished before the diverse waves of visitors he is observing. The following group, “the fifte route” (III, 1703) arrives before Lady Fame and falls on their knees to implore: To hide his thoo besoughten alle To hide her goode werkes ek

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This group proclaims that their work and actions have been guided by the love of God (“Goddes love”; III, 1711), thus insulting reputation and public renown. The response of the goddess is sharp as she considers disrespectful the fact that they do not wish to carry her name. She calls Aeolus immediately so he can play the trumpet and make these visitors’ names endure and be heard in every corner of the world. Therefore, in this case the golden trumpet is played “and he gan blowe her loos so clere” (III, 1722). Both the fourth and the fifth groups ask for the same, that is, not to obtain fame. Lady Fame grants the wish of the previous group and the opposite of the wish of this company, in other words fame and renown. There does not seem to be an apparent reason for one decision or the other; while the fourth visitors cite kindness, the fifth ones cite contemplation. This arbitrariness openly demonstrates the arbitrariness of fame, questioning her supposed justice and equity.

“That we Mowe Has as Good a Fame”: Empty Lives Seeking Fame Group number six arrives before fame and implores her mercy, admitting from the very start that they do not deserve such grant as “ ydel al oure lyf ybe” (III, 1733), after which they plead to shine, having reputation and fame: But natheles yet preye we That we mowe has as good a fame, And gret renoun and knowen name, As they that han doon noble gestes, And aceved alle her lestes, As wel of love as other thing. (III, 1734–1739)

This group strings together their petition with love, as despite of the fact that “Al was us never broche ne ryng, Ne elles noght, from wymmen sent” (III, 1740–1741), they yearn and ask to appear before people as having been loved with enthusiasm. They wish to “countrepese ese and travaylle” (III, 1750) so it may seem they deserve it. They seek evident honour. Moreover, they ask to have these three virtues “Worthy, wise and

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gode also” (III, 1756), together with “riche, and happy unto love” (III, 1757). What is more, they are conscious that they do not possess the body of women, yet they will fulfil their desires if, with deceit, men consider that, in fact, they did have it. The answer of the deity is positive: “I graunte”, quod she, “be my trouthe!” (III, 1764). She immediately asks Aeolus to play the golden trumpet so the granted petition can be extended throughout the world. Once again, the inconsistency between worthiness and fame stands out.

“Lady, Graunte us Sone / The Same Thing”: “Slowe Techches” The “seventh route” arrives (III, 1771), petitioning the same that the goddess granted to company number six: “And sayde, “Lady, graunte us sone / The same thing, the same bone” (III, 1773–1774). Lady Fame’s answer, in this case, is the complete opposite of the previous one, and what is more, it stands on the verge of insult and disdain. Moreover, the goddess emphasizes the contrast between their work and worthiness and their petitions, underlining the inconsistency, while alluding in a certain way to a kind of exercitatio or effort in life necessary to obtain it: “Fy on yow”, quod she; “everychon! Ye masty swyn, ye ydel wrechches, Ful of roten, slowe techches! What? False theves! Wher ye wolde Be famous good, and nothing nolde Deserve why, ne never ye roughte? (III, 1776–1781)

And so this group does not deserve fame and the goddess is consistent with the visitors’ life. Not only does she compare them to deplorable pigs, but also employs the simile of the cat which, being lazy, wants to catch its prey without any effort: For ye be lyke the sweynte cat That wolde have fish; but wostow what? He wolde nothing wete his clowes. (III, 1783–1785)

Subsequently, Lady Fame orders Aeolus to spread the word with his trumpet, disseminating this group’s misfortune, “wolde honour / Have, and do noskynnes labour” (1793–1794). Thus, Aeolus plays the black

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trumpet loudly, propagating all over the globe until they have turned into everyone’s ridicule “as they were wod” (III, 1809).

“Another Companye […] Prayed her to Han Good Fame”: “Nay Wis” The eighth group that arrives crying out that their desire has caused treason and damage, and they ask for good fame (III, 1815). They wish not to have to feel ashamed and that the appropriate trumpet may sound: And prayed her to han good fame, And that she nolde doon hem no shame, Byt yeve hem loos and good renoun, And do hyt blowe in a clarioun. (III, 1815–1818)

Lady Fame asserts it would be “vice” (III, 1819) to give into such an unjust petition, which is why she affirms she does not wish to grant it: “Nay, wis”, quod she, “hyt were a vice. Al be ther in me no justice, Me lyste not to doo hyt now, Ne this nyl I not graunte yow.” (III, 1820–1824)

“Every Wyght, and Han Delyt in Wikkednesse”: “Y Graunte Hyt Yow” The ninth company (“Tho come ther lepynge in a route”; III, 1823) arrives confirming that they are villains who take pleasure in evilness, in contrast with those who do good deeds. They define themselves as an immoral group. Thus, what they ask for is precisely to be acknowledged in this way, with no false pretensions nor lies: And syden: “Lady, leef and dere, We ben suche folk as ye mowe here. To tellen al the tale aryght, We ben shrewes, every wyght, And han delyt in wikkednesse; As goode folk han in godnesse; And joye to be knowen shrewes; And ful of vice and wikked thewes; Wherefore we praye yow, a-rowe,

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That oure fame such be knowe In alle thing ryght as hit ys.” (III, 1827–1837)

Lady Fame takes an interest in the reasons for their bad wishes. One of the visitors replies that to obtain fame, he burnt the temple of Isis, a story that can be read in John of Salisbury’s Policratus (8.5), in turn rooted in Valerius Maximus (Facta et dicta memorabilia, 8.14). This serves as an example that some seek renown even if it is through negative means, tragic and deplorable acts. Lady Fame grants their petition, taking interest in the reasons for their wish, upon which she calls Aeolus to play the black trumpet so it can reach the whole planet.

Symbols, Metaphors and Similes: Towards an Interpretation Dreams are one of the first symbols that stand out in the poem and allow an entry into the world of fantasy and imagination, granting it verisimilitude before the eyes of the reader. Moreover, they embody an entry to the sphere of the great beyond, the divine and the unreachable in wakefulness. There is a line of tradition in terms of the theme of dreams from the time of Aristotle, Artemidorus of Ephesus, Cicero (The Dream of Scipio), Macrobius (fourth century), Augustine of Hippo to the thirteenth century with Albertus Magnus (Of Sleep and Wakefulness). The oneiric component establishes a certain distance between the character and the events he tells in his story, which is amplified by other ways of representation, such as the works of art (which incite the narrator to tell the events and find himself submerged in their literary and mythological worlds) or the personification which the different rumours and commentaries that rise to the House of Fame embody. In the third place, two opposing images stand out—the temple of love and the desert which appear at the end of the first book (I, 482–495), representing two types of narrative space—one populated and the other deserted. The desert entails an “alternative to the previously described place” (Vila 1993, 402) and engenders a locus eremus in contrast with the sort of locus amoenus illustrated in Venus’ headquarters. They are two complete opposites, which is in a way related to the way the author considers fame, the good and the bad one; the positive and the negative one. The Eagle appears at the end of the first book as sent by Jupiter and, according to Rowland (1975, 4), it symbolizes eloquent discourse. The

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animal, in fact, (prosopopeia) speaks. Its roots can be found in Dante, Ovid (Gardner 1977, 149) and Pindar, who represent it as a symbol of poetic inspiration. The elevation of the subject towards the heavens in the eagle’s claws, with Jupiter (II, 591). Jupiter (II, 661) is the one who wants the narrator to go to the House of Fame. Moreover, the animal can be interpreted as “the pedagogic Eagle” (Kean 1972, 195). It serves as a bridge between human beings and the supernatural, because it carries the petitions up to the heavens and, on the other hand, takes the answers down to the mortals. Its sound and semantics are omnipresent in the work. In the second book, it is specified that “Thou wost wel this, that spech is soun” (II, 762). The argument is prolonged in the ensuing lines in the following way: “Soun ys noght but eyr ybroken; And every speche that ys spoken, Lowd or pryvee, foul or fair, In his substaunce ys but air; […] Ryght soo soun ys air ybroke. (II, 765–770)

The poet was interested in manifesting his knowledge on topics we nowadays denominate scientific—for example, earlier he alludes to gravity (II, 741)—concentrating on the subject of discourse and speech. Later on, through the use of the semantics of the stone that falls into the water, he illustrates his idea about the waves that form, generating a multiplier effect until reaching the shore. He once again focuses on the word in a detailed way: And ryght thus every word, ywys, That lowd or pryvee spoken ys, Moveth first an ayr aboute, And of thys movynge, out of doute, Another ayr anoon ys meved; As I have of the watir preved, That every cercle causeth other, Ryght so of ayr, my leve brother: Everych ayr another stereth More and more, and speche up bereth, Or voys, or noyse, or word, or soun, Ay through multiplicatioun. (II, 809–820)

The dependence on a superior being is another subject that can be deduced after an attentive reading of the poem. This is not only due to the

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diverse responses that Lady Fame provides to the groups that arrive, but also, for example, Jupiter is the one who makes it possible for the eagle to fly and is the one who gives him orders. Chaucer devotes quite a lot of references and verse to sound, which is later manifested in the shape of rumours. The reader can hear noises and diverse sounds, such as thunder, murmur, and the noise of the groups as they quickly approach (II, 1031). Occasionally, the description of sound takes up (III, 1927–1976) extended segments of the poem, employing more than five successive similes to describe it (like the sound of a stone, the cages made by men, the wicker bread basket, the knapsack or rucksack, the leaves of trees). The descriptive accumulation referring to sound reaches a peak towards the end of the third book, and from then on continues throughout the next sixteen lines, linking together the complements necessary to specify what corners of the house “Ys ful of” (III, 1960) rumours about war, peace; leisure, work; life, death; love, hate; agreement, disagreement; health, illness; good governing and bad governing. The author calls attention to the construction of this fragment on all levels of linguistic creation (lexical, morphological and syntactic). Creative light, illumination and the mystics of light comprise another semantic aspect. Creative light refers to the kind of wisdom manifested by intellectuality (Vila 1993, 405). This symbology is prolonged in other poets, as is the case of John Milton (Curbet 2014, 247–248), who recreates a song to light in the beginning of the third song of his famous book, and he alludes to blindness in sonnet XIX, which starts thus: “When I consider how my light is spent”. It entails, at the same time, a clear reference to darkness (ignorance, disorientation) in contrast with clarity (wisdom, knowledge). Light radiates, as already highlighted, together with sound, especially in the second book: “A while, and tan he gan to crye / That never herde I thing so hye” (II, 1019–1020).

The Endurance of Chaucer’s Literature in Subsequent Authors: Dryden and Pope John Dryden, in his period of public maturity, published Fables Ancient and Modern Translated in Verse from Homer, Ovid, Boccace and Chaucer with Original Poems. It is a work which contains translations and versions of classical and medieval literature. One of the short stories the reader can find in Dryden’s work comes from “The Knight’s Tale” (entitled in the target text “Palamon and Arcite”). Another one of Dryden’s works that comes back to Chaucer is “The Cox and the Fox; or, The Tale

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of the Nun” (pages 223–360). The third one is “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” (479–502) and, finally, can be found in “The Character of the Good Parson Imitated” (531–536). Dryden and Pope read Chaucer. The Works of our Ancient and Lerned English Poet Geffrey Chaucer, newly Printed (1598) was one of the books Alexander Pope owned. This copy was given to him at the age of thirteen (Nokes 1976, 180). Alexander Pope composed a piece of 534 lines of verse, entitled The House of Fame (1711), the source of which can be found in Chaucer’s third book of the poem (Fyler 1992, 149–150). Common features can be appreciated in both medieval works and those of Pope, such as the use of the first person singular and the allegorical content. However, the differences are more, as the translator himself indicated without hesitating when he specified that the thoughts were “my own” (Pope 1963, 36). The work was bought by Lintot, who announced it around the beginning of February 1715 as “A Vision”. The eighteenth-century author himself specified at the beginning of the work that it was taken from Chaucer’s poem. In this sense, Pope’s intentions coincide with Chaucer’s desire for fame. Samuel Johnson (2009, 349) summarizes the wish for fame that poets look for, which also correlates with Dryden’s intention. Pope valued Chaucer, which he specified in the poem “Imitations of English Poets”, published in Miscellanies. “A Tale of Chaucer” was published in Alexander Pope’s Collected Poems (1956, 2–3). It has 26 lines and the beginning is as follows: Women ben full of ragerie, Yet swinken nat sans secresie. Thilke moral shall ye understond, From schoole-boy’s tale of fayre Irelond; Which to the fennes hath him betake, To filche the grey ducke fro the lake. (1–8)

Conclusions Chaucer was a poet who achieved prosperity and obtained certain renown and fame, transcending the English court circles. Since 1380, his texts have appeared quoted by Usk, Gower or Deschamps. Moreover, Froissart, Duc de Berry and Sir John Clanvowe imitated his verse. The poem’s protagonist is an alter ego to the writer. Chaucer’s work is an exploration of artists’ fame, since—as he confessed—he knew that people desired fame “diversly, and loos, and name” (III, 1900), but they

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did not know where Fame could be found, her attributes and condition. He also proclaimed that he did not know “the ordre of her dom”, which highlights the different responses that Lady Fame has been giving out to different petitioning companies. All in all, the semantics of the poem point towards the arbitrariness of fame, as well as her whimsy nature (III, 2113). That said, Chaucer also presented proper nouns who, in reality, have reached the good fame they deserve, while introducing groups of poets who receive a just response. The literary topoi captured in the work corroborate Chaucer’s knowledge of literature and the poet’s statute, incorporating himself in an already sacred tradition. Among the poetic clichés and creative resources that stand out are the poor poet, the puer senex, the witty layman, the humble writer and false modesty. Opposite those insights, his cry for fame palpitates, indirectly, and occasionally denying it plainly and arguing, in turn, that his aim is to learn. These mechanisms reveal the representation and self-identity of the writer in his verse. Finally, the protagonist has been next to Lady Fame and has seen—in one way or another—the great poets next to him. Chaucer appears, in this way, on the same ontological and epistemological level as the great writers. This idea is affirmed in the last line of the story when the visitor sees, among the tumult, “A man of gret auctorite” (III, 2158), who could correspond to one of the most renowned writers of Antiquity. This poem, as Gardner (1977, 151) suggests, is a spiritual journey in the style of Divina commedia aimed towards gaining wisdom, and it figures in the history of English literature as “a vernacular classic” (Pask 1996, 48). About the spiritual journey, Mª Soledad Vila (1993, 403) affirms that “Chaucer converts the eagle’s journey through the clouds into a purely spiritual journey”. The narrator clearly manifests his aim “to pleyen and for to lere” (III, 2133), recalling Horace by way of communication vessels (“Aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetae”, Horace 2012, 106, line 333), and applying the technique of auctoritas by going to a sacred source. The classic nature of the poem contributes to its survival, as does Chaucer’s echo in other subsequent poets—proven by the references Dryden makes in his preface in 1700. Dryden and Pope (Torralbo-Caballero 2013, 20–40) were two clear followers of the tradition Chaucer inaugurated with his poem. They too made his representation circulate in their own verse (Griffin 1978, 30). Both created their own literary genealogy, their own parents, as they turned to tradition and selected the authors they would translate. When Geoffrey Chaucer passed away on October 25, 1400—according to the inscription on his tomb—he left a literary legacy for the future,

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which is not only well-known nowadays thanks to his famous Canterbury Tales, but also—among other works—thanks to his elaborate and meditated Hous of Fame.

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León-Sendra, Antonio R. & Jesús L. Serrano-Reyes. 1999. “Notas al primer libro del poema The House of Fame. Book I”. In Geoffrey Ghaucer, La Casa de la Fama. Córdoba: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Córdoba, 193–246. —. 1999. “Notas al segundo libro del poema The House of Fame. Book I”, In Geoffrey Ghaucer, La Casa de la Fama. Córdoba: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Córdoba, 247–300. —. 1999. “Notas al tercer libro del poema The House of Fame. Book III”. In Geoffrey Chaucer, La Casa de la Fama. Córdoba: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Córdoba, 301–346. Moya, Ana & Gemma López. 2006. Literatura medieval inglesa. Madrid: Síntesis. Nokes, D. 1976. “Pope’s Chaucer”. The Review of English Studies. New Series. 27, 180–182. Pask, Kevin, 1996, The Emergence of the English Author. Scripting the Life of the Poet in Early Modern England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Payne, R. 1989. The Influence of Dante on Medieval English Dream Visions. New York: Peter Lang. Pope, Alexander. 1963. Collected Poems. London: Dent. Scaliger, Julius Caesar. 1617. Poetices libri septem. Heidelberg. Serrano-Reyes, Jesús L. & Antonio R. León- Sendra, “Introducción”. In Cuentos de Canterbury. Madrid: Gredos. Sidney, Sir Philip. 2002. An Apology for Poetry (or The Defense of Poesy). Manchester: Manchester University Press. Simpson, J. “Dante’s ‘Astripetam Aquitam’ and the Theme of Poetic Discretion in The House of Fame”. Essays and Studies, 39, 1986, 1– 18. Taylor, K. 1989. Chaucer Reads the Divine Comedy. Standford: Standford University Press. Torralbo-Caballero, Juan de Dios. 2013. Una nueva poesía en la literatura inglesa: Dryden y Pope. Alfar: Sevilla. Vila, Mª Soledad. 1993. “Amor y simbolismo en la obra de Chaucer. Epos. 9, 401–412. Wallace, David. 1985. Chaucer and the Early Writings of Boccaccio. London: Woodbridge. Withing, B.J. 1934. Chaucer’s Use of Proverbs. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Notes 1

Edward III ruled from 1327 until 1377; Richard II was crowned in 1377 and governed until 1399. Both are descendants of the Plantagenet dynasty. Afterwards came Henry IV, from the same dynasty and of the House of Lancaster, until 1413. 2 The theme of imitation appears in Scaliger with these words, as he postulated previously, thus being one of the pioneer writers in considering it: What is called Poesy describes not only what exists, but also nonexistent things as if they existed, showing how they could or should exist. For the whole matter is comprehended in imitation. But imitation is only the means to the ultimate end, which is to teach with delight […] Poetry and the other arts represent things as they are, as a picture to the ear. (Scaliger I, I, 2.6) 3 Chaucer takes and recreates the literary topic formulated by Simonides of Ceos and Horace (2012, 112). In Arte poetica, it can be read: Vt pictura poesis: erit, quae, si propius stes, / te capiat magis, et quaedam, si longius abstes; / haec amat obscurum, oulet haec sub luce uideri, / iudicis argutum quae non formidat acumen; / haec placuit semel, haec deciens repetita placebit (Horace, 361–365). 4 Scaliger (IV, I, 401) returns to the subject, postulating “All discourse consists of idea, image, mimesis, just as all painting does: that is what Aristotle and Plato affirm”. Aristotle (1996, 42) says that “the poet is engaged in imitation, just like a painter or anyone else who produce visual images”. 5 The reader interested in the study of proverbs can consult B. J. Whiting’s book Chaucer’s Use of Proverbs (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934), especially pages 35–39.

PART IV:

TRANSLATING MEDIEVAL CULTURE

CHAPTER TWELVE LOOKING FOR THE LOST PARADISE: CULTURAL DIVERSITY, TRANSLATION AND FILM ADAPTATION IN THE CONTEMPORARY DISSEMINATION OF MEDIEVAL CULTURE, STEREOTYPES AND VALUES (ECO, TOLKIEN, CHRÉTIEN DE TROYES, FOLLET AND LUCAS) EMILIO ORTEGA-ARJONILLA ANA BELÉN MARTÍNEZ-LÓPEZ

Introduction The two World Wars which took place in the last century, the Crash of 1929, and, nowadays, the economic and political crisis which affects the whole world (the petrol crisis in the 70s of the last century, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the global economic crisis at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the globalization of politics and the attempt to implement a capitalist system as the only model at a global level) have resulted in a very curious reaction among the creators of fiction works (writers, film directors). They return to the past (real or imaginary) in order to make sense of the present time, to evaluate it from a different point of view, but most of all, to dream about the future, an uncertain one. In this sense, the Middle Ages could be considered a gold mine. The return to the origins, the return to the lost paradise, has medieval time as the main subject, a period of the history of Western civilization between the fall of the Roman Empire in 476 (fifth century) and the discovery of America (in 1492), according to some authors, and the fall of the Byzantine Empire (in 1453), according to others. The latter date

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coincides with the invention of printing (Gutenberg’s Bible) and with the end of the Hundred Years’ War in Europe. In periods of senselessness, where official explanations of history are deeply criticized, as happened with some of the main shocking events in the last century, a reaction is to shelter in the past, to look for the origins, to find a sense (real or figurative) of the human being. Examples of this are the two World Wars, the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombs, the Cold War, the Cuban Missile Crisis between the United States of America and the Soviet Union in the 60s of the last century or the petrol crisis of the 70s in the last century, the big economic crisis at the beginning of the twenty-first century etc. Some of the reactions of writers, film directors and other intellectual people were to offer a journey to the past, to the Middle Ages, where there is a war between Angels and Demons, Good and Evil etc. In a postmodern context of decadence where there is no possibility of maintaining the official explanations of the history of human beings or where there are so many fragmentary explanations of this history, writers and creators (i.e. film directors) use evade reality and find other ways to deal with the sense or senselessness. This can be done in, at least, two ways: by travelling to the past, to the Middle Ages (Follet and Eco) or by travelling to a fantastic world created to explain the history of the human being from a new point of view (Tolkien and Lucas). It is the eternal return of the same idea promoted by Nietzsche. History is not linear (past–present–future) but circular (the events will recur again and again.)

Starting Point: a Reflection on Universal Topics (Love, Friendship, the Meaning of Life and Death, Authority and Power, Good and Evil, Immortality) The human being, as part of the human race living in society, has always been looking for love and friendship, to gain fulfilment in society, to be socially recognized (to reach power and to hold authority over his fellows). He also will decide to be placed in the sphere of the Good or in the sphere of the Bad, as a result of a personal decision or as a question of fate. The last aim to be reached is to find the meaning of life (of his own life), to find the meaning of death (of his own death) and to achieve, in a real or figurative way, immortality (his own legacy). These keywords, love, friendship, power, authority, good, evil, the meaning of life, the meaning of death and immortality, cover the key topics that have concerned human beings from the beginning of

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humanity (or at least from the beginning of writing, as a testimony of thoughts and values of this atypical race, full of contradictions, living in a small corner of the universe called the world. All of these topics, with a relatively important recurrence depending on the literary works, shape the universe of literary creation in the Middle Ages. This is a period characterized by discussions between faith and reason, where mystery and superstition are used to offer an explanation of reality, ignoring other plausible explanations based on reason and scientific knowledge. It is said that Western society is built on two main sources: the Judaeo-Christian tradition and the classical world (Greek and Roman). It would be convenient to add other mythologies to those sources, especially because of our inevitably European point of view: mythologies such as those from the Baltic countries or Eastern Europe are very important for the understanding of Europe as a whole throughout the Middle Ages. We should consider also the influences coming from the Iberian Peninsula, where Arabs and Christians coexisted for more than seven centuries and influenced the culture and literature of other European countries. Nevertheless, we have to consider that the Christian world, as a whole, pervaded cultural life and practice in Western Europe in a particular way during the Middle Ages, resulting in different reactions among writers and society in general: affirmation, rejection or assimilation of the classical world and its main thinkers (Aristotle and Plato) in opposition to those affirming, rejecting or assimilating Christian values in a continuous dialogue with the main Christian thinkers in the Middle Ages, such as St Thomas Aquinas or St Augustine of Hippo. The debate between Good and Evil will go on for centuries. In the last century and nowadays we can still find in literary creations and film productions the consequences of those discussions starting in the Middle Ages. Some main topics and characters from medieval literature (orders of chivalry, princesses, wizards, love filters, spells etc.) are used in contemporary fiction by outstanding writers. Books such as The Pillars of the Earth, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Name of the Rose and many films based on medieval values, icons and stereotypes (the Star Wars saga, and all the film adaptations of the above-mentioned books) continue recreating this ancient world to allow people to dream of a new hope for the human race in the future.

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Translation and Cultural Homogenization in the Spreading of Values, Images and Symbols of the Middle Ages: Untranslatable Terms versus Universal Features in Translation In the Gutenberg age (written transmission of values, knowledge and perceptions of life), translation was used as a tool to spread special features of one culture to another. In recent decades, with the beginning and development of the Internet and the development of audio-visual media on a large scale, we are witnessing a kind of cultural globalization, where icons, symbols and stereotypes from a certain period of time or culture, including medieval icons, symbols and stereotypes, are becoming universal icons all over the world. From Europe’s relatively small area of the planet, medieval icons, values and cultural stereotypes have been exported to all areas of the world. Some contemporary literary fiction carries historical or pseudohistorical references to the Middle Ages (The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco or The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follet); other fiction adopts specific medieval elements to build a fantastic world (The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien). The film of Star Wars (by George Lucas) uses medieval sources to create characters, or to organize Lucas’ fantasy world with a fight between Good and Evil, the sense or senselessness of human life and many other major topics for the human race. Finally, medieval novels have been adapted in contemporary novels or cinematographic products (films, TV mini-series etc.), video games or cartoons. The stories about the Knights of the Round Table (by Chrétien de Troyes) are one of the most important collections used to recreate values and stereotypes in contemporary written or audio-visual products. Chrétien, a great romanticizer of Arthurian legend, shows in his works many elements for contemporary creators to build stories about love potions, courtly love, orders of chivalry, adventures in a medieval context and, a topic of a great symbolic relevance, the quest for the Holy Grail. In many of these cases we see several phenomena of cultural globalization, as in the film adaptations of Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth (set in the twelfth century) Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose (fourteenth century). Studies of culture and tradition deal with the translation of cultural units (culturemes) from one language into another or with the evolution of culture and values. In what follows, some key concepts from Cultural

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Studies are used, such as mots-témoin (witness words), “Culture keywords” and “Culture-specific words”.

Mots-Témoin: a Sample of Values and Linguistic Uses in One Specific Period of Time In talking about love potions, courtly love, chivalric virtues, the search of the Holy Grail or the Crusades, we imagine a topic related to the Middle Ages: we identify some expressions and words with a period of time. It doesn’t matter whether those concepts were born in the Middle Ages (courtly love) or if writers, poets and troubadours used them in their creations. To illustrate what can be considered as mots-témoin of a period of time, Luque Nadal (2010, 42) offers in her work about linguistic-cultural dictionaries the analysis of the Spanish Franco regime (Francoism) from a linguistic point of view. This author considers that there is a typical language of Francoism, and this language is made up of many words and expressions which were incessantly used in official speeches, on the radio and in the newspapers. Those words and expressions were a faithful reflection of the official ideology of this period of time in Spain. Some of those words are: movimiento (el movimiento), comunistas, contubernios, conjuras y confabulaciones, tercios familiares y sindicales, orden público, judíos, masones, asociacionismo, gestas, lealtad, adhesión, almenas, ojivas, piedra berroqueña, subversión, etc. Entre los adjetivos utilizados con frecuencia en esa época, destacamos los siguientes: glorioso, pertinaz, inquebrantable, etc. (Luque Nadal 2010, 42)

Cultural Keywords: A Concept Used in Culturology to Describe Representative Realities of One Specific Culture According to Luque Nadal (2010, 42–68), culture keywords are terms, phraseological units or expressions typical of a certain culture which can be wrongly used or misunderstood by the receivers of a message when they try to translate them into another language. Examples of these statements could be the keywords tahdiya and hudna (keywords from Arabic culture):

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Chapter Twelve En árabe existe una gran diferencia entre tahdiya y hudna. La primera se emplea en el sentido de ‘alto táctico en el camino’. La segunda equivale a lo que en español conocemos como ‘armisticio’. El hecho de desconocer estos matices diferenciadores entre los términos tahdiya y hudna hace que los observadores occidentales de los procesos de alto el fuego en Oriente Próximo acusen a uno de los dos bandos en guerra de romper el acuerdo, cuando en realidad tal acuerdo no existía previamente entre ninguno de los dos bandos. (Luque Nadal 2010, 54) There is a big difference within the Arabic language between tahdiya and hudna. The first one is used to describe “a tactical or strategic stop on the road”. The second one is related to what it is known in Spanish as “armisticio [armistice in English]”. (ibid.)

If those different concepts are not known, there could be a misunderstanding when translating those words into English or into Spanish.

Culture-Specific Words and the Ways they are Used in Speech Culture-specific words of a certain culture can be used in three different ways: • Culture-specific words of a certain culture (for example, words typical of the Hispanic world). • Culture-specific words which are adopted by the speakers of one language (without translation) from a different language (for example, loan words from English, French or Italian adopted into Spanish in their original form). • Culture-specific words from a certain language and culture which have been orthographically adapted in a target language or have been literally translated into this language (calques). To illustrate the first category (culture-specific words of a certain culture), look at the following examples of Spanish culture (see Luque 2010): alcaide, alcázar, armada, auto de fe, bandolero, bodega, bolero, caballero, cachucha, calabozo, camarilla, carpetovetónico, caudillo, chapuza, chaqueta, cid, conquistador, corral, corrida, cortes, cursi, cutre, desesperado, etc.

To illustrate the second category (culture-specific words of a certain culture which are used in their original form when they are translated

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into another language) look at the following cases from Italian culture (see Luque 2010; Ortega 2015; Martínez López 2014): Word in Italian

Word in Spanish

Boccato di cardinale

Boccato di cardinale (exquisitez) Prima donna (mujer principal)

Prima donna

Bel canto Adagio Allegro Andante Contralto In crescendo

Word in English Boccato di cardinale Prima donna

Bel canto Adagio Allegro Andante Contralto In crescendo

Bel canto Adagio Allegro Andante Contralto In crescendo

Términos musicales (en italiano) adoptados en español

Musical terms (in Italian) adopted in English

Table 12-1

Word in English Cool Country Music Brownie

Feedback

Table 12-2

Word in Spanish Cool (guay) Música Country Brownie (bizcocho de chocolate)

Other alternatives

Feedback

Proceso de retro alimentación

Guay

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186 Word in French Art-déco

Collage

Word in Spanish Art-déco (tendencia artística importada de Francia) Collage (técnica artística)

Word in English Art-déco

Collage

Table 12-3

Cultural Globalization: Culture-specific Words Becoming Universals Cultural globalization can be found, for example, in normalized nomenclatures containing specific terms of a specialized field of knowledge. An example can be found in the international names of colours by the Pantone system. Considering a culture-specific word as universal (that is, it is not translated when used in another language) means that a very specific reality of a culture, used by a certain speech community, has been internationally adopted as a universal term. So we have the following terms from the Pantone system: PANTONE Official name in English 2001 Fuchsia Rose Pantone 17-2031 2002 True Red Pantone 19-1664 2003 Aqua Sky Pantone 14-4811

PANTONE Official name in Spanish 2001 Fucsia Rosa Pantone 17-2031 2002 Rojo verdadero Pantone 19-1664 2003 Aguamarina Pantone 14-4811

Table 12-4 All of those names have been literally translated into Spanish retaining the same numeric code for easy identification all over the world.

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To illustrate the case of culture-specific words which are not translated when they are used in other languages, look at the following examples: Musical terms in Italian Bel canto Adagio Allegro Andante Contralto In crescendo

Musical terms adopted into Spanish Bel canto Adagio Allegro Andante Contralto In crescendo

Musical terms adopted in English Bel canto Adagio Allegro Andante Contralto In crescendo

Table 12-5

Middle Age Cultural Categories Adopted in Literary and Cinematographic Works in the Twentieth and Twentyfirst Centuries There are culture-specific categories of the Middle Ages, born in a certain geographic area in Europe (courtly love in the South of France; Arthurian literature in Brittany and Great Britain), which have been adopted as universal icons and culturemes in the twentieth and twentyfirst centuries thanks to their international spread in films, TV series, cartoons and video games. Those categories will be equivalent, regardless of their linguistic presentation, to the original words (loan words) which are not translated when they are used in a target language. Examples of those categories are the following: Original Name Amour courtois (French) King Arthur (English)

Name in English Courtly love Roi Arthur

Name in Spanish Amor cortés Rey Arturo

Sic transit Gloria Mundi (Latin)

Sic transit Gloria Mundi

Sic transit Gloria Mundi

Table 12-6

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Case Study To illustrate the presence of icons, metaphors and symbols of the Middle Ages in contemporary literary fiction (bestsellers), in contemporary cinematographic products (films) and TV series, the following works and authors will be analysed: The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco (novel and film) The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett (novel and TV mini-series) Les romans de la Table Ronde, by Chrétien de Troyes (romances and films) Chrétien de Troyes and Arthurian Literature (films) The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien (novel in 3 volumes and film trilogy) The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien (novel and film trilogy) Star Wars, by George Lucas (cinematographic saga) In the two first cases (Eco and Follett), the plot is set in the Middle Ages, although there are plenty of contemporary literary nods. Eco’s work is set in the fourteenth century in the north of Italy, in a period of transition between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Follett’s work is set in the twelfth century, a period when the building of Gothic cathedrals was very important, and the Romanesque style was evolving into Gothic architecture as a main style of building all over Europe. For Chrétien de Troyes, we must go back to medieval French literature and the influence of this literature on many other writers. We will also study the current influence of stories about the Round Table in many contemporary films and TV adaptations. All of them are based on or inspired by Arthurian topics, and they represent a recreation of medieval icons, metaphors, values and stereotypes. The last three cases, Tolkien and Lucas, create fantastic worlds. They go back to a remote past by using many icons and symbols from well-known cultures (classical civilization, European mythologies, Bible references etc.), as well as from the Middle Ages. They build a fantastic world with plenty of mysterious characters. The popularity of Tolkien’s fiction right after being published justifies the film adaptation of The Lord of the Rings in a film trilogy. Thanks to the success of this trilogy, there is a new film trilogy based on The Hobbit, finished in 2014 with the last film entitled The Battle of the Five Armies. The success of Lucas’ first film of the Star Wars saga, Episode IV Star Wars, a new hope, results in the development of the saga for the future (Episodes IV and V) and a travel back to the past to explain the

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origins of Episode IV (Episodes I, II and III). The importance of this fantasy saga is shown in other creative works, such as video games and cartoons. The following sources were used to study all of these examples: Umberto Eco: The Name of the Rose The original roman (1980) The edition used in this paper

The translation into English The edition used in this paper

The translation into Spanish The edition used in this paper

ECO, Umberto. Il nome della Rosa. Milan: Gruppo Editoriale Fabbri, 1980.

ECO, Umberto. The name of the Rose. Translated into English by William Weaver. Harcourt, 1983.

ECO, Umberto. El nombre de la rosa. Traducción al español de Tomás de la Ascensión Recio García. Barcelona: Editorial Lumen, 1988.

The name of the Rose (film) Directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud (1986)

El nombre de la rosa (película) (dubbing and subtitling) Directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud (1986)

Table 12-7

Ken Follet: The Pillars of the Earth The Pillars of the Earth (book) The edition used in this paper FOLLETT, Ken. The Pillars of the Earth. Pan Macmillan, 1989. We have used the 2014 edition of this book for this paper research.

Los pilares de la tierra (libro) The edition used in this paper FOLLETT, Ken. Los pilares de la tierra. Plaza & Janés, Barcelona, 1990. Traducción de inglés a español de Rosalía Vázquez.

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The Pillars of the Earth (TV miniseries) The Pillars of the Earth (2010)

Los pilares de la tierra (miniserie para TV) (dubbing and/or subtitling) Los pilares de la tierra (2010

Chapter 1. Anarchy

Capítulo 1. Anarquía

Chapter 2. Master Builder

Capítulo 2. Maestro constructor

Chapter 3. Redemption

Capítulo 3. Redención

Chapter 4. Battlefield

Capítulo 4. Campo de batalla

Chapter 5. Legacy

Capítulo 5. Legado

Chapter 6. Witchcraft

Capítulo 6. Brujería

Chapter 7. New Beginnings

Capítulo 7. Nuevos comienzos

Chapter 8. The Work of Angels

Capítulo 8. El trabajo de los ángeles

Table 12-8 The Pillars of the Earth is a historical novel by Ken Follett first published in 1989. It deals with the building of a cathedral in the fictional city of Kingsbridge, England. It is set in the middle of the twelfth century between the time of the sinking of the White Ship and the murder of Thomas Becket. The book traces the development of Gothic architecture out of the preceding Romanesque architecture, and the fortunes of the Kingsbridge priory and city. Chrétien de Troyes: Romans de la Table Ronde Romans de la table ronde The edition used in this paper

Romans contained in this book

DE TROYES, Chrétien (1975). Romans de la Table Ronde. Préface de JeanPierre Foucher. Paris, Ed. Gallimard.

Érec et Énide Cligès ou la Fausse Morte Lancelot, le chevalier à la charrette Yvain, le chevalier au lion

Table 12-9

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Films based or inspired by Arthurian topics and literature (selection) Films in English

Films translated into Spanish (dubbing and/or subtitling)

Knights of the Round Table

1953. Los caballeros del rey Arturo. Dirigida

(1953)

por Richard Thorpe.

The Black Knight (1954)

1954. El caballero negro. Dirigida por Tav

Prince Valiant (1954)

Garnett

Camelot (1967)

1954. El Príncipe Valiente. Dirigida por

Lancelot du Lac (1974) Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

Henry Hathaway. 1967. Camelot. Dirigida por Joshua Logan. 1974. Lancelot du Lac. Dirigida por Robert Bresson.

Excalibur (1981)

1975. Los caballeros de la mesa cuadrada y sus locos seguidores. También conocida

First Knight (1995)

como Monty Python y el Santo Grial. Dirigida por Terry Gilliam y Terry Jones.

King Arthur (2004)

1981. Excalibur. Dirigida por John Boorman. 1995. El primer caballero, también conocido

Merlin’s Apprentice (2006)

como Lancelot. Dirigida por Jerry Zucker.

The Last Legion (2007)

2004. El rey Arturo: La verdadera historia que inspiró la leyenda. Dirigida por Antoine Fuqua. 2006. Aprendiz de Merlín. Dirigida por David Wu. 2007. La última legión. Dirigida por Doug Lefler.

Table 12-10

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TV miniseries or films for TV broadcasting based or inspired by Arthurian topics and literature (selection) Films and miniseries (TV) 1972–1973. Arthur of the Britons. British series of the HTV 1998. Merlin. Film by Hallmark Entertainment 2001. The Mists of Avalon. Miniseries of the TNT 2005–2009. Kaamelott. French series of the M6 2008-2012. Merlin. Series of the BBC. 2011. Camelot. Series co-produced by the Starz cable network and GK-TV

Películas para televisión y miniseries 1972–1973. Arturo de Bretaña, serie británica de HTV. 1998. Merlín. Película de Hallmark Entertainment. 2001 Las brumas de Avalón. Miniserie de TNT. 2005–2009. Kaamelott. Serie francesa de M6. 2008-2012. Merlín, también conocida como Las aventuras de Merlín. Serie de BBC One. 2011 Camelot. Serie coproducida por Starz y GK-TV.

Table 12-11

J. R. R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings & The Hobbit The Lord of the Rings (books) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN, John Ronald Reuel. The Lord of the Rings. Glasgow: Harper Collins, 2004. First edition (George Allen & Unwin) published in 1954 (volumes 1 and 2) and 1955 (volume 3) The fellowship of the Ring (1954) The Two Towers (1954) The return of the King (1955) The Hobbit (book) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN, John Ronald Reuel. (2003) [1937]. Anderson, Douglas A., Ed. The Annotated Hobbit. Glasgow, Harper Collins. First Edition (George Allen & Unwin) published in September 1937.

El señor de los anillos (libros) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN John Ronald Reuel. El Señor de los Anillos. Círculo de Lectores, Barcelona, 1991. Traducción del inglés al español de Luis Domènech y Matilde Horn.

El hobbit (libro) The Edition used in this paper TOLKIEN John Ronald Reuel. El hobbit anotado. Introducción y notas de Douglas A. Anderson,. traducción de Manuel Figueroa (texto) y Rubén Masera (notas). Capellades: Minotauro, Barcelona, 1990

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Films based on the The Lord of the Rings novel The Lord of the Rings (film trilogy) The Lord of the Rings (I). The fellowship of the Ring (2001) The Lord of the Rings (II). The Two Towers (2002) The Lord of the Rings (III). The return of the King (2003)

El señor de los anillos (trilogía) (dubbing and subtitling) El señor de los anillos (I). La comunidad del anillo (2001) El señor de los anillos (II). Las dos torres (2002) El señor de los anillos (III). E l retorno del rey (2003)

Films based on The Hobbit novel The Hobbit (film trilogy) The hobbit (I). An unexpected journey (2012) The hobbit (II). The desolation of Smaug (2013) The hobbit (III). The battle of the Five Armies (2014)

El Hobbit (trilogía) (dubbing and subtitling) El hobbit (I). Un viaje inesperado (2012) El hobbit (II). La desolación de Smaug (2013) El hobbit (III). La batalla de los cinco ejércitos (2014)

Tables 12-12 George Lucas: Star Wars Star Wars (films) Original title: Star Wars (1977) New title: Star Wars. Episode IV. A New Hope Star Wars. Episode V. The Empire Strikes Back (1980) Star Wars. Episode VI. Return of the Jedi (1983) Star Wars. Episode I. The Phantom Menace (1999) Star Wars. Episode II. Attack of the Clones (2002) Star Wars. Episode III. Revenge of the Sith (2005) Star Wars VII. The Force Awakens By December 2015.

Table 12-13

La Guerra de las Galaxias (saga) dubbing and subtitling Título original: La guerra de las galaxias (1977) Nuevo título: La Guerra de las galaxias. Episodio IV. Una nueva esperanza La Guerra de las galaxias. Episodio V. El imperio contraataca (1980) La Guerra de las galaxias. Episodio VI. El retorno del Jedi (1983) La Guerra de las galaxias. Episodio I. La amenaza fantasma (1999) La Guerra de las galaxias. Episodio II. El ataque de los clones (2002) La Guerra de las Galaxias. Episodio III. La venganza de los Sith (2005)

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Medieval and Contemporary Elements in Eco, Follett, Tolkien and Lucas Umberto Eco and The Name of the Rose: the Vacuity of Human Existence, the Historical Legacy and the Violence between Periods of Transition The Name of the Rose is the first novel by Umberto Eco. It deals with a historical murder mystery set in an Italian monastery in the year 1327, an intellectual mystery combining semiotics in fiction, biblical analysis, medieval studies, philosophy and literary theory. The original novel, written in Italian, was quickly translated into other languages. In 1983, the first English edition was published. The Spanish edition was not published until 1988, as a consequence of the success of the film based on this novel. This film was first shown in 1986 and was directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud. The novel and its translations: The original book (1980) The edition used in this paper

The translation into English The edition used in this paper

The translation into Spanish The edition used in this paper

ECO, Umberto. Il nome della Rosa. Milan: Gruppo Editoriale Fabbri, 1980.

ECO, Umberto. The name of the Rose. Translated into English by William Weaver. Harcourt, 1983.

ECO, Umberto. El nombre de la rosa. Traducción al español de Tomás de la Ascensión Recio García. Barcelona: Editorial Lumen, 1988.

The film: The Name of the Rose (film)

El nombre de la rosa (película)

Directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud (1986)

Dirigida por Jean-Jacques Annaud (1986)

Table 12-14

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Summary of the Plot and Interpretation of the Symbolism of this Work Among other things, this novel describes the end of an age (the Middle Ages) and the transition to a new one (the Renaissance). The author uses the device of a narrator’s voice-off belonging to Adso de Melk who tells what happened in that Benedictine abbey from his personal point of view. As in Star Wars or The Lord of the Rings, Eco covers the plot with a halo of mystery. With regard to Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings, a chronology of fiction is used: the story beginning as a traditional tale “once upon a time, in a Galaxy far, far away” (Star Wars) “o en recóndito lugar del planeta, llamado The Shire (The Lord of the Rings)” and from there, a fictional world is built. Many authors inspired Lucas, Tolkien and Eco, as they themselves state. For example, Jorge Luis Borges and his work Ficciones (la sabiduría como un jardín de senderos que se bifurcan, que inspira el laberinto de la biblioteca que encierra el saber no por materias o por orden alfabético, sino por año de adquisición de los libros, lo que hace muy difícil encontrar una obra si no se es el propio bibliotecario…) inspired Eco. However, the main topic, with a series of murders, accidental deaths and a fire in the library, revolves around the prohibition of joy and laughter in religious life. A book by Aristotle has to disappear (he being the authority for much Catholic theology in the Middle Ages). These deaths have, therefore, a logical explanation, as Sherlock Holmes, Guillermo de Baskerville, shows when, helped by Adso de Melk, he discovers that everything revolves around the prohibition of joy and laughter in religious life. Therefore, the abbey is sent to its ruin and destruction so as not to allow a change of mentality. So, in short, it is a question of depicting the vacuity of human existence (sic transit Gloria Mundi) and the fugacity of time (tempus fugit). The university hymn in Latin, still used in academic meetings in many countries, deals with this vacuity: the masters of the past, the famous cities, the beautiful princesses, all things are reduced to nothing with the passing of time.

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Gaudeamus igitur (excerpt) – University Hymn Gaudeamus igitur (Latin) Gaudeamus igitur Iuvenes dum sumus Post iucundam iuventutem Post molestam senectutem Nos habebit humus. Vita nostra brevis est, Brevi finietur; Venit mors velociter, Rapit nos atrociter; Nemini parcetur. Ubi sunt qui ante nos in mundo fuere? (bis) Vadite ad superos, Transite in inferos Hos si vis videre. Vivat academia, Vivant professores, Vivat membrum quodlibet, Vivat membra quaelibet; Semper sint in flore!

Gaudeaumus igitur (Spanish) Alegrémonos pues Mientras seamos jóvenes, Tras la divertida juventud, Tras la incómoda vejez Nos recibirá la tierra. Breve es nuestra vida, pronto ha de acabarse. Rauda llega la muerte y nos arrebata violenta sin perdonar a nadie. ¿Dónde están los que antes de nosotros en el mundo estuvieron? Baja a los infiernos, sube a los cielos si los quieres ver. Viva la Universidad, vivan los profesores. Vivan todos y cada uno de sus miembros, resplandezcan siempre.

Gaudeaumus igitur (English) Let us therefore rejoice, While we are young; After our youth, After a troublesome old age The ground will hold us. Our life is brief, It will shortly end; Death comes quickly, Cruelly snatches us; No-one is spared. Where are those who before us existed in the world? You may go up to the gods, You may cross into the underworld If you wish to see them. Long live the university, Long live the teachers, Long live each male student, Long live each female student; May they always flourish!

Table 12-15 This hymn is also present in Eco’s work, thanks to, among other things, the symbolism of numbers. The search for the truth makes the main characters descend into hell (entering the library through the ossuary of the abbey) and then ascend into heaven (the library) where the truth will be revealed.

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That garden of the paths, which split, (the knowledge), hides in the corners of a building, the library (a metaphor for world view), the number 4. The action is developed in 7 days (a cycle), as the seven days of the Creation and the seven days of the Apocalypse. Finally, 9 deaths occur in those 7 days, 3 for each group, 3 x 3 = 9, the transformation—the transformation of a temple of knowledge into nothing, a change of a cycle, the transition into an unknown future.

Characters of The Name of the Rose and the Symbolism of the Deaths To begin with, the characters are representative of the known Western world: they come from Italy, Germany, Spain, Great Britain and Switzerland. The abbey which is the setting of Eco’s work is a microcosm of knowledge, an international centre of knowledge where the legacy of human beings and the reflections about the main topics of human existence which have been the concern of humans throughout time are accumulated. List of the main characters (Ortega 1996; García Luque 2002). Characters (Translation into English) William of Baskerville, main protagonist, a Franciscan friar Adso of Melk, narrator, Benedictine novice accompanying William

Characters (Original book in Italian)

Adso de Melk

Adso de Melk

At the monastery Abo of Fossanova—the abbot of the Benedictine monastery Jorge of Burgos— elderly, blind librarian Severinus of Sankt Wendel—herbalist who helps William Malachi of

At the monastery Abbone da Fossanova

At the monastery Abbone da Fossanova

Jorge da Burgos

Jorge de Burgos

Severino da Sant’Emmerano

Severino de Sant’Emmerano

Malachia da Hildesheim

Malachia de

Guglielmo da Baskerville

Characters (Translation into Spanish) Guillermo de Baskerville

198 Hildesheim—librarian Berengar of Arundel— assistant librarian Adelmo of Otranto— illuminator, novice Venantius of Salvemec—translator of manuscripts Benno of Uppsala— student of rhetoric Alinardo of Grottaferrata—eldest monk Remigio of Varagine— cellarer Salvatore of Montferrat—monk, associate of Remigio Nicholas of Morimondo—glazier Aymaro of Alessandria—gossipy, sneering monk Outsiders Ubertino of Casale— Franciscan friar in exile, friend of William Michael of Cesena— leader of Spiritual Franciscans Bernard Gui— Inquisitor Bertrand del Poggetto—cardinal and leader of the Papal legation

Peasant girl from the village below the monastery

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Berengario da Arundel

Hildesheim Berengario de Arundel

Adelmo da Otranto

Adelmo de Otranto

Venanzio da Salvemec

Venancio de Salvemec

Bencio da Uppsala

Bencio dae Uppsala

Alinardo da Grottaferrata

Alinardo de Grottaferrata

Remigio da Varagine

Remigio de Varagine

Salvatore da Monferrate

Salvatore de Monferrate

Nicola da Morimondo

Nicola de Morimondo

Aymaro da Alessandria

Aymaro d'Allessandria

Outsiders Ubertino da Casale

Outsiders Ubertino de Casale

Michele da Cesena

Michele de Cesena

Bernardo Gui

Bernardo Gui

Bertrando del Poggetto

Bertrando del Poggetto

Contadina del villaggio

Campesina del pueblo, junto a la abadía, de la que Adso no llegó a conocer su nombre

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Nine of these characters died, three for each group: the intolerant group, the pre-Renaissance group and the Medieval group. Intolerant group (Ortega 1996) Salvatore of Montferrat—monk, associate of Remigio Remigio of Varangine—cellarer Bernard Gui-Inquisitor

Seventh victim Eighth victim Ninth victim

Medieval group (Ortega 1996) Berengar of Arundel-assistant librarian Malachi of Hildesheim-librarian Jorge de Burgos-elderly, blind librarina

Third victim Fifth victim Sixth victim

Pre-Renaissance group (Ortega 1996) Adelmo of Otranto, illuminator, novice Venantius of Salvemec, translator of manuscripts

First victim (suicide)

Severinus of Sankt Wendel—herbalist who helps William

Fourth victim

Second victim

Table 12-17 The first to die are Adelmo, the illustrator, and Venancio, the Greek translator. The third is Berengar, the library assistant. The fourth is Severinus, the herbalist. With these four deaths, the threesome representing the Renaisance group is completed. The future of the abbey, based on the translation and illumination of manuscripts, and the dependence of the members of the abbey on the one who is in charge of the health care and the farming of the abbey, is not as clear as it used to be. The fifth and sixth victims are the librarian and the former librarian. With the death of the three monks who know the arrangement of the books in the library (physically arranged by year of acquisition) the abbey is at risk of disappearing. The cycle is completed with the death of

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Jorge de Burgos in the fire which destroys the library, which is the raison d’être of the abbey. The three last victims, representative of the dulcinist (Salvatore and Remigio) and of the inquisition (Bernardo Gui), show that, once the abbey is destroyed, the death of the radicals is shown: dulcinist on the left and inquisitors on the right. The fire which destroys the building where the library is preserved means the end of a cycle: the transition to a new age. Eco’s metaphor shows a violent transition in which nine deaths occur, most of them useless, to destroy a world in crisis to give way to an uncertain future. While the context in which the plot is developed is medieval, the outcome is perfectly applicable to any time of transition, including the present. At the end, although there is no happy ending, the truth emerges against superstition and the world, but at a high cost: the destruction of a temple of knowledge and the death of nine people. The future, however, remains uncertain. To start all over again…

Ken Follett and The Pillars of the Earth: the Evolution of Human History Based on the Point of View of a Cathedral Builder and his Extended Family As with The Name of the Rose, in The Pillars of the Earth uses a historical context to tell a story about the history of the human race. While Eco uses a narrator (Adso de Melk), Follett does the same with one of the members of the builder’s family. The context, in this case, is set around a church, a priory (Kingsbridge) which wants to be successful, which is why its prior Philip wants to build a cathedral. Power struggles, the obstacles faced by the main characters and abuses by those holding power are a picture of society in the Middle Ages. Readers can easily identify with the plot. The initiation trip, the descent into hell, the truth emerging at the end of the story, the symbolism of the fire (destruction and purification) and the hope reviving in the new generations, that wish for justice which accompanies mankind even though that justice is not seen by the one who wishes for it but is postponed to future generations. Again, we ask, along with Follett, the question about the sense of life and death, about the legacy we leave to future generations, about a kind of immortality which is present in those little (or big) things we wish for and which serve as a starting point for those taking over that eternal

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return of the same, in this succession of generations which is the history of mankind. Main characters (The Pillars of the Earth) Jack Jackson (known also as Jack Builder) Tom Builder Agnes Alfred Builder

Martha Ellen

Bishop Waleran Bigod

Richard (Richard of Kingsbridge)

Aliena

Lord Percy Hamleigh, Earl of Shiring

Lady Regan Hamleigh, Countess of Shiring William Hamleigh

Table 12-18

Brief description Son of Jack Shareburg (Jacques Cherbourg) and Ellen. He becomes an architect and a skilled stonemason. A builder whose lifelong dream is to build a cathedral. First wife of Tom Builder and mother of Martha, Alfred and Jonathan. Tom’s son, a mason who later marries Aliena, but abandons her after he finds out that she is pregnant with Jack's child. Daughter of Tom, sister to Alfred and Jonathan and stepsister to Jack. Daughter of a knight. She was unusual in knowing English, French and Latin, and in being literate. The lover of Jack Shareburg and the mother of Jack Jackson, she is discovered by Tom Builder while living in the woods. An ambitious and corrupt cleric constantly scheming his way to more power. Aliena’s younger brother, a knight who becomes a skilled soldier and leader, depending on Aliena for revenues from her wool business. Daughter of Bartholomew, the original Earl of Shiring, and the intended bride of William Hamleigh. Father of William, he disposes of the rebel Earl Bartholomew and gains the earldom. William Hamleigh’s mother. The son of a minor lord, he temporarily gains the earldom of Shiring but eventually loses it to Richard, the son of the former earl, Bartholomew.

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As in Tolkien and Lucas, there is a love triangle, reminding us of André le Chapelain’s courtly love.

Tolkien and The Lord of the Rings: a fantastic universe to recreate universal topics The Lord of the Rings, together with its predecessor The Hobbit, represents one of the bestsellers of literary fantasy all over the word since it was first published in 1954 (volumes 1 and 2) and in 1955 (volume 3). This work is a classic due to the universality of its message and the idea of another world in which human beings are part of a wider community where elves, dwarves, hobbits and other fictional characters coexist. The Lord of the Rings (books) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN, John Ronald Reuel. The Lord of the Rings. Glasgow, Harper Collins, 2004. First edition (George Allen & Unwin) published in 1954 (volumes 1 and 2) and 1955 (volume 3) The fellowship of the Ring (1954) The Two Towers (1954) The return of the King (1955) The Hobbit (book) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN, John Ronald Reuel. (2003) [1937]. Anderson, Douglas A., Ed. The Annotated Hobbit. Glasgow, Harper Collins.

El señor de los anillos (libros) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN John Ronald Reuel. El Señor de los Anillos. Círculo de Lectores, Barcelona, 1991. Taducción del inglés al español de Luis Domènech y Matilde Horne.

El hobbit (libro) The edition used in this paper TOLKIEN John Ronald Reuel. El hobbit anotado. Introducción y notas de Douglas A. Anderson, traducción de Manuel Figueroa (texto) y Rubén Masera (notas). Capellades, Minotauro, Barcelona, 1990.

Table 12-19 The strongest evidence of the global impact of this work can be found in the multiple new editions and translations and, more recently, in the films produced, which have achieved international success. Three of the films deal with or are inspired by The Lord of the Rings. The other films try to recreate The Hobbit, although, in this case, the script is very far from the original book.

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The audiovisual products resulting from the book are the following: The Lord of the Rings (Original films in English) The Lord of the Rings (I). The fellowship of the Ring (2001) The Lord of the Rings (II). The Two Towers (2002) The Lord of the Rings (III). The return of the King (2003) The hobbit (I). An unexpected journey (2012) The hobbit (II). The desolation of Smaug (2013) The hobbit (III). The battle of the Five Armies (2014)

El señor de los anillos in Spanish (películas El señor de los anillos (I). La comunidad del anillo (2001) El señor de los anillos (II). Las dos torres (2002) El señor de los anillos (III). E l retorno del rey (2003) El hobbit (I). Un viaje inesperado (2012) El hobbit (II). La desolación de Smaug (2013) El hobbit (III). La batalla de los cinco ejércitos (2014)

Table 12-20 The main topic of the work is a metaphor about the battle between good and evil represented by the power rings. These rings were given to the different communities inhabiting Middle Earth, that fantasy universe created by Tolkien where wizards, dwarves, men, elves, hobbits, orcs and the Dark Lord coexist. The rings were distributed as follows: Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarflords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. (J. R. R. Tolkien’s epigraph to The Lord of the Rings)

The Rings of Power were twenty magical rings, forged in the Second Age intended by Sauron to seduce the rulers of Middle Earth to evil. Nineteen of these rings were made by the elven-smiths of Eregion, led by Celebrimbor. These were grouped into three rings for the Elves, seven for the Dwarves, and nine for men. Sauron himself at Mount Doom forged one additional ring, the One Ring. Sauron placed so much of his dark power into the One Ring that he could not exist without it.

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The main characters of The Lord of the Rings are the following: MAIN CHARACTERS (SELECTION) Protagonists (The Lord of the Rings) HOBBITS Frodo Baggins, bearer of the One Ring, given to him by Bilbo Baggins Bilbo Baggins, Frodo's cousin Samwise Gamgee, gardener and friend of the Bagginses. Peregrin Took (Pip or Pippin), Frodo's cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck (Merry), Frodo's cousin WIZARDS Gandalf the Grey, a wizard. He is a Maia, an angelic being sent by the godlike Valar to fight Sauron. ELVES Legolas Greenleaf, an Elf prince and son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood Galadriel, Elf co-ruler of Lothlórien, and grandmother of Arwen. Celeborn, Elf co-ruler of Lothlórien, husband of Galadriel, and grandfather of Arwen. DWARVES Gimli, son of Gloin, a dwarf MEN (LORDS, DÚNEDAIN and ROHIRRIM) Aragorn (dúnedain), descendant of Isildur and rightful heir to the thrones of Arnor and Gondor Boromir (dúnedain) the eldest son and heir of Denethor Faramir (dúnedain), younger brother of Boromir Denethor, ruling Steward of Gondor and Lord of Minas Tirith. Theoden, King of Rohan, ally of Gondor.

PROTAGONISTAS PRINCIPALES (SELECCIÓN) Protagonistas de El Señor de los anillos HOBBITS Frodo Bolsón Bilbo Bolsón Samsagaz Gamyi Peregrin Tuk Meriadoc Brandigamo MAGOS Gandalf el gris ELFOS Légolas Galadriel Celeborn ENANOS Gimli HOMBRES (SEÑORES, DÚNEDAIN Y ROHIRRIM) Aragorn (Dúnedain) Boromir (dúnedain) Faramir (dúnedain) Denethor Théoden Éomer (Rohirrim) Éowyn (Rohirrim) ENTS Bárbol

Looking for the Lost Paradise Eomer (Rohirrim), the 3rd Marshal of the Mark and Théoden's nephew. Later King of Rohan after Théoden's death. Eowyn (Rohirrim), sister of Éomer, who disguises herself as a male warrior named Dernhelm to fight beside Théoden. ENTS Treebeard, oldest of the Ents. Antagonists (The Lord of the Rings) Sauron, the Dark Lord and titular Lord of the Rings, a fallen Maia, who helped the Elves forge the Rings of Power long ago. The Nazgûl or Ringwraiths, men enslaved by Sauron when they accepted his treacherous gifts of Rings of Power. Saruman the White, a wizard who seeks the One Ring for himself. Corrupted by Sauron through the palantír. Like Gandalf, he is a Maia. Gríma Wormtongue, a secret servant of Saruman and traitor to Rohan, who poisons Théoden's perceptions with well placed "advice". Gollum, a river hobbit originally named Sméagol. The Balrog, a fire-demon dwelling beneath the Mines of Moria.

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Antagonistas (El Señor de los anillos) Sauron Los Nazgûl Saruman

Gríma

Gollum Balrog

Table 12-21 The story, which makes us travel through time, is back to the beginning of the life in that Middle Earth and to the rings of power which, following a very particular numerical symbology, are given with the following distribution: three for the elves, seven for the dwarves, nine for men and one for the Dark Lord. There are nineteen rings against one, but this one belongs to the Dark Lord who is the one who can rule and subdue all the others. The pre-eminence of the elves has several stages: from the splendour to the decay, from the decay to the collaboration with the men, the dwarves, the elves, the hobbits and a wizard in the Community of the Ring. Then they abandoned Middle Earth once Sauron has been defeated,

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resulting in the beginning of the dominion of men. This number three shows that transition. The number of rings given to the dwarves (seven) represents a cycle. The time of the dwarves has already ended when Tolkien’s story begins, and those times of splendour will never come back. The number of rings given to the men (9) represents a cycle of transformation. Men will suffer because of their ambition and greed (they decided to keep Sauron’s ring of power, once he was defeated, and the nine men who carried the rings are now slaves—the Nazgûl—under the orders of Sauron, and because of being mortal, they will have to wait for the help of other races (elves, wizards, dwarves and hobbits) in order to be able to revive as a species. This, nevertheless, means descending into hell, where they recover a walking dead army who help them to defeat Sauron’s army (The Return of the King), and a revival with the symbolic marriage between the king (Aragorn) and an elfic princess, who gives up her immortality to marry the human king, which means the beginning of a new era of peace in Middle Earth. Tolkien uses two hobbits to tell what happens in The Lord of the Rings. One of the narrators, from one of the most insignificant races, the hobbits, becomes the main character and describes the adventures leading to the destruction of Sauron’s ring of power, which is first held by Gollum (a corrupted hobbit), afterwards by Bilbo Baggings (The Hobbit) and finally by his nephew, Frodo.

Chrétien de Troyes and the Knights of the Round Table While with Eco and Follet there is a trip through time from the current time to the Middle Ages, with Chrétien de Troyes the trip is the other way around, from the Middle Ages to the present. This writer, considered as the father of the modern novel by some authors, described in his Romans de la table ronde one of the most frequently recurring topics in literature: courtly love (la fins d’amors of André le Chapelain), the search for love and for the sense of life (the initiation trip and descent into hell to achieve the prize, in the form of material love or of meeting with the afterlife, with the divinity, with the Holy Grail). To do so, the main character must have the qualities of a knight and deserve such earthly love or reach that Holy Grail. These are topics from yesterday, from today, eternal topics, which are masterly described by Chrétien de Troyes in his stories about the Knights of the Round Table. The Arthurian topic is behind this story which deals

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with a mythical king, Arthur; with some knights gifted with exceptional qualities (Perceval, Lancelot etc.); with courtly love (a love triangle with King Arthur, Queen Guenevieve and Lancelot); with the love potion; and with magic (Merlin, the great wizard and the fairy/witch Morgana) as the motors moving the world. The influence of these topics on later literature is huge. We will only study the works of Eco, Follett, Lucas, and Tolkien in order to make comparisons with Chrétien de Troyes. It is only fair to add, nevertheless, that the stories by Chrétien de Troyes are inspired, in turn, by Celtic stories, Welsh poems such as Y Gododdin (a collection of elegiac poems devoted to the heroes of the kingdom of Gododdin.) The first story related to King Arthur’s life can be found in the Historia Regum Britanniae by Geoffrey de Monmouth, who is responsible for the main features of the legend. Monmouth describes Arthur as the king of Britain who defeated the Saxons and built an empire, an ideal kingdom, in the British Isles. Characters such as Arthur’s father (Uther Pendragon) and his adviser, the wizard Merlin, together with elements such as the sword Excalibur, are also present in his stories. Arthur’s birthplace, Tintagel, is also mentioned as well as his final battle with Mordred in Camlann and his final retirement to the island of Avalon with the fairy/witch Morgana. All of these stories were used by Chrétien de Troyes as a source of inspiration and development of his stories about the knights of the Round Table and over the years they were also an inspiration for many authors, especially from the nineteenth century, and for many films in the last century. With Chrétien de Troyes, the adventure novels are created and courtly love is the ideal love, with different sources of inspiration depending on the authors: the Hispano-Arabic world (Middle Ages in Spain), the influence of the Cathar or Albigensian heresy or the Mariolatry developed in the Middle Ages in Europe. Regardless the origin of courtly love, coded by Adré le Chapelain, the truth is that this cycle of Arthurian literature, which includes mysticism (the search for the Holy Grail), love (human and divine), elements and reflections about the sense of life (and of death), is present in the masterpieces of literature in other countries (Tirant lo Blanc and Don Quixote). With regard to the influence of Arthurian literature in the cinema, there are numerous examples dealing with any of the characters or main

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topics of this literature of medieval origin. Apart from King Arthur, Queen Guinevere and Lancelot, examples are: CHARACTER Merlin

Morgan le Fay

Igraine

Uther Pendragon

Lady of the Lake

Guinevere

A BRIEF DESCRIPTION Merlin is a legendary figure best known as the wizard featured in Arthurian legend. The standard depiction of the character first appears in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae, written c. 1136, and is based on an amalgamation of previous historical and legendary figures. Queen Morgan le Fay, alternatively known as Morgan le Faye, Morgen, Morgaine, Morgain, Morgana, Morganna, Morgant, Morgane, Morgne, Morge, Morgue, and other names, is a powerful enchantress in the Arthurian legend. Early works featuring Morgan do not elaborate her character beyond her role as a fay or sorceress. In Arthurian legend, Igraine is the mother of King Arthur. She is also known in Latin as Igerna, in Welsh as Eigyr, in French as Igerne, in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d'Arthur as Ygrayne— often modernized as Igraine—and in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival as Arnive. She becomes the wife of Uther Pendragon, but her first husband was Gorlois; her daughters by Gorlois are Elaine, Morgause and Morgan le Fay. Uther Pendragon is a legendary king of sub-Roman Britain and the father of King Arthur. A few minor references to Uther appear in Old Welsh poems, but his biography was first written down by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia Regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain). Lady of the Lake is the titular name of the ruler of Avalon in the Arthurian legend. She plays a pivotal role in many stories, including giving King Arthur his sword Excalibur, enchanting Merlin, and raising Lancelot after the death of his father. Different writers and copyists give the Arthurian character the name Nimue, Viviane, Vivien, Elaine, Ninianne, Nivian, Nyneve, or Evienne, among other variations. Guinevere, often written as Gwenevere, was the Queen consort of King Arthur in the Arthurian Legend. In medieval romances, one of the most prominent story arcs is her love affair with Arthur's chief knight Sir Lancelot. This story first appeared in Chrétien de Troyes's Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart and became a motif in Arthurian literature, starting with the Lancelot-Grail Cycle of the early 13th century and carrying through the Post-Vulgate Cycle and Thomas Malory's Le Morte d’Arthur.

Looking for the Lost Paradise Lancelot

Percival

Erec

Tristan

Ywain

209

Lancelot (or Launcelot) du Lac was one of the Knights of the Round Table in the Arthurian legend. He most typically features as King Arthur's greatest champion whose love affair with Queen Guinevere brings about the end of Arthur's kingdom. Percival, also spelled Perceval, is one of King Arthur's legendary Knights of the Round Table. In Welsh literature his story is allotted to the historical Peredur. He is most famous for his involvement in the quest for the Holy Grail. Erec, the son of King Lac, is a Knight of the Round Table in Arthurian legend. He features in numerous Arthurian tales (notably the Post-Vulgate Cycle), but he is most famous as the protagonist in Chrétien de Troyes’ first romance, Erec and Enide. Tristan, also known as Tristram, is the male hero of the Arthurian Tristan and Iseult story. He was a Cornish knight of the Round Table. He is the son of Blancheflor and Rivalen (in later versions Isabelle and Meliodas), and the nephew of King Mark of Cornwall, sent to fetch Iseult back from Ireland to wed the king. However, he and Iseult accidentally consume a love potion while en route and fall helplessly in love. Ywain, also called Owain, Yvain, Ewain or Uwain, is a Knight of the Round Table and the son of King Urien in Arthurian legend. The historical Owain mab Urien, on whom the literary character is based, was the king of Rheged in Great Britain during the late 6th century.

Table 12-22 A more complete list of the legendary knights within the Arthurian literature would include the following: Arthur Pendragon

Dagonet

Bedevere

Lancelot Galehaut Tristan Gawain Perceval Erec Dinadan

Bors Geraint Gareth Kay Lamorak Pelleas

Gaheris Agravain Sagramore Calogrenant Ywain Palamedes

Table 12-23

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The icons, characters and stories included in the Arthurian literature have become, thanks to cinema and television, universal icons and characters. In Eco’s words, they are universal symbols. The mystery surrounding the possible—although not proven—historical origin of some characters (King Arthur and his knights), the mixture of fiction and reality (which is reproduced in medieval novels dealing with the Arthurian topic), the presence of central elements of the history of mankind: love (in this case, courtly love), the search for the meaning of life (the Holy Grail), the vacuity of the human existence (death) and the search for an explanation through love (human or divine love), the role of magic, fate or Divine Providence in human life etc. are examples of the topics repeatedly tackled in many of the cinematic recreations or adaptations of Arthurian literature, not to mention other types of reproductions, such as cartoons, video games or even theatre. Examples of films are the following: Films in English Knights of the Round Table (1953) The Black Knight (1954) Prince Valiant (1954) Camelot (1967) Lancelot du Lac (1974) Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) Excalibur (1981) First Knight (1995) King Arthur (2004) Merlin’s Apprentice (2006) The Last Legion (2007)

Films translated into Spanish 1953. Los caballeros del rey Arturo. Dirigida por Richard Thorpe. 1954. El caballero negro. Dirigida por Tay Garnett. 1954. El Príncipe Valiente. Dirigida por Henry Hathaway. 1967. Camelot. Dirigida por Joshua Logan. 1974. Lancelot du Lac. Dirigida por Robert Bresson. 1975. Los caballeros de la mesa cuadrada y sus locos seguidores. También conocida como Monty Python y el Santo Grial. Dirigida por Terry Gilliam y Terry Jones. 1981. Excalibur. Dirigida por John Boorman. 1995. El primer caballero, también conocido como Lancelot. Dirigida por Jerry Zucker. 2004. El rey Arturo: La verdadera historia que inspiró la leyenda. Dirigida por Antoine Fuqua. 2006. Aprendiz de Merlín. Dirigida por David Wu. 2007. La última legión. Dirigida por Doug Lefler.

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and

miniseries

1972–1973. Arthur of the Britons 1998. Merlin 2001. The Mists of Avalon 2005–2009. Kaamelott 2008-2012. Merlin 2011. Camelot

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Películas para televisión y miniseries 1972–1973. Arturo de Bretaña, serie británica de HTV. 1998. Merlín. Película de Hallmark Entertainment. 2001 Las brumas de Avalón. Miniserie de TNT. 2005–2009 Kaamelott. Serie francesa de M6. 2008-2012 Merlín, también conocida como Las aventuras de Merlín. Serie de BBC One, interpretado por Bradley James. 2011 Camelot. Interpretado por Jamie CampbellBower

Table 12-24

Lucas and Star Wars: a Fantastic Universe to Recreate Universal Topics

Star Wars (films)

Original title: Star Wars (1977) New title: Star Wars. Episode IV. A New Hope

Star Wars. Episode V. The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

La guerra de las galaxias (saga) dubbing and subtitling

Título original: La guerra de las galaxias (1977) Nuevo título: La guerra de las galaxias. Episodio IV. Una nueva esperanza La guerra de las galaxias. Episodio V. El imperio contraataca (1980)

Star Wars. Episode VI. Return of the Jedi (1983)

La guerra de las galaxias. Episodio VI. El retorno del Jedi (1983)

Star Wars. Episode I. The Phantom Menace (1999)

La guerra de las galaxias. Episodio I. La amenaza fantasma (1999)

Star Wars. Episode II. Attack of the Clones (2002)

La guerra de las galaxias. Episodio II. El ataque de los clones (2002)

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Star Wars. Episode III. Revenge of the Sith (2005)

La guerra de las galaxias. Episodio III. La venganza de los Sith (2005)

Table 12-25 The Star Wars saga represents an important futuristic metaphor which proposes a trip through time to a distant galaxy in which the same evils affecting our contemporary society are reproduced. It reproduces some of the universal topics of the history of the mankind: the battle between good and evil, ambition and power, hope and despair, life and death, love and hate. This saga begins in Episode IV and continues with two more episodes (Episode V and VI) which are part of the original trilogy of the saga. The first three films are followed by three other films which make up a saga, preceding, from a temporal point of view, the original trilogy. There is also an Episode VII, which will be performed for the first time at the end of 2015. This table shows a selection of the most important characters of Star Wars. Main characters (selection) Luke Skywalker

Species

Description

Human (Jedi Knight) > Jedi Master > Grand Master of the New Jedi Order

Luke Skywalker is the central protagonist of the original film trilogy and a minor character in the prequel film trilogy of the Star Wars universe created by George Lucas. He is the twin brother of Rebellion leader Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, a friend of mercenary Han Solo, an apprentice to Jedi Master Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, and the son of fallen Jedi Darth Vader (Anakin Skywalker) and Queen of Naboo/Republic Senator Padmé Amidala. The Expanded Universe depicts him as a powerful Jedi Master and eventually the Grand Master of the New Jedi Order, the father of Ben Skywalker, the maternal uncle of Jacen Solo, and

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Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan

Human (Princess)

Anakin Skywalder > Darth Vader

Human (Jedi Knight) > Fallen Jedi > Sith Lord

Padmé Amidala

Human (Queen)

Yoda

Unknowns homeworld (Jedi Master)

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Human (Jedi Knight)

Han Solo

Human (mercenary) > warrior (Rebel Alliance)

Chewbacca

Wookiee

RD-D2

Droid

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the ancestor of Cade Skywalker. Princess Leia is one of the main protagonists of the original Star Wars trilogy, the romantic interest of Han Solo, and revealed as the twin sister of Luke Skywalker as well as the daughter of Anakin Skywalker (Darth Vader) and Padmé Amidala. Anakin Skywalker: Jedi Knight, General in the Grand Army of the Republic. He is the secret husband of Padmé Amidala. Darth Vader: Sith Lord, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Young Queen of Naboo. She is the secret wife of Anakin Skywalker and the mother of Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia Organa The Jedi master who trained Count Dooku and Luke Skywalker. His homeworld is unknown, but he goes into exile on Dagobah after the fall of the Republic in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. He is a mentor to the protagonist Luke Skywalker, initiating him into the ways of the Jedi. In the prequel trilogy, he is master and friend to Luke's father, Anakin Skywalker. He and his co-pilot, Chewbacca, become involved in the Rebel Alliance which opposes the Galactic Empire. During the course of the Star Wars story, he becomes a chief figure in the Alliance and succeeding galactic governments. Chewbacca belongs to the Wookiee species, tall, hairy beings native to the planet of Kashyyyk. Chewbacca is fiercely loyal to Han Solo, and serves as co-pilot on Solo's Millenium Falcon. An astromech droid, he joins or supports Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and ObiWan Kenobi in various points in the

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C-3PO

Droid

Darth Plagueis

Human/Sith Lord

Sheev Palpatine (Emperor Palpatine) / Darth Sidious

Human/Sith Lord

saga. R2-D2 is a major character in all Star Wars films. C-3PO is a protocol droid designed to serve human beings, and boasts that he is fluent in “over six million forms of communication”. He is generally seen with his long-time counterpart, R2-D2. He also joins or supports Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Obi-Wan Kenobi in various points in the saga. A Muun Sith Lord, whose birth name was Hego Damask, mentioned in Revenge of the Sith. Plagueis was a student of the Bith Sith lord Darth Tenebrous and the head of a powerful banking consortium on the Muun homeworld. He discovered and recruited the teenaged Palpatine of Naboo and trained him in the dark side of the Force as his apprentice Darth Sidious. Plagueis also made a grand plan to ensure the Sith would defeat the Jedi by undermining the Galactic Republic and ensure the dominance of the Dark Side of the Force. Naboo senator and later Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. He is also known as Darth Sidious, a Dark Lord of the Sith. His machinations turn the Galactic Republic into the Galactic Empire. He lures Anakin Skywalker to the dark side of the Force and renames him Darth Vader. He is eventually killed by a redeemed Anakin Skywalker.

Table 12-26 While Tolkien created some fantastic characters, distributed between the light and the dark places, in Star Wars George Lucas did something similar. In this complex and fantastic universe there are two opposite sides: the Jedi knights and the Sith. According to Wikipedia, these are the main

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features which define these two sides in this fantasy universe created by Lucas. Jedi Order The Jedi is a monastic, spiritual, and academic organization in the fictional Star Wars universe, and date back to at least 10,000 years before the destruction of the first Death Star. Their traditional weapon is the lightsaber, a device which emits a blade-like controlled plasma flow. The fictional organization has inspired a religion in the real world, Jediism. As depicted in the franchise's canon, the Jedi study, serve and utilize a mystical power called the Force, in order to help and protect those in need. For many generations the Jedi served as a paramilitary for the Galactic Republic and the galaxy at large to prevent conflict and political instability, including playing a leading role in the later Clone Wars. As sanctioned guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy, they mediated negotiations among planets and rival factions and, if necessary, use their formidable martial art skills, agility and wisdom to quickly end unrest or neutralize dangerous individuals or threats. The Jedi are governed by a Council, consisting of twelve of the wisest and most powerful “forcesensitive” members of the Jedi Order. They are bound to a code of ethics, morality, principles, honor and justice.

Table 12-27

Sith Organization The Sith is a fictional ancient kratocratic organization, created by Darth Bane after the destruction of the Sith Brotherhood of Darknessdynasty that lasted 1000 years, and promptly ended with the death of Palpatine. The Sith are the primary recurring antagonists in the Star Wars universe. Its members were dedicated to Sith philosophy and to master the dark side of the Force. The Sith members, known as Sith Lords or Dark Lords of the Sith, traditionally use the title Darth before their Sith name. The Sith are the archenemies of the quasireligious Jedi and, like them, their main weapon is the lightsaber. While Jedi serves the Galactic Republic by utilizing the Force for peace, knowledge and defence, the Sith prefer to exploit the Force for power, aggression or personal gain; desires that inevitably led to both imperial conquest and their own selfdestruction. By the events of both trilogies, there exist only two at a time: a master and an apprentice. The first use of the word “Sith” was in the novelization of Star Wars: Episode IV -A New Hope, as a title for Darth Vader, the “Dark Lord of the Sith”. The Sith were not formally introduced or mentioned on-screen until the release of Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, in 1999, though they had been named in some Expanded Universe works before that time.

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In some cases, the success of some of these fantastic characters has been very important, as it is the case of the Ewoks. These characters inspired two films: Caravan of Courage: An Ewok Adventure (1984) and Ewoks: The Battle for Endor (1985). Finally, in order to understand this fantastic universe created by George Lucas, we mention some of the main planets and places included in this universe. Planets Coruscant

Hoth

Kamino

Kashyyyk

Naboo

A brief description of the planet (Selection) Coruscant is, at various times, the capital of the Old Republic, the Galactic Empire, the New Republic, the Yuuzhan Vong Empire and the Galactic Alliance. Not only is Coruscant central to all these governing bodies, it is the navigational centre of the galaxy, given that its hyperspace coordinates are (0,0,0). Hoth is depicted as the sixth planet of a remote system of the same name. It is a terrestrial planet blanketed by snow and ice. Many meteorites from a nearby asteroid belt pelt the planet's surface, making temporary craters in the planet’s ever-moving snow drifts. Hoth has six moons, all uninhabited. Its native creatures include the Wampa and the Tauntaun; both these creatures appear in The Empire Strikes Back. Kamino is a fictional ocean exoplanet, similar to Mon Calamari and Manaan. It was here that the Army of the Republic was generated. It is inhabited by a race of tall, elegant, long-necked creatures, called Kaminoans, who keep to themselves and are known for their cloning technology. Kashyyyk, also known as Wookiee Planet C, is a fictional planet in the Star Wars universe. It is the tropical, forested home world of the Wookiees. According to interviews given by Star Wars creator George Lucas, the original home planet of the Wookiees was the moon of Endor which plays a key role in the plot of the sixth film of the series, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. Naboo is a planet in the fictional Star Wars universe with a mostly green terrain and which is the homeworld of two societies: the Gungans, who dwell in underwater cities, and the Humans, who live in colonies on the surface. Humans of Naboo have an electoral monarchy and maintain a peaceful culture that defends education, the arts, environmental protection and scientific achievements. The main capital of Naboo is Theed.

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217

Tatooine is a fictional desert planet that serves as the setting for many key scenes in the Star Wars saga, appearing in every Star Wars film except The Empire Strikes Back. Since it is the home planet of Anakin Skywalker and Luke Skywalker, as well as the meeting place for Obi-Wan Kenobi and Han Solo, it is one of or even the most iconic planet in the Star Wars universe.

Table 12-28

Intertextuality and Cross-References in Eco, Follett, Chrétien de Troyes, Tolkien and Lucas One of the most important conclusions we have reached in our analysis of these key works is the number of cross-references between all of them. Chrétien de Troyes’ ideas in the Romans de la Table Ronde have influenced the later authors’ works and even the Star Wars saga has had literary sequels, which are not studied in this paper. Furthermore, in all these works, including the ones by Chrétien de Troyes, we have found a high degree of intertextuality. As for Chrétien de Troyes, this intertextuality comes from the Arthurian literature by which he was inspired. In all the other works, it comes from the many classical references (classical world, Bible references, mythology, stories and myths of the Middle Ages) which are present, implicitly or explicitly. Lucas is also influenced by Japanese culture, through Kurosawa’s films, and numerous cinematographic references used in creating his fantastic universe in Star Wars. Below we will study each author showing their sources of inspiration when creating their stories, highlighting those direct or indirect references to the Middle Ages.

Intertextuality and Influence in Eco’s Works: The Name of the Rose In annotated edition of The Name of the Rose the author talks about works and authors used to create his story. The edition used in this paper is the Spanish edition El Nombre de la rosa y Apostillas a El Nombre de la rosa (Lumen, 2005).

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A very well known and recurrent topic when studying this work leads us, in the first place, to a double relation of the names of some of the main characters of the novel. This double link between two ages (the Middle Ages and the contemporary world), allows us to mention the authors and works that have inspired the creation of these characters, as we can see in the following table: Character William of Baskerville Jorge de Burgos

Adso of Melk

Reference to the Middle Ages Guillermo de Ockham and the Philosophical Nominalism The Spanish city of Burgos in the Middle Ages

Reference to the contemporary world Sherlock Holmes in The hound of the Baskervilles, by Arthur Conan Doyle. The book Ficciones, by Jorge Luis Borges, including a tale entitled: La Biblioteca de Babel, formerly published as El Jardín de los senderos que se bifurcan.

Melk (an important abbey in the Middle Ages)

Watson, Sherlock Holmes’ assistant and friend.

Table 12-29 The story takes place over seven days, following the distribution of time in a Benedictine monastery laid down in the Rule of Saint Benedict (Regula Benedicti) with the precepts for monks living communally under the authority of an abbot. Another basic reference is The City of God written by St Augustine, as Eco’s novel is, to a certain degree, a reversal of it. The main topic of the book refers to the second book of Aristotle’s Poetics (dealing with comedy), which is supposed to have disappeared in the Middle Ages. There are also direct or indirect mentions of the Bible. Other works of Eco, such as Lector in Fabula, can also be used to understand the author’s ideas in this novel.

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Intertextuality and Influences in Follett’s Work: The Pillars of the Earth Follett himself says that he read several books about architecture before writing The Pillars of the Earth. Other references to England in the twelfth century as used in the plot are much vaguer.

Intertextuality and Influences in Tolkien’s Work: The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit The Lord of the Rings represents an incursion of its author, J. R. R. Tolkien, in his own philosophical and theological-religious concerns, especially within Roman Catholicism. Norse and British fairy tales and mythologies (myths and legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table) allow the author to create a fictitious universe (Eä) in which all the races live in a fictitious time: the three eras of Middle Earth. According to Robert Murray, Tolkien’s Jesuit friend, Tolkien himself wrote this book as a mainly religious and Catholic work, at first unconsciously but in a conscious way during the revision of the work. Nevertheless, the author decided to integrate the religious elements in his book and in the symbolism of his work. Among the theological-religious topics in the plot of the work and in the development of the account, it is worth mentioning the following elements, opposed to each other: Direct and Indirect Allusions to the Bible •

•

The battle between good and evil, in which humility defeats pride: Biblical references are manifold. Possibly the clearest reference is David’s battle (the Hobbits going to the Mount Doom to destroy the power ring) against Goliath (Sauron, with his army of orcs, led by Nazgûl). The intervention of divine grace and providence: Gandalf’s intervention is sometimes providential (Odin in the Norse mythology, Demiurge in the classical philosophy, God become man in the Catholic tradition) to save the community of the ring. The giant eagles that rescue the members of this community (Gandalf asks God for help to save those “good” beings who are about to be defeated by evil) are also basic to save the two hobbits’ lives (Frodo and Sam), who managed to get to the

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•

•

•

•

•

Mount Doom and destroy the power ring but who are condemned to death in the fire of “hell” (Mordor). The presence of evil in the world and the attempt to explain that evil symbolically: Most experts point out that the traumatic experience of participating in the First World War left a mark on the author of The Hobbit, The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. It is also important to mention the personal context in which Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings from 1939 to 1949: most of it was written during the Second World War. The fallen angel (the devil), a recurrent topic in Tolkien’s symbology; There are constant references to the biblical symbol of the fallen angel. The kings corrupted by the power and subjected to Suron’s power (the Nazgûl), Saruman the wizard, the hobbit enslaved by the power ring, the Dark Lord who was defeated and replaced by his right hand, Sauron. The angels, divine intervention and trust in men: There is always one man who deserves God’s intervention and who saves the whole of mankind. This is a clear reference to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, from which only Lot and his daughters survive. In the final battle against Sauron, when the last of the stronghold of men might be defeated, divine intervention is fundamental to save the man’s world. The elves (a kind of angels), Gandalf, who has been resuscitated, the giant eagles and even the walking dead redeeming themselves fighting along with the men, dwarves, hobbits and elves, represent a metaphor of the final triumph of good against evil. Somehow, this reminds us of the allies in the fight against Hitler’s totalitarian regime, seen by many as the contemporary reincarnation of evil. The creation of the world, sin and redemption: Another reference to the Bible is found in the construction of the story, which shows us a past time (ancient times) in which the creation of the world takes place (First Age), the implementation of evil as a model of absolute domination and its continuity throughout the ages (Second Age), and, finally, men’s revival with the return of the king (a new hope), the destruction of the power ring and Sauron’s defeat (Third Age), with a happy ending and a hopeful future. The moment when the elves, Gandalf and the hobbits who have carried the ring (Bilbo and Frodo Baggins) leave is a metaphor of the Ascension of Jesus into heaven and the coming of the Holy Spirit. Now the future in the hands of a king and an Elf princess

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who has given up her immortality for love, narrated by a witness, Sam, who has a happy life with his wife and children, and ends the story without Bilbo and Frodo, the two original narrators. There are also constant references to other deep philosophical and religious topics such as death and immortality, mercy and piety, resurrection, salvation, repentance, sacrifice, free will, justice, comradeship, authority, healing etc.

The Silmarillion and Norse Mythology In The Lord of the Rings and in The Hobbit there are also references to other mythologies, such as the Norse, within this fantasy universe created by Tolkien. While The Lord of the Rings is the sequel to the Hobbit, in The Silmarillion Tolkien laid the foundations of these two stories. In this work, published after his death by his son, Christopher Tolkien, in 1977, deals with the creation of Arda and the birth of the most important actors (valar, elves, men, and dwarves) in Middle Earth. The Silmarillion, however, shows that, regardless of the influences on Tolkien, we have to talk about a legendarium, a myth created by him as a starting point in the development of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The Silmarillion is divided in five parts which deal with the following topics: First part: Ainulindalë (Ainur’s music in Quenya) which deals with the creation of Eä and, within it, the creation of Arda. Second part: Valaquenta (the story of the Valar in Quenya), a brief relation of the Valar and the Maiar, the supernatural powers of Eä, called the Powers of the Earth. It also refers to Melfoir and Sauron, a dark god and his most loyal servant. Third part: Quenta Silmarillion (the story of the Silmarilli in Quenya). The events taking place from the beginning until the end of the First Age of the Sun. Fourth part: Akallabêth (La sepultada en adûnaico), a story about the fall of Númenor taking place in the Second Age of the Sun. Fifth part: From the Power Rings to the Third Age which is a summary about Middle Earth and the events which lead to the story of The Lord of the Rings. Among the elements taken by Tolkien from the Norse mythologies are the following:

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Odin and Väinämöinen> Gandalf. According to the author himself, Odin (from the Norse mythology) and Väinämöinen (from the Finnish mythology) are two mythical characters which have inspired Tolkien to create Gandalf, apart from the above mentioned references to the Bible. We have also found the influence of the Norse mythology in the name of the dwarves: Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Kíli, Fíli, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, Ori, Óin, Glóin, Thráin, Thrór, Dáin, Náin, and Durin were taken by Toline from Edda poética (a collection of poems written in old Norse.) The influence of the Nordic countries is also present in one of the Elf languages made up by Tolkien: the Quenya, which is inspired by the Finnish language. The other Elf language, the Sindarin, is based on the Welsh language. The epic poem Kalevala, in which there is a magical object of power, the Sampo, is also used by Tolkien to create his “ring of power” and the immortal origin of Gandalf.

Arthurian literature and medieval stories in Tolkien’s work Numerous elements of Arthurian literature and of the epic poem Beowulf are present in Tolkien’s work. Among them, we can find the following: • The chivalrous virtues of elves and men (Dunédain and Rohirrim). • Courtly love between a knight and an Elf princess (André le Chapelain). • The ring of power, as an anti-Grail, which is also inspired by the second book of The Republic by Plato, where the legend of Gyges is told: a shepherd who finds a ring which grants him the power to become invisible at will in order to usurp the throne of Lydia. • Rohan’s knights remind us, in many aspects, of the AngloSaxons’ mythical villages of Beowulf and, indirectly, of the knights of the Arthurian literature. • The language spoken by these knights, the Rohirric, is inspired by Anglo-Saxon, as well as the names of some of the knights: Éomer (famous in the world of horses) and Éowyn (horse joy).

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The special powers given to elves, wizards, and fantastic animals (giant eagles) and plants (ents, trees which can speak and move.) The topic of the initiation trip, such as the one described in the first part of The Lord of the Rings.

Intertextuality and Influences in Lucas’ Work: Star Wars The Lord of the Rings and the Star Wars saga have something in common: they are universes made up by their creators, Tolkien and Lucas, describing the constant battle between Good and Evil. As with The Hobbit, whose success made Tolkien write the trilogy of The Lord of the Rings, the success of the first film of the saga (Star Wars. Episode IV. A new hope) resulted in the creation of six more films. The saga has not finished yet and a new episode will be released at the end of 2015. Lucas has admitted having used numerous influences to create his fantastic universe.

Cinematographic Influences in Star Wars In Lucas’ case, we have to talk more about inspiration in other cinematographic genres than intertextuality. The author himself admitted being inspired by the following genres to create his fantastic universe: • The Western film genre which is sometimes reproduced, with the typical saloon and the characterization of some of the characters. • Akira Kurosawa’s films: Kakushi toride no san akunin (in English, The Hidden Fortress) and Shichinin no Samurai (in English, Seven Samurai). These works are used by Lucas to create his own narrators in the Episode IV, the droids: C-3PO and R2-D2. • Pirate films. The great battles between ships remind us of these films. • Epic and historical films. Lucas is inspired by the classic films of history, such as Ben-Hur (Ben Hur’s chariot race is used by Lucas to créate the scene of the podraces), Spartacus (el traslado de falanges de tropas robóticas de la Federación de Comercio), The Three Musketeers (the final part of the Episode IV in which the main character was awarded a medal for his bravery), and Lawrence of Arabia.

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•

War films inspired by the Second World War. These films were used by Lucas to create the final battle in Episode IV, which is clearly inspired by the air combats taking place during the Second War and which are shown in many films. • Casablanca. The character of the Jabba the Hutt is originally based on the physical appearance of Sydney Greenstreet. • Films inspired by Arthurian literature which inspired Lucas to create some of his main characters. In short, it is obvious the influence of the previous films on the creation of Star Wars. The list of films would be endless, but the result is only one: a fantastic universe which has been adding followers for some decades, to such an extent that the saga is still open.

Literary Influences on Star Wars Although the author does not admit explicitly that he was influenced by literary works in creating his saga, we can mention at least the following works: • The Hero with a Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell. • Faust, by Goethe. Anakin Skywalker agrees to be Palpatine’s apprentice to save the person who loves the most. The allusion, as a metaphor, to Goethe’s Faust is obvious. The inspiration of medieval literature is also clear when Lucas creates his fantasy universe, although there is no specific author.

Medieval Elements in Star Wars Among the medieval elements found in Star Wars, the following can be outlined: • The sword Excalibur of Arthurian literature is a clear precedent of the laser sword of the Jedi knights and of the concept of the Force. • The Round Table around which the King Arthur’s knights meet, in which the King is a primus inter pares, is used by Lucas in the creation of the Jedi Council, where the knights meet as equals. • The chivalresque virtues of the Jedis are clearly influenced by Arthurian literature.

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•

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The condition of the monk-warriors of the Jedis reminds us of the monk-warrior organizations of the Middle Ages (e.g., the Templar knights.) The feudal arrangement of the society is also used in Star Wars. Courtly love is also present in this successful saga and it is this love between a fallen angel (when he was still a Jedi knight) and a beautiful princess that results in the fall, the predominance of evil and the resurgence of good. The topic of the initiation journey as the context in which the characters are transformed.

Let us now compare all the medieval elements found in the works and authors that have been studied in this paper. Logically, we begin with the most relevant topics and stereotypes in the Middle Ages which are the following: • Orders of knighthood and religious orders. • The sword as a symbol of belonging to a certain social category in the Middle Ages. • Courtly love coded by André le Chapelain. • The battle between good and evil which reminds us of the Bible. • The symbolism of numbers. • The fight between David and Goliath • The search for the meaning of life and immortality.

The Order of Knighthood and Religious Orders These are some of the orders mentioned in the works Author Chrétien de Troyes Umberto Eco

Orders of Knighthood Les chevaliers de la Table Ronde ------------

Ken Follett

------------

J. R. R. Tolkien

Dúnedain Rohirrim

Religious Orders -----------Dominican Franciscan Benedictine Monastery and priory (without mentioning the order) ------------

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George Lucas

Elves Nazgûl Jedi Sith

------------

Table 12-30 As we can see, the Arthurian stories by Chrétien de Troyes have a more significant influence on the work by Follett and Lucas than on the others. The religious orders, however, are explicitly included in the works of Eco and Follett, while being implicitly included in the works of Tolkien and Lucas.

The Sword as a Symbol of Power and Belonging to a Certain Social Class The sword appears as a symbol of power in the following authors: Author

The sword as a symbol of power

Chrétien de Troyes

Les chevaliers de la Table Ronde Arthurian legends Excalibur ----------------------Dúnedain Rohirrim Elves Nazgûl The broken sword is forged again for the King’s return

Umberto Eco Ken Follet J. R. R. Tolkien

George Lucas

Jedi Sith

The sword as a symbol of belonging to a certain social class In the Middle Ages the knights were invested receiving a sword, among other things. ----------------------Dúnedain Rohirrim Elves Nazgûl The King’s sword The swords offered to the hobbits by the elves. The light sabre of the Jedi knights

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227 The light sabre of the Sith knights

Table 12-31 Once again, the symbology of the sword, so important in Chrétien de Troyes and in other Arthurian stories as Excalibur, is not mentioned in the works of Eco and Follett, but it is in the works of Tolkien and Lucas. In The Lord of the Rings, the sword is a symbol of power and belonging to a certain social class. The sword which represents, above everything, that symbol of power is Exalibur. In Tolkien, we find the king’s broken sword which is forged again by the Elves for “the return of the new king”. The implicit reference to Excalibur is more than clear. The same happens with the Jedi and Sith, whose light sabres are one of the symbols of their power. Besides, most of the groups faced in The Lord of the Rings have a sword as a symbol of power and belonging to that social class (the Rohan’s knights, the Dúnedain, the Elves, and, even, the Elves have a sword, which is magical in some cases and is used to fight against the Dark Side, the Nazgül and their frightening swords).

Courtly Love Coded by André le Chapelain Courtly love, with clear medieval influence, is more or less explicitly presented in all the stories studied in this paper: Author

The main characters of courtly love (the lovers)

Béroul

Tristan et Iseut

Chrétien de Troyes

Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere Adso de Melk and the peasant girl (Love idealized by Adso de Melk in the figure of the Virgin Mary) Aliena and Jack Jackson (also known as Jack

Umberto Eco

Ken Follet

The third element (obstacle or power relation which hinders or complicate the lover’s story) King Marc King Arthur Remigio (power relation with the peasant: sex in exchange for food) Adso’s chastity vows. Alfred Builder (Aliena’s first husband)

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J. R. R. Tolkien

George Lucas

George Lucas

Builder) King Aragorn and the Elf princess

Anakin Skywalker (Jedi) and Padmé Amidala (Queen of Naboo) Han Solo (mercenary) and Princess Leia (Anakin Skywalker’s daughter)

William Hamleigh The princess must give up her immortality to marry Aragorn The Elf leaders do not want the relationship to grow stronger Love forbidden according to the rules of the Jedi Order The social gap between the two of them. Courtly love takes place between equals.)

Table 12-32 As we can see, courtly love and love triangles are present in all the stories. Both Tristan and Iseut (Béroul) and the story of Lancelot and Guinevere (Chrétien de Troyes) clearly explains what courtly love is: a love between lovers in spite of the difficulties or even the presence of a third element in that relationship, for example King Mark (Iseut’s husband) or King Arthur (Guinevere’s husband). We cannot strictly speak of courtly love in Umberto Eco because it is a fleeting relation between a monk (Adso de Melk), who is subjected to the chastity vow, and a peasant girl (who does not belong to the social class to which courtly love is reserved). Nevertheless, we can find medieval influences of courtly love due to the presence of a power relation between Remigius (a Benedictine monk) and the peasant girl (who receives food in exchange for sex but has a sexual relationship with Adso de Melk because she wishes it and without asking anything in return). Adso will ennoble this relationship to the extent of comparing the peasant with the Virgin Mary. As with Eco, Ken Follett tells his story from the point of view of some humble builders. We can see the influence of courtly love as we have, on the one hand, William Hamleigh’s attempt to marry Aliena in order to get power, whereas she chooses love. Her marriage with Tom Builder does not end well, but the love between her and Jack Builder will succeed at the end of the story. Both Tolkien and Lucas show this kind of love in their stories. In Tolkien’s story, it is a true love (between the future king Aragorn and the Elf princess) that faces an almost insurmountable hurdle: the princess has to give up her immortality to love this human being. It takes place in the

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third part of the trilogy, which means a metaphor of the hope for Middle Earth, once Sauron is defeated. In Lucas’ story, there are two love stories. The first one is the secret and forbidden love between Anakin Skywalker (Jedi Knight) and the Queen Padmé Amidala who born Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia. This secret love will result in Anakin Skywalker turning to the Dark Side, becoming Darth Vader. The second one is the love story between Princess Leia and Han Solo. The hurdle to be surmounted is the low class to which Han Solo belongs to (he is a mercenary). As time goes by, he is gazetted general which will make possible the love relationship between these two characters.

The Battle between Good and Evil with Biblical Allusions Regardless of the end of the story, we find characters in all the works who are on the good side and others who are on the evil side or have been attracted to it by different circumstances. Author Chrétien de Troyes

Umberto Eco

Ken Follet

J. R. R. Tolkien

Ligth sphere – the good (Main characters) Merlin The lady of the lake King Arthur The Round Table knights Guillermo de Baskerville Adso de Melk Severinus the herbalist

Prior Philip Jack Jackson (known also as Jack Builder) Tom Builder Alfred Builder Martha Ellen Aliena Richard (Richard of Kingsbridge) Hobbits: Frodo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Samwise

Darkness sphere – evil (Main antagonists) Morgana Antagonists in the Romans of the Round Table Jorge de Burgos Bernardo Gui (inquisitor) Malaquías (librarian) Berengario (librarian's assistant) Bishop Waleran Bigod Lord Percy Hamleigh, Earl of Shiring Lady Regan Hamleigh, Countess of Shiring William Hamleigh

Sauron (the Dark Lord) Saruman the White

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George Lucas

Chapter Twelve Gamgee, Peregrin Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck Wizard: Gandalf the Grey Elves: Galadriel (the lady of the lake), Legolas Greenleaf, Celeborn, etc. Dwarves: Gimli Humans: Aragorn (dúnedain), Boromir (dúnedain), Faramir (dúnedain), Theoden, King of Rohan, Eomer (rohirrim) Eowyn (rohirrim). Ents: Treebeard The Jedi Order (Yoda, Obi Wan Kenobi, etc.) Luke Skywalker Princess Leia Han Solo Chewbacca C-3PO R2-D2

(wizard) The Nazgûl Gríma Wormtongue Gollum The Balrog The Orcs (Army of the Dark Lord)

The Sith Darth Plagueis Darth Sidious, The Emperor Darth Vader The Imperial Army

Table 12-33 The medieval allusions in the contemporary tales studied are clear in this continuous battle between good and evil. The main representatives of both sides are clearly present in all the works: in Eco’s work, Guillermo de Baskerville versus Jorge de Burgos and Bernardo Gui; in Follett’s work, Prior Philip and the Builder family versus Bishop Waleran Bigod and the Hamleigh family; in Tolkien’s work, the community of the ring (made by men, elves, dwarves, hobbits and wizards), with the King Aragorn (who has a new Excalbur sword) versus Sauron (the Dark Side Lord), his wizard Saruman and the Nazgûls and the other characters belonging to the evil side—Merlin and the Lady of the Lake from medieval tales can also be found in Gandalf and Galadriel. In Star Wars the relation between the Round Table of King Arthur and the Jedi Knights is very clear. In the good side, the most important characters are Luke Skywalker and the Jedi knights who fight against the Sith and the Imperial Army; Yoda versus Darth Sidious, Luke Skywalker versus Darth Vader, and so on. Another relevant element is the image of the fallen angel. In two of these works there is one character turning to the dark side and who, in

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some cases, as with Anakin Skywalker (Darth Vader), is redeemed at some point in the story. The most significant examples are the following: Author J. R. R. Tolkien George Lucas

Character (fallen angel) Sméagol (Hobbit) > Gollum Saruman the White (wizard) Human Kings > The Nazgûl Anakin Skywalker (Jedi) > Darth Vader (Sith)

Is he redeemed? No No No Yes

Table 12-34

Symbolism of Numbers The number symbolism is clear, especially in two of the works studied: The Name of the Rose and The Lord of the Rings. Author Umberto Eco

Numbers used Number 3 (groups of victims) Number 4 (the building of the library) Number 7 (the number of days during which the story takes place) Number 9 (the number of deaths)

J. R. R. Tolkien

Number 1. The ring of power forged by Sauron, which dominates all the others. Number 3. The number of rings delivered to the Elves.

Number 7. The number of rings delivered to the dwarves.

Meaning of the numbers Number 3. The characters die following an ascending order of importance.. Number 4. A close universe, a world which disappears with the fire (the library): a metaphor for a time finishing and a time beginning. Number 7. A cycle, as in the Creation and the Apocalypse. Number 9. Transformation. It is a metaphor for the violent transition between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Number 1. The beginning of everything. That ring is the reason of the dominance of evil over good. It needs to be destroyed in order to restore harmony. Number 3. The Elves, as symbols of the Trinity (beginning, middle, end). They flourish, decay and revive in order to help men to restore harmony. Number 7. The dwarves have already finished their cycle of power. They will not revive again, although they

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Number 9. The number of rings delivered to the men.

will help men and the other members of the Community of the Rings to destroy Sauron. Number 9. Men undergo a permanent transformation. As they are mortal, they have to pass through the splendour and decay stages. The Lord of the Rings relates a new opportunity to achieve a life of peace and harmony.

Table 12-35

David Fighting Against Goliath In the stories analysed, the authors defend the weaker side in order to illustrate metaphorically the battle between good and evil, as in The Name of the Rose, The Pillars of the Earth and, in certain aspects, in The Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. In Eco’s work, a monk and a novice (who is the narrator) will face the power of the church, represented by the abbot, the Pope’s representative, Jorge de Burgos, and the Inquisition representative. It is an unfair war between superstition and reason, where some innocent victims from both sides will die. We can see the metaphor of David’s victory over Goliath in the peasant who is saved and not burnt in the fire. In Follett’s work there is a fight between a modest representative of the church (Prior of Kingsbridge) and a family of builders, and between the church power (Bishop Waleran Bigod) and the political power (Hamleigh family). In Tolkien’s work, although the hobbits are helped by men, elves, dwarves, wizards and ents, they will be the ones who destroy the ring. Against them, they have a Goliath, represented by Sauron. In Lucas’ work, David is the rebel army, with some brave characters but in a minority against Goliath, represented by the Imperial Armid, led by Darth Sidious and Darth Vader.

Searching for the Meaning of Life and Immortality In all the works analysed, there is a more or less explicit reflection on the meaning of life, mortality and immortality. In Eco, the reflection about the meaning of life and the end of life is made by Adso de Melk at the end of his life. Somehow, this narrator,

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used by Eco as an artefact, considers the transition between these two ages as a process of destruction. It is the never-ending story of humankind the eternal return of the same. It is directed to a better world, in which the history is not forgotten so will not be repeated. Follett’ metaphor is focussed on the change of generations, on the wish to progress and the hurdles to be surmounted by those who want good to win over evil. Again, this is a metaphor about the passing of time, about the meaning of the human ambitions and on the identical return of the same: the problems, the attitudes, the difficulties are the same over and over again, generation after generation. What remains is the hope in a future generation to make it better. Tolkien also tells a linear story, although located in a fantasy universe, with a beginning, a heart and dénouement. Once again, there is a symbolism surrounding the marriage between King Aragorn and the Elf princess, once Sauron is defeated, in a better world, not making the same mistakes, and a life of peace and harmony. In a way, Lucas sets out the same kind of story. Once the dark side is defeated, a new era is born. In that new era, a new Jedi Order is created, led by Luke Skywalker, to watch over the peace and harmony of the universe. There is also a place for love, as the union between Princess Leia and Hans Solo shows. Darth Vader’s offspring lead, one generation later, once the dark side is defeated, to the birth of a new world.

Conclusions On the one hand, as we have already proven in our study, the presence of medieval elements in the (literary or cinematographic) stories is more than obvious. The battle between good and evil, the presence of magical swords, knights, monks, princesses, wizards, spells, initiation trips and special powers are present in all these stories as the common thread to a greater or lesser importance depending on the work. On the other hand, in all of these works a reflection about universal topics (love, meaning of life and death, immortality, divine providence, meaning of time, etc.) is shown from a contemporary point of view, regardless the contextualization of the story: the Middle Ages in the case of Eco and Follett, and a fantasy universe in the case of Tolkien and Lucas. In conclusion, the human being is still asking him/herself about the meaning of this finite existence. He/She looks for the lost paradise which, in many cases, dates back to childhood, as Tolkien does when

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creating The Shire, inspired by the landscapes of his childhood, that idyllic universe, full of peace and harmony, to where the heroes (hobbits) return after having defeated evil. Although these works, specially the cinematographic or television versions of the books, are more informative than the works by which they are inspired, the truth is that they have introduced to the public these worries which have concerned writers and intellectuals for ages. The interest aroused by these universal topics is obvious if we consider the success of the works (books and films) analysed. These works have something in common: they make the addressees dream, feel thrilled, travel through time, reflect, wish, that if, look further, higher, to keep that strength which enables us to think positively about a real universe so full of contradictions and hopes as the universes created by Eco, Follett, Tolkien and Lucas.

Works Cited Alvar, Carlos. 1991. El rey Arturo y su mundo: Diccionario de la mitología artúrica. Madrid: Alianza. Aragón Fernández, Mª Aurora. 2003. Literatura del Grial. Siglos XII y XIII. Madrid: Síntesis, Historia de la literatura universal, 42. Arnold, Alan. 1980. Once Upon a Galaxy: A Journal of the Making of The Empire Strikes Back. New York: Ballantine Books. Barron, W.R.J. (ed.). 2012. The Arthur of the English: the Arthurian Legend in Medieval English Life and Literature. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Badel, P. Y. 1984. Introduction a la vie littéraire du Moyen Age. Paris: Dunod. Bouzereau, Laurent. 1997. The Annotated Screenplays. New York: Ballantines Books. Campbell, Joseph. 1991. The Power of Myth. New York:Anchor. Cañizares Fernández, Eugenio. 1992. El lenguaje del cine: semiología del discurso fílmico. Madrid: Universidad Complutense de Madrid. Carpenter, Humphrey. 1993. Las cartas de J. R. R. Tolkien. col. Christopher Tolkien, trad. Rubén Masera. Barcelona: Minotauro. Decker, Kevin S. 2005. Star Wars and Philosophy. New York: Open Court. Echard, S. 1998. Arthurian Narrative in the Latin Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Frappier, Jean. 1973. Amour courtois et table ronde. Genève: Librairie Droz. Gallais, Pierre. 1974. Genèse du roman occidental: Essais sur Tristan et Iseut. Paris: Ed. Tête des Feuilles. García Gual, C. 1994. Historia del rey Arturo y de los nobles y errantes caballeros de la Tabla Redonda: análisis de un mito literario, Madrid: Alianza Editorial. García Luque, Francisca. Adaptación cinematográfica y traducción intersemiótica. Estudio de El Nombre de la Rosa a partir de las versiones italiana, francesa, inglesa y española. Málaga: Universidad de Málaga (PhD Thesis). García Matarranz, Félix. 1988. Fuentes ideológicas e históricas de El Nombre de la rosa. Madrid: Universidad Complutense de Madrid. Henderson, Mary. 1997. Star Wars: The Magic of Myth. New York: Bantam. Lluch Crespo, Gemma. 2009. Stars wars, una manera clásica de contar aventuras. Alicante: Biblioteca virtual Miguel de Cervantes. Luque Nadal, Lucía. 2010. Fundamentos teóricos de los diccionarios lingüístico-culturales. Relaciones entre fraseología y culturología. Granada: Granada Lingvistica, 2010. Martínez López, Ana Belén. 2014. Terminología y traducción en el ámbito biosanitario (inglés-español). Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Ortega Arjonilla, Emilio. 1996. Apuntes para una teoría hermenéutica de la traducción. Málaga: Universidad de Málaga. Ortega Arjonilla, Emilio. “Sobre percepciones, transmisión del sentido y barreras culturales en la traducción”. To be published in 2015. Pearce, Joseph. 2000. Tolkien: hombre y mito. trad. Estela Gutiérrez Torres. Barcelona: Minotauro. Porter, John M. 2003. The Tao of Star Wars. New York: Humanics Trade Group. Rinzler, J.W. 2007. The Making of Star Wars: The Definitive Story Behind the Original Film (Star Wars). New York: Lucas Books. Santasusana Gallardo, Joan Ramón. 2012. Los mitos artúricos en el cine y la televisión. Películas y series sobre el rey Arturo y los caballeros de la mesa redonda.Retrieved from: http://janonomar.blogspot.com.es/2012/03/los-mitos-arturicos-en-elcine-y-la.html Snodgrass, Jon. 2004. Peace Knights of the Soul. New York: Inner Circle Publishing. Staub, Dick. 2005. Christian Wisdom of the Jedi Masters. NJew York: Jossey-Bass.

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Steiner, Roger J. 1990. Castles, Queens and Troubadours. Delaware: University of Delaware. King Arthur: The History, the Legend, the King. Retreieved from: http: //www.britannia.com/history/h12.html Wierzbicka, Anna. 1997. Understanding cultures through their keywords. New York: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, Anna. 1999. Emotions across Languages and Cultures. Diversity and Universals. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wikipedia.org (20-01-2015). The Lord of the Rings. Retrieved from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lord_of_the_Rings Wikipedia.org (17-01-2015). The Name of the Rose. Retrieved from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Name_of_the_Rose Wikipedia.org (15-01-2015). The Pillars of the Earth. Retrieved from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pillars_of_the_Earth Wikipedia.org (15-01-2015). Star Wars. Retrieved from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Star_Wars_planets_and_moons

PART V:

BRIDGES ACROSS MEDIEVAL CULTURE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ARTHURIAN TOPICS IN MEDIEVAL GERMAN EPIC: EREC, IWEIN, PARZIVAL MARÍA DEL CARMEN BALBUENA-TOREZANO

First Allusions to the Arthurian World in Literature. Historia Brittonum, Historia Regum Britanniae and Roman de Brut During the second half of the twelfth century, a new literary genre arises in Northern France, the roman, which implies, with ecclesiastical literature written in Latin, a new way of writing. This early example of novels written in vernacular languages and addressed to a secular audience brought about the abandonment of oral literature. In this first stage of French literature, the figure of King Arthur suffers, just like the genre in general, a fast transformation. In its origin, this figure was considered from a historical perspective, but soon enough it would become a fictional character. This deep change is mostly due to the creation of the quintessential French “novelist” of the twelfth century, Chrétien de Troyes. Nevertheless, the Arthurian topics were already present in other texts of the period. For instance, the Anglo-Norman clergyman Wace introduced the Arthurian topic for the first time in his Roman de Brut which he translated from the French Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae. Before these authors, in the seventh century, the Welsh monk Nennius had already mentioned Arthur as the British victor in a series of battles against the Saxons, in Historia Brittonum. In fact, as a result of the collapse of the Roman Empire, the inhabitants of Britannia became involved in a desperate defence of their island against the Saxon invaders that came from the North Sea. Geoffrey’s Historia Regum Britanniae, also known as De gestis Britonum, is, without any doubt, one of the most relevant literary pieces of

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the Anglo-Norman period. It is divided into twelve books that narrate the record of the kings that ruled in Britannia before and after the arrival of Christ and three of them are entirely devoted to King Arthur. This chronicle is especially valuable, since it contributes in a crucial manner to the spreading of Celtic oral traditions about King Arthur and this text becomes very influential to the later French work of Chrétien de Troyes. It is here that the Breton king appears with his magnificent court, which is comparable to the one that Emperor Charlemagne had in the Germanic sphere. Also, in Geoffrey’s text, Merlin the sorcerer appears: Geoffrey includes Merlin in his Historia for the first time, giving him the features that will accompany him in posterior texts of the Arthurian tradition: prophet (vates), architect, a skilled magician and war instructor (Cirlot 1995, 24).

Geoffrey portrays Arthur as a Breton commander that lived in the sixth century and fought against the Saxons in the battle of Mount Badon. Therefore, Arthur is introduced as a Breton, not as a Norman, and the figure of Merlin the prophet is included. This character foretells that Normandy would lose the British Isles and the Breton kingdom would be recovered (Jackson 1994, 4). Thus, Arthur’s story coincides with the days of glory of Breton history that Geoffrey develops in five chapters: 1) the conquest of Great Britain; 2) the conquest of the neighbouring islands and of Gaul; 3) the coronation celebrations; 4) the war against the Romans; 5) Mordred’s betrayal. As a result, Geoffrey’s Historia Regum Britanniae builds the myth of Arthur that will become more relevant in the later translation by Wace. This translation meant the adaptation of the story to the chivalric context, employing a terminology that was inherent in the context in which the story was born (Cirlot 1995, 30): “The descriptions of the courtly atmosphere are amplified and, above all, adapted to the usual language of the knight’s Courts of the twelfth century”. In fact, while Geoffrey refers to mulieres and militia, Wace employs the terms dames and chevalerie. Therefore, it is precisely here that the Arthurian world is for the first time identified with the courtly world. An example of this can be found in the coronation of Arthur, which appears in both texts (Cirlot 1995, 33–34): Upon the approach of the feast of Pentecost, Arthur, the better to demonstrate his joy after such triumphant success, and for the more solemn observation of that festival, and reconciling the minds of the princes that were now subject to him, resolved, during that season, to hold

Arthurian Topics in Medieval German Epic: Erec, Iwein, Parzival a magnificent Court, to place the crown upon his head, and to invite all the kings and dukes under his subjection, to the solemnity. And when he had communicated his design to his familiar friends, he pitched upon the City of Legions as a proper place for his purpose. For besides its great wealth above the other cities, its situation, which was in Glamorganshire upon the river Uske, near the Severn sea, was most pleasant, and fit for so great a solemnity. For on one side it was washed by that noble river, so that the kings and princes from the countries beyond the seas might have the convenience of sailing up to it. On the other side, the beauty of the meadows and groves, and magnificence of the royal palaces with lofty gilded roofs that adorned it, made it even rival the grandeur of Rome. (Geoffrey de Monmouth, Historia Regum Britanniae) Artus enora toz les suens Molt ama eet dona as buens Por ses richesces demostrer Et por fere de soi parler Prist conseil se li fu loé Qu’ a la Pentecoste an esté Feїst son barnage asanbler Adonc se feїst coroner; A Calion an Glamorgan Mandast toz ses barons par ban La citez ert bien herbergies Et molt estoit bien aesiee; A cal tans, ce distrent li home, De riches palés sanbloit Rome. Carlions dejoste Osche siet. Un flun qui an Saverne chiet; Cil qui d’autre terre veneoient Par cele eve venir pooient; De l’une par test la riviere. De l’autre la forest pleniere. (…) Por les riches herbergemanz Et por les granz aeisemanz por les biaus bois, por les biaus prez, Por les biaus leus que voz oez, 1 Volt Artus la sa cort tenir.

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Classic Artusroman: Hartmann von Aue In the eleventh century, Britannia was a place in which two civilizations met: those who employed Celtic languages and those other who, coming from the European continent, employed Latin. With the arrival of the Normans, the Anglo-Norman culture acted as a bridge between the islands in the West, and Northern France. Arthurian epics were introduced to Europe, without any doubt, by Chrétien de Troyes, through his novels Erec, Lancelot, Yvain and Perceval. The original chivalric epic of German literature is based on Chrétien de Troyes, who also reflects in his works the topics of Britain and the Arthurian world. Nevertheless, German writers will focus in their works more on the action scenes, culminating in a new literary work. In this way, in the British cycle, King Arthur is “the embodiment of the fair and noble leader” and his court is “the departing and destination point of all the knights’ heroic quests” (Roetzer & Siguan 2012, 35). As a result, the Arthurian topic is part of a key moment in Medieval German literature: Zur Artusepik werden jene Epen der französischen und der deutschen Literatur des Mittelalters gezählt, deren Helden zur legendären Rittergemeinschaft um den König Artus – eine Gestalt der keltischen Sagenwelt – gehören. Der keltische Stoffkreis um König Artus war feudalideologischen Verklärungs- und Erziehungsanliegen insofern besonders zugänglich, als er die besten Voraussetzungen für den epischen Ausbau zu einer aristokratischen Wunschwelt bot (Spiewok 2010, 685).

The most important author to introduce the Arthurian epic in the German language is Hartmann von Aue, author of two of the greatest examples of Arthurian epics: Erec and Iwein. Chrétien’s romances inspired both texts, but there is a fundamental difference: the crucial role that the narrator plays in the German texts (Ridder 2001, 545).

Erec In Hartmann’s first novel, as also in Iwein, the opposition between the chivalric-courtly world and the external world is evident. This dichotomy, embodied in the hero and Arthur’s court, is equivalent to the opposition between the individual and society. About Arthurian society, Ster affirms: “Die Artusgesellschaft ist eine huis clos – eine geschlossene Gesellschaft. König Artus fühlt sich selbst als primus inter pares, wird vom Hofstaat

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aber klar als Regent und damit als Gesetz anerkannt. Um sich schart der König eine Gruppe auserwählter Ritter, die in beiden Epen auch nicht erweitert wird. Außerdem leben bei Hofe zahlreiche wunderschöne Hofdamen” (2003, 104). King Arthur’s court is simultaneously the departing point and the final destination of the âventiure fought by the protagonist. The court is portrayed as a harmonious whole and those around the king frequently celebrate religious festivities, jousts or hunting campaigns. Therefore, Arthurian romance starts with an alteration of the order that was imposed in the courtly world. In Erec, the action begins when Queen Guinevere—die künegîn, —a companion lady and young Erec meet an unknown knight, a lady and a midget that was travelling with them. The midget attacks the lady that accompanied the queen and the young knight with a whip. The lack of experience of the knight can be compared to Hartmann’s lack of experience as a narrator: “and in Erec, Hartmann appears as an inexperienced, but talented and eager young author and narrator who, in his authorial modifications to Chrétien’s text, and in his own style of narration, shows a particular involvement with the learning experiences of knightly youth” (Jackson 1994, 36). Such unmannerly behaviour is also shown in a rude speech that is unsuitable for a queen and a knight from a foreign court. Nevertheless, this insult takes place outside Arthur’s court, while hunting: nû riten si unlange vrist neben einander beide, ê daz si über die heide

In this scene, we see how all the threats that endanger the knights and their ladies always occur far from the figure of Arthur and his realm. Consequently, the king and his court are identified with a place where peace reigns, appropriate to the concepts of Friedenkönig and Friedenraum. Through the romance, Erec will evolve from a character that, due to his lack of experience doesn’t contribute to the order of the Court, to a figure that after returning will help to maintain the equilibrium of Arthurian society: Als Erec am Artushof im Walde unfreillig anlangt, steht sein freundloser Zustand im Gegensatz zum Artushof als dem Ort, wo Freude zu herrschen hat. Erec ist deswegen ‚Freudenminderer‘, anders als bei der Schlußeinkehr, wo er als ‚Freudenmehrer‘ erscheint (Schröder 1972, 294).

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The importance given to the relation between Arthur and his court is such that we sometimes find a detailed description of the place. For instance, the description of the tavelrunde runs for more than eighty verses: diu küneginne sî nam friuntlîchen bî ir hant und gienc dâ sîm rehte mit manegem guoten knehte dâ ze der tavelrunde. (...) Gâwein der guote kneht: dâ bî Êrec fil de roi Lac, und Lanzelot von Arlac, und Gornemanz von Grôharz, (...) und Ywein fil li roi Vriên, unde ze allen êren snel Ywân von Lônel: ouch saz ir dâ mêre Ìwân von Lafultêre (...)

After overcoming the final quest, the joie de la Court, Erec returns to the Court, with Enite, his wife. Thus, the cycle that was started by the King is closed by him: Nû weste der künec Artûs Die geste gerne in sînem hûs. (...) Zuo in sprach der künec dô: „ir herren, wir suln gân schouwen Unser niuwekomen vrouwen, und trœsten si nâch ir leide“ ûf stuonde si dô beide, der künec Artûs und Êrec. (...) Und als si der künec ersach lîden umbe ir ungemach gelîche klage, gelîche riuwe, gelîcher stæte, gelîcher triuwe, gelîcher schœne, gelîcher jugent, gelÎher zuht, gelîcher tugent, gelîcher wæte, gelîcher güete, gelîcher ahte gelÎcher gemüete,

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diz dûhte in wîplîch und guot diz dûhte in wîplîch und guot und bewegete im den muot und muoste im wol gevallen. Er sprach vor in allen: „Êrec, lieber neve mîn, dû solt von schulden immer sîn geprîset unde gêret, wan dû hâst wol gemêret der enwerde nimmer mêre vrô“ (vv.9910-9950).

Iwein From the references made to Erec, we can deduce that Iwein is a later creation. It is a free recreation of Chrétien’s Chévalier au lyon, but the language of this German version is richer, as F. Bech points out in his introduction: “Die Stellung des Dichters dieser französischen Quellen gegenüber ist hier noch selbständiger und freier als beim Erec, die Kunst gereifter und vollendeter” (1868, 12). Among all the texts by Hartmann, it is in Iwein that King Arthur and his court become more prominent. Nonetheless, it is important to bear in mind that Arthur does not always take part in the action. Thus, Zutt makes a distinction between two types of scenes: a) those in which Arthur, alone or in the company of Guinevere, is present but does not play a significant role in the action; and b) those in which the King does intervene in a direct manner (1979, 6). I consider it necessary to add a third category: those scenes in which the King is not present but does take part in the action, such as in the prologue. To the first type of scenes (a) correspond the feasting at Pentecost, the report made by Laudine or the judgment of Iwein by Lunete. The second type of scenes (b) includes the ending of Pentecost celebrations, the narration of Guinevere’s kidnapping and the joust that, promoted by the daughters of Count of the Black Thorn, takes place at the court. I will now consider the prologue and the three moments in which Arthur takes part in an active manner, since they are central to the development of the story: Prologue to Iwein The King is not present and does not take part in the action. In the prologue, Hartmann does not follow the tradition of praising the

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protagonist, but on the contrary, does honour King Arthur, who is famed and honourable due to his adherence to the chivalric code: Swer an rehte güete wendet sîn gemüete, dem volget sœlde und êre. des gît gewisse lêre künec Artûs der guote, der mit rîters muote nâch lobe kunde strîten. er hât bîn sînen zîten gelebet alsô schône daz er der êren krône dô truoc und noch sîn name treit (vv. 1–11)

In these verses, Hartman not only describes but also explicates how a true knight should behave: rehte güete, sœlde, êre, rîters muot. Iwein will not follow these rules and, consequently, he will be deprived of all his consideration and honour: Er ist lasterlîcher schame iemer vil gar erwert, der noch nâch sînem site vert (vv. 18–20)

Ending of the Pentecost celebrations King Arthur enters and makes the following oath: in fourteen days’ time, he and his knights will ride to the spring to take revenge for Kalogrenant’s offence: bî ime swuor er des zehant (daz hiez er über al sagen) daz er in vierzehn tagen und rehte an sant Jôhannes naht mít áller sîner maht zuo dem brunnen wolde komen. (vv. 898–903)

Once again, the space beyond the King’s Court is described as a realm full of dangers, inhabited by thieves, rogues and also by people that even if wearing armour are not worth being considered as real knights.

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Guinevere’s kidnapping Within the Arthurian cycle, the King himself is fundamental, but the Queen and many other knights are also very important. In other words, many secondary subplots meet and in those moments the protagonists will frequently be the King, Guinevere or some of the other knights. In Iwein, one of these secondary scenes is the kidnapping of Queen Guinevere. Hartmann refers to this event on three occasions: in the first case, the reader is only informed that the Queen has been kidnapped and that Gawain rides in her search (vv. 4290–4302). In the second case, the kidnapping is explained in full detail (vv. 4528–4726). Last, we contemplate Arthur’s joy when Gawain liberates the Queen from Meljaganz (vv. 5678–81). If we put all these three scenes together, we get a single secondary action. Nonetheless, as Shaw points out, it is not a key moment in Hartmann’s romance: Diese Erzählung bildet aber kein Bestandteil der ‘Iwein’-Handlung. Dies wird bereits durch die Form zum Ausdruck gebracht, in der dieses drei Ginoverstellen in die Haupthandlung eingeführt werden, nämlich in Berichten, die dem Helden durch andere Personen vorgetragen werden, oder im Rahmen eines langes Exkurses, in dem Iwein selbst keine Rolle spielt (1975, 5625–5967).

Chrétien’s Yvain also tells this scene as a supplementary subplot. An important difference between the French and the German texts must be noted. While in Chrétien’s romance it is Lancelot who rescues the Queen, in the case of Hartmann’s, the hero will be Sir Gawain. Some critics have pointed out the possibility that Chrétien chose Lancelot because he was not familiar with the less famous character of Sir Gawain. The daughters of the Count of Black Thorn’s joust The Count of Black Thorn had two daughters who fight over the father’s inheritance. The first daughter does not give her younger sister any part of his father’s legacy, and thus a joust is organized to solve the argument. The first daughter arrives at Arthur’s court and convinces Gawain to become her paladin, a situation that leaves her sisters in a position of clear disadvantage. As a result, the younger sister chooses “the knight of the lion” and that is why Iwein returns to the Court. In âventiure XII, Arthur tries to intercede, so as not to lose his best knight. But an agreement among the sisters becomes impossible and it is decided that Gawain and Iwein (whose identity remains unknown) will fight to the death. Hartmann explains that they fought without any interruption from dusk until dawn. At that moment they decided to pause. For a second time,

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Arthur tries to arbitrate, and now the younger sister decides to renounce her inheritance rights. At that point, the true identity of the “knight of the lion” is discovered and Iwein stays at the court until his many injuries heal: Zehant wart in beiden ein ruowe bescheiden, dâ in genâde unde gemach zuo ir wunden geschach. arzâte gewan her Gâwein, im selben unde inzwein, ze heilenne ir wunden ouch pflac ir z’allen stunden diu künegin untter künec Artûs. des bûweten sî daz siechhûs víl únlange stunt ê daz sî wâren gesunt (vv. 7769–7780)

These three scenes constitute a clear example of the importance of Arthur’s speech: when the King takes part in the action, it is always by speaking. Nonetheless, it is not a mere exchange of information, since Arthur’s words have global effects and consequences.

Wolfram von Eschenbach and the Arthurian Story of the Grail In Perceval, Chrétien links for the first time the Arthurian cycle with the Grail. In the case of Wolfram, even if the source of inspiration is clear, we find so many modifications and differences that it is not a version of the French text, but rather an autonomous and genuine new story. I will now consider two important moments in the story in which the Arthurian court plays a crucial role. The first one occurs when Parzival arrives at the court (Third Book), which allows the reader to discover an ideal world, unknown to the protagonist and perfect. The knight is so stunned by this place that he thinks that he is contemplating God when he meets the King’s knights since their armours are so shiny. In this episode, as with Hartmann’s texts, the court becomes a prime place in the life of any knight. Secondly, it shows the atmosphere and zeitgeist in which courtly life takes place. As a result, the Arthurian world becomes the perfect background for the different actions, adventures and different quests the knights must face (Sixth Book).

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Parzival meets Arthur Unlike the texts by Hartmann I have considered above and that opened with references to Arthur’s court, Parzival does not introduce the Court until the Third Book, when the protagonist meets Arthur’s knights for the first time: (…)Der knappe vrâgte vürbaz du nennest ritter: waz ist daz? hâstu niht gotlîcher craft, sô sage mir, wer gît ritterschaft?‹ ›daz tuot der künec Artûs. junchêrre, komt ir in des hûs, der bringet iuch an ritters namen, daz ir iuch nimmer durfet schamen. ir mugt wol sîn von ritters art. (III, 123, 3–11)

After meeting the knights, Parzival, who has decided to become part of the courtly society, lets his mother know his firm decision to become a knight at the court: muoter, ich sach vier man noch liehter danne got getân: die sagten mir von ritterschaft. Artûses küneclîchiu craft sol mich nâch ritters êren an schildes ambet kêren. (III, 126, 9–14)

Regardless of Herzeloyde’s pleas, Parzival abandons the forests of his childhood, wishing to arrive at the court as soon as possible: der knapppe balde wart enein, im was gein Artûse gâch. (III, 128, 14–15)

Once in the court, Wolfram goes back to Hartmann von Haue, author of other stories in which the hero also stays at Arthur’s court: mîn hêr Hartman von Ouwe, vrou Ginovêr iuwer vrouwe und iuwer hêrre der künc Artûs, der kumt ein mîn gast ze hûs. bitet hüeten sîn vor spotte. (III, 143, 21–25)

The behaviour of the young man is, nonetheless, not very polite and results in rudeness: he spills wine on Queen Guinevere, addresses the

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kings without due respect and asks outright who will make him a knight. The scene finishes with Arthur’s speech, where the King explains to Parzival how to act in order to become a knight: (…) ich sihe hie mangen Artûs: wer sol mich ritter machen? (...) er sprach got halde iuch [hêrren] alle, benamen den künec und des wîp. mir gebôt mîn muoter an den lîp, daz ich die gruozte sunder: unt die ob [der] tavelrunder von rehtem prîse heten stat, die selben si mich grüezen bat. (...) Im ist ouch leit daz er den wîn Vergôz ûf die künegîn. (...) do besach in ouch diu künegîn, ê si schiede von dem palas, dâ si dâ vor begozzen was. Artûs an den knappen sach: zuo dem tumbe er dô sprach ›junchêrre, got vergelte iu gruoz, den ich vil gerne dienen muoz mit [dem] lîbe und mit dem guote des ist mir wol ze muote. (III, 147–150)

The Arthurian universe as a background for secondary subplots The next relevant reference to the King and his court appears in the Sixth Book, when Arthur abandons his castle to search for the “Red Knight”, who has become worthy of joining the King’s court after liberating Clamide and Kingrun: Welt ir nu hoeren wie Artûs von Karidoel ûz sîme hûs und ouch von sîme lande schiet, als im diu messenîe riet? sus reit er mit den werden sîns landes und anderre erden, diz maere giht, den ahten tac sô daz er suochens pflac den der sich deer ritter rôt nante und im solh êre bPot

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daz er in schiet von kumber grôz, dô er den künec Ithêren schôz und Clâmidên und Kingrûn ouch sande gein den Bertûn in sînen hof besunder. über die tavelrunder wolte er in durch gesellekeit laden. (…) (VI, 280, 1–17).

Some celebrations and courtly events are also mentioned, like the story of the King’s falconer, who has lost the best of his hunting hawks: Sîne valkenaer von Karidoel riten des des âbnts zem Plimizoel durch beizen, dâ si schaden kuren. ir besten valken si verluren: (...) (VI, 281, 23–26)

During the long novel, the references to the King, his knights and the place they inhabit are frequent. As Spiewok notes: “Der Hof des Königs Artus verdankt seine Bedeutung nicht mehr der Machtfülle des Herrschers, sondern den ruhmreichen Taten der Artusritter” (2010, 687).

Conclusions As I have shown, German epics contain numerous references to King Arthur, his kingdom and courtly code. The following points must be highlighted: • In Arthurian epics, there are two different understandings or clashes of worlds. First, we find the knightly ideal, embodied by King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, the knights and the society at court. On the other hand, the external world is portrayed as threatening and wild. Arthur is shown as the paladin of the unfortunate and links nobility with the commoners. His knights are, consequently, exemplary men that conquer and do not accept the possibility of failing. • In German epics, King Arthur is not a feudal lord in the strict sense. On the contrary, he becomes the perfect symbol for an ideal and perfect social order that is simultaneously feudal and courtly and where nobility serves the common people.

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•

Arthur is frequently identified with a specific place and society: his court and the knights that have been chosen to be part of his Table and the ladies that live with them. • Arthur becomes the very centre of the court and he is the exemplary knight, exhibiting value, honour, loyalty, service to God, defender of the ladies at all times. • The fact that King Arthur is portrayed as the absolute referent for any future ruler, and as the maintainer of a happy society, turns him into a static archetype that is unable to evolve. As a result, the Arthurian cycle is part of that very context that allows the secondary subplots to take place. • King Arthur’s speech is that of a king but also of a legislator. His words do not simply aspire to achieve political goals but also to foster human virtue, through courtly behaviour. The Arthurian world that appears in German novels is based on a feudal law that is not rooted in politics but rather in moral foundations and is based on the most noble of principles that are present in Arthur himself, as the ideal king.

Works Cited Aue, Hartmann von. 1972. Erec. Frankfurt: Fischer Verlag. _____. 1868. Iwein. Edición e introducción de Fedor Bech. Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus. Cirlot, Victoria. 1995. La novela artúrica: orígenes de la ficción en la cultura europea. Barcelona: Novográfik. Eschenbach, Wolfram von. 2010. Parzival. Edición y traducción al alemán actual de Wolfgang Spiewok. Stuttgart: Reclam. Frenzel, Elisabeth. 1994. Diccionario de argumentos de la literatura universal. Madrid: Gredos. Jackson, W. H. 1994. Chivalry in twelfth-century Germany. The Works of Hartmann von Aue. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. Köhler, Erich. 2002. Ideal und Wirklichkeit in der höfischen Epik: Studien zum Form der frühen Artus- und Graldichtung. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer. Ridder, Klaus. 2001. “Fiktionalität und Autorität. Zum Artusroman des 12. Jahrhunderts”. Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte 4, 537–560.

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Roetzer, Hans Gerd and Marisa Siguan. 2012. Historia de la literatura alemana. Desde los inicios hasta la actualidad. Barcelona: Publicacions i Edicions de la Universitat de Barcelona. Schröder, Joachim. 1972. Zu Darstellung und Funktion der Schauplätze in den Artusromanen Hartmanns von Aue. Göppingen: Kümmerle Verlag. Shaw, Frank. 1975. “Die Ginoverentführung in Hartmanns ‘Iwein’“. Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur 104, H. 1, 32-40. Ster, Judith. 2003. Der Artushof in Hartmanns Erec und Iwein als utopischer Entwurf. Vienna: Diplomarbeit. Universität Wien.

Notes 1

Arthur cherished tenderly his servants, granting largely, and promising richly, to the worthy. He took counsel with his barons, and devised that for the louder proclamation of his fame and wealth, he would hold a solemn feast at Pentecost, when summer was come, and that then in the presence of his earls and baronage he would be crowned king. Arthur commanded all his lords on their allegiance to meet him at Caerleon in Glamorgan. He desired to be crowned king in Caerleon, because it was rich beyond other cities, and marvellously pleasant and fair. Pilgrims told in those days that the mansions of Caerleon were more desirable than the palaces of Rome. This rich city, Caerleon, was builded on the Usk, a river which falls within the Severn. He, who came to the city from a strange land, might seek his haven by this fair water. On one side of the town flowed this clear river; whilst on the other spread a thick forest. Now by reason of the lofty palaces, the fair woods and pastures, the ease and content, and all the delights of which you have heard, Arthur desired to hold his Court at Caerleon, and to bid his barons to attend him every one. (Wace, Roman de Brut)


CHAPTER FOURTEEN BRETON LAIS IN MIDDLE ENGLISH: RECEPTION AND CONTINUITY MANUELA ÁLVAREZ-JURADO

The goal of this paper is to analyse a lyrical composition that is not very well known but was extremely popular at the time of its composition and had a profound influence on later literary texts. I am referring to lais, which were originally musical compositions performed by Gaulish bards or roaming Bretons with the aid of a musical instrument (generally the harp). The etymology of the term lai also shows the Celtic background of these compositions. As becomes evident, the roots of these poems are diverse and complex: bards, Gauls, Bretons, Celts. . . . In fact, many elements from different origins have left their imprints on these medieval poems. At the same time, I am convinced that it is this very eclectic origin that is responsible for the success they have enjoyed even centuries after their original composition. The oldest lais we have date back to circa 1170. They are included in a collection of Anglo-Norman lais composed by Marie de France, a French poetess who wrote in Anglo-Norman French during the last decades of the twelfth century and first years of the thirteenth. Among the lais that are considered as of Breton origin (according to a set of features that I will refer to in later sections of this paper) we can distinguish between lyrical and narrative lais (Delacourt 2000, 35). Lyrical lais were pieces that were sung. These compositions were structured in stanzas with a variable number of verses. The older ones were written during the twelfth century and they generally deal with courtly themes that were not related to Breton topics. They are generally known as lais courtois. Narrative lais, on the other hand, are short and deal with love topics, with many Celtic elements, and take place in a purely Breton setting. They are known as lais Bretons (Cifuentes 2002, 174–5). In this paper I will consider lais Bretons.

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The Lai breton has traditionally been considered as a short novel that was transmitted through the Celtic period of Great Britain and deals with love and supernatural topics. Thus, all these lais are rich in magical elements and mysterious scenes and take place in a Breton or Celtic background. Their main goal is to preserve the memory of a notable historical event. According to Elisa Cifuentes, lais Bretons are easily identifiable, since they follow a given composition and show the same particular narrative structure. This same scholar affirms that lais were radically original, because unlike romans classiques, they do not deal with Christian topics, preferring instead the rich tradition of Celtic legends and mythology. Lais Bretons will be fundamental to the introduction of the Arthurian cycles in France, because these ancient Celtic literary manifestations will have a phenomenal influence on Medieval French writers. As noted above, Marie de France composed the most famous and probably the first lais in the twelfth century. They were included in a collection of twelve succinct poems eight syllables long, written in AngloNorman. As a consequence of the brevity of these poems, their narrative structure is quite simple, characters tend to be portrayed in general terms and the narrator does not intervene frequently (Stévanovitch 2010, 9). Very little is known about the biography of Marie de France and, as a result, scholars have interpreted her own words in different ways: “Marie ai num, si sui de France…”. Some scholars argue that the author was in fact Marie de Champagne, daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine; while some other experts argue that the true author was the abbess of Shaftesbury, sister of Henry II. It is also important to note that Mary of Beaumont, widow of the Baron Hugues Talbot of Cleuville, has been identified with Marie de France as well. A biographical fact that is undoubted is that she lived far from her French place of birth. She probably lived in England, since her poems demonstrate a good knowledge of the country and its language, so it is evident that the king to whom she dedicated her poems is Henry II Plantagenet. En l’honur de vus, nobles reis, Ki tan estes pruz e curteis, A ki tute joie s’encline E en qui quoer tuz biens racine, M’entremis des lais asssembler, Par rime faire e reconter. (Rychner 1966, 2)

Marie was a well-read woman who read Latin fluently and included several references to classical and contemporary authors. She also

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translated some of her poems from Latin, like Henry de Saltrey’s L’Espurgatoire de Saint Patrice. The Anglo-Norman court in which Marie lived fostered her cultural development, since during the twelfth century the Anglo-Norman nobility enjoyed a renewed French spirit, full of sophistication and refinements. All these socio-cultural elements will affect Marie’s lais in a crucial manner. As is well known, from the fourteenth century on, English became the literary language of the country, with the appearance of the seminal Canterbury Tales by Chaucer. There are several reasons that justify the switch from French to English as the vehicle for cultural and literary expression. First, the emergence of a middle class that vindicated the use of English in order to separate themselves from the French-speaking nobility. Another important factor was the several epidemics known as “black death” that dramatically diminished the European population. It is also important to remember the different peasants’ revolts. These peasants repeated different slogans in English in which they demanded better wages, always refusing to use French in these slogans, since they considered that as the language of the oppressor. Last, but not least, in a session of the English Parliament that took place in the year 1337, Froissart addressed the Parliament in English, explaining that it was “easier for him to express himself in his own mother language”. From 1362, English is accepted as the official parliamentary language and from 1438 its official documents are no longer be published in Latin, but in English (Crépin 2007, 35–6). The adoption of English as the literary language contributed to the democratization of culture, since English books were more accessible to the emergent middle class that was mainly composed of the bourgeois and merchants. Nonetheless, French literature remained important, thanks to the many English translations that kept appearing, and as a result the influence of medieval French literature in England will be seminal. In this paper I will focus on the two most extended varieties of Breton lais: French Breton lais and Middle English Breton lais. The later ones are based on their French predecessors and take several elements from them. Nonetheless, they were composed much later and show important structural differences. I will try to prove that both compositions share a common genealogy, trying to highlight the common elements between the Middle English and Anglo-Norman lais. Middle English lais are clearly inspired by, or even adapted or translated from, Anglo-Norman lais and are divided into three different groups, according to their structure and date of composition. The oldest group dates back to the first years of the fourteenth century and includes

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four poems: Le Freine, Sir Landeval, Sir Orfeo and Sir Dégaré. The first two are direct descendants of Marie de France’s lais, of which they are adaptations. Le Freine is an adaptation of the lai du Fresne and Sir Landeval adapts the lai de Lanval. Sir Orfeo, on the contrary, is a truly original Breton composition that deals with the classic love story of Orpheus and Eurydice, set in a fantastic Celtic background. Sir Dégaré can be described as a heroic quest, with a clear tendency towards psychological exploration. The second group includes Sir Launfal, Emaré, Sir Gowther and The Erle of Tolous, written during the second half of the fourteenth century. As I will show with further detail in later sections of this paper, the connection between Sir Launfal and Sir Landeval is very important. The audience of lais changed its taste in a progressive but fast manner. Thus, from a refined and sophisticated set of addressees, the poets soon had to write their compositions with a very different audience in mind that belonged to the new middle class and was not so well equipped to appreciate (or demand) the literary nuances of previous compositions. As a result, new topics were introduced and the general poetic approach varied in many ways. As a quintessential example, Sir Gowther introduces the fantastic character of a demon that raped nuns, burnt monasteries and executed people in the most brutal and inhuman ways. In this lai there are virtually no connections to the Breton tradition and the action moves to Austria and Italy. In a similar way, The Erle of Tolous and Émaré also place the action in Germany, and even if it is true that they deal with a love story, these poems do not contain any of the supernatural elements that characterized Breton lais. Nonetheless, even when the compositions are not set in a Breton context, they do not contain supernatural fantasy or elements and their topics depart significantly from the original tradition; their authors insist on the necessity of considering them as Breton lais: “tiré d’un lai de Bretagne” (Sir Gowther), “un lai de Bretagne” (The Erle of Tolous), “l’un des lais du pays breton” (Émaré). According to John B. Beston (1974), one of the key differences between French lais and those written in Middle English is the absence of a central plot in the case of the English ones. The original French poems did centre their action on a very specific historical event and their goal was to allow the continuation of the memory of the fantastic ancient adventures that took place in their mythical Breton past. This idea is evident in the following passage from Marie de France: Mut unt esté noble barum Cil de Bretaine, li Bretun!

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Par curteisie e par noblesce, Des aventures qu’il oeient, Ki a plusurs genz aveneient Fere les lais pur remembrance, Q’u’um nes meïst en ubliance.

Mireille Séguy (2014), another scholar who has devoted her academic career to the examination of lais, does not agree with Beston and affirms that Middle English lais are far from forgetting their Breton past. On the contrary, this expert argues that this past is fundamental to them, even if the nature of the past is quite different. For instance, in Le Freine, Dégaré and Launfal the memory becomes painful and in Orfeo or in Le Conte du Franklin the past is not forgotten but openly and willingly rejected. Thus, Séguy maintains that English lais are continually indebted to French ones, as Sir Launfal proves. This poem is an adaptation of Marie de France’s fourteenth-century Lanval. As Colette Stévanovitch (2009) explains, this lai became very popular and received several adaptations and versions in other languages. The poems Lanval, Launfal and Landeval exhibit several notable differences, but from my point of view, their similitudes are much more prominent and do justify their relation. Launfal was composed by Thomas Chestre, as the author himself explains in line 1039 of the poem: “Thomas Chestre mathe thy tale”. No biographical data is known of Chestre, but the stylistic features of this poem are similar to the ones in Octavien and Libaeus Desconus, two compositions in verse that are included in the very same manuscript where Launfal appeared, the Cotton Caligula A., from the British Library. As a consequence, several scholars have thought that these texts are the creation of the same author. Regarding the composition date, it is also unknown but evidences suggest that it was written by the end of the fourteenth century. What is unquestionable is that this poem was inspired by Marie de France’s Lanval. Nonetheless, the influence is not direct, but transmitted by an English translation of the Anglo-Norman lai. This translation is now lost, and therefore unavailable. According to some scholars, Landeval (also written in Middle English) was also inspired by the same lost translation that inspired Lanval. Close comparisons of both texts show many different aspects, but their link becomes evident as well. Among the differences, Landeval includes three monologues in which the protagonist shows his sorrow: “Who hath no good, goode can he none, And I am here in vnchut londe,

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Chapter Fourteen And no gode haue vnder honde. Men wille me hold for a wreche; Where I be-come I ne reche”. He lepe vpon a coursier, With-oute grome or squire, And rode for the yn a mornynge To dryve a-wey longynge. (Landeval, 24–32) “Alas!” he saide, “no good I haue. How shalle I doo? I can not craue. Alle the knyghtes, that ben so feers, Of the rounde table, they were my pyers, Euery man of me was glade, And now they be for me full saide.” (Landeval, 41–46) “Alas”, quod he, “now shalle I die! My loue shalle I neuer see with ee” Ete me drynke wold he neuer, But wepyng and sorowyng evire, Syres, sare sorrow hathe he noun; He wold hys ending day wer come, That he might ought of life goo. Every man was for hym woo, For larger knight than he Was thes neuer yn that country. (Landeval, 314–323)

Also this dialogue, in which Landeval apologizes to his lover, is different: “Landevale”, she said , “with-outyne lette, Whan we flirst to-gedir mete With dern loue with-outen stryfe, I chargyd you yn alle your lyffe That ye of me neuer speke shulde; How dare ye now be so bolde With me to ride with-oute leve? Ye ought to thing ye shuld me greue.” “Lady”, he said, “faire and goode, For his loue that shed his blode, Fo-yefe me that trespace And put me hole yn your grace” Than that lady to hym can speke. And said to hym with wordys meke: “Landevale, lemman. I you for-gyve, That trespace while ye leue. Welcome to me, gentile knygthe;

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We wolle neuer twyn day ne nyghte. (Landeval, 504–521)

Sir Launfal also incorporates some important elements that are new, like King Arthur’s voyage to Ireland, the fact that Gyon is said to be the father of Queen Guinevere or a series of jousts that are described in two hundred lines. Finally, two new important characters are also introduced in this poem: Sir John and Sir Hugh (Stévanovitch 2010, 180). Chestre’s poem runs for eighty-seven verses, arranged in stanzas of twelve verses that show a unique metrical structure. Nonetheless, the greatest originality of the poem is linked to its very core, since the lai is a sort of “literary patchwork”. In other words, the poet gathered, arranged and employed a wide range of previous poems in order to create a completely new and enriched literary text. The introduction of the new original elements referred to above aimed at gaining the favour of the period’s audience; at the same time it founded the narrative structure of the new lai. Sir Launfal is close to popular folktales and it departs in a significant way from the refinements of the original French lais by Marie de France. The poem comes close to popular folktales in the sense that it mixes fantastic and real elements and, as a result, characters do not show any surprise on the frequent occasions in which they trespass the frontiers between the real and fantasy realms. In fact, the dividing line between the two spheres is so subtle that it also becomes difficult for readers to say for sure whether some of the scenes in the poem take place in an ordinary or supernatural dimension. This change made the poem appealing to the new bourgeois tastes, which preferred fantastic elements while the old French nobility had favoured quotidian environments that resembled their daily life at court. Sir Landeval can be considered as a Breton lai in the strict sense, which is not surprising if we take into account that it originated directly from Marie de France’s Lanval. It is nonetheless important to bear in mind that it is an adaptation and not a translation, and therefore it imitates the original in a quite loyal manner but also introduces some important modifications that, at times, make us forget the source text. This becomes especially evident when the main character goes from the real Arthurian court to the realm of fantasy, which is inhabited by fairies and all sorts of supernatural creatures. Lanval is quite possibly the best-known poem by Marie de France. In this composition, Celtic cultural elements are combined with the Breton environment and courtly love. From a thematic point of view, the poem narrates a requited love between a human and a supernatural being, which is represented by a fairy.

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Another prominent difference between the French lai Lanval and the Middle English poems Sir Landeval and Sir Launfal is the introduction of the concept of largesse (Stévanovitch 2010, 49) as an aristocratic virtue. This is, in fact, the essential virtue of both Landeval and Launfal. This concept of generosity does not, on the contrary, appear on Lanval, since the Anglo-Norman composition centres its action on idealized love and, consequently, pays little if any attention to the material aspects of life. Marie de France gave more importance to personal relations and love while the English poems focused more on material aspects, which were more appealing to the new English bourgeois audiences. Even if some crucial differences arise, it must be emphasised that the three compositions share more common points than divergent ones, proving one more time the mutual link existing among them. In the first place, all the poems begin with a short reference to King Arthur: A Kardoel surjurnot li reis Artur, li pruz e li curteis, Pur les Escoz e pur les Pis, Ki destrueient le païs; En la tere de Logre entroent E mut suvent la damagoent A la Pentecuste en esté Il aveit li reis sujurné; (Lanval, 5–11) Asez i duna riches duns E as cuntes e as baruns. Sothly by Arthurys day Was Bretayne yn grete nobyle, He soiourned at Carlile. He had with hym a meyne there, As he had ellys where, Of the rounde table the knyghtes alle, With myrth and joye yn hys halle (Landeval, 1–8) Doughty Artour som whyle Sojournede yn Kardevyle, Wyth joye and greet solas, And knyghtes that wer profitable

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Wyth Artour of the Rounde TableNever noon better ther nas! (Sir Launfal, 7–12)

The portrayal of the main character is also very similar in all the three poems: L’aventure d’un autre lai, Cum ele avint, vus cunterai. Faiz fu d’un mut gentil vassal: En bretans l’appelent Lanval. (Lanval, 1–4) With hym there was a bachiller, A yonge knight of mushe might, Sir Landeval for soith he hight. (Sir Landeval, 17–19) Wyth Artour ther was a baheler, And hadde ybe well many a yer: Launfal, forsoth he hyght. (Sir Launfal, 25–28)

As pointed out above, both Launfal’s and Laundeval’s generosity define the characters, while Lanval is shown as a rootless vassal who is moody and leaves his land in a precarious economic situation: A ceus de la Table RoündeN’ot tant de teus en tut le mundeFemmes e teres departi, Fors a un sul ki l’ot servi: Ceo fu Lanval; ne l’en sovint Ne nuls des soens bien ne li tint. (Lanval, 15–20) Li chevaliers dunt jeo vus di, Ki tant aveit le rei servi, Un jur munta sur sun destrier, Si s’est alez esbaneier. Fors de la villë est eissuz, (Lanval, 39–43)

As with Lanval, Launfal does not receive any of the presents the Queen gives to the attending knights on the occasion of her wedding. Haunted by sadness, he abandons the court with the excuse of his father’s death: Everych knyght sche gaf broche other ryng, But Syr Launfal sche yaf nothingThat grevede hym many a sythe. And whan the bredale was at ende, Launfal tok hys leve to wende

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Landeval, on the other hand, is ruined by his excessive generosity: Sir Landeval spent blithely And yaf yeftes largely; So wildely his goode he sette That he felle yn grete dette “Who hath no good, goode can he none; And I am here in vnchut londe, And no gode haue vnder honed, Men wille me hold for a wreche; Where I be-come I ne reche.” He lepe vpon a coursier, With-oute grome or squire, And rode for the yn a mornynge To dryve a-wey longynge. (Landeval, 20–32)

In the three poems, the meeting between the knights and the lady takes place in the same location, which reflects the spirit of the locus amoenus: Fors de la vilë est eissuz, Tuz suls est en un pré venuz; Sur une ewe curaunt descent. (Lanval, 44–46) And rode forthe yn a mornynge To dryve a wey- longynge. The he takyth towarde the west Be-twene a water and a forest. The sonne was hote that vundern tyde, He lygthe a-downe and wolde a-byde. (Landeval, 31–36) Proverly the knight to hors gan sprynge. For to dryve away lokynge, He rood toward the west. The wether was hot the underntyde; He lyghte adoun, and gan abyde Under a fayr forest. (Launfal, 217–222)

It is important to note that these three poems are revolutionary, because in all of them it is the lady who asks for the favours of the knights and the men simply accept the lady’s request and conditions:

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Sire Lanval, ma dameisele, Ki tant est pruz e sage e bele. Ele nus enveie pur vus; Kar i venez ensemble od nus! Sauvement vus I cundurums: Veez, pres est li paveilluns. (Lanval, 71–76) Sir knight”they seide, “we thu be. My lady, that is asbright as floure, The gretith Landavale paramoure. Ye must come and speke with her, Yelf it be your wille, sir. (Landeval, 68–72) Syr Knyght,”they seyde, “well the be! Our lady, Dame Tyramour Bad thou schuldest com speke wyth here Yyf hyt wer thy wylle, sere, Wythoute more sojourn. (Launfal, 54–58)

Similarly, in all these poems the protagonists of the story are two women—the fairy and the queen—who fight for the knight’s love. On the first occasion, both women are moved by love and, in a second instance, their motivation is spite. As I advanced above, the fairy imposed a “love code” that must be fulfilled by the knight in a straightforward manner: Amis, fet ele, or vus chasti, Si vus comant e si vus pri: Ne vus descouvrez a nul homme! De ceo vus dirai ja la summe: A tuz jurs m’avriez perdue, Si ceste amur esteit seüe; Jamés nem purriez veeir Ne de mun cors seisine aveir. (Lanval, 143–150) “Landevale” she saide, “goo hens now. Gold and syluer take with you; Spend largely on euery man. I wille fynd you inough than. And thynke on me soo and soo. Speke with me any night, To sum derne stede ye goo And thynke on me soo and soo. Anone to you shalle I tee. Ne make ye neuer bost of me; And yff thou doyest, be ware be-forn,

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Chapter Fourteen For thown hast my loue for-lorn.” (Landeval, 151–162) Hy seyde to hym, “Syr gentyl knight, And thou wylt speke wyth me any wyght, To a derne stede thou gon. Well privyly I woll come to the (No man alive ne schall me se) As style as any ston.” (…) “But of o thing, Syr Knyght, I warne the, That thou make no bost of me For no kennes mede! And yf thou doost, I warny the before, All my love thou hast forlore!” (Launfal, 352–357/361–365)

The queen, when the knight rejects her and affirms that his lady is more beautiful than she, is humiliated and questions the hero’s manhood on the following terms: Lanval, fet ele, bien le quit, Vus n’amez gueres cel deduit. Asez le m’ad hum dit sovent Que de femmes n’avez talnt! Vallez avez bien afeitiez, Ensemble o deus vus deduiez. Vileins cüarz, mauveis failliz, Mu test mis sires maubailliz, Ki pres de lui vus ad suffer, Mun escient que Deu en pert… (Lanval, 277–286) Fy”, saide she, “thow fowle cowarde, An harlot ribawde I wote thou harte. That thow lieuest it is pite Thow lovyst no woman ne no woman the. (Landeval, 221–224) Sche seyde, “Fy on the, thou coward! Anhongeth worth thou hye and hard! That thou ever were ybore! That thou lyvelest, hyt ys pyté! (Launfal, 685–688)

As a result of the women’s competition, the knight is forced to choose one of the two worlds that are offered to him: the real and the supernatural. This decision is not difficult for him, and he happily takes the route to a fantasy realm in which he can escape reality. In this way, the conventions of courtly love are turned upside down, since in these poems it is the lady who saves the knight and not the other way around as always happened

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within this literary genre. Thus, at the end, both fairy and knight run away towards the world of Avalon: Lanval esteit muntez desus. Quant la pucele ist fors a l’us Sur le palefrei, detriers li, De plain eslais Lanval sailli! Od li s’en vait en Avalum, Ceo nus recuntent li Brentun, En un isle ki mu est beaus. La fu raviz li dameiseaus! Nuls hum n’en oï plus parler Ne jeo n’en sai avant cunter. (Lanval, 637–646) So they rodyn euyn ryghte, The lady, the maydyns, and the knyghte Loo, howe love is lefe to wyn Of wemen that arn of gentylle kyn! The same way haue they nomyn Rygthr as before she was commyn. And thus was Landevale brought from Cardoylle, With his fere into a ioly yle, That is clepyde Amylyone, That knowith euery Brytane. Of hym syns herde neuer man; No further of Landevalle telle I can. (Landeval, 522–533) Thus Launfal, wythouten fable, That noble knight of the Rounde Table, Was take ynto Fayrye; Seththe saw hym yn thys tale Ne no more of hym telle y ne can. (Launfal, 1034–1039)

Conclusions Having considered the common and divergent elements in the three poems analysed poems, I can positively affirm that there is a direct relation between them and that Marie de France’s Lanval inspired the compositions of the two British poets. I must also emphasize that, taking into account the many important differences that appear, Sir Landeval and Sir Launfal are two different poems and not two versions of the same text, as has previously been affirmed.

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Works Cited Beston, John B. 1974. “How Much was Known of the Breton Lai in Fourteenth-Century England?” Harvard English Studies. 5, 319–336. Cifuentes, Elisa. 2002. “El lai bretón como género literario: una breve aproximación”. Thélème. Revista Complutense de estudios franceses. 17, 174–175. Crépin, André. 2007. “Le plurilinguisme de l’Angleterre médiévale”. Carnet d’Atelier d Sociolinguistique. 2, 35–36. Delcourt, Thierry. 2000. La littérature arthurienne. París: PUF. Rychner, Jean (ed.). 1966. Les Lais de Marie de France. Paris: Honoré Champion. Séguy, Mireille. 2014. “Le passé recomposé des lais bretons en moyenanglais : Le Lay le Freine, Sir Orfeo, Sir Degaré, Sir Launfal et The Franklin’s Tale”. Espisteme. 25, 2–12. Stévanovitch, Colette. 2010. Les lais Bretons Moyen-Anglais. Paris: Brépols.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN ECHOES OF GREEK TRAGEDY IN MEDIEVAL LITERATURE: THE CASE OF OEDIPUS ISRAEL MUÑOZ-GALLARTE That I say I am a poet […] knowing my words to be the acquainted prophecy of all men. —Gregory Corso, Bomba

In approaching this issue,1 it will be helpful to use two analytically distinct methods, to wit, the diachronic, which allows us to speculate about how the myth reached the hands of Lydgate (Guerin 2005, 183–191); and the synchronic, to clarify the similarities and differences between the two authors. Thus, approaching the subject diachronically, the first pages of this paper will attempt to delineate the main milestones in the long tradition of the myth of Oedipus, beginning from the time of Ancient Rome; and, afterwards, a synchronic analysis will examine various motifs as they have survived, disappeared or been transformed in the medieval poem. The final part will explore the possible reasons for these changes.

Diachronic Outlines It is well known that the Middle Ages entailed an almost complete forgetting of numerous literary works, as is the case of Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus. This was certainly due to a lack of interest in, and hence a lack of knowledge of, the Greek language (Mortimer 2005, 158). However, even as Western Europe neglected famous Greek works, the myths survived in their Latin versions. Although it is sometimes supposed that the myth was transmitted through the well-preserved tragedies of Seneca, the story of Oedipus has also reached us through a host of badly preserved works, which

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significantly complicates the search for a pristine source (Mortimer 2005, 158–161). Among the researchers dedicated to the obscure and misleading issue of the medieval reception of the myth of Sophocles, Lowell Edmunds offers the safest outline of events. In his opinion, which remains the authority in the absence of new findings, there exist three possible routes, of which the first is perhaps of most interest for this paper. This route involves, directly or indirectly, the Latin poem Thebaid, by Statius (Edmunds 1976, 140). The second route combines a good number of traditional and ecclesiastical tales that took the structure and the main motifs of the Tyrannus in order to recreate biblical characters, such as Judas Iscariot or various saints (Edmunds 1976, 149–154; 2006, 74–78; Bettini-Guidorizzi 2008, 185; Frazer 1995, 33–34). Finally, the last possibility is based on a text that was well known during the Middle Ages, the Planctus of Oedipus, preserved in several manuscripts (Edmunds 1976, 148–149; 2006, 72–74). As has been stated, the first route is the most fruitful one for explaining the Greek myth’s presence in Medieval English literature, even though it is also complex. The twelve books of Statius’ Thebaid, written in dactylic hexameters, deal with the Theban cycle, specifically with the confrontation of Eteocles and Polynices; Oedipus’s role in it is brief, being a mere summary of the events leading up to his cursing of his own children. The plot, however, would be known in medieval Europe, as Edmunds correctly asserts, through an intermediary text, Lactantius Placidus’s commentary to Thebaid I, 61, now lost. Indeed, several details, such as the origin of King Polybus and that Lactantius mentions Phocis and not Corinth, also appear in subsequent works that include the Oedipus legend: Roman de Thèbes (1–518) and Mytographus Vaticanus 2.230 (Oedipus) (Constans 1888, 338–344), which reinforce Edmunds’ hypothesis (Elliott-Elder 1947, 190–207). Furthermore, by comparing the two, Edmunds was also able to establish that the latter preceded the former in time (Edmunds 1976: 142–145). To conclude, the surviving texts tell us with some certainty that the Oedipus story resided at the heart of European folklore, which Boccaccio echoed in his works Genealogiae deorum gentilium, De mulieribus claris, and our focus of interest, De casibus virum illustrium (Bettini-Guidorizzi 2008, 185). Regarding this step in the transmission of the Oedipus myth, the academic consensus is that Boccaccio’s main sources were, on the one hand, the aforementioned Lactantius Placidus’s commentary and, on the other, his own reading of Seneca’s Oedipus (Edmunds 2006, 71).

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Through Boccaccio, the classic tradition and with it the Oedipus story spreads rapidly across Europe (Graesse 1858, s.v. Boccaccio, Giovanni, Ouvrages latins), first, as may be expected, in Italy, and subsequently in France, where Laurent de Premierfait made the first translation into French of the Latin original in 1400, and added a second version in 1409 (Hernández 2002, 8–9). It is the success of these translations into a contemporary language that made many Greek myths accessible to readers in the last decades of the Middle Ages and at the dawn of the Renaissance (Graesse 1858, s.v. Boccaccio, Giovanni, Traductions; Hernández 2002, 9). The case of the British Isles, however, shows some different features. As María Hernández has pointed out, the Latin works of Boccaccio did not exert much influence there, except in narrow English intellectual circles, and his works in Italian were even less influential, due to the low number of readers capable of reading them (Hernández 2002, 9–10). Curiously, only three manuscript copies of De casibus virorum illustrium have been found in England. Still, it is in this context that John Lydgate undertakes the task of translating Boccaccio’s text into English, albeit not from the Latin original but from the French prose of Premierfait’s second version, entitled Des Cas des nobles hommes et femmes (Des Cas) (Mortimer 2005, 41). The resulting text, known as Fall of Princes (Fall) and completed in the 1430s, is well-preserved in a number of editions, five of them illustrated (Hernández 2002, 10). In its 36,365 lines, Lydgate makes accessible to a widespread number of Anglophone readers the varied panoply of Greek myths, introducing the story of the Labdacids in lines 3,158–3,843 (from Oedipus’s arrival in Thebes to the death of his children) on which we will now focus (Edmunds 1976, 71).

Oedipus in its Context Let me now return to the origin of the Oedipus myth in the hands of Sophocles and to its main themes. It is well known that Oedipus Tyrannus was performed for the first time in Athens, at a still unknown date around 429–425 BC (Esposito 2013, s.v. “Sophocles: Oedipus Tyrannus”). In spite of our doubts about the date, some details regarding the performance are known. It should be emphasized that the Tyrannus was deemed worthy of only the second prize in the Dionysia, defeated on this occasion by a nephew of Aeschylus, Philocles, poet and author of around one hundred tragedies only fragmentarily preserved. We also know that

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the play we are dealing with, originally entitled Oidipous, was one of a tetralogy of which the other three tragedies, possibly unconnected, are lost (Esposito 2013, s.v. “Sophocles: Oedipus Tyrannus”; Sommerstein 2010, 13–14). The plot centres on the fall of the tragic hero Oedipus, who, through a search for his true origins, will eventually end up recognizing himself as the murderer of Laïus and, consequently, being exiled from his own kingdom (Esposito 2013, s.v. “Sophocles: Oedipus Tyrannus”; Ruipérez 2006, 23–28). The prologue (1–150) of the tragedy begins enigmatically, by seating a group of supplicants at the stairs of Apollo. One of them, a priest of Zeus, opens the scene at the request of Oedipus, who asks for help in putting an end to the plague that has been devastating Thebes. The winner against the Sphinx, however, seems incapable of finding a rational response to such a disaster, and for that reason he informs them that he has already sent Creon to consult the oracle of Delphi. With almost no delay, Creon enters the stage and relates Apollo’s answer, as follows: to make the plague disappear from the city, the killer of Laïus must be killed or exiled. Immediately afterwards, the chorus enters the stage (151–215), offering lyrical praise to the Olympic gods for protecting the polluted city. The first episode (216–462) tells of Oedipus’ address to the Theban assembly, by which he, on the one hand, urges the citizens to help him to find Laïus’s murderer and, on the other, instates severe punishment for those who do not help him, even cursing anyone who might refuse. Later, the blind prophet Tiresias opens a charged agon with the king (Ruipérez 2006, 87–88), who, misunderstanding Tiresias’s veiled insinuations for why it would be better not to look for the murderer, accuses the prophet of treason and even of trying to usurp the crown in a conspiracy with Creon—a confrontation between an empiric sophia and a prophetic one (Guerin 2005, 188; Jung 1966, 217; Lawrence 2013, 140; Buxton 2013, 176–177). The chorus intervenes once again in the first stasimon (463–512), with a lyrical passage which imagines how Apollo and Erinyes come to Thebes to hunt down the murderer, whose foot should be quick at night. The dramatic action progresses through the long second episode (513– 862), divided into two parts—two successive audiences—as follows: first, with Creon, whom Oedipus accuses of conspiring to kill him and steal the throne; secondly, with Jocasta, who tries to calm Oedipus down by arguing the fallibility of divine oracles, using the death of Laïus as an example: he was not killed by his son, as an oracle had predicted, but was

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instead assassinated by five attackers at a crossroads on the way to Phocis (Lawrence 2013, 136–138). This last detail only alarms Oedipus all the more, as he remembers that, right after leaving Corinth, he had killed a group of people at a crossroads. To resolve the contradiction, Oedipus and Jocasta send for witnesses. In view of Jocasta’s assertions regarding the fallibility of oracles, the chorus intones the second stasimon (863–910), reasoning sceptically that, if gods can fail, then visits to oracles, religious rituals, and even their dances may be meaningless. The third episode (911–1085), mirroring the opening of the play, opens with Jocasta’s prayer in front of the statue of Apollo, whom she begs not to let her husband’s fears come true. She receives an answer to her prayers in the form of a messenger from Corinth, who confirms that the supposed father of Oedipus, Polybus, has died by chance, tyche, and not at the hands of his alleged son, Oedipus. This news reassures the royal couple of Thebes, but the good signs quickly disappear when it is revealed that Oedipus is not the biological son of Polybus, but was saved by chance— again, tyche—by a shepherd from Mount Kithairon and given to the kings of Corinth. Oedipus’s maimed feet confirm this version. Jocasta puts two and two together and advises her son-husband to stop his inquiries. However, Oedipus takes Jocasta’s reluctance to mean only that he may be descended from slaves, and feels compelled to continue searching for the truth and trying to locate the shepherd of Mount Kithairon. The third stasimon (1086–1109) demonstrates how the chorus, despite participating actively in the play, is always a step behind the spectators and even behind the other characters. Thus, after receiving the news, the chorus sings the praises of Oedipus, calling him “a child of Fortune”, as they infer that, through his link to Mount Kithairon, their king may be the son of Pan, Hermes, or Dionysus, all rural divinities. The final discovery comes at the forth episode (1110–1185), when, after an intense interrogation, the shepherd confirms that Oedipus is the murderer of his biological father, Laïus, and also the son of his wife, Jocasta. Overwhelmed, the protagonist exits the stage, leaving us to ponder if he will commit suicide or kill his wife now that she knows the truth (Lawrence 2013, 147). The exodus (1223–1530) relates what happened off stage, with the appearance of a messenger who announces that Jocasta has committed suicide and Oedipus has blinded himself with his wife-mother’s brooch. This information is immediately confirmed by the final appearance of Oedipus, wearing a different mask, which no doubt is intended to

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symbolize his blindness. In a long and intense speech, Oedipus reviews the chief events of his life and admits the supremacy of the Gods. The definitive solution to this tragic situation cannot be suicide, but exile with only the help of his daughter Antigone as his guide.

Lydgate’s Fall of Princes Several decisions in the English monk’s version move the account away from the Tyrannus. The first one is not to recreate the story in a dramatic form, but in a narrative style through the use of the third person—although, as we will see below, he does not hesitate to break the narrative tension in order to offer his own opinions. However, like Sophocles and unlike Premierfait’s Des Cas, Lydgate decides to write his entire work in verse. Finally, his third decision, which is crucial in my view, is not to follow blindly the French version with a word-by-word translation, but to use his own literary skill and knowledge to create a relatively “new” work, whose verses continually refer to his sources, such as Boccaccio (“Bocchas”), Seneca and Statius. It is in this context that his extensive quotations from Josephus’ De antiquitatibus and De Bello Judaico, as well as from Ovid, Vergilius’ Aeneid, and Petrarch, should be analysed (Mortimer 2005, 41–42). Lydgate thus provides a good example of how a mediaeval work can recreate a Greek myth in a new way, seeing as the essential characteristics of Oedipus’s story fit in with the main intention of Fall of princes as well as of Boccaccio’s version. We agree with Edmunds that the Oedipus myth has a place in the monk’s poem: What the Theban episode as a whole provides is (…) a lesson for princes and princesses. It is that kingdoms divided by internecine struggle cannot endure. Also, rulers should cherish their subjects. The events of Oedipus’ life also show fortune’s vicissitudes (3277–97) and remind, through the riddle of the Sphinx, that death awaits all men (3424–65). In this way, royalty learns that it is only human (Edmunds 2006, 72).

Let us now focus on Lydgate’s organization of sources in recreating the fall of King Oedipus. To begin with, the author departs from the structure established by Sophocles, no doubt with the intention of offering a temporally logical account of what happened in the Labdacids’ palace; in this, he follows his closest predecessors. As a result, the intrigue that imbues the Greek original is lacking in the English version, but Lydgate, like Boccaccio, articulates his account linearly, through the best witness of

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the king’s fall, Jocasta, as follows: “Off hir vnhappis he doolfulli doth write, / Ymagynyng how he dede hir see / To hym appeere in gret aduersite”. The first verses ponder the Theban queen’s suffering and relate the events preceding Oedipus’s birth, to wit, her marriage with Laïus (3158– 3188). Lydgate then moves to the oracular destiny announced by Apollo: Laïus must die by his own son’s hands, which provokes Laïus’s decision to kill Oedipus immediately following his birth (3189–3214). Here again, the interest of the author is focussed on the feelings of Jocasta, who is impelled to accept her husband’s order (3215–3227). Indeed, her reaction is described as follows: “The mooder, allas, fill almost in a rage, / Seyng hir child, so inli fair off face, / Shal thus be ded, and dede no trespace.” In spite of this, Laïus, “Withoute mercy, respit or delay”, gives orders for his son to be killed (3228–3234). Lydgate details all consecutive steps, not only because these will be the key to the argument of the Fall, but also because they will become the definitive cause of Oedipus’ anagnórisis, as follows: “Took first a knyff, & dede his besi peyne / Thoruhout his feet to make holis tweyne. / Took a smal rod off a yong oseer, / Perced the feet, allas, it was pite! / Bond hym faste, and bi good leiseer / The yonge child he heeng vpon a tre”. Just as in Tyrannous, Laïus’s attempt fails (3235–3249), as a foreign shepherd who is walking around finds the baby and, moved by his “routhe & pite”, decides to take him down and bring him to his house, where he cures his wounds and gives him the name Oedipus (3250–3269). Some years later, when the child has fully recovered, the shepherd presents him to the kings of Corinth, who adopt him (3270–3276) because “she was bareyn off nature, / She and the kyng off oon affeccioun”. Here, Lydgate breaks for the first time from the third person and intervenes in the first: “Let men considre in ther discrecioun / Sodeyn chaung off euery maner thyng”, to offer his opinion on the issue, as well as a moralistic summary of the causes behind the event (3277–3297). In Lydgate’s view, everything that Oedipus suffers is caused by the capricious imperium of Fortune—“thoruh Fortune, ay double in hir werkyng”—whose counterpart and guarantee of the child’s salvation is God: “God that can in myscheeff magnefie / And reconforte folk disconsolate”. Lydgate will later return to this question. After this intervention, the English poet continues with his account of Oedipus’s misfortunes by describing how, already in his adulthood, the latter experiences growing doubts regarding his origins (3398–3317) and therefore travels to Apollo’s temple in Cirra to seek answers (3318–3324). The divine response, beyond all doubt, exceeds Oedipus’s expectations, as

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it not only uncovers his origin, but also predicts that he will go to Phocis, kill his father, and marry his wife in ignorance (3325–3332): “Eek lik his fate the answere was the same: / He sholde slen his owne fader deere, / And afftir that to Thebes drawe hym neere, / Wedde his mooder, off verray ignoraunce”. Ironically, despite Apollo’s revelation, Oedipus goes to Phocis, where a battle takes place in which the protagonist fights on the side opposing the party of Laïus, whom Oedipus unwittingly kills (3333– 3348). In addition, “eonknowe he cam onto the toun / Off myhti Thebes, where for his hih renoun”, where he is received with honours (3348–3353) due to having defeated the Sphinx. Lydgate, following a hysteron-proteron structure, tells this: First, Lydgate details the events preceding the Sphinx’s appearance, namely, how it was sent anonymously, through magical spells, in order to bring the death to all at Phocis (3354–3357). Secondly, the poet explains how the Sphinx kills its prey by asking a question which, if answered incorrectly, results in the death of the answerer (3358–3369). Thirdly, Lydgate poses the question (see above) (3370–3390), after another interruption in the first person: “I will reherse it heer in my writyng / Compendiousli, that men may it reede”. He returns again to point (2) (3391–3395), that is, to a description of how the Sphinx kills its victims. The author then describes Oedipus as “in his herte with gret auisement”, and “ful prouyded that no woord escape, / At good leiser with hool mynde & memory” (3396–3406). Finally, through a long monologue in direct speech, Lydgate makes Oedipus give the right answer to the Sphinx (3407–3430).

Following this, the author once again feels it necessary to give his view of the events, by highlighting their purported moral lessons (3435–3465). He begins with a gnomic assumption, “Al cam from erthe, and [al] to erthe shall”, and proceeds to introduce the relationship between the haughtiness of powerful and victorious people and the influence of Fortune. His argument starts with the assertion that “Who clymbeth hiest, his fal is lowest doun”. Furthermore, whoever does not heed the fact that humanity is “Vndir daunger off Fortune lik to fall” 2 (as is the biblical case of Solomon (3443)) and exhibits arrogant behaviour—“ay in pouert to sende hym pacience, / Sobre with his plente, in scarsete noon offence”— will suffer a fall, as he was not grateful to God—“Thanke God off all, and euer be glad off hert”. Lydgate closes his intervention, structured in ringkomposition, by reflecting on how death eventually subdues everyone, whether rich or poor.

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The author now gives a brief overview of the main events of Oedipus’ life (3466–3476), before going over the consequences of Oedipus’s correct answer to the Sphinx. Lydgate observes that this was an ambiguous victory, since the hero had acted intelligently “Mor bi wisdam than armure maad off steel”. As for the reasons for Oedipus’s marriage with his mother-wife (3477– 3500), Lydgate first refers the reader to the writings of Statius, but then proposes his own hypothesis. In his opinion, the primary cause has to do with divinity: “With this mariage the goddis were ful wrothe”; the second cause is astrological influence: “Off sum fals froward constellacioun, / Causid bi Saturne, or Mars the froward sterre”; and, finally, Lydgate explains that maybe the heavens were against Oedipus, “That sum aspect cam from heuene doun, Infortunat, froward and ful off rage, / Which ageyn kynde deyned this mariage”. All these hypotheses are, in a certain sense, directed allegedly towards excusing Oedipus’s actions. In spite of the misfortune, Lydgate writes, Oedipus brought a period of contentment to the city of Thebes and happiness to his mother-wife, with whom he had four children (3501–3516). Indeed, it is the happiness enjoyed by the Labdacids prior to their shocking discovery that leads Lydgate to observe that our fortune is liable to change unexpectedly at any moment (3517–3544). In his view, Fortune3 and pride are partly to blame for changes in the circumstances of princes, although on this occasion he also reflects on ignorance: “Wher fals[e] wenyng in hertis is conceyued / Thoruh ignoraunce, which fele folk hath deceyued”; and on envy, in the following terms: “She [Fortune] can eclipse it with sum cloudy skie / Off vnwar sorwe, onli off envie”. As a result of the unavoidable change in Oedipus’ Fortune, Thebes is infected by a virulent plague (3545–3565), to which the wise hero cannot find a solution. After philosophers and the highest dignitaries offer no answers, there appears Tiresias, who not only explains the causes, but also states the only solution: Oedipus, who had acted impurely, must abandon Thebes (3566–3606). The population of Thebes at first doubt the seer’s words, but Jocasta understands everything due to the scars on Oedipus’s feet (3607–3620). Sorrow spreads through the palace and beyond, as mother and son curse the hour Oedipus was born, until the latter gouges out his own eyes (3621– 3634). In the final verses, Lydgate recounts at some length the suffering of Oedipus (3634–3647), adding, as a conclusion to his life, lines in which the king curses his sons, Eteocles and Polynices, saying they will kill each

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other in a confrontation as a punishment for stealing the Thebes crown from their father (3648–3654).

A Comparative Approach Literary Issues Tzvetan Todorov argued that every analysis of genre should begin with a description of its structures, given that a text’s structural units in themselves already reveal any marks of Greek tragedy on a poem (1977, 43). Let us therefore focus on the structural unities that survive in the poem of the English monk. At first glance, it is clear that Lydgate follows the main stages of the Oedipus myth. Still, notable differences emerge as Lydgate inserts information that deviates, for one reason or another, from the Greek original. For one, Lydgate stresses the good intentions of the shepherd for saving and rearing the infant, an aspect completely absent in the Greek tragedy. It is also curious that the oracle reveals to Oedipus a multitude of details regarding his imminent fall, including its location, in Phocis and in the nearby city of Thebes. Logically, one would not expect Oedipus to proceed in the direction of these places, but in Lydgate’s version, he does. To resolve the tension between the oracle and the logical demands of the story, the English poet seems forced to describe Oedipus as ignorant not only of his origin, but also of the fact that he kills his own father in Phocis and then enters Thebes. Thirdly, there are some changes that appear to be due to differences in the cultural sensibilities of the two authors, such as the location of Laïus’s death at a crossroads. Sophocles, undoubtedly, located the event at a crossroads because of their reputation as marginal and enchanted places, where demons and ghosts swarm, as has already been mentioned. Lydgate, however, following his nearest predecessors, Premierfait and Boccaccio, attempts to confer a sense of proximity to his readers’ own time, by locating Laïus’s death in the heat of battle. Likewise, it is notable that the main line of the Greek tragedy, namely, the search for Laïus’s murderer, structured in the original through a sequence of Oedipus’s encounters in crescendo—not only in the number of verses (150–250–350), but also conceptually—is lacking in the linear account of the Fall.

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It is worth seeing how Sophocles creates this in crescendo, beginning with the encounters with Tiresias and Creon, the latter not showing strong opposition to the protagonist, due to his superior status as king of Thebes. The dramatist then modifies the apparent direction of the plot by the appearance of Jocasta, who, instead of reconciling Oedipus and her brother, raises doubt by mentioning the crossroads where Laïus was murdered. From this point onward, the target of the search is no longer someone outside the family, but someone inside the palace. In other words, the tragedy is transformed from civil to domestic, from present to past, from public to private, from the city to the house, in such a way that what was supposed to be a movement towards clarity blows up instead in a revelation of family secrets (Esposito 2013, s.v. “Sophocles: Oedipus Tyrannus”; Benardete 1966, 107). This entire process, with all its different implications, is reduced to just under fifty verses (3566–3612) in the English version, and thereby most of the structural play is either absent or briefly summarized.

Conceptual Regards Those deviations, consequently, are present on the conceptual as well as on the literary level. Crucially for the Greek drama, Sophocles suggests, through Oedipus’ search, observations on the human quest for knowledge, raising questions of epistemology, anthropology and theology, almost all in relation to the limits of human beings (Esposito 2013, s.v. “Sophocles: Oedipus Tyrannus”). Indeed, in the Sophoclean verses, Oedipus, in his own detective story, tries to find the murderer of Laïus by using rational intelligence—téchne (Peláez 2006, 173–175; Moddelmog 1993, 82–83)— trying to find proofs that would allow him to solve the puzzle of his own life without the help of the gods, except when he feels stuck in an aporía (Lawrence 2013, 140–145). Jocasta, in her own way, also discredits the gods and, maybe because she fears the result, trusts only in chance (tyche) (Peláez 2006, 177–178; Muñoz Gallarte 2013); finally, the chorus and Tiresias take, through their interventions in the plot, the role of blind believers in the gods and in their inscrutable wisdom—theos and sophía (Peláez 2006, 176). In this epistemological dilemma, the last option will win over the others, though not without some doubt inspired by the drama. The gods are infallible and their predictions, although unfair, must come true. Lydgate, in turn, allows us to surmise his conception of human development through personal interventions, with which he tries to offer

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an answer to the riddle of Oedipus’s fall. In this respect, even if the Fall is not a philosophical treatise, it nonetheless also touches on issues in epistemology, anthropology and theology. In particular, Lydgate assumes that, during human life, the individual is subdued by two essential powers, as is clear in the case of Oedipus: Fortune and the pagan gods, whose signs are observable in oracles and in astrological phenomena. Both powers act in the stories of the Fall capriciously and even invidiously, using their superiority to accomplish certain principles, some inspired by the New Testament, as in Luke 18.14: “For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted”, and others seemingly rooted in Greek ethics. At a closer reading of the mentions to pagan divinities and God, one discerns a clear tendency to explain that every bad thing that happens to Oedipus by the influence of chance and the pagan gods, while those moments when the protagonist achieves salvation—as in the example of his exposure—Lydgate attributes exclusively to God’s intervention. It would appear that Lydgate takes pains to relieve Oedipus of all guilt. However, as convincingly argued by Mortimer, to see this only as an exploration of the conflict between human free will and divine determinism is to oversimplify the issue. Lydgate’s Oedipus does commit several grave errors: for one, he is arrogant, even if only covertly; secondly, he is ignorant; and, thirdly, he gives a mistaken response to the Sphinx, not foreseeing the consequences of this act. These three ideas seem to be strongly rooted in the Tyrannus, despite the temporal and contextual distance. To begin with, they are related to Delphic concepts with long traditions. Gnóthi seautón, “know thyself”, urges the individual to recognize himself as only human and to admit the boundaries that his nature imposes. The human being should also accept that only gods are happy absolutely and eternally, while humans have to contend with equal shares of happiness and sorrow. If this balance is disrupted, the human being is in breach of a second Delphic teaching, medén ágan, “nothing in excess”. This eventually produces, as in the case of our protagonist, a process by the name of páthei máthos, “wisdom through suffering”, which allows us to probe into the various elements of the development of both Oedipuses (Guerin 2005, 190): Hamartía, “a failure”, a mistake which may be made consciously or unconsciously but which, in either case, moves the protagonist a step closer to disaster. In the Tyrannous, it is Oedipus’ murder of Laïus (Ahl 1991, 264), whereas Lydgate seems to afford greater importance to Oedipus correctly answering the Sphinx.

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Kóros, “satiety”. Believing that he has avoided the first oracle, the protagonist of both works defeats the Sphinx and receives as his prize the right of marriage to Jocasta and the crown of Thebes (Lawrence 2013, 138). The result is a state of satiety, the highest form of happiness, but an unstable one, as Lydgate explicitly states. Hybris, “arrogance”. The sophoclean Oedipus goes through this phase in two different ways (Errandonea 1959, 19): by disbelieving the divine oracles, thinking he has managed to avoid them, and by thinking that he could arrive at the truth with his own human reasoning. Lydgate’s Oedipus, on the other hand, is more passive, apparently guilty only of ignorance as he is moved along by his destiny. Áte, “blindness”. Oedipus turns a blind eye to the warnings of both Tiresias and Jocasta. He believes instead that there is a covert threat of rebellion orchestrated by the prophet, by Creon, and even by his own wife, and he demonstrates an absence of self-awareness. Lydgate, however, condenses all this into a mere fifteen verses, and his Oedipus seems to be blinder to where he is. Némeis, “retribution”. Following the chaos in which both Oedipuses find themselves, the gods must restore the status quo and demonstrate their infallibility: the oracles will eventually prove true, and Oedipus will be forced to admit the limits of his human nature. Anagnórisis, “recognition”. In the end, the Greek Oedipus, as well as his “English” counterpart, must recognise that he is the murderer of Laïus, that he married his own mother, and, of course, that the divine oracles cannot be avoided (Lawrence 2013, 153).

To sum up, both tales aim to offer a crucial moral lesson, which goes as follows: human beings should live in accordance with sophrosyne, “prudence”, in order to avoid committing a “failure”, hamartia, which could eventually cause their fall (Errandonea 1959, 16). This ethical view is indispensable to understanding Greek works, as well as most of the works inspired by these.

Conclusions Arguing in terms of the concept of free will, it is, in my view, impossible to argue that Oedipus is consciously guilty and deserves the disproportionate consequences that his destiny has planned for him (Sommerstein 2010, 221). The Oedipus of both versions is unlike characters such as Ajax or Odysseus, who are described as stubborn and vile (López Férez 1988, 337–338), but also extremely intelligent and cunning. In the case of the Sophoclean Oedipus, we are faced with an ignorant and impulsive hero, who wishes to discover by deductive

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reasoning that which is only available to the divine; he will end up unearthing his past and falling as a result (Lawrence 2013, 147; Buxton 2013, 144). Oedipus appears to act autonomously as long as he is able to do so, due to the perverse context in which he finds himself (Buxton 2013, 140), even if, in his own words, Apollo pushed him towards his fall: “It was Apollo, Apollo, my friends, who accomplished these cruel, cruel sufferings of mine!” As for the protagonist of the Fall, his fault resides almost exclusively in his ignorance and, consequently, in his lack of caution, yet his demise is not due to his search for the truth, but to his achievement of the highest state of satisfaction from which Fortune, following natural laws, will make him fall. Therefore, in Lydgate’s poem, despite the varied panoply of Greek concepts, the free will of the individual seems as if “suspended when chance intrudes into human affairs to determine the course of events” (Mortimer 2005, 178). It follows that, in the monk’s view, God is the first and unique cause of every human action. Nonetheless, he distinguishes necessary actions—those produced directly by superior beings—from contingent ones—those in which the individual is able to choose between alternatives without bringing about a change in the divine plan. This conception of an “unchained free will” is characteristic of the Middle Ages, when the topic was hotly debated and Oedipus no doubt served as one of its brightest illustrations. Lydgate has a good knowledge of the Greek myth, almost certainly not only from the French prose of Premierfait, but also through his other reading, which allowed him to create a relatively new text, closer to Sophocles’ tragedy structurally than conceptually.

Works Cited Ahl, F. 1991. Sophocles’ Oedipus. Evidence and Self-Convinction. IthacaLondon: Cornell University Press. —. 1977. La Envidia en el pensamiento griego. Desde la época arcaica al helenismo. Madrid: Ph.D Dissertation Complutense University, Spain. Battles, D. 2004. The Medieval Tradition of Thebes: History and Narrative in the Roman de Thebes, Boccaccio, Chaucer, and Lydgate .New York: Routledge. Benardete, S.1966. “Sophocles’ Oedipous Tyrannus”, in T. Woodard (Ed.), Sophocles: A Collection of Critical Essays. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall International, 105–122.

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Bettini, M. & G. Guidorizzi. 2008. El mito de Edipo. Imágenes y relatos de Grecia a nuestros días. Madrid: AKAL. Buxton R.G.A. 1980. “Blindness and Limits: Sophocles and the Logic of Myth”, Journal of Hellenic Studies 100: 22–37. Buxton, R. 2013. Myths and Tragedies in their Ancient Greek Contexts. Oxford: OUP. Cameron, A. 1968. The Identity of Oedipus the King. New York: NYU Press. Constans, L. 1888. La Légende d'Oedipe étudiée dans l'antiquité, au moyenâge et dans les temps modernes. Paris: Maisonneuve. Dodds, E.R. 1973. “On Misunderstanding the Oedipus Rex”, in The Ancient Concept of Progress and Other Essays on Greek Literature and Belief ed. E.R. Dodds. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 64–77. Edmunds, L. 1976. “Oedipus in the Middle Ages”, Antike und Abendland, 25: 140–155. Edmunds, L. 2006. Oedipus. Gods and Heroes of the Ancient World (New York: Routledge, 2006. Elliott, K.O. & Elder, J.P. 1947. “A Critical Edition of the Vatican Mythographers”. Transactions of the American Philological Association 78: 189–207. Errandonea, S.I. 1959. Sófocles, Tragedias: Edipo Rey – Edipo en Colono vol. I. Barcelona: Alma Mater 1959. Esposito, S. 2013. The Encyclopedia of Greek Tragedy. Chichester, Malden, Mass. and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell 2013. Frazer, J.G. 1957. The Golden Bough. Princeton: Gollancz. Frazer, J.G. 1995. A Folklore Casebook (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1995) 28–34. Frye, N. 1970. The Stubborn Structure. Ithaca: CUP. Graesse, T.J.G. 2002. Trésor des livres rares et précieux, ou nouveau dictionnaire bibliographique, v. I. Genève-Milan-Paris: Kuntz. Guerin, W.L. et al., A Handbook of Critical Approaches to Literature. New York: OUP. Hernández, M. (ed.). 2002. La recepción de Boccaccio en España Madrid: Universidad Complutense, 2002. Johnston, S.I. 1999. Restless Dead: Encounters between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece. Berkeley: UCP, 1999. Jung, C.G. 1966. The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Princeton: PUP. Kamerbeek, J.C. 1967. The Plays of Sophocles. Comentaries IV. The Oedipus Tyrannus. Leiden: Brill, 1967. Lawrence, S. 2013. Moral Awareness in Greek Tragedy. Oxford: OUP.

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Lloyd-Jones, H. 1994. Sophocles. Ajax, Electra, Oedipus Tyrannus .Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. López Férez, J.A. 1988. “Sófocles”, in Historia de la Literatura Griega ed. J.A. López Férez. Madrid: Gredos, 337–338. Moddelmog, D.A. 1993. Readers and Mythic Signs. The Oedipus Myth in Twentieth-Century Fiction. Chicago: Southern Illinois. Mortimer, N. 2005. John Lydgate’s Fall of Princes. Narrative Tragedy in its Literary and Political Contexts. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mosley, J.H. 1955. Statius with an English Translation, vol. I: Silvae – Thebaid I-IV. Cambridge, MA: HUP. Muñoz Gallarte, I. 2011. “Hérodote et Plutarque: concernant la rencontre entre Solon et Crésus, roi de Lydie”, Ploutarchos, n.s. Scholarly Journal of the International Plutarch Society, vol. 5: 117–132. Muñoz Gallarte, I. 2013. “El problema de la tyche en la literatura griega postclásica: A propósito del encuentro de Solón y Creso según el relato de Plutarco”, in Littera Apperta vol. 1. Retrieved from: http://litteraaperta.org/Litteraaperta/Current_Issue.html. Peláez, J. 2006. “El viaje de Edipo al interior de sí mismo”, in Sófocles hoy. Veinticinco siglos de Tragedia ed. J. Peláez and L. Roig Lanzillotta. Córdoba: El Almendro, 167–182. Propp, V. 1975. “Edipo alla luce del folclore”, in Edipo alla luce del folclore. Quattro studi di etnografia storico-strutturale. Turin: Einaudi, 83–137. Rabel R.J. 2003. “Murder at the Crossroads: Oedipus Rex, Falling Angel, and Angel Heart”. Classical and Modern Literature, 23/1: 33–48. Roig Lanzillotta, L. 2010. “The so-called Envy of Gods: Revisiting a Dogma of Ancient Greek Religion”, in Myths, Martyrs, and Modernity: Studies in the History of Religions in Honour of Jan N. Bremmer ed. J. Dijkstra, J. Kroesen and Y. Kuiper. Leiden: Brill, 75– 93. Ruipérez, M.S. 2006. El mito de Edipo. Lingüística, psicoanálisis y folklore. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Sommerstein, A.H. 2010. The Tangled Ways of Zeus and Other Studies in and around Greek Tragedy. Oxford: OUP. Sommerstein, A.H. 2010. The Tangled Ways of Zeus and Other Studies in and around Greek Tragedy. Oxford: OUP, 2010. Todorov, T. 1977. “The Typology of Detective Fiction”, in The Poetics of Prose ed. J. Culler and T. Todorov. Ithaca: Wiley-Blackwell. Wilamovitz-Moelendorf, U. von. 1942. Einleitung in die Griech. Tragödie I. Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung.

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Note 1

This article has been written thanks to a stay in the Hardt Foundation of Geneva (Switzerland).

PART VI:

INNOVATIVE APPROACHES TO THE TEACHING OF MEDIEVAL LANGUAGE AND CULTURE

CHAPTER SIXTEEN DEVELOPMENT OF ICTS AND MOBILE APPLICATIONS TO TEACH MEDIEVAL LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE: A PROPOSAL FROM THE DIDACTICS OF GEOGRAPHY DANIEL D. MARTÍNEZ ROMERA

Technology as a Meeting Point between Medievalism, Geography, Social Sciences and its Didactics Every modern scientific discipline has evolved fundamentally from its origins since scientific specialization took place during the nineteenth century. Consequently, an impressive development of knowledge has been made possible in the past decades. As if that were not enough, during the twentieth century a recursive specialization process took place within each scientific area. Thus, many new research frames have risen, bringing to light facts and theories that would not have been discovered otherwise. This has become even more evident since the technological revolution that originated in the 60s of the last century. But, on the other hand, lack of communication among the different scientific areas has produced a certain degree of isolation. Fortunately, in the last decades some efforts have been made to solve this problem. Some of them have proved to be especially useful. In this regard, the role of didactics as an academic area has been notoriously relevant. As is widely known, didactics originated from psychology, pedagogy and ICT, but soon spread to specialized knowledge fields such as language, history, geography, biology or geology, to name some prominent examples. Especially in the context of ICT, this has its roots in the works of J. C. R. Licklider (1960; 1968). In these seminal texts, human

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beings reached awareness for the first time in history, a new way of thinking and interacting with the world. A symbiosis between people and computers changed the way in which our experiences are created because these are halfway between introspection and dialogue. This is explained by the fact that (in a very basic sense) when we use a computer, both our worldview and digital data available are merged to obtain something different and novel: the virtual viewpoint of reality and ourselves. Surprisingly, this new scientific paradigm has developed a fecund workspace on multiple platforms: desktops, tablets and mobile technologies. Thanks to these new technologies, cultural, social and human studies are offered an increasing number of applications that cover almost any aspect of these fields, from the purely theoretical to the most applied aspects, frequently linking and integrating related knowledge in the process . And this is, from my point of view, the real usefulness of ICT. For instance, text-oriented games based on hypertext proposals inspiring literary bestsellers like Dictionary of the Khazars (Pavich 1988) or Hopscotch (Cortázar 1966) were common in the 80s and 90s of the last century, with topics that ranged from historical facts from medieval and ancient literature to contemporary and fictional recreations. Since those earliest examples were published, a massive development has occurred. Nevertheless, the didactic and intellectual implications of these new cultural artefacts tend to go unnoticed, hidden behind the sensory impact that digital media offers with its state of the art graphics, images, sounds and effects. The main aim of this paper is to show how apparently unrelated fields of knowledge like medieval literature, language, culture and geography are, and could in fact be, didactically linked far more often that we might think. To prove my hypothesis, I will make a panoramic study of the digital market related to them, from social to entertainment apps, passing by educational offers.

Devices, Users and New Ways of Learning Until a few years ago, a common approach to the use of ICT in education involved, in most circumstances, PowerPoint-style presentations, videos and, maybe, some kind of computer applications promptly used as an example, reinforcement or reward. But the main burden of every area of knowledge, especially in humanities and social studies, lay in traditional forms of transmission like masterclasses and fullgroup dynamics, mainly debates and on the fly questions.

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All this meant a unidirectional way of teaching and learning, making the students the passive focus and the teacher the only true active participant in the process. Computers did not have a critical effect on the educational language compared with the current situation. In fact, the arrival of laptops, notebooks, smartphones and tablets at ever-lower prices represents the true key of the new dialogue between the learner and knowledge. The book is not the first step to clarify or learn concepts anymore, and response time arises as a final criterion for most students, and a growing number of teachers. But, which devices are making it possible? For the sake of clarity, I will organize them into two different categories: Not portable: mainly PCs and high end, too big or too heavy, notebook computers. Even when they can be carried by hand, it is usually not practical to do so. Therefore, users must go to where they are to use them, but in exchange their environment (room or house) offers a more comfortable experience for extended use. Portable: although smartphones are clearly our first thought, tablets and low-cost compact laptops are other popular options, too. They go with us wherever we go, so the time access is not significant. Nevertheless, they are not so well suited for long periods of use beyond the classic phone call. Knowing who the user is is just as important. In an educational context, it is clear that this refers mostly to young people (from teenagers to young adults). These users are very accustomed to these types of devices, smartphones standing out above all. For them, network thinking is not a concept but a way of learning. It is also necessary to point out that Elearning is only a part of the whole mechanism, because it enables the learner to use information from many different sources; ways of using it and themes are beyond the institutional education borderline. From my point of view, rather than a drawback, this must be regarded as an opportunity to reduce the gap between social and personal interest in acquiring knowledge, and this can be exploited from an educational perspective. Surprisingly, despite having a rich range of possibilities available for specific knowledge, transversality remains barely developed. This key word expresses the need established by our society to ensure the full and complete development of its citizens; in others words, why would it be helpful for people learning about medievalism, geography, history, language, social sciences etc. if they are not going to work in any of those fields in the future? The answer is because it would help them become more conscious citizens, better aware of their reality and, therefore, equipped with enhanced tools to cope with it. Maybe it sounds old

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fashioned, but I share the concern expressed by Castells (2001) about the danger of understanding education as an academic tessellation of knowledge with no meaning or relationships of its parts to each other. Even more, as far as our society develops deeper knowledge, intellectual risk of isolation and narrow-mindedness arises as factual issues. This kind of segmented education leads to a segmented citizenship as little by little, teachers, students and our own society accept it as axiomatic, a lore with no need to be proved; in the process weakening our ability to deal with ambiguity, in terms of Hampden-Turner (1970).

ICT Resources and Transversality in Medievalism, Geography and Social Sciences at Home and at School Whether at home or at school, resources have been designed mainly for desktop computers used for querying information, creating reports or playing educational games. Designing queries or request reports so that students use the web for answers can be a long and tedious task for teachers and students, especially if they are looking for data of proven quality, but fast access tends to be first option for an increasing number of students at all levels of education. Anyway, we can take advantage of the richness of the web designing task with a clear reference to transversality: focuses as problembased learning, project-based learning or group dynamics can come to our aid. Working with the students in a wider context like that enables both an active attitude and a more integrated assessment of reality. There is little educational interest in using a computer to answer questions like “Which are the different areas in a medieval town?” or “Where were the Wars of the Roses decided?” They have a real but limited effect on the students, especially at pre-university levels, and reduce ICT possibilities to the role of a mere paper handbook or dictionary. It is much more interesting to integrate new knowledge with their own, using targeted or untargeted approaches. In this way, questions like what the Wars of the Roses meant for the British Isles, or what life was like and how it was organized for people in the towns during the Middle Ages are, by far, much more interesting. Nonetheless, here are a few things to consider: specific knowledge, personal and citizenship development and the way of learning. What can ICT really do about this? E-Learning is a meeting point when we are thinking about ICT for educational purposes. It includes a number of synonymous or more specific concepts like computer-based training (CBT), virtual learning

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environments (VLE) or computer-based learning (CBL). Moodle, Sakai, Claroline and SWAD are well known open source learning management systems (LMS) whilst Blackboard and Desire2Learn are widely known in the proprietary context. Thanks to standardization models like SCORM (shareable content object reference model) and apps like LAMS (learning activity management system), the development and diffusion of useful resources are becoming easier. But this responds to a teacher’s point of view, in terms of use. The current development of the web offers alternatives more to the taste of students or curious people. Pinterest, Tumblr, blogs or even Facebook, wikis and Twitter work in a different way. They emphasize the use of lazy concepts like board, bookmarks and tags to order and show data, images, audio and video. A brief look at Pinterest (https://www.pinterest.com/) illustrates this concept clearly: first of all, you must integrate into its network (this is the true meaning of login offered here); once done, this website works like a Google Search. It has, also, one-level classification in big areas of interest (History, Culture, Art etc.), but its usefulness lies in the social meaning given to each note of each board. So, when we search for “English Medievalism”, three results are available: “Pins” highlights those elements that have been marked as interesting by one or more users (pinners) and is therefore a selection of outstanding notes made by the community without defined criteria (in effect a form of fuzzy logic); “Boards” shows a list of relevant boards about the search keywords; and “Pinners”, a list of profiles of people that made pins related to the topic; thanks to this feature, we can have some kind of feedback about what trends and quality is behind the result that we can have for the keywords. With minor differences, this is the new way that our students use ICT. However, video games are the element of contemporary society that best expresses the convergence of factors among past, present, personal interest and social communication. Their complexity, duration, intellectual and movements skill can be adjusted depending on the educational needs; therefore, teacher involvement is a crucial requirement if we expect a good result. This can be done in two main ways: introducing games in class or at home as a part of the educational process, or gamifying it. This means applying game-thinking and game mechanics to a non-game context (Borys and Laskowski 2013, 820). In a technical context, where they are used more often, it is no problem to design and analyse how closely the game puts students in relation to the didactic objectives, but in social studies and humanities they are much more uncommon—usually teachers do not have the right instruments and methods to do the task with a

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minimum guarantee of success, and therefore tend to leave these strategies to the background.

Serious Game Design Applied to Medievalist Learning Contexts Jeuring, van Rooij and Pronost (2013) have simplified two of the most widespread methodologies for designing educational games under the name of “method 5/10”. The first is ADDIE (Analysis, Design, Development, Implementation and Evaluation); its very clear steps and computer science style makes it a very friendly method to structure the game in the pre-functional phases. The second is TSCL (Ten Steps to Complex Learning) and has a more holistic, classroom style and sequential approach to the process: design learning tasks, sequence task classes, set performance objectives, design supportive information, analyse cognitive strategies, analyse mental models, design procedural information, analyse cognitive rules, analyse prerequisite knowledge and design part-task practice. The final synthesis offered by the authors is reproduced below:

Fig. 17-1 For most specialists in humanities and social sciences, a first look at the 5/10 schema is technically not feasible because they attempt to think in terms of a knowledge that is not theirs, when in fact, this is a common mistake and is not strictly a necessary approach; moreover, this method can also be used as benchmark for proposals already made. For example, we can adapt non-linear book structures like those by Cortázar, Pavich or Rulfo (and his masterwork Pedro Páramo) to our curricular interests in an ICT way. With no programming background and some patience, during the 2011–12 course, in the subject of SpatioTemporal and Social Concepts in the Degree in Early Childhood Education we successfully developed a “follow the adventure” role style game. In that experience, our conceptual objective was to raise awareness of the Spanish Muslim Middle Ages, and our intellectual premise was to avoid a linear, passive and segmented view of the past.

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The development references were minimal: a tale as guiding thread about a little girl, Alisha, whose mother trusts her to buy bread in the market in twelfth-century Málaga and how she finally returns to tell her mother all she has seen and learned along the way. In the middle, each small group of the class had to develop a learning situation for the child that involved decision-making that resolved it satisfactorily. The themes were: geography (orientation), language (Arabic, Hebrew and Spanish), culture (ways to dress and act), history (based on the architecture) and art (music, artistic professions). As the target ages were very immature, sound recordings of the scene and its choices was as important as the visual impact. A vast amount of work was done with a PowerPoint-like programme, but students valued the experience positively. For more mature students, more complex history-driven role-playing games can be made, but here standard PC games can be an option, like Civilization, Europa Universalis, Age of Empires, Empire Earth and its expansion The Crown of the North, Medieval Total War or Battle for Wesnoth. The first one is a reference to “king style” games where history, culture, geography, economy and many other aspects of a country are important to understand and need to be adequately controlled to win. Our capacity to change something is limited (despite many diverse options), it does not allow any option to be varied. So, when history and cultural background needs to be controlled, we must look for more flexible game structures, like Wesnoth (https://www.wesnoth.org/), an open-source strategy turn-based game, with a predefined adventure, but with a campaign editor that allows us to create from scratch a historical background in terms of time, space, characters, factions and evolution of the guiding thread with some restrictions. But clearly, the best choice are games like the Elder Scrolls saga (especially parts IV and Vs), where the editor application is a world editor: terraforming, architectural design, folk festivals, interior design, character behaviour, adventures and even the content of the books in a library can be specified in detail, making it an invaluable resource to work with subjects in humanities like historic narratives, cultural and artistic statements (Goins 2013, 15). For England in the Middle Ages, there are two main groups according to the historical theme tackled, both of them legendary: King Arthur (Dark Age of Camelot, http://www.darkageofcamelot.com/, is maybe the better example in the last decade) and Robin Hood (with no recent reference worth mentioning), more than 35 games in the first case and 10 in the second one have been created since the arrival of the domestic PC. This does not include related themes, often with a stronger emphasis on

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historical background, like the crusades or the struggles among European crowns. One last option is possible nowadays, a software-assisted full development of a game either via the web or stand-alone. Among the vast number of programmes available to tackle this, there are two names that stand out from the rest, both of them with lots and lots of amateur games made by enthusiasts, students and teachers: • GameMaker: originally developed by Mark Overmars around 1999 as a tool for fast game design, today it is a full design studio (http://www.yoyogames.com/studio). Its programming language is “newbies”-oriented, although there exists a commercial version with additional tools and characteristics. • RPGMaker (http://rpgmaker.net/) and RPGMakerWeb (http://www.rpgmakerweb.com/) were made to design Japanese style role-playing games (RPG). A few engines (programmes that make possible designing and playing games) have been created, and one of them, RPG Maker VX Ace Lite, is free.

ICTs Resources and Transversality in Medievalism, Geography and Social Sciences Anywhere IBM launched the original smartphone in 1992. Simon, as it was called, had a schedule, a notepad, fax and email capabilities and some basic games. But it was at the beginning of the twenty-first century that Nokia-Ericsson established the smartphone standards which laid the foundation for the success of the iPhone in 2007. Since then, this type of device has spread rapidly among the population, especially among teenagers and young adults. With its capability as a microcomputer with Internet access, a huge number of applications are available through “app markets” that cover almost every aspect of daily life. From a general point of view, apps like Twitter and Edmodo let the students and the teacher communicate in a fast and ubiquitous way. The task assigned, or last minute changes, can be communicated to all the whole community almost immediately. Moreover, the teacher as a result of a query can do tips, tricks and smartphone hints, helping the querent and the other students in the process. Traditionally, in social studies and humanities, the distribution of tasks tends to create a segmentation of the final result of a task, especially if it involves homework: each member of a group does his part and then everything is reassembled before being handed over to the teacher. But now the situation is completely different; if they want, they

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have efficient ways to interact with each other throughout the process, not only via free text apps like Whatsapp or Twitter but with small videoconferences available via Hangouts or Skype. One of the easiest ways to use these tools in our educational context is Google Goggles. The idea behind that is pretty simple but very powerful: an “image scanner” that compares the photo taken with a database of references; if a match occurs it returns a list of links to wikis, blogs, official websites etc. about the photographed item. Despite the database being huge, not all items that are of our interest are in it, and this is the reason why it is possible to add our own references in very few steps. With this, outdoor exploration games can be made much more attractive, both closed and open environments like schools and cities. So, game-oriented tasks like educational gymkhanas can be designed to address medieval heritage objects of any size, from jewellery, crockery and clothes to churches, cathedrals, castles and landscapes. A general purpose video introduction is available in the Google Play market. One step beyond that, Augmented Reality (AR) can be implemented to enrich our view of the world through the camera of our smartphones. Three main ways can be followed here: • Apps focused on giving contextual data, like Wikitude, Layar or Field Trip. In this case, data related to a previously chosen topic is overlaid on the screen. It closely resembles the visors and glasses used in a lot of Sci-Fi films by which the characters could see data about the people around him or her. In fact, these apps are the predecessors of Google Glass, the first physical device marketed that works as a true real-time visor. • Apps that project objects that are not in the scene on the screen, like Junaio or Augment. Those tools require more time for a good result, as far as a 3D model, a database and a landmark to project the object are required. Due to that, a certain level of skill is needed to properly work with them. • Social/entertainment apps where the user is immersed in a fictional history that affects his actual environment. Ingress, specTrek or AR Invaders are good examples. Here the key is to use the smartphone connectivity and tools (GPS, orientation, accelerometer etc.) to make a group experience. In England, the impact of ICT is rising quickly among arts and cultural organizations (Digital Culture Report 2013), because they understand that it is very useful to open the door to a bigger and more diverse audience which is accustomed to have active feedback from its sources. In fact,

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among the cultural forms that have been improved by that (op. cit., 34) we find literature, visual arts, music, dance and heritage.

Conclusions In recent decades, a titanic challenge has risen for humanities and social sciences: the ICT revolution. While experimental and natural sciences have quickly embraced this challenge, thanks in part to their initial affinity, the former still have a long road ahead. Regardless of the shortcomings in physical resources, our mind as teachers must assume a new way of developing lessons and students’ work. On the other hand, we must make much better use of the intrinsic strengths of our knowledge to project it to the virtual environment. Knowledge like medievalism has plenty of powerful facts, histories, tangible and intangible heritage that can be used to create refreshing educative tasks and games. Our society is geared towards audiovisual interaction, so to learn by reading is only a first step, to learn by watching is a second one and to learn by doing, or interacting, is a third one. Ancient and medieval culture are very present today through series, films and recovered traditions (like folk festivals); even more, as Byrd (2001) points out, the university itself is changing in a way that finds similarities with medieval models like Paris and Bologna: superstar faculties, less relevance of physical structures and focus on the critical thinking skills of students. Those aspects of our past are highly valued by society, of course not always in a rigorous and serious way, but to teach properly and in an attractive but certain way is part of our responsibility as specialists; in fact, there is no educational interest that tries to impose a skewed view of history, as pointed out by Evans and Marchal (2011). In a historical moment like this, the humanities and social sciences face a real test: to demonstrate that utility for society is more needed than ever. Knowledge of our past, as history, cultural and artistic legacy is both a fact and a heritage that must be learned and valued if our society really wants to know where it comes from and where it is headed.

Works Cited Borys, Magdalena and Laskowski, Maciej. 2013. Implementing game elements into didactic process: a case study. Management, Knowledge and Learning International Conference. Zadar, Croatia.

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Byrd, Michael D. 2001. “Back to the future for higher education: Medieval universities”. Review of Internet and Higher Education 4. Castells, Manuel. 2001. “Identity and Change in the Network Society”. Conversations with History; Institute of International Studies, UC Berkeley. Retrieved from: http://globetrotter.berkeley.edu/people/Castells/castells-con5.html. Cortázar, Julio. 1966. Hopscotch. New York: National Book Foundation. Digital Culture Report. 2013. How arts and cultural organizations in England use technology. London: MTM. Evans, R. J. W. and Marchal, Guy P. (eds). 2011. The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States. History, Nationhood and the Search for Origins. Hampshire: Palgrave-Macmillan. Goins, Elizabeth S.; Egert, Cristopher; Phelps, Andrew; Reedy, Chandra and Kincaid, Joel. 2013. 2Molding the Humanities: Experiments in Historic Narratives”. Journal of Interactive Humanities.1 Hampden-Turner, Charles. 1970. Radical Man. The Process of PsychoSocial Development. Cambridge, MA: Schenkman Inc. Jeuring, Johan; van Rooij, Rick and Pronost, Nicolas. 2013. The 5/10 method. A method for designing educational games. Technical Report. Utrecht : University. The Netherlands. Department of Information and Computing Sciences. Licklider, J. C. R. 1968. “The Computer as a Communication Device”. Science and Technology, April 1968. Licklider, J. C. R. 1960. “Man-Computer symbiosis”. Transactions on Human Factors in Electronics, vol. HFE-1, March 1960. Pavich, Milorad. 1988. Dictionary of the Khazars. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN USING VIDEO GAMES TO TEACH MEDIEVAL CULTURE VERÓNICA MARÍN-DÍAZ

Introduction The development of information and communication technologies (ICT) has allowed modern society to advance at a very fast pace. This movement aims at making a more technological world that will, supposedly, simplify people’s lives. Therefore, these new technologies imply a change of the utmost significance in the way people behave in their daily activities. From this point of view, all the surviving traditions that are still relevant in social movements are being incorporated (Marín 2012a). These traditions are very important because, in some ways, they are the ones conditioning the development of ICTs, together with many other social aspects. It is a very ambitious approach, since it includes many perspectives, including social, political, ethical and educational ones. Nevertheless, it also raises some new important problems that can be included within the main category of e-exclusion, a problem that is becoming more and more important everyday. Why do we take this aspect into account? We must be aware that the employment of ICT is conditioned by many factors, mainly economic, geographic, social, political and educational. Participation in actions and activities involving ICT in general and 2.0 tools is becoming more frequent (Cheung 2013). Thus, new and undesired technological inequality will probably arise in the near future. That is the reason why the progressive introduction of ICT in classrooms not only implies a change in teaching methodologies and a new understanding of the teaching-learning process, but also a systematic and measured destruction of the above-mentioned digital divide.

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Of all the new fast growing new technologies, 2.0 tools and video games are the most popular ones in classrooms at different educational levels. The reaction to 2.0 tools and video games ranges from a love-hate relationship to cases in which they are very present in daily teaching. Therefore, those teachers trying to develop their students’ curriculum and to make its content more attractive for the students must consider the possibility of using both 2.0 tools and video games, since they are key in the much-needed academic innovation.

Video Games and Education As stated previously, ICT is becoming a reality both for students and for teaching staff. This trend has been characterized by the strong growth of new technologies used in private houses, educational institutions and workplaces and, in general, in all the areas in which human beings have advanced in recent years. The development of the Internet has lead to the development of new teaching methodologies in which both teachers and students assume the new roles that the knowledge society has developed for them. We are referring to a new perspective in which collaboration, collaborative work, innovation and the ability to look for new information in an analytical manner are fundamental. As can be seen, all these features are included in all the curriculum development of the different education levels. Technological tools, or 2.0 as they are known today, have been developed at the same time as the Internet has developed. This new Web 2.0 environment is defined by a bidirectional exchange of information, the collective construction of knowledge, its open participation system and by the fact that many of the tools are offered free (O’Reilly 2005). In other words, these are the main features of Web 2.0. that we love and/or hate and with which we live and work every day. Technological growth has also given rise to the desire to instruct our students in what is known as “digital literacy”. We agree with Bustos (2009), with some nuances, that digital literacy implies much more than the mere ability to use a computer. When we refer to digital literacy we are thinking about “the ability to understand and use information in a variety of formats from a wide range of sources” and to be able to present that information in coherent, pleasant and varied ways. Within this frame, video games, both online and offline, are one of the technologies that have evolved more. In general terms, video games have been catalogued as mature or educational and mainstream.

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We are convinced that video games offer educators an ideal tool that gives students the chance to create, model and modify their closer environment by using a tool that is attractive for them and is part of their social relations, both with other students and with society in general. A recent study presented by the Spanish Association of Editors and Distributors of Entertainment Software (aDeSe, www.adese.es) pointed out that in 2012, 58% of Spanish citizens (compared to 67% of Europeans) considered it positive to employ entertainment software and video games as educational tools. The results of the Gametrack: The Videogames in Europe Consumer Study (developed by the Interactive Software Federation of Europe (ISFE)) are similar, showing that 47% and 25% of Europeans consider that video games foster young people’s creative and social skills. This tendency to include video game consoles in Euopeans’ daily life is reflected in the growing sales of both consoles and accessories. In Spain, the video games industry reached €822 million in consumer sales in 2012 (aDeSe 2012). Taking these economic outstanding results, we are inclined to think that video games are more than a mere entertainment option that replaces traditional games. Traditional games (platforms, strategy, sports, racing, arcade etc.) have traditionally been the most popular ones and this tendency was repeated in 2012 (74.7%) and 2011 (79.8%). Taking into account that some curriculum content is very difficult to teach, we should bear in mind how frequently students they use video games in their daily life. Thus, the 2012 aDeSe report we quoted above states that 30% of Spanish educators use video games as curriculum tools. Specifically, 78% of Spanish primary teachers think that video games “offer a great pedagogic potential and introducing them in the classroom can be considered as a refreshing new teaching method” (aDeSe 2012, 32). In view of this data, we must consider that video games should be part of the catalogue of digital tools teachers must employ in their classrooms. What is more, both educators and students have to give video games an educational value because every video game contributes, to a greater or lesser extent, to education and teaching. “To employ video games and digital games for educational purposes we must begin by studying the relationships established between the universe these games create and the gamer. The gamer must be able to interpret these messages, but this is a handicap because sometimes this universe is not accurately interpreted. This lack of interpretation must derive from ignorance of the iconic code or from a lack of knowledge of the message itself” (Marín 2012b, 194).

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But what is the educational value we can give to video games? We can start with their ability to foster curiosity and the desire to learn, even if the majority of the learning is produced on an unconscious level. Thus, video games contribute to developing certain skills and the curriculum gets reinforced at the same time as students’ self-awareness and esteem are increased (Marín & García 2005). According to aDeSe (2012), using video games in the classroom is beneficial in the following ways: • Students’ motivation for the study of content is increased. • Students pay more attention and get easily focused. • Video games reinforce the learning of curriculum content. • Video games attract students’ attention and retention. • When using video games, learning is fun, so students don’t get demotivated when faced with complex topics. • Mental ability is increased. • The classroom and its dynamic are more attractive. • Video games are part of our students’ reality. • Video games serve as an entry-point to the technological world. Marín points out that: videogames also develop reflexive and critical thinking, attention and memory skills, collaborative work capacities, a desire to improve and interact with other students. They also enhance visual and spatial skills, hand-eye coordination and are very positive to develop the students’ capacity to prevent and solve conflicts and to discover and learn new vocabulary and numerical conceptions. At the same time, video games increase motivation and help in the formation of socially accepted standards of behaviour that replace impulsiveness and self-destructive tendencies. (2012a 24)

It is also important to note that video games can be used to reduce students’ anxiety and to treat some mental and physical impairments. The bottom line is that including video games as a technological tool in classrooms at any educational level offers very positive results, because they Improve the students’ appetite for learning. Promote the development of personal, social, communicative skills… They allow developing the curriculum in a transversal manner. They bolster self-esteem and the image of themselves students project to other people. (Marín 2012a)

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Due to the criteria above, we are convinced of the urgent need to overcome the negative view of video games as a mere waste of time that steal time for study, social interaction etc. Another misconception that must be cleared is assuming that video games promote violent or antisocial behaviours and attitudes. As the 2011–2012 aDeSe study proved, a third of educators (36.4%) employed video games as didactic tools. It is important to highlight that younger teachers (up to 39 years) were more willing to employ video games. Therefore, it is safe to assume that a relevant percentage of educators are changing their previous negative view on video games. On the other hand, the Spanish Education Act (Ley Orgánica de Educación) of 2006 and the new one being debated in Parliament (known as LOMCE, 2013) give a privileged place to information and communication technologies. Under the earlier law these new technologies are included in the teaching of basic skills in primary and secondary education. Nevertheless, they are introduced in a very light manner in the case of infant and pre-school education. Under the new law, the LOMCE, these new technologies are treated as in the previous law in infant, pre-school and primary education. In secondary and high schools, the LOMCE gives even more importance to ICT. Even if the law gives less importance to the use of ICT in early education, it would be a mistake to conclude that their educational value is less important in this case. On the contrary, we are convinced that using ICT in early education helps achieve a great development of the curriculum especially in those subjects that are more demanding for younger students. Therefore, we consider that employing video games in the classroom constitutes both a challenge and an exciting adventure for students and teachers alike. Using video games that are labelled as educational offers the following advantages: They allow us to exercise fantasy beyond spatial, temporal or gravity limitations. In contrast with the conventional and ecstatic classrooms, the graphics allow us to enter ‘other worlds’. Videogames promote instantaneous repetition and new attempts in a safe environment. They help students mastering different skills, because even if the actions are difficult children can repeat them till they achieve their goal, acquiring feeling of control. Unlike the classroom social dynamic, when using video games students can interact in a non-hierarchical manner. Goals are clearly perceived. Generally, the child is not aware of what he is studying in maths or social or sciences. On the other hand, when he is playing a videogame the task is clear and specific: to open a door, rescue someone, find a treasure, etc. As a result, motivation in these cases is very high.

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Regardless of all the positive aspects we have considered so far, before introducing a video game as a curriculum tool we must ask ourselves whether it stimulates our students’ ability to improve, is understood by students as a challenge and at the same time is beneficial for their interpersonal relationships and helps them to learn in a meaningful way and to take decisions and solve problems. In general, it is necessary to judge whether the video game is useful from a didactic point of view and fosters autonomous learning (Torrico 2008; Marín, Ramírez and Cabero 2010).

Using Video Games to Teach Medieval British Culture Employing video games to make students familiar with the culture and society of the Middle Ages in England is not really too complex or excessively demanding a task for teachers, since video games combine a great variety of interests, attitudes and aptitudes on the part of the players. They also make the contexts more appealing for young learners and, therefore, their curiosity and motivation is nurtured when video games are used as educational tools. There exists a very rich catalogue of video games that set their action in or are related in a direct manner to medieval culture and even history. Some of the most popular titles are Warcraft, A Game of Thrones, Egoboo, X-Blades, Legends of Zenda, Age of Chivalry, X-Blades, The First TempleKnight: The Holy Grail, War of the Roses, The Witcher or The Last Tinker; City of Colours. In the present paper, I will consider King Arthur: The Role-Playing Wargame, since I am convinced that it is the video game that presents medieval British History in a more accurate manner and, therefore, helps the most to teach and learn about this topic. Neocore Games presented this game in the year 2010 and it has been described as a real-time strategy game in which players assume the role of King Arthur. Thus, he must select those knights that are worth being accepted as members of the Round Table; at the same time he unifies the Kingdom of Britannia under a single flag. In his role as King of Camelot, the player can act as a fair king or, on the contrary, as a true despot and some of his obligations include selecting the provinces that will act as allies and those that will become enemies; arranging matrimonies that will

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guarantee long-lasting peace among neighbouring territories; creating new cities and, also, writing laws and collecting taxes. In order to employ this video game in a didactic scenario that allows students to study Medieval England, the following goals must be established: • Learning to distinguish among still and moving images. • Knowing about the evolution of medieval society through the centuries. • Becoming familiar with the most prominent symbols from the Middle Ages in England. • Discovering the most prominent values at the medieval court. From the point of view of content, this video game allows educators to explain and illustrate the following thematic units: • History of Britain. • King Arthur’s legend, including Excalibur, the Round Table, The Holy Grail, Camelot and Merlin. • Medieval society in England, with special emphasis on its culture, architectural monuments and religion.

Conclusions The world is changing very fast. This obvious statement becomes so apparent because the changes that are taking place during the twenty-first century, as with the last decades of the previous one, have taken place together with the growing of information and communication technologies, as Cabero pointed out in 2006 and 2008 and Bidarrian and Davoud confirmed in 2011. As a result, society in general has gone through several phases of modernization, principally over the most recent years. Consequently, citizens no longer live in the information society (IS) that Bell identified in 1976 but in the information and knowledge society (IKS) where learning and teaching as a way of transferring knowledge work hand in hand with the information and communication technologies (ICTs). Therefore, this new landscape demands not only a deep remodelling or reshaping of existing professional profiles, but curriculum design and classroom methodologies must also be redesigned. Thus, this new way of teaching greatly affects almost every imaginable aspect of education. Media education goes beyond the mere assimilation of content. It demands an implication on the part of educators that allow students to overcome their existing gaps and express their needs. In order to achieve

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this goal, we have to bear in mind a series of previous aspects, like the teachers’ interest, motivation and previous knowledge. In this paper, I have shown how video games can be employed to teach medieval British history and culture, introducing King Arthur: The RolePlaying Wargame as a quintessential example.

Works Cited aDeSe. 2012. Anuario de la industria del videojuego 2012. Retrieved from Adese website: http://www.adese.es/anuario2012/ANUARIO_ADESE_2012.pdf. Bustos, Alfonso 2009. Alfabetización digital y currículum escolar. Paper presented at the I Jornadas Educación y TIC. Retrieved from http://www.slideshare.net/alfonso.bustos/bustos-jornadas-tic-2009final. Cheung, Ronnie & Dang Vogue. 2013. “Predicting user acceptance of collaborative technologies: an extension of the technology acceptance model for e-learning.” Computers & Education, 63: 160–175. Marín, Verónica. 2012a. “El ayer y el hoy de los videojuegos”. In Los videojuegos y juegos digitales como materiales educativos, edited by Verónica Marín, 19–34. Madrid: Síntesis. Marín, Verónica. 2012b. “Investigando sobre el potencial psicosocioeducativo de los videojuegos y juegos digitales”. In Los videojuegos y juegos digitales como materiales educativos, edited by Verónica Marín, 193–238. Madrid: Síntesis. Marín, Verónica & María Dolores García. 2005. “Los videojuegos y su capacidad didáctico-formativa”. Pixel-Bit. Revista de Medios y Educación, 26: 113–119. Ley Orgánica para la Mejora de la Calidad Educativa (2013). Retrieved from: http://www.mecd.gob.es/servicios-al-ciudadano-mecd/participacionpublica/lomce.html. O’Reilly, Tim. 2005. What Is Web 2.0. Design Patterns and Business Models for the Next Generation of Software. Retrieved from http://oreilly.com/web2/archive/what-is-web-20.html. Padilla, Natalia. 2007. El uso educativo de los medios. Retrieved from http://www.juntadeandalucia.es/educacion/webportal/descargas/familia s-lectoras/flash/coleccion/resources/cariboost_files/cuaderno09.pdf.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN PODCASTS ABOUT THE MIDDLE AGES AND THEIR EDUCATIONAL POTENTIAL BEGOÑA E. SAMPEDRO-REQUENA

Introduction Even though podcasting is a quite recent phenomenon, in recent years it has become an extremely popular one. Every single day hundreds of thousands of podcasts are downloaded and the main TV and radio stations around the world employ podcasts, together with numberless corporations, NGOs, research and education institutions and particular producers. Nevertheless, not many people would be able to define precisely what a podcast is. In an article published in the Western Mail the editor of the newspaper explained that “it’s one of those words that many of you will have heard, but few of us know what it means” (2005, 25). One of the first scholars paying attention to podcasting, Brian Flanagan, defines podcasting in the following terms: Podcasting is an automated technology that allows listeners to subscribe and listen to digitally recorded audio shows. Once you subscribe to a podcast, the audio files are automatically downloaded to your computer’s media player by podcatcher software periodically throughout the day. Listeners can then either listen to the podcasts from their computers or set their media player to automatically download them to a MP3 player. (2005, 20)

The above-quoted definition is exemplary in the sense it offers an extremely clear and accurate description of podcasting and podcasts. Nevertheless, it forgets to mention a fundamental feature of podcasts: when interacting with podcasts, the audience does not (necessarily) play a passive role, since as Friedman explains:

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Chapter Eighteen [Podcasts gives us] the ability to build and deploy your own personal supply chain of information, knowledge and entertainment. In-forming is about self-collaboration-becoming your own self-directed researcher, editor and selector. (2005, 153)

In other words, any user with a computer can produce and publish his own podcasts in an extremely easy, quick and free manner. In this respect, it is also important to bear in mind Robert GodwinJones’s opinion that podcasting is a disruptive technology, since “it allows for new and different ways of doing familiar tasks, and in the process, may threaten traditional industries” (2005, 9). According to this scholar, by being “disruptive” many of the new technologies such as podcasting or Skype are contributing to democratize traditional and very powerful institutions, such as the media.

A Radical New Social Phenomenon Since Apple first introduced podcasts within its iTunes software in June 2005, the success of podcasts has been exponential, both in the number of available podcasts and in the users that download and play those podcasts on a regular basis. Robert Godwin-Jones points to recent researches that prove that about a third of those owning an MP3 player have downloaded podcasts frequently (2005, 10), and in the Western Mail article I quoted, it was predicted that by the year 2010 about 60 million users would consume podcasts daily. Estimations were not accurate, since more than 100 million users were consuming podcasts by that date and the consumption rate keeps going up exponentially. Thus, some critics go as far as to consider that podcasting is starting to threaten the traditional media such as newspapers, radio and even television. Joseph Epstein asked “Are Newspapers Doomed?” in an article published in the year 2006. The radical conclusion of the paper affirmed that, “About our newspapers as they now stand, little more can be said in their favour than that they do not require batteries to operate, you can swat flies with them, and they can still be used to wrap fish” (Epstein 2006, 46). Some other critics such as Giles Turnbull are not as apocalyptic in their predictions about the future of newspapers as we know them today, but he thinks that in order to survive, newspapers must necessarily discover how to make use of the new technologies such as podcasting: Some commentators argue the future of newspapers lies online. That's not to say that newspapers themselves will disappear' indeed, a lot of people

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say that the printed paper still has a long life ahead of it. But the most successful ones will be those that can integrate and assimilate the online audience, make the print and the electronic sides of things work together. (2006, 22)

The future of traditional radio is not much better than that of conventional newspapers, but the most surprising surveys are those related to TV, since in many researchers’ opinion the fate of television is also at risk. Chris Tomlinson explains that recent studies suggest “16 to 24 yearolds now watch an hour less TV a day than they did in 2004” (2006, 23) and Alastair Gilmour quotes Tom Gutteridge, former BBC executive producer, when asked about how the new technologies may affect the future of traditional television in which the audience is entirely passive, goes as far as to claim that “Television is dead, long live creativity” (2006, 26). The reasons why the younger generation, already known by many as the “pod-generation”, is losing interest in the traditional media and focusing their attention on the new media such as blogs, forums and especially podcasts may quite possibly be that by using these new technologies they are much more free and they can choose when and where they want to receive information that is relevant to them, especially taking into account that these new media are available to people with nothing but their own time, talent and vision.

Podcasts in the Classroom The new technologies are changing the way we interact with other people, ourselves and with the traditional mass media. The importance of these new technological media affects every social and economic field, and evidently education also reflects this new situation. In a pioneer paper on the role of podcasting within education, Mikael Blaisdell defined the evolution of podcast within education as follows; at the same time he warned teachers that they couldn’t neglect podcasting as a powerful educational tool: First it was an innovation. Then it escalated to a movement. Now the iPod has sprung a genuine reformation, coming to a global of four-walled classroom near you, no matter where in the world you are. From kindergarten to college, in applications of all kinds, what was originally designed as a mere portable music player is on its way to becoming an

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Chapter Eighteen essential educational tool. On its way? Ready or not, it’s already here. (2006, 30)

The reasons why education is adopting podcasting are several. Jim Hirsch argues that podcasting is especially important to education because it “involves students collaborating with one another” (2005, 10). As well as making the students collaborate when creating their own podcast, this scholar explains that in this way their learning becomes much more active, since they feel they are actually participating in the process of learning. Larry Anderson, a librarian and educator who started creating podcasts with his students as early as 2005, explains this concept in the following terms, “I see podcasting as a form of teaching. The old adage is true: You remember 10 per cent of what you hear, but 90 per cent of what you teach” (2005, 45). Thus, he summarizes the benefits of using podcasting in education as follows: “It’s a recipe for success. . . . [It] manifests the three C’s of teaching: creativity, curiosity, and confidence” (2005, 50). In a more recent paper, Kathleen Swan and Mark Hofer investigated podcasts created by students from their area. These scholars found out that “Interestingly, these students created these podcasts based on their love of history rather than as an assignment connected with a class” (2009, 100). Other scholars go a step further and consider that the employment of new technologies (especially podcasting) in the classroom is not only beneficial for the students, but also demanded by them. For instance, Matt Miller explains that: Considering that kids would be lost without their iPods and TiVo, it's understandable that the way students consume content and expect to be educated is different from the way things were done in the past. And as each generation becomes more technically savvy, this new breed of students has come to expect a learning environment where content is accessible anytime, anywhere, at the click of a button. (2006, 18)

As I have shown above, from the very moment podcasts were introduced, many scholars agreed on the extreme benefits that could be achieved by using podcasting in educational contexts. As a result, many education institutions, both in Europe and in the United States, also understood the importance of using podcasting as a key tool in their academic curricula. A quintessential and pioneering example of using podcasts in education is that of Duke University. In 2004 Duke decided to invest $500,000 to provide every single freshman with an iPod so they could listen to the podcast Duke faculty created for them, and they also provided their students with an iPod-compatible microphone, so they

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could record their class notes as well as create their own podcasts. Duke University explained the goals of this ambitious experiment in the following terms: The program involves distributing a new fourth-generation 20GB iPod to each first-year student, offering faculty and students a unique opportunity to present and apply course material and audio content in a new way. The project challenges members of the Duke community to develop innovative applications for the mobile technology the iPod provides. From the classroom to the commons room, student life is enriched through the unique partnership between academic, student life, and technology departments delivered in this program. (http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2005/04/07/ipod)

Even if Duke University was the first educational institution (and the most prestigious) employing iPods and podcasting as part of their teaching resources, there are numberless examples of other universities, high schools and even elementary schools throughout the world that included these new devices as a crucial part of their teaching strategies between the years 2005 and 2008. Today there are 309 universities from all over the globe producing and distributing free podcasts, together with transcripts, activities, linked tests and some other related materials. The complete list of institutions can be found in the following link: http://www.4icu.org/itunesu/index2.htm. Nevertheless, if we include password-protected podcasts that are only available when connecting to the campus’ Internet connection, the number of universities is much higher. Since those restricted podcasts are harder to track, it is very difficult to estimate the actual number of institutions that have embraced podcasting so far, but in a 2010 paper Robert Zelin affirmed that at that date 888 universities and colleges were already employing podcasts (2010, 95).

Podcasts to Teach and Learn about the Middle Ages Conceptually, the different learning styles are understood as personal variables that are halfway between intelligence and personality and they justify the different ways in which learning needs are tackled (Camarero, Martín and Herrero 2000, 615). As Santisteban points out, these requirements determine the manner in which history is taught:

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Chapter Eighteen One of the most important goals related to teaching History is to foster historical thinking, with the intention of providing the students with a set of analysis, interpretation and comprehension tools that allow them to face the study of History in an autonomous manner. Thus, they will be able to build their own interpretation of the past, at the same time they are enabled to contextualize and judge historical events, taking into account the distance that separate these events from the present moment. (2010, 35)

According to the same expert, the study of history fosters the following competences: • The development of historic and temporal consciousness. • The different ways in which history is represented. • Historical imagination and creativity. • Learning to construe history. (2010, 39) As pointed out by García, ICT contributes to fostering the different competences that are related to reasoning, since they allow students to simulate, manipulate, sequence and modify abstract representations of historical events (2013, 6). Camacho and Castañeda explain that using podcasts in the classroom offer a number of benefits that could be related and interconnected with the competences that promote the development of historical thinking: • They promote participative culture. • They boost peer learning. • They help diversify cultural and linguistic expression in the classroom. • They are positive in developing social competences, such as collaborative work and online learning. • They include research as an important axis. (Camacho and Castañeda, 96) Taking into account all these elements and the benefits that can be derived from employing podcasts in the history classroom, I will now offer a set of didactic proposals in which podcasts can be used to teach English medieval topics and key events from this historical period.

Podcast about the Middle Ages and their Educational Potential GOAL Learning medieval history in a reflexive manner.

Representation of the Middle Ages in England.

Imagination of Medieval England

Historical interpretation of Medieval England.

Table 18-1

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DIDACTIC PROPOSALS Students will create several audio files, or podcasts, that contain their own descriptions of some fundamental events that occurred during the Middle Ages in England. Students themselves, working in small groups, will structure and order the different files, creating “playlists”. They will be asked to justify in a mature manner the order they have proposed. Working in small groups, students will research about the different gadgets and materials that were employed in England during the Middle Ages. At a second stage, they will elaborate an audio or video file and edit it, in order to be uploaded to Internet. This podcast, scripted and recorded by the group of students, will give detailed but straightforward information about the medieval gadgets and materials. Students will collect melodies, songs and other audio representations of the Middle Ages in England that will be incorporated in a series of podcast they will create in an independent manner. Students, distributed in several small groups, will create a set of podcasts with stories related to the Middle Ages in England. These stories must portray daily life in Medieval England.

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Conclusions With the evolution of technology in general and ICT in particular, nowadays it is no longer necessary to have complex technical skills in order not only to enjoy new technologies but also to create didactic materials that are related to or depend on these very technologies. In this paper, I have tried to prove that Web 2.0 tools are both useful and beneficial when applied to education, since they promote a more efficient and autonomous learning to students. From a more specific point of view, I have analysed how podcasts can be employed to teach the history of medieval England; at the same time I have offered a set of didactic proposals that include podcasts and that could foster students’ comprehension of the most important events that took place during the Middle Ages in England.

Works Cited Alastair, Gilmour. 2006. Creativity “That Will Put Small Screen to the Test”. The Journal, 26. Anderson, Larry. 2005. “Podcasting: Transforming Middle Schoolers into ‘Middle Scholars’: An Innovative Seventh-Grade Teacher Has Turned Her Students into Expert Podcasters by Integrating the New Apple Technology into Her Daily Curriculum.” THE Journal (Technological Horizons in Education) 33, 40–51. Camacho, Mar & Linda Castañeda. 2010. “Enseñando y aprendiendo con podcast”. In Podcast Educativo. Aplicaciones y orientaciones del m – learning para la enseñanza, edited by Isabel Solano. Sevilla: Eduforma, 93–118. Epstein, Joseph. 2006. “Are Newspapers Doomed?” Commentary. 121, 46–62. Flanagan, Brian. 2005. “Podcasting in the Classroom”. Learning & Leading with Technology. 33, 20–33. Friedman, Thomas. 2005. The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-first Century. New York: Farrar. García Utrera, Luis. 2013. “Herramientas tecnológicas para aprender historia en primaria”. Edutec. Revista electrónica de Tecnología Educativa. 46, 1–13. Godwin-Jones, Robert. 2005. “Skype and Podcasting: Disruptive Technologies for Language Learning”. Language, Learning & Technology. 9, 9–19.

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Hirsch, Jim. 2005. “Learning Collaboratively with Technology: Students’ Social Interactions Demand New Applications of Digital Learning Tools”. School Administrator. 62, 1024. Hofer, Mark. 2009. “Trend Alert: A History Teacher’s Guide to Using Podcasts in the Classroom”. Social Education. 73 (2), 95–110. Miller, Matt. 2006. “Learning on Demand: The Technology Behind Custom-Order TV and Movies Is Storming the Educational Market”. THE Journal (Technological Horizons in Education). 33, 18–29. Santisteban, Antoni. 2010. “La formación de competencias de pensamiento histórico”. Clío & Asociados. 14, 34–56. Tomlinson, Chris. 2006, August 15. “The Young Ditch Traditional Media for the Broadband Revolution”. Birmingham Post, 23. Turnbull, Giles. 2006, April 4. “It Is in Newspapers’ Best Interests to Encourage the Pod People”. Birmingham Post, 22. Zelin, Robert. 2012. “Using Publicly Available Podcasts and Vodcasts in the Accounting Curriculum: Suggestions and Student Perceptions”. Academy of Educational Leadership Journal. 16 (1), 87–98.

CONTRIBUTORS

Manuela Álvarez-Jurado, holds a PhD in French Language and Literature and is Associate Professor of Translation and Interpretation and Chair of the Department of Translation and Interpretation at the University of Córdoba (UCO), Spain. She has completed two six-year research tracks and has 25 years of recognized teaching experience. Throughout her research career she has published numerous articles in specialized journals, as well as books and book chapters. She has directed several doctoral theses on institutional translation, legal translation, and literary translation and been a member of examination boards on numerous occasions. She has participated in the organization of several international congresses and as a guest speaker. She currently collaborates in the organization of the Science and Translation Conference held annually at the UCO. She is co-director of the translation journals Revista de Investigación de Filología y Traducción Estudios Franco-Alemanes and Skopos. She has also been an external referee for the journal of French studies Çédille, the journal of literary studies Tangence of the University of Quebec, and the journal of linguistics, philology and translation Onomázein. María del Carmen Balbuena-Torezano earned his PhD from the University of Seville and is currently Associate Professor at the Department of Translation and Interpretation at the University of Córdoba (UCO), Spain. The professor is the author of more than twenty academic books and book chapters and more than thirty papers on scholarly journals. The author has been Visiting Professor in several European Universities and delivered conferences both in Spain and abroad. Antonio Barcelona-Sánchez is Full Professor at the University of Córdoba, Spain (formerly at University of Murcia, Spain). This contributor has lectured extensively on metaphor, metonymy and cognitive linguistics in Spain and abroad. Author of a hundred articles and author or editor of several books on these topics. His two most recent books are: Panther, K.-U., Thornburg, L. and A. Barcelona (eds.) 2009. Metonymy and Metaphor in Grammar. Amsterdam / Philadelphia: John Benjamins; and Reka Benczes, Antonio Barcelona and Francisco Jose Ruiz de

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Contributors

Mendoza Ibáñez (eds.).2011. Defining Metonymy in Cognitive Linguistics. Amsterdam / Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Head researcher or member of the research team in thirteen government-funded research projects on cognitive linguistics and other areas. Founder and first president of the Spanish Cognitive Linguistics Association (AELCO) and board member of ICLA, the International Cognitive Linguistics Association (1997-2001), Associate Editor of Cognitive Linguistics (2009 and 2011) of the Review of Cognitive Linguistics (since 2010) and member of the Editorial of several other international journals and book series. Olga Blanco-Carrión is Associate Professor of English Language and Linguistics at the Department of English and German, University of Córdoba, Spain. Her main research interests include frame semantics, the construal of emotion via conceptualization mechanisms such as metaphor and metonymy, and discourse analysis, all from the theoretical perspective of cognitive linguistics. Her involvement with cognitive linguistics started with a PhD on mental perception verbs in English and Spanish from a frame semantics perspective, which meant the implementation of the proposal made by the FrameNet project taking into account the expert model perspective. She has also applied frame semantics to the analysis of emotions and discourse analysis in papers such as “Framing Interpersonal Violence in A Married Woman” (in C. Gámez & A. Navarro (eds.) (2011) India in the World. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.) One of her most recent publications is the co-authored chapter (with Zoltán Kövecses et al.) “Anger metaphors across languages: a cognitive linguistic perspective” (in R. Heredia and A. B. Cieslika (eds.) (2015) Bilingual Figurative Language Processing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.) She is associate editor of the Bibliography of Metaphor and Metonymy (published by John Benjamins), and co-editor (with Barcelona and Pannain) of the volume Describing Conceptual Metonymy in Languages: From Morpheme to Discourse accepted for publication in the book series Human Cognitive Processing, Amsterdam:John Benjamins. Elena Cantueso-Urbano is a former student of the University of Córdoba where she did a degree in English Studies (2009-2014). Currently, she is doing a master degree on English studies in the University of Málaga. She spent one year in London on an Erasmus scholarship in the University of King’s College (2011-2012); time during which she could get a deep insight of the British culture and language. Last year she started some research on literature, especially the English novel. She has published a review in the academic journal IPES- “Margarete Rubik, Aphra Behn and

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Her Female Successors, Berlin: LIT VERLAG, 2011, 204.”, Apart from that, she has several articles waiting to be evaluated and published in electronic journals like IPES and Entreculturas. Building a Canadian Identity with a British influence: Roughing it in the Bush; Marriage vs. love in the Victorian era; Women in Shakespeare’s tragedies: Coriolanus, Cleopatra and Julio Caesar. Eulalio Fernández-Sánchez has carried out an intensive research and teaching within the framework of cognitive linguistics at the Department of English Philology of the University of Córdoba. His teaching has focused on Psycholinguistics and Acquisition of second languages both at undergraduate and postgraduate studies. As for research, his investigation has developed two main lines: dyachronic studies and psycholinguistic approach to second language acquisition processes, resulting into numerous national and international publications. Cristina M. Gámez-Fernández teaches at the University of Córdoba, Spain, but she has spent research periods at Stanford University and Wheaton College in the US and Trinity College of Dublin in Ireland. She was Founder and has been Secretary-Treasurer of AEEII (Spanish Association for India Studies) for the period 2007-2009. She coedited the books India in the World in 2011, Tabish Khair: Critical Perspectives in 2014, and has been the Guest Editor of the Journal of Post-Colonial Cultures and Societies devoted to “Contemporary English Writing in India” (2012) and the Journal of Contemporary Literature on the topic “Muslim Identity Issues in Literature and Film” (2015). She is currently preparing a co-edited volume entitled Shaping Indian Diaspora to be published in Lexington Books (2015). Vicente López-Folgado did his BA in English and German Studies at Salamanca, and PhD at the UCM of Madrid. He has taught English Studies at several Spanish Universities and in the last few years he joined the Translation Department at Córdoba University. He’s also did postgraduate studies at St Andrews, Scotland, and was a Lector in England. He has translated several classical English authors into Spanish and has published editions and many articles in Translation and Comparative Literature. Magdalena López-Pérez is currently Assistant Professor at the University of Extremadura, where she is teaching undergraduate and graduate courses in Didactics of English Language and Literature, English Teaching and

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Contributors

Learning in Primary Education, Teaching Planning and Curriculum Development for Bilingual Schools and Methodology, resources and assessment in bilingual education. She received her PhD in English-Arabic Translation Studies from the University of Córdoba in 2007. She has published numerous articles, books and book chapters on the teachinglearning process of English as a foreign language as well as on ArabicEnglish translation studies Verónica Marín-Diaz is Associate Professor in Faculty of Education (Universidad de Córdoba) in the ICT area. Her research topics and areas of expertise include ICT, Videogames, Digital Competence. Author of several books and chapter about this topic. Editor in Chief of EDMETIC, Journal of Media Literacy and ICT (www.uco.es/revistas), Assessment of journal national and international journal. Assesment of Innovation Proyect in DEVA (Andalussian Agency for Evaluation) Javier Martín-Párraga is Associate Professor at the Department of English and German Studies at the University of Córdoba, where he obtained his PhD degree. His main fields of research focus on American literature, films and cultural studies. He has worked as Visiting Scholar at Wheaton College, USA, Louisiana School for Math, Science, and the Arts, USA, the University of Toronto, Canada, and several Polish Universities. His academic publications include including four books, and numerous book chapters and articles in peer-reviewed academic journals. He is also the Editor of two journals, Littera Aperta and International Papers on English Studies. Ana Belén Martínez-López is Associate Professor in Translation and Interpreting at the University of Córdoba (Spain). She has been teaching medical and scientific translation for eight years at the University of Córdoba and has delivered several lectures at national and international conferences about translation. She is the author of two books about medical translation published in Comares (Spain) and Peter Lang (Germany), and many papers about specialized translation. Daniel D. Martínez-Romera is Assistant Professor of Social Sciences Didactics at the University of Málaga, where he teaches in the M.A. of Education in the area of Social Sciences since course 2009/10. He received his PhD in Geography from the University of Granada in 2005, with a thesis about the relationship among Epistemology, Society and Educaction. His main fields of interest focus on ITC and its impact in

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Education and the evolution of the geographical theory. As is shown in his recent contributions: "Mythos y Logos en la Geografía Institucionalizada Contemporánea" (2014), "Patrimonio Expandido. Una propuesta de innovación didáctica" (2014) or "La introducción de la tecnología móvil en la dinamización de itinerarios didácticos patrimoniales" (2014). Israel Muñoz-Gallarte, Ph.D. in classics (Complutense University of Madrid), is Assistant Professor of the Department of Greek Philology (Faculty of Arts, University of Córdoba, Spain; he publishes on classics, Plutarch, Early Christian Apocrypha, and semantics; he is the author of The Substantives-Acts in the New Testament (Madrid 2008) and co-author of Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity (Brill, Leiden-Boston 2012) and Greek, Jews and Christians. Historical, Religious and Philological Studies in Honor of Jesús Peláez del Rosal (El Almendro, Córdoba 2013) among others; research fields: post-classical Greek literature, Early Christian Apocrypha, and semantics of NT. Emilio Ortega-Arjonilla is Full Professor in Translation and Interpreting. Head of the Department of Translation and Interpreting at the University of Málaga (Spain). Director of the Colection Interlingua (Comares, Granada) with more than one hundred books published about translation and interpreting. He is the author of many books and papers about specialized translation (law, philosophical and medical translation). María Luisa Pascual-Garrido is graduated English Studies (MA) in 1991 and in Translation (BA) in 1995, both at the University of Granada. She obtained her Ph.D in 2001 at the University of Córdoba with a dissertation on the translation of English poetry in Spanish anthologies: “Un hito en la poesía inglesa traducida en antologías: estudio descriptivo de La poesía inglesa de Mariá Manent”. She was visiting scholar at the University of Kent at Canterbury in 2001, and at Dublin City University, Centre of Textual and Translation Studies, in 2003. She began teaching EFL at Secondary level education and as part-time lecturer in the Language Centre of the University of Córdoba in 1993. Since 1996 she has been working full-time as a lecturer and researcher in the English and German Studies Department at the University of Córdoba (UCO). Marta Rojano-Simón is a Historian and holds a Master from the University of Córdoba (Spain). At the present moment she is finishing her doctoral dissertation on the field of Arcaheology. Rojano-Simón is the author of three books and university mannuals and several papers at

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international academic journals. This author has also delivered conferences at several scientific meetings and has been Visiting Scholar at several Polish Universities. Her professional background as a Historian includes experience as an archaeologist at Nerja prehistoric cave. She is also the Editor in Chief of Hicupa, a scholarly publishing house that was launched on 2014. Begoña Sampedro-Requena PhD in Education (University of Córdoba) is Assistant Professor of the Department of Education (University of Córdoba). She has also been Assistang Professor at Pablo de Olavide University (Seville). Sampedro-Requnea’s research area is related to ICTs and Computers applied to educational education and is the author of several research papers and book chapters, both in Spain and abroad. She has been Visiting Professor in Costa Rica and has read papers at many international conferences. Juan de Dios Torralbo-Caballero is Associate Professor at the Department of English and German Studies at the University of Córdoba, where he obtained his PhD degree on the translation of English Poetry in Spain. His main fields of research focus on Restoration and Augustan literature, paying special attention to the professionalization of poets and to woman writers. Torralbo-Caballero has been Visiting Scholar at King’s College, University College London, and a number of other European Research Centers including Nîmes. He is the author of several books and articles published in international journals.