Romance and Its Contexts in Fifteenth-Century England: Politics, Piety and Penitence 1843843595, 9781843843597

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
Preface
1 Fifteenth-Century Contexts for the Reading of Middle English Romances
2 Spiritual Journeys through Political Realities: The ‘Pious’ Romances
3 Chronicling Britain’s Christian Conversion: Henry Lovelich’s History of the Holy Grail
4 The Politics of Salvation in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur
Afterword
Appendix 1. Plot Summaries (excluding Le Morte Darthur)
Appendix 2. Genealogies
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Romance and its Contexts in Fifteenth-Century England Politics, Piety and Penitence

Raluca L. Radulescu

Romance and its Contexts in Fifteenth-Century England

Romance and its Contexts in Fifteenth-Century England POLITICS, PIETY AND PENITENCE

Raluca L. Radulescu

D. S. Brewer

©  Raluca L. Radulescu 2013 All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner The right of Raluca L. Radulescu to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published 2013 D. S. Brewer, Cambridge ISBN 978–1–84384–359–7 D. S. Brewer is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate Papers used by Boydell & Brewer Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

To Pierre and Norah

Contents Acknowledgements ix Abbreviations xi Preface xiii 1 Fifteenth-Century Contexts for the Reading of Middle English Romances Kings and rulers, suffering and penitence: shaping vocabularies of political debate Middle English romances and their manuscript ‘homes’: corpus, challenges, choices

1 1 26

2 Spiritual Journeys through Political Realities: the ‘Pious’ Romances Robert of Sicily: the king’s penitence Sir Gowther: broken lineages Sir Isumbras: women, male suffering and the lineage

40 43 56 66

3 Chronicling Britain’s Christian Conversion: Henry Lovelich’s History of the Holy Grail Lovelich and the Arthurian legend Chronicling God’s victories in the secular world The king’s suffering Women, suffering, and the preservation of the lineage Authority and the book: the English claim to spiritual legacy

87 88 97 110 121 129

4 The Politics of Salvation in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur Balin’s legacy Lineages through swords Lancelot, the suffering penitent Lancelot’s healing of the fellowship Lancelot’s final penitence

149 155 165 175 182 190

Afterword 198 Appendix 1  Plot summaries 201 King Robert of Sicily 201 Sir Gowther 201 Sir Isumbras 202 Henry Lovelich, History of the Holy Grail 203 Appendix 2 Genealogies

209

Bibliography 211 Index 229

Acknowledgements In the course of researching and writing this book I have incurred many debts, of both an academic and personal nature. I have benefited from two semesters of study leave from Bangor University, one at the beginning of the project in 2007–8, and one at the very end, in 2012; the research has been funded through a British Academy small grant which has enabled me to travel to repository libraries in the UK and US. Librarians at Oxford, Bodleian Library; London, the British Library and London Metropolitan Library (Guildhall Library); Cambridge University Library and in particular Gonville and Caius College and Parker Libraries; Dublin, Trinity College Library; New Haven, Yale University, Beinecke Library have been helpful and generous with their time; staff at Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale were prompt in responding to my requests, and staff at the Widener and Houghton Libraries, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA, made my two-month stay there enjoyable and rewarding in equal measure. While a visiting researcher at Harvard University I was made welcome by Daniel Donoghue, James Simpson and Nicholas Watson; their collegiality greatly contributed to my integration into the local academic community, in particular through the Harvard Medieval Colloquium. Various sections of what later became chapters in the book have been presented at conferences, research seminar series or as guest papers or lectures; I thank the organisers of these events for giving me the opportunity to try out ideas, and for all the suggestions received from audiences there (Warwick University, University of Kent, University of Padua, University of Bucharest, University of Durham, University of Leeds, University of Chester). Material from two previously published articles has been incorporated into Chapter 2 (‘Pious Romances Turned Political: The Case of Isumbras, Sir Gowther and Robert of Sicily’, Viator 41:2 (2010), 333–59) and Chapter 3 (‘Malory’s Lancelot and the Key to Salvation’, Arthurian Literature 25 (2008), 93–118); I thank the editors and publishers of these publications for permission to reproduce the material in the present study. I am also grateful to Carol Chase and Rodopi for permission to use genealogical charts from her chapter ‘La conversion des païennes dans l’Estoire del Saint Graal’ (in Arthurian Romance and Gender, ed. Friedrich Wolfzettel (Amsterdam, 1995), pp. 251–64) in Appendix 2. For permission to use a miniature from BNF MS fr. 9123 for the book cover, I thank the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. The book would not be what it is now without the encouragement, enthusiastic support, constructive criticism and intellectual stimulation of so many academic colleagues and friends. I am also grateful for the suggestions provided by the two anonymous press readers. For their generosity and patience, as well as their comments and suggestions on draft chapters, I am indebted to: William Marx, Lesley Coote and Paul Cavill (Chapter 1); Rosalind Field, Maldwyn Mills

x ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS and Ad Putter (Chapter 2); Helen Cooper, Carol Meale, Roger Dalrymple, Sarah Peverley and Carol Chase (Chapter 3); Peter Field, Edward Donald Kennedy and Andrew Lynch (Chapter 4). Alison Stones and Carol Meale kindly discussed with me the programme of illumination in Lovelich’s manuscript; Carol Chase’s comments on Chapter 3 greatly assisted me in gaining an insight into the development of the Graal, while conversations with Ralph Hanna, Margaret Connolly and Rex Smith saved me from many errors in my transcriptions of John Cok’s annotations. In addition, Rex Smith’s generous help with the Latin annotations and translations has been invaluable. Any remaining errors are, of course, my own. For meaningful conversations and challenging questions or comments that spurred me on I thank Rosalind Field, James Simpson, Edward Donald Kennedy and Peter Field. I greatly appreciate Michelle Warren’s warm welcome at Dartmouth College; discussing Lovelich with her made a difference to Chapter 3, although we disagree on a number of issues. I should also thank many colleagues and peers who have shared their work with me prior to publication: Wendy Scase, Mike Johnston, Rhiannon Purdie, Amy Appleford, Sarah Peverley, James Simpson, James Freeman and Carol Chase. My friends Emilia Jamroziak, Anna Saunders and Astrid Ensslin have provided an inspiring context in which the book has grown and reached maturity. The laborious process of getting the book to its final shape has been kindly assisted by Linda Jones, of Bangor University and Charles Lauder; I am grateful for their thoroughness. Mrs Jones also kindly assisted with the index. I also thank Caroline Palmer from Boydell & Brewer for being, as ever, supportive and efficient at all stages. Last but not least, two people deserve special thanks: my husband, Pierre Walthery, whose unfailing support and confidence in the project have made such a difference over these past few years, and Norah, our daughter, for her patience and cheerfulness even when work on the book cut deep into special time with her. The book is as old as she is; one day I hope she will read it with pleasure.

Abbreviations BBIAS Bibliographical Bulletin of the International Arthurian Society BIHR Bulletin of the Institute for Historical Research BJRUL Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France BNF Corpus Christi Cambridge, Corpus Christi College CUL Cambridge University Library EETS Early English Text Society   o.s. original series   e.s. extra series   s.s. supplementary series fol./fols folio/folios Graal L’Estoire del Saint Graal (Vulgate Cycle) H Le Saint Graal, ed. E. Hucher (Le Mans, 1877–78), 3 vols Journal of the Early Book Society JEBS JEGP Journal of English and Germanic Philology JMEMS Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies L Lancelot-Grail: The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate in Translation, gen. ed. Norris J. Lacy, 5 vols (New York and London, 1993–96) Middle English Dictionary, online edition MED L’Estoire de Merlin (Vulgate Cycle) Merlin MS, MSS manuscript, manuscripts n.s. new series ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, online edition, 2004– Oxford English Dictionary, online edition OED old series o.s. L’Estoire del Saint Graal, ed. J.-P. Ponceau, 2 vols, Les classiques P françaises du moyen âge 120, 121 (Paris, 1997) Publications of the Modern Languages Association PMLA Queste La Queste del Saint Graal (Vulgate Cycle) S The Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances, ed. O. H. Sommer, 7 vols (Washington, DC, 1908) Studies in Philology SP STC A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, & Ireland, and of English Books Printed Abroad, 1475–1640, ed. W. A. Jackson et al., rev. edn, 3 vols (London, 1976–91) La suite de Merlin (Post-Vulgate Cycle) Suite TCD Dublin, Trinity College Yearbook of English Studies YES The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, 3 vols, ed. E. Vinaver, 3rd rev. Works edn, ed. P. J. C. Field (Oxford, 1990)

Preface This study examines the political reception of a number of late medieval Middle English romances (Roberd of Cisely, Sir Gowther, Sir Isumbras, Henry Lovelich’s History of the Holy Grail and Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur) in the fifteenth century. It identifies in the vernacular romances and political literature of the period common thematic threads expressed in shared vocabularies, arguing that the themes of regal behaviour, human suffering and genealogical anxiety are central to these texts and crucial to a better understanding of the place Middle English pious and Grail romances occupied in fifteenth-century culture. Before embarking on an exploration of the contextual and methodological frameworks for the present analysis a few preliminary remarks are necessary. At first inspection, the critical literature that addresses my chosen corpus reveals that readings of fifteenth-century Arthurian and non-Arthurian romances have focused on their sources, usually in another language and composed in earlier centuries, thus leading to relatively isolated critical categories, organised by form (verse/prose), content (Arthurian/non-Arthurian), authorship (anonymous/known author) or status in the canon of English medieval literature (minor/major). Romance reception has been explored in relation to the conditions of the production and circulation of romance manuscripts, by identifying concerns typical of the social status and aspirations of the literate middle classes, who were the majority of romance owners and readers. The reading material preferred by these audiences included educational, moral, devotional, practical and leisure-oriented texts. In recent decades modern critics have seen Middle English romances as reflecting the social anxieties and ambitions of the middle classes, whether expressed in the chivalric protagonists’ struggle with the law, with powerful magnates or with establishing the nobility of their lineage, all rolled into one escapist, fantasy narrative. At the same time, more attention has been paid to the interest of these readers in chronicles and political debate, though rarely in conjunction with their reception of romance. While Arthurian romances have been probed for their authors’ and audiences’ intentions in adapting and manipulating the legend to suit local or national interests from the twelfth century onwards, the late emergence of interest in the Grail in fifteenth-century English literature in the works of Lovelich and, later, Malory has never been fully considered. Similarly, non-Arthurian romances that do not focus on one of the English legendary heroes – Guy of Warwick, Bevis of Hampton, Richard the Lionheart – have never received attention in terms of their potential for political interpretation because their plots seemed mapped onto stories of universal appeal throughout the medieval period and beyond. The pious romances discussed here, moreover, have tended to receive critical attention only insofar as they contribute to modern critical efforts to rehabilitate

xiv PREFACE ‘popular romance’ as a worthy object of study alongside the more sophisticated, predominantly Arthurian, romances. As a result, the romances selected for analysis by critics of modern literature tend to deal with sensational issues: taboo topics, such as rape or incest, or spectacular violence alongside scenes of debate over religious conversion.1 In what little criticism has been devoted to Lovelich’s translations, more attention has been paid to his (seemingly lowly) place among writers of Arthurian romance than to his unusual position in terms of his choices of form, vocabulary and amplificatio of certain themes. Malory is the only author whose work has received extensive treatment in terms of political signification; yet his retelling of the Grail story has not been considered from this perspective. This book therefore argues that the transmission of Middle English romances with a spiritual content in the fifteenth century was only loosely dependent on the contexts in which these texts were first composed – in previous centuries and sometimes in another language. The spiritual journeys on which romance heroes and heroines embark involve secular choices that have repercussions on the political landscape, be it kingdoms or people they rule. Modern scholars have long considered that the link between the spiritual or religious and the secular duties of a romance protagonist is provided by the figure of Job or that of the penitential sinner.2 Through a variety of channels, romance audiences were presented with multiple uses of Job’s suffering, of saints and martyrs and of penitential suffering. The same audiences witnessed (and sometimes participated in the creation of) fifteenth-century political propaganda, which drew on the familiar topoi of innocent and penitential suffering and anxieties over royal lineages. The political realities such audiences lived through in turn changed their reading of romances.

1

See Pulp Fictions of Medieval England: Essays in Popular Romance, ed. Nicola McDonald (Manchester, 2004); The Spirit of Medieval Popular Romance, ed. Ad Putter and Jane Gilbert (Harlow, 2000); Raluca L. Radulescu and Cory James Rushton, ‘Introduction’, in A Companion to Medieval Popular Romance, ed. Radulescu and Rushton (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 1–8, and Radulescu, ‘Genre and Classification’, in ibid., pp. 31–48. 2 The classic study is Andrea Hopkins, The Sinful Knights: A Study of Middle English Penitential Romance (Oxford, 1990). See the discussion in Chapter 1, p. 2 and references at n. 2.

1 Fifteenth-Century Contexts for the Reading of Middle English Romances The analysis of romance reception in the present study consists of two inseparable processes: a consideration of the texts within the fifteenth-century cultural and political context in which they were copied or written, and an examination of the manuscript contexts in which the romances have survived. The historical framework will be explored in the first part of this chapter, with a view to exposing the emergence and establishment of the main chosen thematic threads and their relevance to the study of Middle English pious and Grail romances. A clarification of how themes common to other periods received particular attention in the fifteenth century is required, because of the enduring belief, among some literary scholars, in the ‘dullness’ of fifteenth-century literature, dominated as it seems by commonplace and universal topoi,1 and the absence of critical consideration of romance reception outside educational (including ‘aspirational’) or leisure-oriented interests. The second part of this chapter sets out the discussion parameters, from structuring the corpus to challenges posed by the paucity of manuscript evidence of romance reception and the copying of romances alongside other texts within multi-text manuscript books. In the final section of the chapter I discuss the rationale behind the structure of this study.

Kings and rulers, suffering and penitence: shaping vocabularies of political debate The importance of the two central themes of this study, the suffering king and genealogical anxiety, and their particular relevance to the period, starting from the deposition of Richard II (1399) to the last decades of the fifteenth century, can only be fully understood by considering the political and cultural background to the writing and copying of the romances under discussion. Developments in this area over a hundred years of history cannot be satisfactorily summarised in the brief space of an introductory chapter; yet the emergence of these themes

1

David Lawton, ‘Dullness and the Fifteenth Century’, English Literary History 54 (1987), 761–99. Lawton urges a serious reconsideration of the poetry of, primarily, John Lydgate, Thomas Hoccleve and George Ashby, pointing out the risk of a ‘failure of response’ if fifteenth-century literary productions are only considered from the perspective of ‘convention or commonplace’ (p. 773). Lawton does not mention romance reception from this perspective, although the commonplace and conventional content of these romances has been one of the reasons behind their (sometimes) equally conventional modern critical interpretations.

2

ROMANCE AND ITS CONTEXTS

from commonplace and universal medieval concerns into the arena of fifteenthcentury politics and literature may be traced by surveying the main landmarks. To start with, neither of the two themes selected for analysis is original to the period under discussion, and certainly even less so if considered from a literary view, in terms of both their longevity and their appeal in medieval literature. The figure of Job, the innocent who patiently endures God’s trials, pervaded devotional writing in the vernaculars of fourteenth- and particularly fifteenthcentury Europe. Arguably, also, genealogical anxieties feature in secular narratives throughout the Middle Ages, due to the nature of laws of succession and inheritance. However, as will be demonstrated in this study, the joint exploitation of the two themes in fifteenth-century political culture influenced romance reception as much as the romances themselves provided authors of political propaganda with easily recognizable topoi in which sensitive contemporary issues could be expressed. In his study of Job in medieval literature, Lawrence Besserman points out that ‘[s]ignificant allusions to Job are fairly scarce in the Latin literature of the early Middle Ages’, but, whatever the reasons for the dramatic increase in interest in Job (war and plague being two of the most plausible causes), a shift took place in the orientation of new texts in the vernacular to a ‘much more literal reading, in which Job did not cease to be a type of Christ, but became, in addition, an exemplary figure with a reality and history of his own’.2 In turn, this representation of human suffering left a mark on late medieval English literature in texts ranging from paraphrases and adaptations of the Book of Job to the romances modern scholars have grouped under the label ‘Eustace–Florence– Griselda’, in order to denote male and female suffering of God’s trials.3 The latter include Chaucer’s ‘Man of Law’s Tale’ and Emaré, typical of narratives of innocent suffering, as well as the pious romances selected for this study, Roberd of Cisely (henceforth Robert), Sir Gowther and Sir Isumbras, wherein the male protagonist is, or becomes, a patient penitent, not an innocent Job-like character. A new fifteenth-century development was the emergence of a combination of innocent with penitential suffering; this led to a more complex and historically specific adaptation to the demands of the theme in order to appeal to a politically aware public. The focus of pious romances is on male rulers, be they kings, dukes or local landowners, whose penitential journeys are accompanied by a reassessment of their secular duties to their families, subjects and followers. Hence, alongside other factors outlined in this chapter, this justifies why male2 3

Lawrence Besserman, The Legend of Job in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA, and London, 1979), esp. pp. 75–113, here cited from p. 66 and p. 79. For another classification of ‘pious’ romance, see the label ‘Romances of Trial and Faith’ (the other two groups are ‘Of Love and Adventure’ and ‘Legendary English Heroes’) in Laura A. Hibbard, Mediæval Romance in England: A Study of the Sources and Analogues of the Non-Cyclic Metrical Romances (New York and London, 1924). Maldwyn Mills proposes a more flexible title, renaming Hibbard’s ‘Trial and Faith’ group ‘edifying’ romances, thus emphasising the secular nature of these texts. See Six Middle English Romances, ed. Mills (London, 1993), Intro., p. vii. Whatever labels are considered, their appeal with modern critics has been enduring, leading to a degree of standardisation in the critical interpretation of these romances since Hopkins’s The Sinful Knights.



FIFTEENTH-CENTURY CONTEXTS FOR READING ROMANCES

3

centred romances have been selected for this study. This study’s thematic focus does not, therefore, depend on positing a break with the past or a major shift, but rather on a better understanding of how perennial concerns over human suffering and penitence and genealogical anxiety were modulated in order to serve multiple interests in a period dominated by dynastic fragility and violent political changes. Insofar as this study draws on the fertile ground of studies of late medieval political culture in England, it utilises the most notable advances in late medieval historians’ approaches; to cite Christine Carpenter, these consist in ‘a more sophisticated means of analysing individual and group political motivation which in itself has helped enormously in tracing the course of politics’, with the resulting work avoiding the ‘trap of thinking in terms of major shifts’.4 In other words, this study works with the ideas, ideals, prejudices and assumptions already identified or identifiable in the texts selected and read by literate political actors in late medieval English society, from the royal court all the way down to the prosperous upper echelons of the peasantry, who were becoming increasingly literate and active in local politics.5 It focuses, on the one hand, on the ability of politically attuned audiences to associate particular political interpretations to conventional topoi and commonplaces found in romances, and, on the other, on their desire to revisit, translate and sometimes even adapt such texts to particular concerns in a specific period or circumstance(s) by using contemporary political vocabulary.6 The starting point of the analysis, as I have said earlier, coincides with the last few years leading to the deposition of Richard II, the period to which the earliest surviving copies of the pious romances can be dated. The Ricardian period up to the Lancastrian usurpation (followed by the ‘Lancastrian project’ of establishing the right to supplant the previous dynasty) has been the focus of a wealth of studies over the past decades.7 Among literary critics, Paul Strohm’s pioneering work is a landmark in the analysis of cultural developments in the period between Henry IV’s accession to the throne and the end of Henry VI’s 4

5

6

7

Christine Carpenter, ‘Introduction’, in The Fifteenth Century IV: Political Culture in Late Medieval Britain, ed. Linda Clark and Christine Carpenter (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 1–19, at 9–10; my emphasis. I am indebted to this chapter and the essays in this collection for a broad perspective on late medieval English political culture; it is cited hereafter as Political Culture in Late Medieval Britain. For the involvement of the lower classes in politics, see Christopher Dyer, ‘The Political Life of the Fifteenth-Century Village’, and John Watts, ‘The Pressure of the Public on Later Medieval Politics’, in Political Culture in Late Medieval Britain, ed. Clark and Carpenter, pp. 135–57 and 159–80, respectively. Jenny Nuttall, The Creation of Lancastrian Kingship: Literature, Language and Politics in Late Medieval England (Cambridge, 2007), similarly points out the need to assess previously identified commonplaces in early fifteenth-century English literature in terms of their specific political interpretations in moments of crisis. Nuttall’s study focuses on the early Lancastrian period, and does not concern itself with romance. Historical studies include Richard II: The Art of Kingship, ed. Anthony Goodman and James Gillespie (Oxford, 1999), and The Reign of Richard II, ed. Gwilym Dodd (Stroud, 2000); literary studies include Lynn Staley, Languages of Power in the Age of Richard II (University Park, PA, 2005).

4

ROMANCE AND ITS CONTEXTS

minority.8 My current approach is indebted to this New Historicist tradition insofar as it identifies and then explores fifteenth-century ‘commonly held interpretative structures’ in order to gain a better understanding of audiences’ reading of romances, pious texts and political discourse.9 The corpus will be examined through shared vocabularies of suffering and genealogical concerns in fifteenth-century religious texts and political propaganda. In line with Strohm’s approach to late medieval texts, I look at ‘what a text is and does, rather than what it was intended to do’ by its first composer/author; in other words, I explore ‘[o]ld words freshly employed, imported words borrowed from adjacent languages or contexts, new coinages’.10 In the present study, therefore, I undertake close reading of the romances alongside chronicles and political material of the kind that evidently had the widest dissemination among the population by comparing the use of shared vocabularies and similar thematic concerns within the manuscript context in which these texts have survived. While the Ricardian and early Lancastrian periods have received significant attention in modern literary scholarship, the period from the end of Henry VI’s minority up to his brief Readeption in 1470 has, in contrast, been predominantly the domain of medieval historians, who traditionally organise scholarship by reign (Henry VI’s, Edward IV’s), historical event (the Wars of the Roses, Jack Cade’s Rebellion) or personality (Richard, Duke of York; Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, known as the ‘Kingmaker’), to take just a few examples. The pious and Grail romances, which were written or copied during this period, have been neither considered together nor probed for their relation to the historical and political context in which they circulated. Monarchical crises and collapses in governance at the centre, in the provinces and abroad were factors that influenced the reading experiences of fifteenth-century audiences. This is the century that saw no fewer than seven kings (from Richard II to Henry Tudor) and five depositions or falls from power (Richard II, Henry VI – twice, Edward IV and Richard III) accompanied by changes of dynasty, as well as the anxious period of minority of England’s youngest ever monarch, Henry VI. Spaced at increasingly shorter intervals, these political upheavals left significant traces in the collective memory, recorded in a rich corpus of political, historical and literary works. Not surprisingly, these texts are pessimistic about the country regaining stability and its upper classes being reconciled in the interests of peace within and victory 8

9

10

See England’s Empty Throne: Usurpation and the Language of Legitimation, 1399–1422 (New Haven, CT, 1998). Subsequent critical studies have proposed novel and complex interpretations of the period, including examinations of Thomas Hoccleve’s and John Lydgate’s works; see Nicholas Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment of Princes’: Counsel and Constraint (Cambridge 2001); Nigel Mortimer, John Lydgate’s ‘Fall of Princes’: Narrative Tragedy in Its Literary and Political Contexts (Oxford, 2005); Maura Nolan, John Lydgate and the Making of Public Culture (Cambridge, 2005); Nuttall, Creation of Lancastrian Kingship. I borrow this phrase from Paul Strohm, Hochon’s Arrow: The Social Imagination of Fourteenth-Century Texts (Princeton, NJ, 1992). The approach is further developed in Strohm’s England’s Empty Throne and Politique: Languages of Statecraft between Chaucer and Shakespeare (Notre Dame, IN, 2005). Strohm, Politique, Intro., pp. 7–8 (my emphasis).



FIFTEENTH-CENTURY CONTEXTS FOR READING ROMANCES

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abroad. As a result, anxieties over genealogical descent and the ability of the king and his royal house to maintain rule in the country form identifiable core thematic threads. Whether couched in devotional and moral language or that of advice literature, the ideas pervading texts circulating in the period reflect concerns that combine the practical and the spiritual with a desire to make sense of and understand the secular world their readers lived in. The themes of kingly suffering and genealogy are heralded in the years leading to Richard II’s deposition, when commonplace and biblical exempla re-emerge as a means of explaining the political situation and the king’s role in bringing the country to the brink of rebellion. As early as c. 1388 the preacher Thomas Wimbledon used the fate of the biblical tyrant and king of Judah, Rehoboam, whose heavy taxation entitled the Israelites to depose him, as a warning for Richard II.11 Rehoboam was the anti-type to the exemplary biblical kings David and Solomon, and, by extension, to the idealised kings known as the ‘Nine Worthies’, who consisted of the three ‘good pagans’ Hector, Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar; the three Old Testament heroes Joshua, David and Judas Maccabeus; and the three Christian kings Arthur, Charlemagne and Godfrey of Bouillon. The currency of the association between political actors of the day, biblical figures and the ‘Nine Worthies’ is evident in the public endorsement of Richard’s deposition by Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, in his famous sermon delivered before Parliament on 6 October 1399.12 Arundel memorably compared Henry of Lancaster with Judas Maccabeus, thus aligning the usurping king with one of the ‘Nine Worthies’ while at the same time proclaiming God’s approval for the removal of tyrants from their seats. In Simon Walker’s apposite statement, ‘[r]emembering Richard in the context of the biblical past prefigured the future, and located contemporary events within the economy of salvation’.13 This became only the first step on the path of shaping ‘social memory’, which would have implications in the multifaceted interpretations of Richard’s rule and personal image in the decades following his fall from power and subsequent death. This is also the period to which the earliest extant copies

11

12 13

1 Kings 12.6–14. See Nancy H. Owen, ‘Thomas Wimbledon’s Sermon: “Racionem Villicacionis Tue”’, Mediaeval Studies, Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies 28 (Toronto, 1966), pp. 176–97, at pp. 183–4. For a recent discussion of the dating of this sermon, see Veronica O’Mara, ‘Thinking Afresh about Thomas Wimbledon’s Paul’s Cross Sermon of c. 1387’, in Essays in Honour of Oliver Pickering, ed. Janet Burton, William Marx and Veronica O’Mara, Leeds Studies in English 41 (2010), 155–71. I am grateful to Dr Marx for directing me to this new study, and to Dr O’Mara for discussing the evidence with me. I am indebted to Simon Walker’s valuable work, in particular the posthumously published essay ‘Remembering Richard’ and his earlier ‘Rumour, Sedition and Popular Protest in the Reign of Henry IV’ for my understanding of the main elements of the debate. Both essays are reprinted in Political Culture in Late Medieval England: Essays by Simon Walker, ed. Michael J. Braddick, intro. G. L. Harriss (Manchester, 2006), at pp. 183–97 and 154–82, respectively. Walker reminds us that Wimbledon’s message relied on earlier warnings to Edward III to avoid the faults (and fate) of his father, Edward II (‘Remembering Richard’, p. 187). Rotuli Parliamentorum, III (London, 1783), p. 415. Walker, ‘Remembering Richard’, p. 187.

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of the romance of Robert and the first fragmentary copies of Isumbras may be dated. Despite official support from Arundel, who exonerated Henry of the sin of deposing an anointed king, Richard’s fall was neither universally accepted nor interpreted in uniform fashion by his contemporaries. A shift took place in public opinion over the king’s personal responsibility for the collapse of his rule, from the strict indictments in his deposition, blaming his failures in governance,14 to a more generous understanding of his fall, suggesting the king be seen as a victim of fickle Fortune. Many chronicle accounts of Richard’s reign dated to the early years of Henry IV’s reign are, as expected, faithful to the official version of the causes leading to his deposition; yet a few accounts, such as the Dieulacres Chronicle, brought to the fore an image of Richard the Christ-like innocent, patiently suffering the injustice of the Herod–Pilate-like coalition against him.15 The emergence of this image was related not only to political partisanship but also to widespread anxiety over the manner of Richard’s death. Although these views were not formulated until decades later, emerging slowly from the upheaval of the first fifteen years following his deposition, in this biblical framework of interpretation Richard’s endurance of the trials visited on him by God suggests he is both Job, stripped of his worldly status and wealth and thus tested to the very end, and a penitent sinner, accepting God’s punishment for his past sins. It is not surprising to find, in a copy of the Brut chronicle dated to c. 1450, several passages about Richard II in which the king is described in positive terms; one of them reads: ‘þus was kyng Richard brought a downe and destroyed & stode alle dest[it]ute withe oute comforte or socoure or goode counseylle of any man. Allas for pitee of this ryall kynge.’16 The passage testifies to the transformation of Richard’s image from that of a sinner patiently enduring 14 15

16

Rotuli Parliamentorum, III, pp. 416–32. ‘Chronicle of Dieulacres Abbey, 1381–1403’, in M. V. Clarke and V. H. Galbraith, ‘The Deposition of Richard II’, BJRUL 14 (1930), 164–81. The relevant passage reads: ‘Eodem anno Ricardo nobili rege iniuriose sic deposito a suis subditis diversis temporibus periuratis in castro de Pontefracto in custodia detentus cum necem propinquiorum suorum audiret doluit, ut fertur, usque ad mortem relictoque cibo et potu penitus per xii dies languescens deo animam suam commendavit in die sancti Valentini martiris cuius corpus ductum est abhinc usque London in omni villa facie discooperta visui omni palam patuit. Tandem in choro fratrum predicatorurn de Langley humatur. […] Et sic facti sunt amici Herodes et Pilatus quia uterque eorum erat periuratus’ (p. 174). (In the same year the noble King Richard, having been unjustly deposed by his fraudulent enemies, who had perjured themselves, when he heard of the death of his kinsmen, detained as he was in the castle of Pontefract, he grieved [almost] to death, as is reported, food and drink having been almost abandoned. Feeling faint for eleven days, on the day of St Valentine the martyr, he commended his soul to God. His body was taken thence to London; he was on open display through the whole town, his appearance disclosed to all those looking on. Eventually, he [was] buried within the precincts of the above mentioned brothers of Langley. Thus Herod and Pilate became friends because both of them had committed perjury.) In this translation I have standardised verbal tenses. I am indebted to Professor Rex Smith for assistance with this translation. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University, Houghton Library MS Eng. 530, fol. 189v (my transcription). This is a ‘Shirleian’ manuscript, previously thought to be in the hand of the scribe John Shirley. See Margaret Connolly, John Shirley: Book Production and the



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the turn of the Wheel of Fortune into an innocent brought down by Fortune, not through human agency; by this stage his deposition by Henry of Lancaster was glossed over. In other words, the seeds of this study’s first theme, that of the suffering king, are being sown during this period; their consolidation had to await further political, cultural and literary developments. The Wheel of Fortune, a perennial image in medieval literature and art, received renewed attention in the mirrors for princes written by the Lancastrian poets John Lydgate and Thomas Hoccleve. The function of these texts, to mediate Richard’s image by making sense of both the violence of his fall and the deaths of Henry IV and Henry V, cannot be overestimated. Both Hoccleve’s Regiment of Princes (1410–11) and Lydgate’s Fall of Princes (1431–39) combined the wisdom of advice-giving with warnings about folly, complementing the earlier brief stories of fallen kings and despots in Chaucer’s ‘Monk’s Tale’ and the critique against Richard’s governance contained in works by John Gower and the anonymous authors of poems such as Mum and the Sothsegger, Parliament of the Three Ages and Richard the Redeless.17 Mirrors for princes couched their advice in seemingly inoffensive commentary on the kings of old, but also provided examples with which to measure contemporary kingship. By virtue of their open didacticism, such texts did not shy away from strikingly bald lessons of violent and often spectacular reversals of fortune in the fall of the great, which could be interpreted and reinterpreted to suit differing political agendas and interests.18 The growth in vernacular productions of mirrors for princes is linked with the Lancastrian ‘project’ of consolidating the power of the new dynasty. However, the appeal of the same texts and those putting forth similar messages in other forms, such as in the romances, came from applying the advice to specific political events, actors and situations in the fifteenth century. Two factors contributed to the continuing appeal of the themes of the king’s suffering and genealogical anxiety: belief in Richard being alive until as late as 1420, maintained through fabricated ‘evidence’ to support the idea of his expected return,19 and the measures taken by the Lancastrian regime against

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Noble Household in Fifteenth-Century England (Aldershot, 1998), pp. 172–3. I am grateful to Dr Connolly for discussing this manuscript with me. For an examination of the context in which such literature was produced, see Matthew Giancarlo, Parliament and Literature in Late Medieval England (Cambridge, 2007). A persuasive case for a political reading of a much abridged manuscript of Lydgate’s Fall of Princes in the 1450s and 1460s has been made recently by Sarah Louise Pittaway. See her ‘The Political Appropriation of Lydgate’s Fall of Princes: A Manuscript Study of British Library, MS Harley 1766’, PhD thesis, University of Birmingham (2011). Pittaway focuses on the production and possible readership of the manuscript in order to suit the Yorkist sympathies of its earliest owners, the Tyrells, an East Anglian gentry family; in her words: ‘Commissioned as a direct response to their position as supporters of a deposed regime, Harley MS 1766 represents a political re-envisaging of the text designed for patrons seeking to realign themselves politically and ensure their safety in Yorkist England’ (p. 8). This is just one example among many of the tailoring of early to mid-fifteenth-century texts in order to suit shifting political loyalties during the Wars of the Roses, a point I also make in the course of this study. Five cases of Richard impersonators were recorded in 1402 alone; see G. L. Bellamy, The Law of Treason in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1970), p. 116. See also ‘Chronicle of

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potential and actual conspirators against the king. In Strohm’s words, ‘[c]laims and sightings of the years 1414–20 suggest an initial refusal by many subjects of Henry’s proposed transfer of allegiance – a refusal, that is, wholly to cede their desire to recognize Richard as their legitimate king’.20 The frequency with which accusations involving conspiracy against the king or even the spread of rumours of a potentially inflammatory nature were recorded in the period, especially of cases from across the middle and lower classes, attests not only to Henry IV’s stringent measures to more strictly apply the Great Statute of Treasons first instituted in 1352 in which ‘treason by words’ was defined,21 but also to the cooperation of the population in bringing such cases to the attention of the law. In other words, evidence of permeating anxieties over the right to comment on the king, his family, household and governance, whether or not conceived as participation in a conspiracy, and the consequences of such acts involves careful consideration of what ‘popular politics’ entailed in the period before the advent of print. Such anxieties continued to be fed through the reported placing in ‘secure custody’ of the contender for the crown, Edmund Mortimer (Edmund IV) in the aftermath of Richard’s deposition,22 as well as by later accusations during the reign of Henry VI against Eleanor Cobham, the wife of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, for her presumed role in conspiring to have the young king murdered.23

20

21 22

23

Dieulacres Abbey’ for an account of Henry Percy’s attempt to gather support for an insurrection against Henry IV by spreading the rumour that Richard II would come back and claim his throne (pp. 177–8). For ample discussions of these and other cases, see Peter McNiven, ‘Rebellion, Sedition and the Legend of Richard II’s Survival in the Reigns of Henry IV and Henry V’, BJRUL 76 (1994), 93–117; Philip Morgan, ‘Henry IV and the Shadow of Richard II’, in Crown, Government and People in the Fifteenth Century, ed. Rowena E. Archer (Stroud, 1995), pp. 1–32; Walker, ‘Rumour, Sedition’. In May 1413 John Whitelock, formerly a groom and yeoman of the chamber to Richard II, put up bills claiming his former master was still alive; see the discussion of his case in Wendy Scase, Literature and Complaint in England, 1272–1553 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 105–8. In 1417 Whitelock was accused again of conspiring, this time against Henry V. See the cases discussed in Strohm, England’s Empty Throne, pp. 119–20, drawing information from McNiven, ‘Rebellion, Sedition’, and Morgan, ‘Henry IV’. Strohm studies the exceptionally complex measures taken by the Lancastrian regime in order to justify, build and maintain possession of the English crown, in terms both pragmatic and symbolic. Bellamy, Law of Treason, p. 78. Chris Given-Wilson, ‘Chronicles of the Mortimer Family, c. 1250–1450’, in Family and Dynasty in Late Medieval England: Proceedings of the 1997 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. Richard Eales and Shaun Tyas (Donington, 2003), pp. 67–86. The chronicle for this period, now contained in Chicago University MS 224, reports how ‘in ore populorum praedicatur’ (it was commonly said) that Edmund IV Mortimer had been ‘a corona regni … iniuste exclusus’ (unjustly excluded from the crown of the realm). It also reports how he and his brother were kidnapped and then recaptured in 1405 (p. 76). Edmund was the ancestor of Richard, Duke of York, who picked up the claim to the crown, fought and died for it. I am indebted to Dr Lesley Coote for this reference. The case is discussed in numerous historical studies; her actions were presumed to have involved witchcraft. See, for example, R. A. Griffiths, ‘The Trial of Eleanor Cobham: An Episode in the Fall of Duke Humphrey of Gloucester’, BJRUL 51 (1968), 381–99. The trial was amply reported in the Middle English Brut chronicle; see The ‘Brut’, or the



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The idea of popular politics is pertinent to discussing fifteenth-century ­political culture, as demonstrated in the work of a number of medieval historians, from G. L. Harriss to I. M. W. Harvey and John Watts, among others. This work has explored, through analysis of extant evidence, to what extent the spread of political news led to debate and ultimately the political choices of a wide range of members of society from different social strata, including the more prosperous among the lower classes.24 The evidence discussed in these historical studies brings to the fore the importance of considering the impact on the wider population of not only political materials, whether political poems, bills, proclamations or genealogical chronicles, but also texts of a less overtly political nature, such as mirrors for princes, which employed the ‘biblical, providentialist and prophetic discourses’ emerging at the end of the Ricardian era.25 The language employed in these documents testifies to the range covered by vocabularies of petition and complaint in both official documents and the literary models underpinning them, as Wendy Scase has demonstrated.26 The portable format of these texts, rolls and bills points to their suitability for disseminating highly provocative political or religious commentary and propaganda. As Scase has shown, ‘[a] proclamation against bills issued by the crown in 1450 imagines dissemination of the texts by a variety of methods: reading aloud, passing to another, copying, having a copy made, imparting secretly and openly. These copies are produced from texts fixed to doors and windows, or scattered in public places.’27 An unprecedentedly wide dissemination, and in the English

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25 26 27

Chronicles of England, ed. F. W. D. Brie, 2 vols, EETS o.s. 131, 136 (London, 1906, 1908), II, p. 481; and An English Chronicle from the Reigns of Richard II, Henry IV, Henry V and Henry VI, ed. J. S. Davies, Camden Society o.s. 64 (London, 1856), p. 59. For a recent reassessment, see Barbara A. Hanawalt, ‘Portraits of Outlaws, Felons and Rebels in Late Medieval England’, in British Outlaws of Literature and History: Essays on Medieval and Early Modern Figures from Robin Hood to Twm Shon Catty, ed. Alexander L. Kaufman (Jefferson, NC, 2011), pp. 45–66, at pp. 58–9. See G. L. Harriss, ‘The Dimension of Politics’, and I. M. W. Harvey, ‘Was There Popular Politics in the Fifteenth Century?’, in The McFarlane Legacy: Studies in Late Medieval Politics and Society, ed. R. H. Britnell and A. J. Pollard (Stroud, 1995), pp. 1–20 and 155–74, respectively; Dyer, ‘Political Life’; Watts, ‘The Pressure of the Public’. For analyses of the spread of political news among the gentry, see C. A. J. Armstrong, ‘Some Examples of the Distribution and Speed of News at the Time of the Wars of the Roses’, in Armstrong, England, France and Burgundy in the Fifteenth Century (London, 1983), pp. 97–122; and Colin Richmond, ‘Hand and Mouth: Information Gathering and Use in England in the Later Middle Ages’, Journal of Historical Sociology 1 (1988), 233–52. For an assessment of how the word ‘commons’ should be used in this context, see John L. Watts, ‘Public or Plebs: The Changing Meaning of “The Commons”, 1381–1549’, in Power and Identity in the Middle Ages: Essays in Memory of Rees Davies, ed. Huw Pryce and John L. Watts (Oxford, 2007), pp. 242–60, and, by the same author, ‘The Pressure of the Public’. I am using Walker’s phrase; see ‘Remembering Richard’, p. 186. Scase, Literature and Complaint. Wendy Scase, ‘Imagining Alternatives to the Book: The Transmission of Political Poetry in Late Medieval England’, in Imagining the Book, ed. Stephen Kelly and John J. Thompson (Turnhout, 2005), pp. 237–50, at p. 243. The example is discussed in detail in Scase, ‘“Strange and Wonderful Bills”: Bill-Casting and Political Discourse in Late

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language, testifies to increased levels of political awareness and participation in public debate in late medieval England. The production and dissemination channels for such documents show that authors and audiences were aware of the power of words in shaping public opinion and, ultimately, political action. At a second stage, the theme of the suffering king gathered strength through Henry V’s public repentance for his father’s sins. Henry IV deposed Richard, and likely ordered his murder; he also ordered the execution of Richard Scrope, Archbishop of York. Neither act could be easily forgotten; Scrope’s death led to the birth of a saintly cult around him, much in the manner that Thomas of Lancaster’s political martyrdom emerged in the middle of the previous century and Henry VI’s later in the fifteenth.28 Kingly penitence was evident in Henry V’s acts of reparation: the translation of Richard’s tomb from Langley to Westminster and the religious foundations of a Carthusian charterhouse, ‘Bethlehem’, and a double monastery, Syon, near his residence at Sheen, now Richmond. He understood the importance of presenting himself and the Lancastrian lineage as sinful penitents, whose reparation for the sins of the elders would pave the way for reconciliation with the past.29 The reverberations of these events – the king’s deposition, his suffering and death and his usurpers’ sin and reparation – throughout the fifteenth century cannot be underestimated. As this study will show, multiple responses to questions raised by both sides, the usurped and the usurper, the prideful king who deserves to be removed and the sinful usurper who, although having support, feels he must expiate the sin of usurpation, are present throughout the literature produced or copied from the beginning of the fifteenth century through the political crises of the Wars of the Roses. The longevity and widespread impact of the Lancastrian public campaign are testified by echoes in Thomas Malory’s Morte Darthur, a text finished decades later, in the late 1460s (see Chapter 4). In the aftermath of Henry V’s untimely death, and his son’s long minority, then coming of age, the country went through a period deplored by some in terms borrowed from the biblical proverb, ‘Very afflicted is the land whose prince is a child or rules like one’ (Ecclesiastes 10:16). Even in a text designed to praise the Lancastrian kings, John Capgrave’s Liber de Illustribus Henricis, it was reported that ‘hanc coronationem regis nostri multi malignae mentis oblique interpretantes, hanc verborum murmurationem in populo seminabant dicentes: “Vae, tibi, terra, cujus rex puer est, et cujus principes mane comedunt”‘ (many

28

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Medieval England’, in New Medieval Literatures, II, ed. Rita Copeland, David Lawton and Wendy Scase (Oxford, 1998), pp. 225–47, at pp. 228–30. John W. McKenna, ‘Popular Canonization as Political Propaganda: The Cult of Archbishop Scrope’, Speculum 45 (1970), 608–23, and, by the same author, ‘Piety and Propaganda: The Cult of Henry VI’, in Chaucer and Middle English Studies in Honour of Rossell Hope Robbins, ed. Barbara Rowland (London, 1974), pp. 72–88; Simon Walker, ‘Political Saints in Later Medieval England’, in The McFarlane Legacy, ed. Britnell and Pollard, pp. 77–106; Danna Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making: Political Martyrdom in Late Medieval England (Basingstoke and New York, 2008). For an analysis of Henry V’s act of reparation in the reburial of Richard II at Westminster, see Strohm, England’s Empty Throne, Ch. 4: ‘Reburying Richard: Ceremony and Symbolic Relegitimation’.



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persons of a malignant disposition, interpreting amiss this coronation of our king [in Paris, 1431], continue to sow among the people such murmurings as these, – Alas for thee, O land, whose king is a boy, and whose princes eat in the morning).30 The ‘Waste Land’ period England went through in the absence of a mature ruler on the throne, and uncertainty and conflict among the regents responsible to rule in his stead, was seen, in the decades following Henry V’s death, as a consequence of divine punishment for the Lancastrian usurpation, with the sins of the grandfather (Henry IV, the usurper) punished in the son (Henry V’s premature death). During the Wars of the Roses the Yorkist faction added to the list Henry VI’s mental illness and claims about dubious paternity plaguing his heir, Prince Edward of Lancaster. As Strohm and others have demonstrated, the country was not enjoying the prosperity and peace that the official Lancastrian ‘propaganda machine’ wanted the population to believe in the aftermath of Henry V’s military victories abroad.31 The use of political prophecy in the reigns of Henry IV and Henry V bolstered support for the Lancastrians, though the energy spent in maintaining these images of conquest and hero-saviour could not hide the fact that hopes in the young Henry VI to fulfil his heroic potential would be a long time in coming. The events of the first two decades of the fifteenth century, including Scrope’s rebellion against Henry IV, followed by Scrope’s execution and his emerging cult as political martyr, and the numerous acts of rebellion fuelled by the Lollard movement, to mention just a few, show that Lancastrian kings had their share of trials to endure. As Strohm reminds us, ‘[i]n his report of King Henry [IV]’s death in 1413 even the generally pro-Lancastrian Adam of Usk cannot resist the assertion that Henry IV’s ending was already knowable, and legible, in his beginning’.32 Usk wrote: Henricus quartus, postquam quatuordecim annis quosque sibi rebelles confringendo potenter regnauerat, dolenter intoxicatus, unde carnis putredine, oculorum ariffaccione, et interiorum egressione per quinque annos cruciatus, apud Westm’ in camera abbatis, ipsius genesim quod in terra sancta moreretur uerificando, infra sanctuarium, anno Domini […] Istam putredinem portentebat sibi sue coronacionis unctio, quia pediculorum in capite presertim generantia adeo quod nec crines sustinet nex discoopertum caput per plures menses habere potuit. (After fourteen years of powerful rule during which he had crushed all those who rebelled against him, the infection which for five years had cruelly tormented Henry IV with festering of the flesh, dehydration of the eyes, and

30

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Johannes Capgrave, Liber de Illustribus Henricis, ed. and trans. Francis Charles Hingeston (London, 1858), p. 129. See also reported reactions to Henry VI’s coronations in Paris at p. 127. For more on Henry’s coronation and the situation during his minority, see Ralph A. Griffiths, The Reign of King Henry VI (Stroud, 1981, repr. 1998), pp. 189–94 and 11–27, respectively. See Griffiths, Reign of King Henry VI, Chs 4 and 5, especially the sections ‘The appearance of faction, 1424–26’ and ‘The months of crisis, 1425–26’, pp. 70–80. Strohm, England’s Empty Throne, p. 19 (citing from Chronicon Adae de Usk, ed. E. M. Thompson, 2nd edn (London, 1904), pp. 242–3).

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rupture of the internal organs, caused him to end his days, dying in the sanctuary of the abbot’s chamber at Westminster, whereby he fulfilled his horoscope that he would die in the Holy Land; and he was taken away by water to be buried at Canterbury. This festering was foreshadowed at his coronation, for as a result of his anointing then, his head was so infected with lice that his hair fell out, and for several months he had to keep his head covered.)33

As Lesley Coote points out in her work on political prophecy, in the 1430s and 1440s prophetic material combined the hopes placed on Henry VI with the fears raised by contemporary non-existence of royal authority.34 Henry VI’s disastrous reign, ironically the longest in the fifteenth century (1422–61), especially his coming of age, did not heal the Waste Land of governance, restoring the population’s confidence in stability and prosperity, but rather confirmed fears that divine punishment for the Lancastrian usurpation did not end with Henry V’s death.35 As will be demonstrated in Chapter 3, Lovelich’s choice to emphasise the image of the suffering king in his English translation of the Vulgate Cycle L’Estoire del Saint Graal reflects this climate of anxiety. It probably also played a role in the aspirations of the London Company of Skinners (of which he was a member) to show support for the English Church’s efforts to enhance England’s prestige as one of the first lands converted to Christianity and thus be on a par with France and Italy.36 At the initiative of John Chinnock, Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey (1375–1420), more was made of the association of the abbey with Joseph of Arimathea, in particular through the rebuilding of a chapel to the saint.37 Interest in Glastonbury’s Arthurian connections may have been raised by Edward III’s Arthurian enthusiasm, following his visit to Glastonbury in 1331. A royal writ dated 1345 states that one John Blome was charged to

33

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Chronicon Adae de Usk, ed. and trans. Chris Given-Wilson (Oxford, 1997), pp. 242–3. Given-Wilson notes that the text referring to the festering being ‘foreshadowed at his coronation’ was written ‘in the top margin of the manuscript, marked for insertion at this point’. See Lesley A. Coote, Prophecy and Public Affairs in Later Medieval England (York, 2000), Ch. 5: ‘The Imperial Hero 1399–1440’. For a connection between the Arthurian topos of the Waste Land and Henry VI’s reign, see Cory James Rushton, ‘The King’s Stupor: Dealing with Royal Paralysis in Late Medieval England’, in Madness in Medieval Law and Custom, ed. Wendy J. Turner (Leiden, 2010), pp. 147–76. Here I see an earlier development of the association, which led to a propitious cultural climate for the revival of Grail narratives alongside those about the fall of prideful rulers from power. Jonathan Hughes also discusses the topoi of the Fisher King and the Waste Land during Henry VI’s reign and the use of alchemy to promote the Yorkist cause (Arthurian Myths and Alchemy: The Kingship of Edward IV (Stroud, 2002)). Valerie M. Lagorio discusses the claims of the English prelates at these Church councils in ‘The Evolving Legend of St Joseph of Glastonbury’, Speculum 46:2 (1971), 209–31. See James P. Carley, ‘A Grave Event: Henry V, Glastonbury Abbey, and Joseph of Arimathea’s Bones’, in Glastonbury Abbey and the Arthurian Tradition, ed. Carley (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 285–302, at pp. 288–9. It is interesting to note that in at least one early fifteenth-century manuscript of the Middle English Brut chronicle both the date, ad 63, and the building of a chapel were mentioned (Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Hatton 50, fol. 14v, cited in Chapter 3, p. 103 and n. 51).



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search for Joseph’s body.38 John of Glastonbury, in his Cronica sive antiquitates Glastoniensis ecclesie, probably written in the 1340s, included material from the Vulgate Cycle on the arrival of Joseph of Arimathea in Britain and on Josephes, Joseph’s son from the French romance tradition. Due to the romance associations of the Grail, John avoided stating plainly that Joseph brought the Grail to Britain; instead, following the insular chronicle tradition, he stated that Joseph brought two vessels/vials with him, containing the blood and sweat of Christ, ‘relics that might be sanctioned by the Church’.39 In the romance tradition of the Estoire del Saint Graal the Grail was conceived of as a dish, not a cup or chalice. John of Glastonbury linked the reference to the two vials with the quest for the Holy Grail, ‘in inquisione vasis quod ibi vocant Sanctum Graal’ (quest for the vessel which is there called the Holy Grail).40 In the Middle English translation of a Latin Brut chronicle copied into the early fifteenth-century Holkham Hall MS 669, Joseph’s mission is said to have led to the conversion of ‘meny folke of dyuerse nacyouns and yn þe same place they beþ beryed […] by þe forseyd cherche [at Glastonbury] wythe ij fyollys full of blody swette of owr Lord þe which he browȝte with hym from þe holy lond’.41 Lovelich used the interpretation of the Grail he found in the Estoire del Saint Graal, although he made the association with Glastonbury, as will be discussed in Chapter 3. In later decades Malory’s explicit identification of the Holy Grail with the ‘holy vessel’ containing the ‘blyssed bloode off Oure Lorde Jesu Cryste whyche was brought into thys londe by Joseph off Aramathye’ (Works, 845.32–846.3) attests to widespread acceptance of this version of the story among his contemporaries (see Chapter 4). Lagorio points out that ‘[i]t is possible that John carefully selected this particular detail to bolster the apostolic status of Joseph’s band, rather than to challenge the precedence of Roman succession […] Chinnock [also] pressed and won his claim to primacy among the English abbots at a national synod.’42 He, then his successor Nicholas Frome, were present at all the Church councils (1409–34) at which the legend was used by the English prelates to justify the right of the Church in Britain to an antiquity on ‘a par with the traditional four-nation division of Italia, Germania, Gallia, and Hispania’.43 The connection between Joseph

38

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Carley cites the whole of the Latin text of the royal writ from J. Ussher, Britannicum Ecclesiarum Antiquitates (Dublin, 1639), pp. 15–16 (in Carley, ‘A Grave Event’, pp. 288–9, n. 11). Edward Donald Kennedy, ‘Glastonbury’, in The Arthur of Medieval Latin Literature, ed. Siân Echard (Cardiff, 2011), pp. 109–31, at p. 118. The Chronicle of Glastonbury Abbey: An Edition, Translation and Study of John of Glastonbury’s ‘Cronica, sive, Antiquitates Glastoniensis Ecclesie’, ed. James P. Carley, trans. David Townsend (Woodbridge, 1985), pp. 52–3 (my emphasis). Holkham Hall MS 669, pp. 29–30, cited in Kennedy, ‘Glastonbury’, p. 120 (my emphasis). See also Edward Donald Kennedy, Chronicles and Other Historical Writing, vol. 8 of A Manual of Writings in Middle English, gen. ed. Albert E. Hartung (New Haven, CT, 1989) no. 13, pp. 2638–40, 2833. Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, pp. 219–20. Kennedy, ‘Glastonbury’, p. 117, summarising Carley, ‘Grave Event’, p. 290; Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, pp. 220–4.

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of Arimathea and Glastonbury had also been established in other versions of the legend, which, by the early fifteenth century, moved the presumed date of Joseph’s arrival in Britain back from the initial interval ad 63–64 to ad 31. This development ‘made Britain one of the first nations to have been visited by Christian missionaries. Glastonbury considered itself Roma Secunda.’44 It was in the interests of the English crown to present these claims abroad, following the divisions caused by the Great Western Schism starting in 1378, when England, Italy and Germanic countries sided with the Roman Pope Urban VI (d. 1389), and France and the Celtic peoples of the British Isles sided with Pope Clement VII. It seems Abbot Chinnock ‘might have been privy and sympathetic with Henry IV’s problems’ with the Welsh, who sided with Pope Clement in order to obtain independence on the basis of St David’s early mission in Wales.45 Thus the English Church’s claim to prestige, based on the legend of Joseph of Arimathea, had implications both at home and abroad.46 The claims made by the English prelates at the Church councils took place as follows: in 1409 at the Council of Pisa by Robert Hallam, Bishop of Salisbury; at Constance in 1417 by Thomas Polton; at Pavia-Siena in 1424 by Richard Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, later Archbishop of York; and at Basel in 1434 by Robert Fitzhugh, Bishop of London.47 That nothing came out of these claims in the end, because of the doubtful nature of the evidence, does not invalidate the fact that, as Lagorio points out, the English argued the case with great vigour, and foreign powers took it seriously in these councils of the Church. Nevertheless, Lovelich’s two translations contribute to the literary climate in which the theme of kingly suffering received renewed attention in the light of Henry V’s premature death. The copious annotations in Lovelich’s manuscript in the hand of the scribe John Cok further serve to emphasise this line of interpretation, since they are also narrowly confined to the trials endured by a suffering king, the conversion efforts of Joseph, Josephe, his son and their followers, in Britain, and the establishment of the Arthurian chivalric lineages of Lancelot, Gawain and Yvain. Both Lovelich’s translation and adaptation and Cok’s annotations testify to a politically informed romance reception in the middle of the period considered in this study.

44 45 46

47

Kennedy, ‘Glastonbury’, p. 116. Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, p. 220. Andy King found evidence of ‘a derisive couplet allegedly written in Vienne after the battle of Poitiers [1356]’ included by Henry Knighton, an Augustinian canon and chronicler, into his chronicle: ‘Now is the Pope descended from the French, and Jesus from the English. / Now we shall see who does the more, the Pope or Jesus’ (Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337–1396, ed. G. H. Martin (Oxford, 1995), p. 150, cited in Andy King, ‘War and Peace: A Knight’s Tale. The Ethics of War in Sir Thomas Gray’s Scalacronica’, in War, Government and Aristocracy in the British Isles c. 1150–1500, ed. Chris Given-Wilson, Ann Kettle and Len Scales (Woodbridge, 2008), pp. 148–62, at p. 162 (King’s translation)). The couplet attests to the European context in which claims to primacy (of national churches, but effectively in secular terms) were debated in the period. For an extended explanation, see Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, pp. 220–4; Carley, ‘Grave Event’, p. 285 and references there.



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Neither the Waste Land of governance nor the suffering king diminished in importance in the collective imaginary during the reign of Henry VI. On the contrary, the breakdown of kingship, coupled with the king’s youth and personal attributes, only assisted in reinforcing these themes. Henry was by nature pious, disinclined to military action and of a weak disposition, later confirmed by the onset of his mental illness; he was clearly not a king of his father’s military stature or his grandfather’s political ambitions. His subsequent portrayal as too pious, in Lancastrian propaganda, or too weak and ineffectual, in later Yorkist texts, a king whose disastrous governance was blamed on ‘covetous counsel’ or the preferred scapegoat, his queen, Margaret of Anjou, only served to emphasise, in the years leading to open conflict between the two royal houses, the avoidance of direct attack on the anointed king.48 Evidence of widespread rumours of Henry’s insanity, later reinterpreted by his partisans as signs of ‘holy folly’, may be found in accusations of treasonable language recorded in the decades leading to his deposition. The specifics of these accusations confirm that the more prosperous members of the lower classes expressed their irreverent views on the king in public places. The recording of these cases both in official documents and in versions of the Middle English Brut chronicle circulating among the higher echelons of the middle classes bears witness to the common knowledge of how the king was perceived, precariously poised between saintly king and insane fool.49 In the most recent study of cases dated to c. 1440–53, Helen Wicker cogently points out that the eighteen or more recorded indictments for treasonable language represent only a ‘fraction of the actual discussion that must have taken place within the kingdom’, but that the ‘assiduity with which they were brought and investigated suggests that there was something exceptional about both the politics of the period and popular responses to it’.50 The potential for treason contained in words uttered in private or in public, and the consequences of such acts, were clearly well known and caused anxiety in the period, as a number of studies have 48

49 50

See W. M. Ormrod, ‘Monarchy, Martyrdom, and Masculinity: England in the Later Middle Ages’, in Holiness and Masculinity in the Middle Ages, ed. P. H. Cullum and Katherine J. Lewis (Cardiff, 2004), pp. 174–91, at p. 185. By the end of the 1450s, the anonymous author of the continuation of the Middle English Brut remarked, in 38 Henry VI: ‘In this same time, þe reame of Englonde was oute of all good gouernaunce, as it had be meny dayes before, for the kyng was simple and lad by couetous counseyl, as owed more then he was worthe. […] For these mysgouernaunces, and for many other, the hertes of the peple were turned awey from thaym that had the londe in gouernaunce, and theyre blyssyng was turnyd into cursyng. The quene with suche as were of her affynyte rewled the reame as her lyked, gaderyng ryches innumerable.’ Passage cited from An English Chronicle, 1377–1461: A New Edition of Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS 21608, and Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Lyell 34, ed. William Marx (Woodbridge, 2003), p. 78. See the case of John Kerver of Reading (12 August 1444) reported in The Brut, II, p. 485. Helen Wicker, ‘The Politics of Vernacular Speech: Cases of Treasonable Language, c. 1440–1453’, in Vernacularity in England and Wales, c. 1300–1500, ed. Elisabeth Salter and Helen Wicker (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 171–97. I. M. W. Harvey identified twenty-six indictments for treasonable language in the period 1444–57, but does not list all of their details; see Jack Cade’s Rebellion of 1450 (Oxford, 1991), p. 31.

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shown.51 Interestingly, as Wicker points out, more than half of the recorded cases involved husbandmen, artisans and yeomen, who tended to be participants in popular uprisings.52 Their political attitudes might also be explained not only through their efforts to integrate into the local community more generally but also through the holding of local office, which would have brought them into close contact with those who possessed knowledge of local and national politics. This involvement brings evidence which concurs with the ownership of romance manuscripts by members of social strata below the middle classes, that is below those previously credited with the almost exclusive reception of vernacular romance, as discussed below. It may, therefore, be possible to talk, with due caution, about a ‘common voice’ or ‘a broader network of news exchange than just local infrastructures’ which may have ‘helped to foster a sense of popular identity and cohesion that coalesced around the belief that the people could make and articulate powerful political judgements’.53 For the purposes of the present discussion, cases recorded from the 1440s onwards provide apposite evidence for the language employed to describe the king as a fool or simpleton. To give an example, in the case of John and William Merfeld, yeomen from Brightling in Sussex, recorded in 1450, the wording of the rumours they were spreading is recorded as follows: ‘the kyng was a naturell fooll and wolde ofte tymes holde a staff in his handes with a brid on the ende pleyng therwith [with it] as a fooll.’54 Although the remark displays the offender’s ignorance (he did not understand the significance of the rod with the dove, part of the regalia),55 it is interesting to note how the varied imperial emblems of sceptre and orb could be mocked as the sceptre-like stick and round-white disk sometimes associated with the medieval fool. Among other widely recorded comments dated to this period two other topoi emerge: debates over a woman’s right to rule and anxieties over the paternity of the heir to the crown.56 The vocabulary employed to describe all of these concerns is shared with that encountered in copies of the pious romances Robert, Gowther and Isumbras dated to the middle decades of the fifteenth century. These indict-

51

52 53 54

55

56

See Strohm, England’s Empty Throne; S. Rezneck, ‘Constructive Treason by Words in the Fifteenth Century’, American Historical Review 33 (1928), 544–52; I. D. Thornley, ‘Treason by Words in the Fifteenth Century’, English Historical Review 32 (1917), 556–61. See Wicker, ‘The Politics of Vernacular Speech’, p. 177 and references there. Ibid., p. 178. King’s Bench Ancient Indictments, 1450, referring to John Merfeld of Brightling (husbandman) on three occasions, once with William Merfeld of Brightling; see English Historical Documents, 1327–1485, ed. A. R. Myers (London, 1969), IV, p. 264; also PRO KB 9/262/78, 122/28 printed in R. F. Hunnisett, ‘Treason by Words’, Sussex Notes and Queries 14 (1954–57), 116–20. Antonia Gransden, Historical Writing in England: c. 1307 to the Early Sixteenth Century (London, 1982), Appendix G: Henry VI the ‘Simple King’, p. 498 n.1 citing L. G. Wickham Legg, English Coronation Records (Westminster, 1901), pp. lii–liii. For more information about the involvement of the ‘lower orders’ in local government and how that prompted them to criticise central government, see R. B. Goheen, ‘Peasant Politics? Village Community and the Crown in Fifteenth-Century England’, American Historical Review 96 (1991), 42–62. I am indebted to Dr Paul Cavill for this reference.



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ments and their linguistic expression remind literary critics and book historians that evidence for a political reception of the romances under discussion is likely to be diffuse rather than upfront in a period when spreading rumours about the king’s inability to rule or his offspring would be punished severely. Henry VI’s folly was, as already mentioned, interpreted by the Lancastrian party in the years following his mental collapse in 1453 as an indication of his preoccupation with spiritual pursuits at the expense of secular duties. Piroyansky speculates that ‘some of Henry’s supporters and posthumous adherents could have interpreted his day-to-day extreme spirituality and other-worldliness (if we are to believe [John] Blacman’s description) and his mental incapacity of 1453–54 as signs of holy folly’, which contributed to the emerging cult of Henry as doubly focused on ‘Henry’s virtuous life and the suffering which he had patiently experienced’.57 Although far from reaching saintly status, the image of Richard’s patient suffering (seen in the Brut and the Dieulacres Chronicle, cited above) contributed to the continuing theme of the suffering king. Richard could be seen as the prideful king who deserved to be toppled for his sins, but patiently endured his penance; Henry VI was the pious, Job-like innocent who also lived patiently through God’s trials. The image of the saintly ruler – but of a military disposition that neither Richard II nor Henry VI were blessed with – was an ever-present feature in the fifteenth century, cultivated in texts on Ss Edmund and Edward the Confessor, whose models were used in Henry VI’s princely education. Interestingly, in Cambridge University Library MS Ii.4.9 (dated to c. 1450) the romance Robert is followed by a prose life of St Edward (Narracio de Sancto Edwardo); this juxtaposition may have been intended as a counterpart to the pride and folly of the hero described in the pious romance – a topic to which I return in Chapter 2 (p. 52). Several mirrors for princes, among them John Lydgate’s Lives of Ss Edmund and Fremund, were dedicated to the young Henry with the purpose of helping his educators cultivate virtues appropriate to a future king in the young heir to the throne.58 Lydgate inserted a prayer at the end of the text in which he asks Edmund to ‘Encresse our kyng in knyhtly hih prowesse’ (3.1513), while he also drew attention to a king’s duty to maintain a proper balance between spiritual pursuit and worldly responsibilities. As Katherine Lewis points out, Edmund’s perfect example of manliness and chivalry comes from the fact that he combined these two aspects of his life: ‘Thus toward heuene he was contemplatiff, / Toward the world a good knyht of his liff’ (1.1073–4).59 Henry VI should have learned that, much as individual penance and personal salvation

57 58

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Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, pp. 94, 74. Masculinity and kingship are explored by Katherine J. Lewis, ‘Edmund of East Anglia, Henry VI and Ideals of Kingly Masculinity’, in Holiness and Masculinity, ed. Cullum and Lewis, pp. 158–73. Ibid., p. 160. Lewis cites from Altenglische Legenden: Neue Folge, ed. C. Horstmann (Heilbronn, 1881), pp. 376–440, by book and line number. For a new edition, see John Lydgate, The Lives of Ss Edmund and Fremund and the Extra Miracles of St Edmund, Edited from British Library MS Harley 2278 and Bodleian MS Ashmole 46, ed. Anthony Bale and A. S. G. Edwards (Heidelberg, 2009).

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were highly valued, in the person of a ruler prowess in arms and wise political governance were equally, if not more, important.60 Indeed high hopes had been placed on Henry, especially in terms of continuing his father’s (Henry V’s) military career; Henry VI was presented with no fewer than eight swords and a suit of armour before the age of ten.61 Ironically, his son, Prince Edward, who did show a strong interest in military matters even as a child and could have followed in his grandfather’s footsteps, lost his life at the battle of Tewkesbury before his eighteenth birthday. After his trials and tribulations during the 1460s Henry was portrayed as a suffering martyr, likened to Job; decades after Henry’s death his former chaplain John Blacman wrote in his memoir A Remembrance of Henry VI (1492) that the former king was ‘quasi alter Job’ (like another Job) and addressed him, saying: ‘In thy gesture thou were like Iobe.’62 As Piroyansky points out, ‘Henry’s depiction as another Job therefore underscored Henry’s innocence and sinlessness in the face of adversity, and suggested that his reward was yet to come. For Henry it came indeed, in the form of admittance into Heaven, to the company of saints and martyrs of old.’63 Such appraisals of Henry’s kingship were part of political propaganda produced during the Wars of the Roses and disseminated by means of chronicles, political poetry and polemical tracts.64 Both sides of the monarchical controversy saw the need to justify Henry’s personal shortcomings, though in different ways, as already mentioned. The Lancastrians saw the saintlike king; for the Yorkists Henry’s removal from power was an acknowledgement that he was too inclined towards personal salvation to continue looking after the welfare of his subjects and the realm; he was a rex inutilis.65 This interpretation was also openly inserted by John Capgrave into his Life of St Katherine, written in this period (c. 1445), in which he associated Henry with Katherine for their neglect of royal duties. Miri Rubin reminds us that ‘[Capgrave’s] Katherine,

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61 62 63 64 65

Fiona Somerset takes a different view on Lydgate’s text, suggesting that he was proposing ‘a covert alternative to that provided by his [Henry VI’s] father’ (in ‘“Hard is with seyntis for to make affray”: Lydgate the “Poet-Propagandist” as Hagiographer’, in John Lydgate: Poetry, Culture and Lancastrian England, ed. Larry Scanlon and James Simpson (Notre Dame, IN, 2005), pp. 258–78, at p. 266). Somerset argues further that the pious model Lydgate offered to Henry VI took account of the young king’s already known personal qualities, and that ‘with the aid of a little divine intervention, of the sort that Lydgate suggests it is only reasonable to expect, Henry will be more than adequate to the tasks of governance and effective kingship’ (p. 269). There was a bit of wishful thinking, of course, in Lydgate’s writing. Nicholas Orme, From Childhood to Chivalry (London and New York, 1984), p. 184. Henry the Sixth: A Reprint of John Blacman’s Memoir, ed. and trans. M. R. James (Cambridge, 1919), p. 4. Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, p. 90. See John Scattergood, Politics and Poetry in the Fifteenth Century (London, 1971). For a study of the emergence of the concept in the earlier period up to Edward II, see Edward Peters, The Shadow King: ‘rex inutilis’ in Medieval Law and Literature, 751–1327 (New Haven, CT, 1970). The image of the equivalent roi fainéant was, of course, exploited in the French Arthurian romances in relation to King Arthur’s governance of his kingdom and his knights, although it did not gain popularity in the English tradition, for evident reasons.



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after all, had all the qualities disparaged in Henry VI by his detractors: she was bookish, merciful to a fault, liberal, and lacking attachment to the world. Martyrs like her helped to form self-perception, even in the king, as well as the memory of his death, through a cult of martyrdom.’66 Interestingly, as will be discussed in Chapter 2, versions of the Life of St Katherine in verse and prose were copied into manuscript books dating from this period alongside the pious romances (see Chapter 2, p. 77). Once again we are reminded that the collocation of such texts in manuscript contexts made it possible for politically minded audiences to freely make connections with the political concerns of the day, not just indulge in devotional or pious interests. Yorkist propaganda also made use of the imagery of kingly suffering by drawing attention to the trials visited on Richard, Duke of York, and his son, Edward. The Yorkist contenders were presented as humble penitents meekly accepting God’s trials before God confirmed the Yorkist cause by granting them victory in the struggle over the English crown. First Richard of York made use of a similar penitential discourse in his attempts to justify his suffering for the noble cause of rescuing England from the hands of the usurping Lancastrians.67 Later his son Edward, Earl of March, inherited not only his father’s cause but also the political discourse already shaped around the Yorkist claim, now further enhanced by additional images of his penitent suffering. By 1471, the year Edward IV regained the throne after Henry VI’s brief readeption, the author of the propagandist verses ‘On the Recovery of the Throne by Edward IV’ (which represent a verse version of the prose Yorkist Chronicle of the Arrivall of King Edward IV) went as far as to couple the theme of the penitent sinner with that of innocent Job-like suffering, with seemingly no concern over the contradiction in terms: How mervelous to man, how dowtfulle to drede, How far paste mannys resoun and mynde hath it bee, The comyng of kynge Edwarde, and his good spede, Owte of Dochelonde into Englonde over the salte see. In what parell and trowbill, in what payne was hee! Whan the salte water and tempest wrought hym gret woo; But in adversité and ever, Lorde, thy wille be doo. Lorde, the unkyndnes was shewid to kynge Edward that day! At his londyng in Holdyrnes he had grett payne; His subjectes and people wolde not hym obey, Off hym and his people thay had grett disdayne. They schewid hym unkyndnes, and answerid hym playne,

66

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Miri Rubin, ‘Religious Symbols and Political Culture in Fifteenth-Century England’, in Political Culture of Late Medieval England, ed. Clark and Carpenter, pp. 97–110, at p. 105. See also Karen Anne Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century (Philadelphia, PA, 2007), esp. Ch. 5: ‘Capgrave and Lydgate: Sainthood, Sovereignty, and the Common Good’. Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, p. 114; see also the point made by Given-Wilson, ‘Chronicles of the Mortimer Family’, about Richard, Duke of York (and his ancestors) being deprived of their claim to the crown by the Lancastrian kings (p. 68).

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As for kynge he shulde not londe there for wele ne woo; Yett londid that gentill prynce, the will of God was soo. This prynce it perceyvid, and he let it passe and go, That was to Cryst his creature he did calle, To oure lady and to saynt George, and other seyntes moo; Then sodenly upponne his knes the prince dyd falle, Besechyng the good Lorde and his seyntes alle His ryght hym to sende, and defende hym of his foo, And said ever, ‘Good Lorde, thy wille be doo.’ Thow knowyst my riȝte, Lord, and other men also; As it is my ryȝte, Lorde, so thou me defende, And the quarell that is wronge it may be overthow, And to ryght parte the victory thou sende, And I promesse the, good Lorde, my lyffe to amende, I knolege me a synner wrappid in woo. And all said with one voyse, ‘Lorde, thy will be doo.’68

The refrain of this poem, ‘Lorde, thy will be doo’, plays on what by this stage were well-known lines from the Mass for the Dead or Dirige in which Job is given a voice in the vernacular in order to express his humble acceptance of God’s trials visited upon him. In the propagandist verses cited above, Edward is also presented as a humble sufferer, though emphasis falls on his image as a penitent who has understood he must endure trials before justice is done and God’s will is fulfilled. Piroyansky observes: This was meant to match the hardships seen to be suffered by Henry; yet here, Edward created for himself an image different than Henry’s – not an innocent man, but rather a reformed sinner, which the ‘average’ believer could more easily identify with than the perfect piety of the previous king. From the outset, the author expanded on Edward’s sufferings – the peril, trouble, pain, great woe and adversity in which he had found himself. However, his arrival in England and these trials had a greater meaning, along with the purging of his sins, that of bringing his subjects ‘owte of payne and woo’. Edward’s suffering was not only penance; it also enabled him to create affinity between his difficulties and those experienced by the people of England.69

This poem shows that by 1471 the king’s suffering had become a theme of popular interest manipulated to suit either side of the political debate. A moving paraphrase of Job’s monologue from the Dirige in Middle English titled Pety Job (from the French petit, meaning ‘little’) now survives in four

68

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The poem’s modern editorial title is ‘On the recovery of the throne by Edward IV’; it was edited in Political Poems and Songs Relating to English History, Composed during the Period from the Accession of Edward III to that of Richard III, ed. Thomas Wright (London, 1861), II, pp. 271–82 (my emphasis). In London, British Library MS Royal 17 D.XV the poem is titled ‘The Balet off the Kynge’ in the colophon. Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, p. 97 (my emphasis).



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manuscripts dated to the last quarter of the fifteenth century;70 the correspondences between its wording and that employed in the Yorkist poem display how attuned the author of the political poem was to the widespread appeal of this devotional theme. Pety Job speaks of making amends before death, in order to avoid Purgatory, as well as patient suffering, both of which were appealing to audiences in the period following civil war. In one manuscript, Cambridge University Library Ff.2.38, Pety Job was copied as part of a block of devotional texts, but in the same manuscript several romances whose heroes are both legendary and pious (including Robert and Guy of Warwick) were also added. Susanna Fein, the recent editor of Pety Job, has pointed out that a ‘devout and literate laity’ would have imitated, at home, the practices of the religious who listened to the Office daily.71 It is possible Henry was amongst their number. The pious Henry could have recognised his own fate in the biblical story of testing and patient endurance.72 His subjects practised their piety by reciting parts of the Office of the Dead, something which would not only have prepared them (as the prayers might have prepared Henry, like another Isumbras) to accept their everyday trials, but also helped them to see their king’s fall as a mirror of Job’s fate. The story of Job could thus unite the ruler(s) and their subjects in suffering at a time when the trials visited upon the king had a real impact on the entire country. Indeed, in one fifteenth-century manuscript which contains, alongside Lydgate’s popular Fall of Princes, a political poem and political prophecies related to the Wars of the Roses, the anonymous author of the poem urges the practice of public and private duties not only on princes, but also on the commons and the religious.73

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Pety Job is based on the offices known as the Matins for the Dead; see Introduction to the edition of the text in Moral Love Songs and Laments, ed. Susanna Greer Fein (Kalamazoo, MI, 1998). Its popularity extended across social classes. Apart from the copy in Cambridge University Library MS Ff.2.38, which also contains the longest copy of Robert (discussed below and in Chapter 2), there are three other manuscripts, all of which were at the centre of lending circles. Cambridge, Trinity College MS R.3.21 (dated to c. 1475), copied by a scribe whose work has been dated to the reign of Edward IV (1460–83), was owned, and possibly commissioned by the London mercer Roger Thorney. Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Douce 322 and London, British Library MS Harley 1706 have been discussed as witnesses to lay piety (of wealthy families) spread from religious establishments (see Fein, Intro.). Fein, Intro. to Pety Job. Although no records survive of Henry VI’s ownership of such a text, his grandfather, Henry IV, did own a copy of Gregory the Great’s Moralia on the Book of Job; unfortunately the extant record of Henry IV’s ownership also testifies to this book being in the possession of a London stationer from the time of Henry V, who deplored the dispersal of his father’s books. See Carol M. Meale, ‘Patrons, Buyers and Owners: Book Production and Social Status’, in Book Production and Publishing in Britain, 1375–1475, ed. Jeremy Griffiths and Derek Pearsall (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 201–38, at pp. 203 and 222, n. 10. Henry IV may have read the book with similar concerns in mind; the likelihood is there, since he owned it. This manuscript is London, British Library Sloane MS 4031 and is dated to the mid fifteenth century; it contains, apart from the Fall of Princes, ‘an eighty-line political prophecy pertaining to the Wars of the Roses (fol. 189v)’. See Mortimer, Lydgate’s ‘Fall of

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The theme of patient Job-like suffering was also becoming part of the repertory of motifs employed in medieval drama, as Besserman has demonstrated. In Mankind foolery and patient endurance of vicissitudes are interwoven in passages that draw attention to universal moral concerns; at the same time, as a recent study has shown, the play contains political references to the year in which Edward IV was temporarily replaced with Henry VI.74 The pervasiveness of the theme of the king’s suffering and its presentation in vocabulary borrowed from literature on Job is also testified by the popularity of the story of King Robert of Sicily, which circulated not only in romance form, but also in dramatic adaptations from the mid fifteenth century until the end of the sixteenth (see Chapter 2). Against such a complex political context the genealogical anxieties stirred by the violent break in royal lineage through the Lancastrian usurpation were channelled towards reconstituting, then building and consolidating lines of continuity, primarily by ignoring the interrupted royal lineage caused by Richard II’s deposition. In this climate, to help smooth over the perception of such a break in royal genealogical descent, various materials such as the ‘Verses on the Kings of England’ were produced. ‘Verses’ circulated in versions copied in rolls and codices from around 1430 onwards, and contributed to a genealogically informed understanding of history, making sense of discontinuities by means of unbroken descent where lineages had been violently disrupted.75 Interestingly, these verses, intended to celebrate the Lancastrian kings before Henry VI, and proclaim the English claim to the dual monarchy of England and France, gradually became occasions for commentary on the subsequent reigns of Henry VI and Edward IV, with additional stanzas helping to date at least nine of the ‘politically biased’ copies, depending on the presence or absence of Edward IV (after 1461) named as the next king, the death of Henry VI (after May 1471), the naming of the king following Edward IV as either Edward V or Richard III (after June 1483) and Henry VI’s burial at Chertsey Abbey (May 1471–August 1484) or Windsor (after August 1484).76 The copying of these verses into manuscripts containing chronicles and other materials, such as London, British Library Egerton MS 1995, bears witness to the continuous adaptation of

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Princes’, pp. 233–4. For other similar examples of political uses of Lydgate’s text, and its collocation with political material, see ibid., pp. 224–51. See Jessica Brantley and Thomas Fulton, ‘Mankind in a Year without Kings’, JMEMS 36 (2006), 321–54. By using this title I refer to both Lydgate’s ‘Kings of England sithen William Conqueror’ and the similar anonymous verse chronicles that circulated in the fifteenth century. See Linne Mooney, ‘Lydgate’s “Kings of England” and Another Verse Chronicle of the Kings’, Viator 20 (1989), 255–89. Mooney discusses the probable dating of Lydgate’s ‘Kings of England’, stating that the earliest datable manuscript of this work, Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Bodley 686, could be placed around 1429–30 on the basis of the wording of the stanza on Henry VI, ‘for although [Lydgate’s] attitude toward the young king is hopeful, the absence of kingly achievements he can claim for the reign suggests that the text was written before Henry’s coronations and the commencement of his personal rule’ (p. 256). Ibid., p. 259.



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political propaganda to the current situation, as well as popular interest in this type of historical interpretation.77 The production of genealogical literature intended for propaganda purposes, in codex and roll format, was also given impetus by the campaign to gather support for the English claim to the dual monarchy of England and France, initiated and led by one of the two protectors of the realm and uncles to the minor Henry VI, John, Duke of Bedford. He commissioned a genealogical diagram, in picture and poem, of Henry VI’s claim to the dual monarchy of England and France on the basis of his descent from St Louis, a copy of which is extant in London, British Library Royal MS 15 E.VI, the chivalric anthology presented by John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, to Margaret of Anjou on the occasion of her wedding to Henry VI in 1444 (also known as the deluxe Shrewsbury book).78 Bedford’s campaign was intended to impress on the French population the strength of the English claim by means of the descent’s prominent display round the country, and more than likely also to counter the proliferating copies of universal histories in genealogical roll format of the French royal lineage from St Denis. The latter peaceful depiction of French kings in miniatures, either seated or in the posture of founders of religious abbeys and churches, was counterpoised by representations of English kings often depicted in gory battles or usurpation plots, hence justifying French opinion about instability and uncertainty in the succession to the English throne.79 Bedford’s initiative must have been seen as a response to the threat outside, but also as a useful diversion within, since the diagrams had some circulation at home as well, as already mentioned. Such diagrams also smoothed over the broken line of continuity between Richard II and Henry IV, who are depicted, at least in the Shrewsbury image and its extant copies, sharing a genealogical roundel, pictured in seemingly peaceful conversation, without any visible mark or note about usurpation. The formal production of Lancastrian and Yorkist genealogical chronicles in roll and codex format that survive from the period, based as they are on earlier models, though with enhanced propagandistic material relegating one or the other of the dynastic lineages to the physical margins of the reading space, has

77

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This manuscript contains a London chronicle formerly attributed to the London mayor and skinner William Gregory, who was associated with Lovelich on at least one occasion (see Chapter 3, p. 102 and nn. 46, 47). See B. J. H. Rowe, ‘Henry VI’s Claim to France in Picture and Poem’, The Library 4th series 13 (1932), 77–88; John W. McKenna, ‘Henry VI and the Dual Monarchy: Aspects of Royal Political Propaganda, 1422–1432’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 28 (1965), 145–62. See La Chronique Anonyme Universelle: Reading and Writing in Fifteenth-century France, ed. and trans. Lisa Fagin Davis (Turnhout, 2013); Marigold Anne Norbye, ‘The King’s Blood: Royal Genealogies, Dynastic Rivalries and Historical Culture in the Hundred Years War: A Case Study of A tous nobles qui aiment beaux faits et bonnes histoires’, PhD thesis, University College London (2004), and by the same author, ‘Genealogies and Dynastic Awareness in the Hundred Years War: The Evidence of A tous nobles qui aiment beaux faits et bonnes histoires’, Journal of Medieval History 33 (2007), 297–319.

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received attention primarily from historians.80 The visual impact of representations of royal genealogical descent, its manipulation and constant updating and the numbers in which these genealogies survive attest to the pervasiveness of genealogical anxiety in fifteenth-century English culture and its inevitable influence on the production and reception of romance. As will be shown in Chapters 3 and 4, both Lovelich, writing in the early years of Henry VI’s reign, and Malory, writing decades later, displayed sensitivity to the issue in their own ways. Copies of genealogical chronicles in the pared-down format of diagrams accompanied by little commentary or in the fully developed format of extensive genealogical rolls or codices appended to other chronicles, most commonly the Middle English Brut, are responsible for the shaping and understanding of history that relied heavily on the visual appeal of the descent. It is clear, from the number of genealogical rolls produced for the royal houses of Lancaster and York, that such propaganda circulated throughout the top level of society. The evidence of genealogies appended to copies of vernacular chronicles owned by the literate middle classes, a large part of whom were active participants in local and national political life, attests to the spread of interest in the continuity of lineages and the shaping of history among those situated below the top political elites.81 The extant annotations in the margins of fifteenth-century Middle English Brut chronicles suggest a continued interest in genealogy, be it that of historical kings of the recent past or of the legendary King Arthur, and the story of Joseph of Arimathea converting Britain to Christianity, as will be discussed in Chapters 3 and 4. This is not surprising, since the most enduring source for the earliest history of Britain remained, via centuries of translation, adaptation and continuation, Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae, with its mirror for princes structure, seeing history in terms of models of good and bad kings.82 It can be said that the Brut chronicle tradition, being based on the Galfridian model, shared the same function as that of the mirrors for princes, of creating coherence out of the chaos of earlier periods, including the recent past.83 The 80

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R. A. Griffiths, ‘The Sense of Dynasty in the Reign of Henry VI’ and Alison Allan, ‘Yorkist Propaganda: Pedigree, Prophecy and the British History’, in Patronage, Pedigree and Power in Later Medieval England, ed. Charles Ross (Gloucester, 1979), pp. 13–36 and pp. 171–92, respectively; Olivier de Laborderie, ‘A New Pattern for English History: The First Genealogical Rolls of the Kings of England’, in Broken Lines: Genealogical Literature in Late Medieval Britain and France, ed. Raluca L. Radulescu and Edward Donald Kennedy (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 45–61; W. H. Monroe, ‘Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Century Illustrated Genealogical Manuscripts in Roll and Codex: Peter of Poitiers’ Compendium, Universal Histories and the Chronicles of the Kings of England’, PhD thesis, University of London, Courtauld Institute of Art (1990); Raluca L. Radulescu, ‘Yorkist Propaganda and the Chronicle from Rollo to Edward IV’, SP 100:4 (2003), 401–24. See Raluca L. Radulescu, ‘Gentry Readers of the Brut and Genealogical Material’, in Readers and Writers of the ‘Brut’ Chronicles, ed. William Marx and Raluca L. Radulescu, Trivium 36 (2006), pp. 189–202. For a review of recent scholarship, see Siân Echard, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, and Julia Crick, ‘Geoffrey and the Prophetic Tradition’, in The Arthur of Medieval Latin Literature, ed. Echard, pp. 45–66 and 67–82, respectively. I am grateful to Professor James Simpson for discussing this aspect with me.



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providentialist and the prophetic discourses, if not the biblical, were already evident in the Historia; their importance in the interpretation of later periods was recognised and exploited by subsequent chroniclers.84 The revival and use of popular prophecy in the years following the changeover of dynasty to the Lancastrian, and then again building up in the 1450s, the decade of Richard, Duke of York’s claim to the English crown, is a phenomenon Lesley Coote has demonstrated is in need of serious attention from historians and literary critics alike.85 The presence of prophetic material, no matter how fragmentary, in the manuscript books owned by the same middle-class audiences of vernacular romance points to another contextual element in the new understanding of romance reception proposed in this study, though a full reconsideration of the relationships between romance and prophecy is yet to be undertaken.86 Despite its recognised status as a fifteenth-century bestseller, the Brut, if we consider its survival in over 175 manuscripts,87 owned and circulating widely among the middle-class audiences known to have enjoyed vernacular romance, has been insufficiently explored to date.88 The relationship between the Middle English Brut and the writing of London chronicles, for example, and the composition and revisions to fifteenth-century genealogical chronicles, have only begun to be envisaged. Points of contact between romance and chronicle have most commonly been identified in Malory’s Morte and the style of fifteenth-century prose chronicles.89 Malory’s contemporary John Hardyng also displayed a keen eye for the distinguished tradition of chronicle and romance writing before him; he brought into his compendious verse Chronicle the story of the Grail quest and the prestige associated with its finding in Britain.90 Hardyng’s efforts to 84 85

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For a survey, see Ad Putter, ‘Latin Historiography after Geoffrey of Monmouth’, in The Arthur of Medieval Latin Literature, ed. Echard, pp. 85–108. See Coote, Prophecy and Public Affairs, and, for a survey of the place of prophecy among other discourses, including that of romance, by the same author, ‘Prophecy, Genealogy and History in Medieval English Political Discourse’, in Broken Lines, ed. Radulescu and Kennedy, pp. 27–44. See Coote, Prophecy and Public Affairs, Ch. 5: ‘The Imperial Hero 1399–1440’, pp. 183f. See Lister M. Matheson, The Prose ‘Brut’: The Development of a Middle English Chronicle (Tempe, AZ, 1998); Michael G. Sargeant, ‘What Do the Numbers Mean? Observations on Some Patterns of Middle English Manuscript Transmission’, in Design and Distribution of Late Medieval Manuscripts in England, ed. Margaret Connolly and Linne R. Mooney (York, 2008), pp. 205–44, esp. pp. 216–18, and John J. Thompson, ‘The Middle English Prose Brut and the Possibilities of Cultural Mapping’, in ibid., pp. 245–60. Matheson, The Prose ‘Brut’; codicological descriptions of most, but not all, of the Middle English Brut manuscripts are available on the Imagining History project website, Queen’s University, Belfast, www.qub.ac.uk/imagining-history/resources/wiki/ index.php/Main_Page. See P. J. C. Field, Romance and Chronicle: A Study of Malory’s Prose Style (Bloomington, IN, and London, 1971); Richard Moll, Before Malory: Reading Arthur in Later Medieval England (Toronto, 2003). John Hardyng’s Chronicle (the first version), ed. Sarah Peverley and James Simpson, 2 vols, Middle English Text Series (Kalamazoo, MI, 2013), and John Hardyng’s Chronicle (the second version), ed. Sarah Peverley (forthcoming). I am grateful to Professor Simpson and Dr Peverley for sharing material from their edition and discussing various details with me prior to publication.

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work with, adapt and manipulate sources to suit his interests show that the merging of the chronicle and romance pasts known to English audiences was not an isolated phenomenon. Lovelich’s English translation of the first staples of the Vulgate Cycle, the Estoire del Saint Graal and the Estoire de Merlin, although surviving in only one manuscript and possibly limited in circulation to the circles of London skinners, displays an awareness of the importance of bringing together the chronicle style and that of romance around the time Hardyng also started writing his Chronicle, as discussed in Chapter 3. A shared thread in these developments that cross the artificial generic boundaries between romance, chronicle and history in the period under discussion is the desire to articulate satisfactory explanations that would make sense of kings’ depositions and their aftermath, of the suffering endured by the individual king and of the consequences of violent disruptions in the royal lineage faced by the population. The events of the mid fifteenth century, when anti-Lancastrian propaganda spread rumours about the king behaving with the simplicity of a ‘fool’, brought concerns not only over lineages but also about the king’s ability to conceive an heir and his queen’s agency in both ruling on his behalf and committing adultery in order to produce a son. As will be shown in Chapter 2, similar anxieties already present in the pious romances Gowther and Isumbras, if read in conjunction with the vocabulary employed in political verses circulating at the same time, reveal political interpretations of these romances hitherto unconsidered. The themes of the suffering penitent and anxieties over genealogical descent together constitute a core axis around which romances and other literature produced or copied in this long fifteenth century gravitated. Neither theme was new, but rather commonplace in all medieval literature, drawing on devotional models of penitence inspired by biblical sources and saints’ lives, on the one hand, and with the preservation of lineages as a perennial concern among the middle and upper classes, on the other. However, the emergence of these motifs in romances copied or composed at key points in the fifteenth century, around the time when political poetry and propaganda centred on the same concerns were produced at the highest level of society, suggests that the tumultuous political climate encouraged writers and readers to search out, reissue, translate and reinterpret received traditional material that addressed the urgent issues of regal behaviour, of human suffering and of genealogical uncertainty.

Middle English romances and their manuscript ‘homes’: corpus, challenges, choices The choice of thematic approach for the analysis of romance reception represents a response to previous critical responses to the contents of manuscript books owned by the literate middle classes during the fifteenth century. On the one hand, the reception critic must deal with commonplace home truths such as family values, personal devotion and good conduct in society, as well as universally applicable lessons from the fall of princes in the literary, biblical



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or the ‘social memory bag’91 that appear to form the common denominators in the texts copied alongside romances. On the other, the romances discussed here contain messages of direct relevance to the specific political concerns of a period dominated by unprecedented political crisis. Whether their copying or composition at moments of continuing or acute crisis reveals not only a vocabulary shared with that of the contemporary political debate, but also choices made by the authors, scribes, commissioners and readers of romance in terms of selecting these romances for translation and then inclusion in their manuscript books will therefore be considered. The manuscript framework in which these texts are to be examined requires some explication, since a number of classic studies have pointed out the difficulties in assessing such multi-text manuscript books.92 In particular, how such manuscripts, usually the repositories of medieval romance, came into being is rarely easy to uncover because of poor or missing information about their compilers, commissioning and circulation, and other, multifaceted factors. In Julia Boffey’s and John Thompson’s words, closer examination of some of the miscellaneous collections being produced for this readership highlights the inadequacies of our knowledge about the multifarious nature of fifteenth-century reading habits and tastes, and suggests too the increasing number of uses to which a miscellaneous book and its contents might be put by an expanding reading audience who were requiring the written word for a complex of informational, devotional, and leisure-time purposes.93

This readership is, broadly speaking, made up of the ‘group of earnestminded lay readers from the middle strata of medieval society’; interestingly, Boffey and Thompson point out the ‘increasing number of uses’ to which a miscellaneous book might have been put, in other words allowing for new interpretations of materials otherwise kept by modern scholars under limiting

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This is my term, influenced by Walker’s use of ‘social memory’ for the construction and reception of Richard II’s image in the fifteenth century. See Walker, ‘Remembering Richard’. The terminologies employed in the description of these multi-text manuscripts, in particular ‘miscellany’ and ‘commonplace book’, are currently under reconsideration, as attested by the discussions at a British Academy-sponsored conference, ‘Insular Books: Vernacular Miscellanies in Late Medieval Britain’ (21–23 June 2012), the proceedings of which are forthcoming. Such recent debates attest to the need to reassess critical approaches to complex manuscripts, and to revisit the terminology employed in the process. Julia Boffey and John J. Thompson, ‘Anthologies and Miscellanies: Production and Choice of Texts’, in Book Production and Publishing, ed. Griffiths and Pearsall, pp. 279–315, at p. 292 (my emphasis). A recent reassessment of this type of manuscript is available in Margaret Connolly, ‘Compiling the Book’, in The Production of Books in England 1350–1500, ed. Alexandra Gillespie and Daniel Wakelin (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 129–49. For a discussion of medieval manuscript organisational practices, see the essays contained in The Whole Book: Cultural Perspectives on the Medieval Miscellany, ed. S. G. Nichols and S. Wenzel (Ann Arbor, MI, 1996), especially Ralph Hanna, ‘Miscellaneity and Vernacularity: Conditions of Literary Production in Later Medieval England’, pp. 37–51.

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labels such as ‘commonplace’, ‘devotional’, ‘educational’, ‘practical’, ‘entertainment’. Multi-text manuscripts into which such varied material was copied are usually considered on a one-to-one basis and require careful consideration not only of the dating of scribal stints or dialectal evidence, to mention just two parameters, but also of the codicological make-up of the extant manuscript, its assemblage over a period of time, and its potential design as a commercial enterprise, a ‘sample’ of sorts, or for private use, whether personal, family/ household or ‘reading circles’. The notion of ‘booklet’ as a codicological unit in which a selection of texts were copied, either for commercial purposes or for ease of circulation, or both, is one directly pertinent to the present study, though I do not propose to engage in a full reconsideration of each manuscript. As leading scholars, including Pamela Robinson and Phillipa Hardman, have shown, the interpretation of texts copied into such discrete codicological units is directly dependent on their make-up and use long before they might have been put together with others in order to form the codices we now have access to.94 For this reason, analyses of the romances copied into manuscripts that have gradually evolved from discrete codicological units into codices, such as the Heege manuscript (Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.3.1), need to take into account the nature and relevance of the collocation of material within the confines of one unit and again the whole manuscript (see Chapter 2). On the other hand, the clustering of romances in anthologies such as London, British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, the Rate manuscript (Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 61) or CUL MS Ff. 2.38 requires a rather different approach, and raises other issues of interest, such as the generic affiliation of a text and organising principles within a manuscript book, if any may be deduced, as will be discussed in Chapter 2. Again, these complex issues will principally be discussed in the present study with regard to their bearing on the reception of the pious romances. The contents of manuscripts in which romances appear alongside moral verse, as well as prophecies and political verse, have much to offer in terms of reception history besides practical use for a household, an individual or reading circles. The grouping of texts according to genre by modern scholars, under a common denominator, has led to manageable, perhaps convenient, but by no means exhaustive or entirely satisfactory interpretations of a manuscript book’s overall purpose, thus leaving room for further research and interpretation.95 The mechanisms at work in the production of a manuscript containing more than one item or text are so complex that the organisational principles scholars seek to uncover may never be fully recoverable; the work of the reception critic might

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Pamela Robinson, ‘The “Booklet”: A Self-Contained Unit in Composite Manuscripts’, Codicologica/Litterae Textuales 3 (1980), 46–69; Phillipa Hardman, ‘A Mediaeval “Library in parvo”’, Medium Ævum 47 (1978), 262–73. Among new studies of interests identified in a romance manuscript have been those associated with young readers, women or social aspirations, to take just a few examples. See the chapter-length studies by Phillipa Hardman, James Weldon, and Michael Johnston discussed in Chapter 2 at p. 70 n. 81, p. 72 n. 86, p. 83 n. 115.



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thus appear to be rendered impossible. Julia Boffey and A. S. G. Edwards, in their survey of literary texts in manuscript and early printed form, unambiguously state: Any reconstruction of the forms of such use [by medieval readers, of manuscript books], furthermore, is, at best, speculation. The availability or popularity of texts has in general to be deduced from the very fallible evidence of the numbers of surviving copies. Our sense of the nature of audiences depends on prefatory material or internal references which may well be untrustworthy – currying favour with a dedicatee who may then never have read the book, for instance – or on inscrutable ownership inscriptions. Readers’ responses have to be deduced from sparse and no doubt often idiosyncratic annotation and commentary. In the light of these factors, which preclude definitive statements about the reading of literature in this period, the most promising course seems to be a consideration of some of the continuities and changes to be observed in the supply of literature to fifteenth- and early sixteenth-century readers.96

However, some of the underlying interpretative principles, apart from broad, and evident instructional, devotional and entertainment values promoted in the manuscript contents, may still be deciphered, if careful unpacking of the contents is undertaken. Evidence for reader reception is contained as much in the modifications of a text in its transmission across time, or in its translation, revisions and adaptation, as it is in the marginal glosses or annotations – rare as they might be in the margins of romance manuscripts. It is these types of evidence that are scrutinised in the present study while keeping in sight the growth of the themes running throughout fifteenth-century political culture. One of the challenges my approach poses is discussing texts in their manuscript context. This requires the abandonment of the modern edition, given its editorial principles that favour the ‘best’ text, or its reconstruction through a variety of agreed modern scholarly principles, but which can only present in an imperfect way the great diversity of formats and versions of a romance. The modern editing of romances out of their manuscript context, being as it is informed by a search for, for example, the best readings, the best copy-text, the most appropriate presentation of codicological information, can lead to the obscuring of evidence of potentially interesting connections, either within the manuscript contents or outside it, with other similar manuscript books.97 As Ralph Hanna has pointed out:

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See Julia Boffey and A. S. G. Edwards, ‘Literary Texts’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, III: 1400–1557, ed. Lotte Hellinga and J. B. Trapp (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 555–75, at p. 556. For a counter-example, see the pioneering edition of the Rate manuscript Codex Ashmole 61: A Compilation of Popular Middle English Verse, ed. George Shuffelton (Kalamazoo, MI, 2008), and, for a critical study that takes into account the codicological features of the romance manuscripts, see Murray Evans, Rereading Middle English Romance: Manuscript Layout, Decoration, and the Rhetoric of Composite Structure (Montreal and London, 1995). A recent example of a collection of essays focusing on the interaction of romances with other genres in one manuscript book is The Texts and Contexts of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108: The Shaping of English Vernacular Narrative, ed.

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Surviving manuscripts – what we consider ‘the evidence’, reduced to apparently equivalent rejected readings, each flagged by a neat letter – testify to a variety greater than the number of all surviving copies (since each copy embeds a usually indeterminate number of prior archetypes). Such variety does not signal the apparent equivalents of our collations, but incommensurate situations, substantially different social sitings: autographs, supervised copies, patronal/ coterie copies, copies from bespoke (dispersed patronal) situations. Manuscript versions of a work do not, as their uniform sigil status suggests, provide equivalent information, but information reflective of different historical and potentially historicizable situations.98

In the effort to present a medieval text to a modern scholarly audience, however, choices must be made, with the result that often ‘the manuscript the editor must reject is always the most interesting’.99 It is these ‘interesting manuscripts’ that my study focuses on, in order to uncover the ‘potentially historicizable situations’ in which the romances contained therein were produced and read. Indeed, modern editorial practices have contributed to the critical isolation of romances from one another, and the continued use of labels that have tended to limit, rather than open up, interpretative avenues. Isumbras and Gowther are still cited from nineteenth-century editions based on theories of reconstruction of the ideal text out of the extant manuscript versions, while modern editors of the same romances acknowledge the difficulty in presenting a satisfactory (not representative) text by editing only one manuscript version. Alongside this tendency, traditional source scholarship has also constrained reception criticism of the pious romances. In the case of Robert (a romance drawing on the story of the biblical king Nebuchadnezzar, possibly via a Byzantine retelling)100 and Isumbras (mapped closely on the legend of St Eustace, bar the martyrdom),101 critical studies of the relationship between the source and the Middle English text have been partly responsible for obscuring the ­application of the story/stories to the circumstances in which they were composed or ­ reissued evidenced in the extant manuscripts, mostly dated to nearly a century after the romances’ initial composition.102 In the case of

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Kimberley K. Bell and Julie Nelson Couch (Leiden and Boston, 2011). Other examples, and in particular the benefits of examining romances in their manuscript contexts, are discussed in Chapter 2. Ralph Hanna, ‘Producing Manuscripts and Editions’, in Hanna, Pursuing History: Middle English Manuscripts and Their Texts (Stanford, CA, 1996), p. 74 (my emphases). Derek Pearsall, ‘Texts, Textual Criticism and Fifteenth-Century Manuscript Production’, in Fifteenth-Century Studies, ed. Robert F. Yeager (Hamden, CT, 1984), pp. 121–36, at p. 128. For a review of the sources and analogues for Robert, see Lillian Herlands Hornstein, ‘King Robert of Sicily: Analogues and Origins’, PMLA 79 (1964), 13–21. See also John Simons, ‘A Byzantine Identity for Robert of Cisyle’, in The Matter of Identity in Medieval Romance, ed. Phillipa Hardman (Cambridge, 2002), pp. 103–11. Rhiannon Purdie, ‘Generic Identity and the Origins of Sir Isumbras’, in Matter of Identity, ed. Hardman, pp. 113–24. An exception is Lee Manion’s recent study of the links between the composition of Sir Isumbras in the fourteenth century and the contemporary cultural climate. See Manion, ‘The Loss of the Holy Land and Sir Isumbras: Literary Contributions to Fourteenth-



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Gowther, the spectacular and taboo aspects of the story, influenced as they were by the popular fear of children said to be born to devilish parentage,103 have directed critical attention away from any consideration of the reappearance of the romance in the mid to late fifteenth century, when political propaganda employed the same vocabulary to express concerns over the same issues, as will be shown in Chapter 2. To summarise, in recent years, reception studies of unifying themes within a manuscript have focused on the social aspirations of middle-class audiences, identified primarily from among the country gentry and the bourgeois.104 The ‘gentry focus’, as it might be called, is returning to romance studies; Michael Johnston has identified in one of Robert Thornton’s manuscripts (in which a copy of Isumbras was inserted) interests suited to the social status of country gentry, the class Thornton himself belonged to, such as concerns over local political affinities and power struggles.105 In his work Johnston identifies further similar concerns in the Heege manuscript, which belonged to the prosperous upper peasantry, according to his new investigations.106 The reception angle proposed in the present study acknowledges that social status is an important factor in romance reception. At the same time, it points out that the political involvement of a broad section of society, including the wealthier echelons among the peasantry and guildsmen, and the wide dissemination of political propaganda among all social classes, had an important influence on the political reception of the romances under discussion. Before embarking on an explication of how the analysis of the corpus has been structured, I present two caveats. The first is that in this investigation I will not touch on all the sources or ramifications of the chosen themes in the body of fifteenth-century literature, nor is it my intention to provide an exhaustive explanation for the continued use of these romances in the fifteenth century and beyond. The second caveat is that identifying the shared themes of this study

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Century Crusade Discourse’, Speculum 85:1 (2010), 65–90. However, Manion does not consider the reception of Isumbras in the majority of its extant copies, which have been dated to the fifteenth century. See Margaret Bradstock, ‘Sir Gowther: Secular Hagiography or Hagiographical Romance or Neither?’ Journal of the Australasian Universities Language and Literature Association 59 (1983), 26–47; Margaret Robson, ‘Animal Magic: Moral Regeneration in Sir Gowther’, YES 22 (1992), 140–53; Joanne A. Charbonneau, ‘From Devil to Saint: Transformations in Sir Gowther’, in Matter of Identity, ed. Hardman, pp. 21–9. The most recent testimony to this critical tendency in assessing Gowther can be found in Neil Cartlidge, ‘Sons of Devils’, in Heroes and Anti-Heroes in Medieval Romance, ed. Neil Cartlidge (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 219–35. See Raluca L. Radulescu, The Gentry Context for Malory’s ‘Morte Darthur’ (Cambridge, 2003), and, for the social and intellectual background to the study of the gentry as a social class, the essays in Gentry Culture in Late Medieval England, ed. Raluca Radulescu and Alison Truelove (Manchester, 2005). See Michael Johnston, ‘A New Document Relating to the Life of Robert Thornton’, The Library 7th series 8:3 (2007), 304–13. See Johnston, Gentry Romance, forthcoming. I thank Dr Johnston for the opportunity to read some of his work prior to publication.

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points to how limited the space is for an in-depth discussion of each romance against members of the same formal group (verse or prose, Arthurian versus non-Arthurian, authored versus anonymous), although some critical consideration of these issues inevitably informs the preamble to each chapter. With these caveats in mind, an explanation is needed for the seemingly disparate categories to which the romances tackled in this study belong: on the one hand, the shorter anonymous pious romances Robert, Gowther and Isumbras, and on the other the long Arthurian Grail romances with a known authorship. By mapping the shared themes detailed above onto the chronology of extant copies, Chapter 2 will focus on the pious romances, and Chapters 3 and 4 on Lovelich’s and Malory’s productions, respectively. The evidence of continuing appeal and constant reshaping of the pious romances throughout the fifteenth century suggests a constant presence in the repertory of available and desirable material that was part spiritual journey, part instruction, entertainment and political interpretation. The fact that the pious romances grew and changed throughout the period thanks to anonymous compilers and scribes also attests to the pervasiveness of the interest in these issues over a broad geographical and chronological sweep. Lovelich’s and Malory’s texts bear witness to punctual developments in the translation and adaptation of the Arthurian tradition at the beginning and end of the fifteenth century, respectively. For this reason, discussion of the political reception of the pious romances is foregrounded, its function being that of an ‘open folder’, marking the beginning and the end of the period under consideration, but also a frame for the analysis of the Grail romances. At the same time, this structure also acknowledges the relative critical isolation of work on Arthurian versus non-Arthurian romance (including little criticism on Lovelich’s work) and the similarly rare crossing of borders in modern scholarship in terms of considering verse and prose, pious and Grail romances from a reception angle. A thematic organisation of the analysis would take away from the depth and scale of innovation encountered in each text. The choice of corpus and the starting point for the present study coincide with the first identified moment of political crisis at the end of the fourteenth century, also a moment fraught with the tensions surrounding an event imagined again (the deposition of Edward II was still vivid in the memories of older generations)107 and much feared: the deposition of the king. The suffering ruler (Isumbras, Gowther) or king (Robert) is present in the pious romances and in the political reality, although the mechanisms by which the texts were chosen for recopying into manuscript books are complex, and require careful consideration. A similar political situation occurred in the years surrounding the crisis of Henry VI’s governance in the 1450s, leading up to his own deposition by the Yorkists, then in the 1460s, 1470s and 1480s, when the crown was contested, kings deposed and reinstated. As detailed below, the dating of the extant copies

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Edward II’s deposition, mentioned above, was a recurring theme in historical writing; it was reported that in the parliament of 1386 Richard II was threatened with deposition along the lines of Edward II. See Nigel Saul, Richard II (New Haven, CT, 1999), p. 158, citing Knighton’s Chronicle, pp. 354–62.



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of the pious romances discussed in this study falls closely around these dates. The pious romance manuscripts cluster into three main periods: around the end of the fourteenth century and the first years of the fifteenth; the middle decades of the fifteenth, leading up to and immediately after Henry VI’s deposition in 1461; and the decades around and following the multiple depositions in the fifteen years between 1470 and 1485. Given the complexity of the manuscript evidence, explained below, and the different plots and variety of weight given to the selected themes in each of the pious romances, the analysis in Chapter 2 follows developments in each text (Robert, Gowther and Isumbras) in discrete subsections. The earliest extant versions of Robert108 are clustered around the last decades of the fourteenth century and the beginning of the fifteenth: the Vernon ­manuscript, Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Eng. Poet A.1 (c. 1390, fols 300r–301r, 444 lines) and its sister, the Simeon manuscript, London, British Library MS Additional 22283 (c. 1390–1400, fols 90v–91v, 444 lines); Oxford, Trinity College MS D. 57 (c. 1380–1400, fols 165r–167r, 440 lines); and London, British Library MS Additional 34801 (a fragment on fol. 2, of twenty-three lines, dated to the first quarter of the fifteenth century).109 The second cluster dates from the mid fifteenth century: London, British Library MS Harley 1701 (c. 1450, fols 92–5, 476 lines);110 Dublin, Trinity College MS 432 C (1458–61, fols 60r–61v, 79 108

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The dating of the manuscripts is based on Gisela Guddat-Figge, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Middle English Romances (Munich, 1976), compared with Stephen Powell, ‘Textual and Generic Instability in the Middle English “Roberd of Cisyle”: A Study with Critical Edition’, PhD thesis, University of Toronto (1997), in which he edited the versions in TCD MS 432 C and CUL MS Ff.2.38; occasionally the dating has been checked against the latest edition of the romance published in Amis and Amiloun, Roberd of Cisyle, and Sir Amadace, ed. Edward E. Forster (Kalamazoo, MI, 1st edn, 1997; 2nd edn, 2007). Forster changed the dating of the manuscripts between the 1997 and 2007 editions, though in neither case did he provide evidence for his dates. GuddatFigge often opts for a rather broad period, such as ‘fifteenth century’ for various manuscripts, without giving details, though in these cases I have added further comments when my own observations add pertinent information. The edition cited in recent scholarship is Forster’s, based on one of the earliest (and shortest) versions, in Vernon (444 lines), although the late nineteenth-century edition by Richard Nuck, the product of the same German philologist trend in that period of which editions of Gowther and Isumbras were also a part, is still in use. See Roberd of Cisyle, ed. Richard Nuck (Berlin, 1887), taking as its base text the Vernon MS (444 lines). Some scholars still prefer the edition contained in Middle English Metrical Romances, ed. W. H. French and C. B. Hale (New York, 1930), pp. 933–46, or that in Sammlung Altenglischer Legenden, ed. C. Horstmann (Heilbronn, 1878), II, pp. 209–19 (most manuscript versions are collated here). None of these editions, including Forster’s, can do justice to the expansion of the text from 444 lines in Vernon to 516 in the CUL MS Ff.2.38. Here I differ from Forster’s second edition, where he dates Harley 1701 to c. 1380 and the Additional fragment to c. 1417–32 (neither date nor interval are justified in his introduction), and agree with Guddat-Figge’s broader interval following my examination of these manuscripts. For the most recent facsimile edition of the Vernon MS, see A Facsimile Edition of the Vernon Manuscript: A Literary Hoard from Medieval England, ed. Wendy Scase (Oxford, 2012). The date proposed in the MED Plan is c. 1450 (p. 71); Powell agrees with it in his ‘Textual and Generic Instability’, p. 153. The contents are listed in Guddat-Figge, Cata-

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lines);111 CUL MS Ii.4.9 (c. 1450, fols 87v–93v, 374 lines);112 and London, British Library MS Harley 525 (1450–75, fols 35r–43v, 472 lines),113 which corresponds to the period of increased tensions between the houses of Lancaster and York, culminating in the deposition of Henry VI, but also, in the third quarter of the century, the brief deposition of Edward IV. Both manuscripts in the last group of versions are dated to the last quarter of the fifteenth century: CUL MS Ff.2.38, formerly More 690 (fols 254r–257v, the longest version, at 516 lines)114 and Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College MS 174 (fols 456–68, 470 lines),115 during a period of continuing political unrest in the aftermath of the Wars of the Roses. The geographical dissemination of extant copies of Robert, evident from the linguistic features of the text itself and codicological features of the manuscripts in which it survives, along with its adaptation as drama, discussed in Chapter 2 below, attests to the continued appeal of this story in fifteenthcentury English culture.

111

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114 115

logue, pp. 186–7. This date also fits in with a range of details, including the fact that this version seems linked to the later group, in which the romance stands at 476 lines, as compared to the earlier ones at 444 lines. For a description of the manuscript contents, see Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, pp. 116–18 (Guddat-Figge considers it a ‘miscellany’). This version of Robert was edited first in Mittelenglische Dichtungen aus der Handschrift 432 des Trinity College Dublin, ed. Rudolf Brotanek (Halle, 1940), pp. 36–47 (Brotanek considers the manuscript a ‘commonplace book’), and, more recently, by Powell in ‘Textual and Generic Instability’, pp. 237–41. Norman Davis, who edited the play Abraham and Isaac from this manuscript, concluded that the manuscript was written within a short period during 1461; the entries in the annals record events from 4 Richard II to 28 Henry VI. He concludes that ‘the last entries date the end of the scribe’s work to a year not earlier than 1461’ (and more likely between 28 June and 4 November of 1461, the coronation and opening of his first parliament, respectively); he disagrees with Brotanek on dating the items copied before the play (including Robert) to 1458, and argues for the ‘latter half of 1461’ for the entire manuscript (Non-Cycle Plays and Fragments, ed. N. Davis, EETS s.s. 1 (London, 1970), Intro., pp. l–li). In his edition (and its recent revision), Forster dates the manuscript version to ‘after 1461’, although no precise evidence is provided for this dating (in the first edition he used Guddat-Figge’s interval, 1458–61). Dated by Guddat-Figge to the broad ‘fifteenth century’, the manuscript is in two hands ‘both anglicana, hand II showing stronger influences of secretary script’ (pp. 100–1); Robert is written in hand I in single columns; upon examination of the manuscript I agree with Forster’s and the MED more precise dating here (1450). Powell suggests a much later date, c. 1465, on the basis of a watermark not encountered before this year in other manuscripts (see Powell, ‘Textual and Generic Instability’, p. 156). This is a religious miscellany from Norfolk containing the only version of Robert where the story of Nebuchadnezzar is omitted (see Chapter 2, pp. 51–2 and n. 34). Guddat-Figge dates it to the ‘middle of the fifteenth century’, though she notes that ‘the Middle English Dictionary assigns it to 1475’ (pp. 184–5; see MED online version). The manuscript only contains the Siege of Troy and Speculum Gy de Warewyke apart from Robert. Cambridge University Library MS Ff.2.38, ed. Frances McSparran and R. Robinson (London, 1979), Intro. Dated by Guddat-Figge to ‘late fifteenth century’ (pp. 81–2). This is another religious miscellany into which Robert was copied.



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For Gowther, linguistic evidence suggests that the romance was composed sometime in the fourteenth century, yet, it is now extant in only two manuscripts, London, British Library Royal MS 17.B.XLIII, dated to the second half of the fifteenth century (fols 116r–131v), and Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.3.1, known as the ‘Heege manuscript’, dated to the last quarter (or last decades) of the fifteenth century (fols 11r–28r).116 The dating of these copies of the romance and the presence of the thematic concerns identified in the political reality of the mid to late fifteenth century justify a consideration of their reception alongside copies of Robert and Isumbras. As noted by critics, Isumbras survives in nearly as many medieval and early modern manuscript copies (nine) as Robert (ten), and, overall, in many more manuscript and printed copies together (fourteen) than any other Middle English romance.117 An examination of the corpus has led me to divide it also into three groups. The first group is represented by the earliest witness, London, Gray’s Inn MS 20 on fol. 228 (104 lines); Rhiannon Purdie has recently argued for a later dating (late fourteenth to early fifteenth century) than previously accepted (mid fourteenth century) for this fragment.118 The second group, focused around the middle decades of the fifteenth century, includes Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College MS 175 (fols 98r–106), dated to the second quarter of the fifteenth century;119 the well-known Lincoln Thornton manuscript, Lincoln, Dean and

116

117

118

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Guddat-Figge dates the Royal manuscript and notes its dialect is from the north-east Midlands (pp. 211–12). Dating compared with information in The Heege Manuscript: A Facsimile of National Library of Scotland MS Advocates 19.3.1, intro. Phillipa Hardman (Leeds, 2000). The standard editions used in critical studies are the nineteenth-century Sir Gowther: eine englische Romanze aus dem XV Jahrhundert, ed. Karl Breul (Weimar, 1883), using as base text the Royal MS and the one contained in Six Middle English Romances, ed. Mills, the base text of which is the Heege MS. The romance is usually cited from the early twentieth-century edition which contains a reconstructed text; see Sir Ysumbras, ed. J. Zupitza and Gustav Schleich, Palaestra 15 (Berlin, 1901); here eleven manuscripts and prints were collated, while the base text was Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College MS 175. Two other modern editions are Mills’s Six Middle English Romances, whose base text is London, British Library Cotton Caligula A. ii, and Harriet Hudson’s, first published in Four Middle English Romances (Kalamazoo, MI, 1st edn, 1997; 2nd edn, 2006), whose base text is the Caius MS. See Rhiannon Purdie, ‘Sir Isumbras in London, Gray’s Inn MS 20: A Revision’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 55 (2011), 249–83, and, by the same author, Anglicising Romance: Tail-Rhyme and Genre in Medieval English Literature (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 202–6 (information on the manuscript versions of Isumbras is emended in the more recent article). I am grateful to Dr Purdie for sharing with me her findings prior to publication. Guddat-Figge initially dated it to the early fifteenth century (pp. 82–3), while Hudson dates it to 1425–50, on information from the New Index of Middle English Verse, ed. Julia Boffey and A. S. G. Edwards (London, 2005), item 1184. This manuscript contains a number of other romances in the hand of the same scribe, and following Sir Isumbras, Athelston and Bevis of Hampton (although Richard Coeur de Lion starts the collection, Guddat-Figge considers that it is in the hand of another scribe). According to GuddatFigge ‘the uniform style seems to indicate uninterrupted production’. Here Isumbras is titled ‘De Milite Isumbras’, whereas in other places different titles alter, if only slightly, the generic perception of the text. For an assessment of the implications of differences

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Chapter Library MS 91 (fols 109r–114v), dated to the 1440s;120 and Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale MS XIII B 29 (fols 114r–115r, a fragment containing only the first 122 lines), dated 1457.121 The last group, more evidently dated to the last decades of the fifteenth century and the early sixteenth, includes London, British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii (fols 130r–134r), dated to the third quarter of the fifteenth century;122 Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 61 or the ‘Rate’ manuscript (fols 9r–16r), dated to the last quarter of the fifteenth century (or, according to its most recent editor, to the period between 1479 and ‘some point after 1488’);123 the ‘Heege’ manuscript mentioned above (fols 48r–56v, also dated to the last quarter or decades of the century);124 Oxford, University College MS 142 (fol. 128r, a seventeen-line fragment), dated by Purdie to the end of the fifteenth century; and Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Douce 261 or the ‘Bannister’ manuscript (fols 1r–7v), dated to 1564 and representing a development from the early printed versions.125 A longer version, containing an expanded episode of the final battle, in which Isumbras’s wife plays a more prominent role, is contained in Copland’s early print, dated to 1530.126 Purdie’s recent analysis

120 121

122

123

124 125

126

between medieval and modern terminology in modern critical studies of romance, see Paul Strohm, ‘Storie, Spelle, Geste, Romaunce, Tragedie: Generic Distinctions in the Middle English Troy Narratives’, Speculum 46:2 (1971), 348–59, and, more recently, in relation to the legacy of medieval terminology well into the early modern period, Maldwyn Mills, ‘Generic Titles in Bodleian Library MS Douce 261 and British Library MS Egerton 3132A’, in Matter of Identity, ed. Hardman, pp. 125–38. See the facsimile edition and introduction to The Thornton Manuscript (Lincoln Cathedral MS.91), ed. Derek Brewer and A. E. B. Owen (London, 1977). Following my consultation of the digital facsimile of this manuscript I confirm the dating from Guddat-Figge on internal evidence (scribal note on p. 146); see Catalogue, pp. 241–2. Guddat-Figge also notes only one scribe for the whole manuscript; this is a paper manuscript which contains several other romances such as Bevis of Hampton and Lybeaus Desconus, and a copy of Chaucer’s ‘Clerk’s Tale’, here titled ‘Grisilda’. Dating from Purdie, Anglicising Romance, p. 202, based on the dating of The Siege of Jerusalem, a copy of which is contained in the same manuscript (ed. Ralph Hanna and David Lawton, EETS o.s. 320 (London, 2003), pp. xxiv–xxv); Hudson dates it broadly to 1450–1500. This is the base text for Mills’s edition, referred to in this study. Dating from Codex Ashmole 61, ed. Shuffelton, p. 2, based on Lynne Blanchfield, ‘The Romances in MS Ashmole 61: An Idiosyncratic Scribe’, in Romance in Medieval England, ed. M. Mills, Jennifer Fellows and Carol M. Meale (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 65–87, at pp. 65, 80–6. See note 116 above. See M. C. Seymour, ‘MSS Douce 261 and Egerton 3132A and Edward Banyster’, Bodleian Library Record 10 (1980), 162–5; and Maldwyn Mills, ‘EB and His Two Books: Visual Impact and the Power of Meaningful Suggestion. Reading the Illustrations in MSS Douce 261 and Egerton 3132A’, in Imagining the Book, ed. Kelly and Thompson, pp. 173–91. The extant early prints are Oxford, Bodleian Library Douce fragment (fol. 37) (London: Wynkyn de Worde or W. Copland, 1530? 1550?) (STC 14281), one leaf; Oxford, Bodleian Library 1119 (London: William Copland?, c. 1530) (STC 14282), one leaf; London, British Library C 21c61, Garrick Collection (London: William Copland, c. 1530) (STC 14282), fifteen leaves; Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Library (London: John Skot, c. 1525) (STC 14280.1), eight leaves; Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Library (London: I. Treveris, c. 1530) (STC 14280.2), one leaf. Only the London Copland print



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of the origins and geographical distribution of particular verse formats of the popular romances has demonstrated Isumbras’s broad dissemination throughout the fifteenth century and beyond. Isumbras is the only romance in this group to survive in its medieval form into the print era, while Robert endured in its dramatic form (now lost), and the story of Gowther in its sister version, Robert the Devil. The transition from the anonymous pious romances to the Arthurian translation projects undertaken by Lovelich and Malory might appear, given the chronological arrangement of the analysis of the pious romances, a step back, requiring a readjustment to the period in which Lovelich probably wrote, starting sometime in the 1420s, then jumping forward to the late 1460s, when Malory completed his Morte Darthur, and finally, to later decades, when the only extant manuscript of his work was produced. The separate treatment of these two authors and their works is justified, as already mentioned, on the grounds that their work represents punctual developments of the themes under discussion, and on consideration of the fact that they survive in single-author, and, in Malory’s case, single-text manuscripts.127 Lovelich’s manuscript is Cambridge Corpus Christi College MS 80, a relatively large paper manuscript in which nearly a hundred spaces were left blank for illumination purposes.128 The unique manuscript of the Morte Darthur is London, British Library MS Additional 59678, better known as the Winchester manuscript.129 In Chapter 3 Lovelich’s treatment of the interlocking themes of kingly suffering and genealogical anxiety will be explored in the context of his extensive translation of the Vulgate Cycle romance L’Estoire del Saint Graal with a view to presenting evidence of his reshaping of the vocabulary of Middle English verse romance in line with that of the contemporary chronicles. His personal contribution – long neglected or disparaged by modern critics – to the develop-

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of 1530 (STC 14282), standing at fifteen leaves, contains an essentially complete text, with an expanded section on the participation of Isumbras’s wife in the final battle. A facsimile is available as Sir Isenbras, The English Experience 245 (Amsterdam, 1970). The fragments of Treveris and Skot were not available to Zupitza and Schleich for their edition. For an edition and discussion of the expansion involving female participation in the battle, see Maldwyn Mills, ‘Sir Isumbras and the Styles of the Tail-Rhyme Romance’, in Readings in Medieval English Romance, ed. Carol M. Meale (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 1–24, at p. 23. Here I acknowledge, though am not concerned with, the ‘Malory debate’, that is, over the text being considered one narrative or eight separate romances. Scholars now agree that Le Morte Darthur should be read as one text; see the essays in The Malory Debate: Essays on the Texts of ‘Morte Darthur’, ed. Bonnie Wheeler, Robert L. Kindrick and Michael N. Salda (Cambridge, 2000). The manuscript is available in digitised format on the Parker Library platform; for a full description, see http://parkerweb.stanford.edu/parker/actions/manuscript_ description_long_display.do?ms_no=80. For further discussion, see Chapter 3, pp. 95–6. The Winchester Malory: A Facsimile, intro. N. R. Ker, EETS, s.s. 4 (London, 1976) and the high-quality digital facsimile of Winchester now hosted by the Malory project at www. maloryproject.com/overview.php, a project directed by Dr Takako Kato, De Montfort University.

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ment of the relationship between Middle English Arthurian romance and the political reality in which it was told and retold must be treated on its own, with due respect to both the internal changes he operated and the first reception of his text in the period, via annotations in the hand of the scribe John Cok. Chapter 3 is organised into five sections. In the first section Lovelich’s literary enterprise is situated in the English literary canon; his work represents the first appearance of the Grail in English literature. The second section provides an extensive examination of Lovelich’s approach to the themes under discussion via his choice to establish and then consolidate a ‘chronicle’ style before he emphasises the king’s suffering (section three) and women’s agency in the preservation of the lineage (section four). Cok’s annotations on the latter topics are investigated alongside the planned spaces for miniatures left in the manuscript, and codicological evidence of their intended content. The last section in the chapter focuses on Lovelich’s conception of the Grail and of his own book in terms of creating an aura of authority for his retelling of the Grail history against the broader cultural context in which his manuscript was commissioned by his fellow skinner and Mayor of London, Henry Barton. Malory’s Morte Darthur was completed, according to internal evidence, in the ninth year of Edward IV (March 1469–March 1470), and bears witness to its author’s original approach to the translation and adaptation of French and English romances into an account of King Arthur’s reign, while also containing his attempt to come to terms with the political reality of decades of civil war and England’s losses abroad. The marginal glosses in the Winchester manuscript, as well as Malory’s treatment of the themes of suffering and genealogical anxiety, require another separate discussion, given the complex relationships identified across the Morte. Although Lancelot, Malory’s favourite knight, has received substantial critical attention in modern studies, an examination of the political significance of his suffering during the Grail quest and in his late life, particularly in relation to Balin’s and Galahad’s trajectories, has not been attempted to date. Chapter 4 is divided into five sections, which explore, in order, the emergence of the theme of suffering in Tale I (‘Balin’s Legacy’), its transition to full development in the most religious tale in the Morte, that of the Quest for the Holy Grail (‘Lineages through Swords’) and Malory’s original approach to the spiritual journey Lancelot embarks on in three sections: ‘Lancelot, the Suffering Penitent’, ‘Lancelot’s Healing of the Fellowship’ and ‘Lancelot’s Final Penitence’. The first section provides a critical framework for discussing both thematic developments in Malory’s treatment of Balin, Galahad and Lancelot via the legacy of Balin’s sword, and the information provided by marginal glosses and manicula in the Winchester MS in terms of romance reception. The emphasis Malory placed on the genealogical descent of the Grail keepers, Lancelot and his kin, in the retelling of the Grail quest and in other sections of the Morte points to the endurance of interest in the themes exploited by Lovelich earlier in the century, and also by Malory’s contemporary, John Hardyng. The physical and spiritual journeys of both Grail and non-Grail knights provide models of piety for Malory’s audience and an opportunity to engage with the political realities of the day through Lancelot’s leadership in both the spiritual and secular realms.



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In this, as in the other chapters, the common denominator in the romances under discussion is identified not only through the themes emerging from political reality and their topicality at particular moments, but also in the underlying spiritual journeys through political realities medieval readers of romance would have enjoyed.

2 Spiritual Journeys through Political Realities The ‘Pious’ Romances The three pious romances discussed in this chapter draw on recognisable penitential models: Isumbras is modelled on the legend of St Eustace, but with a happy ending typical of Middle English romance; Robert and even Gowther typify the ‘fall of princes’ motif through the sin of pride borrowed from the biblical story of King Nebuchadnezzar.1 On the one hand, none of these romances conforms to a unique generic label; on the other, all three combine a variable degree of interest in family values with social restitution and harmony. Isumbras, Gowther and Robert also address a universal concern with a king’s responsibilities and place emphasis on reforming a ruler’s piety as well as his secular governance. To some extent these romances deserve the exemplum label since each of them focuses on a ruler’s fall and subsequent extreme humbling, which render him unrecognisable/invisible in the public and private spheres. The broad outline of each story recommends it as a powerful lesson to be heeded by leaders, be they kings, princes, magnates or local lords. The popularity of these three pious romances is evident from the variety of manuscript contexts into which they were copied, as well as from the dramatic adaptations of Robert and references to Isumbras in non-romance contexts. A better understanding of the place these romances occupied in fifteenth-century English culture requires a reassessment not only of their transmission but also of their relationship to the popular themes of kingly suffering and genealogical anxiety.2 I will re-evaluate these pious romances, commonly identified as bearers of a spiritual message, looking for political readings emerging from the collision (within and outside manuscript contexts) of ideas and their expression in fifteenth-century political discourse and literary texts. Isumbras, Gowther and Robert address a universal concern with reforming a male ruler’s life and personal piety, and have been viewed only as educational texts for a middle-class audience. The perceived a-historicity of these romances, and the predominantly religious or didactic contexts in which many of the extant versions survive, have also contributed to their relegation to the

1 2

Source studies are referenced in Chapter 1; see also E. M. Bradstock, ‘The Penitential Pattern in Sir Gowther’, Parergon 20 (1978), 3–10; Hopkins, Sinful Knights. I do not propose to review the contents of each manuscript copy in detail, not least due to the danger of rehearsing some well-worn and universally accepted critical arguments. My approach will be selective rather than comprehensive, with a view to pointing out features and interpretations that have been overlooked.

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margins of critical enquiries into romance reception. However, the suffering depicted in these texts is not merely that of ‘everyman’, but that of a ruler, be it a landowning knight (Isumbras), a duke (Gowther) – both of whom are rewarded for their humble penitence with becoming a king and an emperor, respectively – or a king (Robert). In other words, the identification of male protagonists in positions of power, both socially and politically, is crucial to the plot. The unifying line in these stories is the suffering of a male hero in a respected position who falls from grace into ‘social invisibility’ where he is (literally or metaphorically) transformed into a court fool mocked by others. Robert, Gowther and Isumbras are not Job-like, because they are neither innocent nor of low social status. All three are rulers in their own right; their suffering is caused by God’s punishment for their sin of pride. However, their patience in suffering justifies the association medieval audiences and modern critics alike have made between their attitude to God’s trials and that of Job. The penitential thread in these romances has led to critical debates over their generic affiliation, hence to a variety of labels (‘exemplary,’ ‘homiletic’, ‘of Trial and Faith’, ‘edifying’ romances). This seemingly unified critical perspective does not do justice to their complex reception during the fifteenth century, even when more nuanced labels (‘hagiographical romance’, ‘secular hagiography’) are used.3 Powell’s analysis of the manuscript versions of Robert fits into the same debate over generic features displayed by each manuscript version due to the context in which it was copied.4 As many modern scholars have observed, the generic terminology encountered in medieval texts reflects the very fluidity of romance’s generic boundaries. To take just one example, Gowther and Isumbras share features with Robert, being more chivalric and romance-like in structure and narrative patterns. New analyses of these romances have focused on identity, whether envisaged as the social fashioning of the self in Isumbras or Gowther’s devilish parentage and its implications, but no attempt has been made to read them from a political perspective, although their core storyline involves the fall from grace of a ruler criticised for his sins. The great degree of variation in the transmission of these romances and the themes explored in the cultural and political context together recommend the male-centred pious romances for analysis over, for example, the whole ‘Eustace–Florence–Griselda’ group. Social advancement in emulation of one’s social superiors was a preoccupation with romance audiences,5 whose engagement with current political debates is well documented. The pair ‘governance–piety’ featured both in romances and in mirrors for princes alongside the balance between private and public duties, 3

4

5

See Hopkins, Sinful Knights, pp. 1–31; Francine McGregor, ‘The Paternal Function in Sir Gowther’, Essays in Medieval Studies 16 (1999), 67–75; Joan Baker, ‘Deposuit potentes: Apocalyptic Rhetoric in the Middle English Robert of Sicily’, Medieval Perspectives 12 (1997), 25–45. See Powell, ‘Textual and Generic Instability’; Stephen Powell, ‘Manuscript Context and the Generic Instability of Roberd of Cisyle’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 100:3 (1999), 271–89, and ‘Multiplying Textuality: Generic Migration in the Manuscripts of Roberd of Cisyle’, Anglia 116 (1998), 171–97. See Hardman, ‘A Mediaeval “Library in parvo”’; Felicity Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory (Leiden, 1987), pp. 23, 13; Johnston, ‘A New Document’.

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and a ruler’s responsibility for close family members, followers and subjects. However, Isumbras’s rash choice to pursue personal salvation and piety, which involves suffering in youth rather than old age, has dramatic consequences not only for himself and his family, but also for his subjects. Gowther’s neglect of his duties as heir to the Duke of Estryke, coupled with his outrageously violent behaviour, throws his lands and subjects into disarray. Robert’s proud dismissal of God’s power, resulting from spiritual blindness induced by sin, leads him to desert his duties as ruler. This chapter focuses on the ways in which the penitential journeys Isumbras, Robert and Gowther embark on are intimately linked with the political responsibilities they abandon; thus they lead to a reconsideration of the heroes’ neglect of their duties, which, in turn, has serious consequences on their subjects. The (little) evidence of overt medieval commentary on these three romances suggests that they were considered, at least by authors of religious and devotional works, as secular works, not pious ones. Isumbras at least was famously dismissed as not worthy of inclusion among pious texts in the oft-cited prologues to Speculum Vitae and Cursor Mundi, where it is listed alongside entertaining material, such as family romances (Octavian) and legendary heroes (Bevis and Guy).6 Both prologues provide evidence that counters modern critical assumptions that piety was the primary concern of this romance’s first audiences. Hopkins supports the view that the plot of Isumbras, based on the legend of St Eustace, has undergone a process of ‘secularisation’;7 however, she retains the penitential message as the dominant one, making the case for a reading that explores Isumbras’s sin or vice of pride, of which he needs to be cleansed through a series of trials. According to Hopkins, the originality of the romance author’s enterprise was to conflate the hero’s penitential journey with the innocent, Job-like suffering endured by Eustace in the original story. The reception of these romances in fifteenth-century England involves a return to their manuscript ‘homes’, the codices in which extant copies survive. Some modern forays into the complex relationships within multi-text manuscripts have revealed how modern editions, by virtue of long-established editorial principles which favour the presentation of single texts out of their manuscript context, necessarily obscure some of the elements that would assist with that text’s reception history. A return to the evidence of romance transmission from the end of the fourteenth century onwards and the topicality of their subject matter during moments of political crisis will provide us with a more rounded picture of their place in fifteenth-century culture.

6

7

See Speculum Vitae: v. 1 & 2: A Reading Text, ed. Ralph Hanna, EETS o.s. 331 (Oxford, 2009); also Oxford, Bodleian Library MS 48, fol. 47, quoted in The Thornton Romances, ed. James O. Halliwell, Camden Society 30 (London, 1884), Intro., p. xx; for the passage in Cursor Mundi, see ed. Richard Morris, EETS o.s. 57 (London, 1874) Part I, p. 9, lines 1–29. Hopkins, Sinful Knights, p. 120.

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Robert of Sicily: the king’s penitence This romance survives in ten manuscripts, five of which can be dated to the late fourteenth/early fifteenth century, three to the mid fifteenth century and two to the late fifteenth century.8 Among other pious romances that share manuscript contexts with saints’ lives, prayers, courtesy texts and sometimes historical material, Robert is the most evidently didactic, and, to judge on past scholarship, the least likely candidate for a political reading. Over two decades ago A. S. G. Edwards urged a full consideration of all the extant versions based on Robert’s widespread popularity, attested by both the localisation of the manuscript copies and their spread over a century.9 Since then two scholars, Stephen Powell and Joan Baker, have examined the generic affiliations of the different manuscript versions, though only Powell read them by scrutinising each manuscript context.10 Hopkins, whose study of the penitential romances has left an enduring mark, dismissed the manuscript versions as not worthy of consideration; she agrees with Nuck that all the ‘extra passages’ are ‘later interpolations’, and merely states that ‘these [extra passages] apart, the MSS are very similar to one another and cannot be said to represent different versions of the poem’.11 While making a solid case for reconsidering the transmission of Robert, Powell concludes that ‘there is little in any of these manuscripts that does not point to a reception environment that is primarily religious or didactic’.12 Indeed, the bestknown version of Robert, which stands at 444 lines, most frequently edited from the compendious Vernon manuscript, keeps company with numerous religious texts. A typical example of a fall of princes story, Robert appears as a natural companion to texts of religious instruction in this manuscript and others. Robert’s arrogance in his earthly position and ignorance of God’s power is evident from the beginning of the romance, when, sitting in church for vespers, he challenges the clerk’s interpretation of the verse in the Magnificat: ‘Deposuit potentes de sede / Et exaltavit humiles’ (Luke 1:52; He has brought down the powerful from their seats, / And he has exalted the humble (lines 40–1 in the standard 444-line edition)).13 Divine punishment is instant, and consists in Robert’s fall from his position (and displacement on the throne by a look-alike angel) and swift transformation into the king’s fool, unrecognisable to either kin or subjects. Only at the end of a period of three years (‘and more’) when Robert has sunk into despair, leading him to meditate on the story of King Nebuchadnezzar, does he accept his humble fate. He is then reinstated as king and becomes an ideal ruler.

8 9 10 11 12 13

For a synopsis of the plot, see Appendix 1. A. S. G. Edwards, ‘The Contexts for the Vernon Romances’, in Studies in the Vernon Manuscript, ed. Derek Pearsall (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 159–70, at p. 163. Powell, ‘Textual and Generic Instability’; Joan Baker, ‘Editing the Middle English Romance Robert of Sicily: Theory, Text and Method’, Text 10 (1997), 161–79. Hopkins, Sinful Knights, p. 179, n. 1; Nuck, Intro. to edition. Powell, ‘Manuscript Context’, p. 279. A Facsimile Edition of the Vernon Manuscript, ed. Scase, cited by folio, column and line number parenthetically in the text.

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The ten extant manuscript copies of Robert attest to the story’s continuous popularity from the end of the fourteenth to the end of the fifteenth century, which could be attributed, at least in the first instance, to the story’s moralising, didactic tone, universally valid in all periods. At the same time, because Robert has kept company with religious pieces in a number of manuscripts, it has been considered an exemplum for pious instruction of ‘everyman’. However, the message of this romance amounts to more than a moral and spiritual lesson addressed to everyman. The fall from grace is due to overweening pride, but the one who suffers is a king whose actions have consequences on his subjects. In this respect the text clearly points to more than a general lesson on God’s punishment of the proud, and rather guides the reader to consider earthly rulers who have forgotten God. Other details in the story, such as Robert’s divinely endorsed deposition, followed by his punishment of living the life of the court fool, and his unrecognised existence among his followers and even his brothers, point to the dangers posed by rulers whose folly – of any sort – could lead a country to disaster. The same details also recommended the romance to audiences interested in the topic of the king’s suffering from the end of the fourteenth century onwards. The narrative thread is common to all the manuscript versions. Robert is said to be rather young: ‘In Cisyle was a noble kyng, / Fair and strong and sumdel ȝyng’ (lines 3–4), which creates a contrast, youthful ignorance and arrogance versus wisdom in old age, a necessary element in order to justify his need to learn a lesson. Robert is also said to be ‘kyng of gret honour / For þat he was Conquerour / In al þe world nas his peer’ and ‘of Chiualrie flour’ (lines 11–13, 15). His brothers are the Emperor of Germany and the Pope who, in some versions, gain their titles because of his prowess (lines 5–8). At midsummer, on the feast of St John (24 June), Robert goes to vespers, but is distracted from the service by thoughts of ‘worldes honour’, neglecting the word of God. When he hears the verse of the Magnificat, Robert, who does not understand Latin, requires assistance from a clerk, who translates it for him (here, literally into English) and explains its significance. At this Robert challenges God in arrogant terms, boasting that nobody could overturn him: ‘Al ȝor song is fals and fable, What man haþ such pouwer, Me to bringe lowe in daunger? I am flour of Chiualrye, Myn Enemys I may distruye, No mon lyueþ in no londe, Þat me may wiþ stonde. Þan is þis a song of nouht’ Þis Errour he hedde in þouȝt.  (lines 50–8; Vernon, fol. 300va)

In effect Robert rebels against God, saying the mighty should not fear being brought low and the humble should not come into high position. Then he falls asleep, and, in an instant, an angel in his form replaces him and leaves the church with the entire court. Robert wakes up and, realising he is alone, asks the sexton to unlock the church door. Neither the sexton nor the gate-keeper of

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his castle recognise him, taking him for a madman. Robert’s frustration leads to an explosion of violence: he comes to blows with the porter and, despite his previous status as ‘flower of chivalry’, he is easily beaten. This is the first physical sign of the hero’s punishment for his pride, and of his social and political ‘invisibility’: the chivalric prowess he was famed for is useless in an encounter with a social inferior, in which only fist-fighting can work. So far the moral of the story is that young kings should beware pride, and not take their rule for granted. His punishment is appropriately harsh: he will become the angel-king’s court fool, and will be humbled and scorned by all those who previously served him. Robert, of course, is a fool: his display of arrogance turns him into the voice of Psalms 13 and 52: ‘Dixit insipiens in corde suo: Non est deus’ (The foolish man says in his heart: there is no God). With the first group of manuscripts in which Robert survives being dated to the period immediately before and following Richard II’s deposition, it does not seem a coincidence that the fall of a king who is described as ‘sumdel ȝyng’, but also prideful, would be popular. Two of the best-known manuscripts in this first group are Vernon and Simeon, both impressive collections, predominantly, but not exclusively, religious in character. In both Robert is copied in the hand of the same scribe and follows a block of religious texts. In Vernon Robert keeps company with two other romances, King of Tars and Joseph of Arimathie, while in Simeon only with the first, King of Tars.14 In his analysis of the context for the Vernon romances, Edwards notes that knightly prowess, a prerequisite in romance, is absent in Robert, but present in the other two romances, albeit ‘subordinated to dramatised Christian exposition’.15 Indeed Jane Gilbert convincingly argues that King of Tars contains a powerful message of miraculous conversion instigated by the fearless Christian princess.16 At the same time, however, all three romances speak of God’s authority and intervention in the political world. In Robert God sends the angel to depose and impersonate Robert; in King of Tars the pagan Sultan’s lineage is threatened until he converts to Christianity; in Joseph of Arimathea the pagan king Evalak only wins battles and safeguards his crown because he accepts conversion, following God’s miracles and Joseph’s teaching. All three narratives point to a complex commentary on both secular and spiritual values and a powerful reminder that a king’s conversion to Christianity, or just reforming his former, sinful ways, was at the forefront of late fourteenth-century thinking. In other words, the copying of these three stories in Vernon and two of them in Simeon testifies to the emergence of interest in the themes of the king’s suffering and of a king’s responsibilities in the period leading to Richard II’s deposition. The lesson is therefore at the same time private, for the ruler to repent, and public, for his subjects to learn from it. If Vernon was commissioned and owned by a prominent member

14 15 16

For Joseph of Arimathie see Chapter 3, p. 89. Edwards, ‘The Contexts’, pp. 159–60. Jane Gilbert, ‘Putting the Pulp into Fiction: The Lump-Child and Its Parents in The King of Tars’, in Pulp Fictions, ed. McDonald, pp. 102–23.

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of the upper classes, as Scase has recently argued,17 the clustering of these texts in this manuscript context supports both political and pious readings. For the traditional romance critic, this first group of manuscript contexts in which Robert appears could be considered a typical example of a topical lesson for both rulers and the ruled, safely presented through the medium of an a-temporal moral tale. Such a reading emphasises the most general common denominator in the texts from a unified religious and morally edifying perspective. However, this interpretation fails to take into account that even the most religious audiences would have occasion to consider the fate of contemporary kings via the spiritual journeys proposed in Robert. Indeed, as Vincent Gillespie has shown, moral and didactic verses copied into Vernon (as those of a general moral nature) were often more subtly directed at, and reflecting on, the contemporary political situation; he aptly notes, ‘[i]f moral poetry is not susceptible of application to contemporary events, it has effectively lost its purpose’.18 Contemporary concerns over the governance of kings and kings’ responsibilities and the debate over the right to depose again a divinely anointed king justify the resurfacing of Robert in the 1390s and decades after, then again in the 1450s, 1460s, 1470s and 1480s. The fact that this romance presents a repentant king who is then rewarded for his humble acceptance of God’s punishment by being reinstated does not invalidate the topicality of the issues contained in the text to audiences from the late fourteenth to the late fifteenth century. Indeed Robert’s return to rule is reassuring in two ways: on the individual level, it confirms God’s mercy for the penitent sinner; on the public level, it is a reassuring conclusion to a story that could safely act as a medium for reflection on current political crises without creating anxieties in its readers – such as the fear of being accused of having imagined or wished the current king’s deposition. Belonging to the same period and of the same length (444 lines) as those contained in Vernon and Simeon, the copy of Robert in Oxford, Trinity College MS D.57 was appended to the South English Legendary, which seems to justify the scribe’s addition of a unique explicit: ‘Explicit hic certi Cicilie vita Roberti’ (fol. 167r).19 Having considered this addition in the Trinity manuscript, and the contexts of the three early manuscripts versions together (Vernon, Simeon and Trinity), Powell draws the (cautious) conclusion that the Vernon and Simeon versions of Robert are ‘the most blandly pious’, and that ‘[f]rom the manuscript [Vernon] it is impossible to tell whether the poem is directed at the individual or the society or the ruler because the manuscripts contain texts specifically aimed at all of these’.20 The first objection to this approach is that texts can fulfil

17

18

19 20

‘The Patronage of the Vernon Manuscript’, in The Making of the Vernon Manuscript: The Production and Contents of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Eng. poet.A.1, ed. Wendy Scase (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 269–93. I am grateful to Professor Scase for discussing her work on this topic with me prior to publication. See Vincent Gillespie, ‘Moral and Penitential Lyrics’, in A Companion to the Middle English Lyric, ed. Thomas G. Duncan (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 68–95, esp. 91–3, quote from pp. 91–2; see also references at n. 42. My transcription. Emendation follows current editorial practice. Powell, ‘Manuscript Context’, p. 280.

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several functions at once, without readers necessarily privileging one interpretation over another. Among the most successful lessons in both piety and politics are those which involve secular rulers, whose reformed lives stand as a model not only for future kings, but also for their subjects and society at large. More evidently, emphasis on the lessons to be learned from the story of deposed kings was placed in the second group of manuscript versions dating to the mid fifteenth century. These copies of Robert are contained in TCD MS 432 C (dated 1458–61), CUL MS Ii.4.9 (dated c. 1450) and British Library MS Harley 525 (dated 1450–75), each presenting distinctive features.21 The version of Robert copied into TCD MS 432 C is the shortest (79 lines); CUL MS Ii. 4.9 stands at only 374 lines, due to the absence of the episode in which Robert ponders on the fate of King Nebuchadnezzar (a feature shared with TCD MS 432 C); Harley MS 525 contains the first interpolations that signal an adaptation of the romance in line with developments in the political culture of the day. I now turn to these elements in the transmission of the romance, and examine their relevance to the themes of kingly suffering. The potential for political readings of this romance is enhanced by the description of the governance style of the look-alike angel who takes over Robert’s rule in line with God’s punishment. At this stage the description appears to be intended as a criticism of Robert’s former governance, and a model for him to follow later on: Þe Angel was kyng, him þhoȝte long. In his tyme was neuer wrong, Tricherie, ne falshede, ne no gyle I don in þe lond of Cisyle; Alle goode þer was gret plente: A Mong men loue and Charite; In his tyme was neuer strif Bi twene Mon and his wyf; Vche Mon loued wel oþer: Beter loue nas neuere of Broþer. þenne was þat A Ioyful þing In londe to haue such a kyng!  (lines 207–18; Vernon, fol. 300vc)

By stating openly that during the angel’s rule there was no ‘tricherye’,22 ‘falshede’, ‘gyle’ or ‘strif’ in the land, the author suggests that all of these were found in 21

22

TCD MS 432 C contains, apart from Robert, other didactic poems set in dramatic format, as well as a copy of the medieval cycle play Abraham and Isaac, Yorkist political poems and prophecy and historical notes initially ending with Henry VI, then continued to Edward IV (but also to Henry VIII in a much later hand). The contents of Harley MS 525 and CUL MS Ii.4.9 are discussed below. In Harley MS 525 and CUL MS Ii.4.9 ‘tricherye’ is omitted, while in the late Gonville and Caius College MS 174 (dated to the end of the fifteenth century) it reads ‘treason’. Although Caius MS 174 represents, according to Nuck, a development from an earlier recension of the text, from a related branch of the stemma, all three manuscripts display similar interest in incorporating political nuances. For the stemma and associated discussion, see Nuck’s Introduction to his edition, Roberd of Cisyle, p. 24. Powell also discusses the stemma; see ‘Textual and Generic Instability’, pp. 56–7.

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Robert’s kingdom previously; thus the implication is that a ruler’s spiritual blindness is matched by, or at least gives way to, that of his subjects. As a result, the angel’s arrival is a ‘joyful thing’, cherished by a population who recognises the country’s need for a ruler who is a model of leadership in both spiritual and secular behaviour. This is, of course, just the kind of wish-fulfilment story an audience would enjoy during a period of political unrest. It seems, therefore, that around the time depositions of kings took place in England Robert could easily lend itself to a political interpretation, as a warning to kings prone to arrogance or tyrannical traits. As Martin W. Walsh notes, ‘the usurper king […] presents a picture of dazzling radiance as if his angelic nature were beginning to shine through the disguise. […] He dispenses gifts of clothing made of fabrics which seem of unearthly origin’ (lines 264–5).23 A reader intent on pondering the fate of arrogant kings would be reassured that divine punishment is at hand when earthly kings overestimate their power. The long-enduring population is rewarded in Robert with the ‘dazzling rule’ of the angel-king. Interestingly, in the mid fifteenth century, before and immediately after Henry VI’s deposition, Edward IV’s ascent to the English throne was presented in Yorkist propaganda as the advent of an era of brightness after the dark years of civil strife during Henry’s reign.24 On the eve of the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross (2 February 1461), a decisive battle for the Yorkists, Edward famously exploited the appearance of a sun dog (or parhelion) in the sky, interpreting it for his followers as a sign of divine approval of the Yorkist cause. The anonymous author of a continuation to the Middle English Brut wrote: And the Monday before the daye of batayle, that ys to say, in the feest of Puryficacion of oure blessed Lady abowte x atte clocke before none, were seen iij sonnys in the firmament shynyng fulle clere, whereof the peple hade grete mervayle, and thereof were agast. The noble erle Edwarde thaym comforted and sayde, ‘Beethe the of good comfort, and dredethe not; thys is a good sygne, for these iij sonys betokene the Fader, the Sone and the Holy Gost, and therfore late vs haue a good harte, and in the name of Almyghtye God go we agayns oure enemyes’.25 23

24

25

Martin W. Walsh, ‘The King His Own Fool: Robert of Cicyle’, in Fools and Folly, ed. Clifford Davidson (Kalamazoo, MI, 1996), pp. 34–46 at 40–1. The lines in Robert read: ‘And ȝaf hem cloþes Riche of pers / Furred Al wiþ Ermyne / In Cristendom is non so fyne / And al was chouched mid perre / Better was non in Cristiante / Such cloþ and hit weore to dihte / Al Cristendom hit make me mihte / Of þat wondrede al þat lond/ Hou þat cloþ was wrouȝt wiþ hond. / Wher such cloþ was to selle. / Ne ho hit made couþe no mon telle’ (lines 234–44; Vernon, fol. 300vc). Yorkist propaganda portrayed Edward as a messenger of divine retribution to the Lancastrian usurpers, and his arrival as a blessing for a much-tried population. In Gregory’s Chronicle, the Londoners’ reaction to Edward IV’s arrival is presented thus: ‘Lette us walke in a newe wyne yerde, and lette us make us a gay gardon in the monythe of Marche with thys fayre whyte ros and herbe, the Erle of Marche’ (in The Historical Collections of a Citizen of London in the Fifteenth Century, ed. James Gairdner, Camden Society n.s. 17 (London, 1876), known as Gregory’s Chronicle, p. 215). An English Chronicle of the Reigns of Richard II, Henry IV, Henry V and Henry VI, ed. J. S. Davies (London, 1856), p. 110 (passage not in the recent edition of An English Chronicle, ed. Marx).

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Subsequently Edward adopted the sun symbol as the Yorkist badge; it became a recognisable symbol, replicated numerous times, including in The Illustrated Life of Edward IV, now London, British Library Harley MS 7353, in which the three crowns are represented underneath the three suns in the sky, as an indication of Edward’s correct interpretation of the Holy Trinity, but also, for Yorkist audiences, in token of the Yorkist claim to the crowns of England, France and Spain.26 The copying of Robert into TCD MS 432 C, a manuscript that contains a number of pro-Yorkist political poems, could be linked to this interpretation of Henry’s deposition and the advent of the resplendent sun of York. Given that Robert was copied at the beginning of the manuscript, probably before Henry’s downfall became an imminent event,27 the fact Robert is reinstated could only exonerate the compiler of this manuscript of the potential charge of having imagined the king’s demise. In TCD 432 C Robert is labelled a ‘story of Kyng Robert of Cesyle’ (the title) and an ‘[e]nsaumple to all men hem self for to knowe’ in line 7 (fol. 60r, my emphases). At first sight these labels would relegate this version of Robert to the didactic sphere; indeed, Powell concludes that in this manuscript the romance should be read as an exemplum.28 However, only a few folios later, the same scribe copied the Yorkist poem ‘Ballad on the Battle of Northampton’ (1460), in which Edward Earl of March (not yet King Edward IV) is also said to be an ‘ensaumple’ of a man ‘whos sorow is turned into ioyfulnesse’ after his long suffering in exile and return to claim the English crown (fol. 67r, lines 9–11). In the Yorkist ballad Edward’s arrival is the much-awaited-for saviour of the population, whose ‘sorow is turned into gladnesse’ (fol. 67r, lines 7–8); yet, from the perspective of the romance copied earlier in the manuscript he could be seen as another Robert, a penitent sinner whose pride in his lineage and claim to the throne had been punished by God through exile, but whose humble acceptance of penance earned him the crown of England. Yorkist propaganda produced before and after Henry’s deposition made extensive use of both romance and penitential imagery. Yorkist authors associated Edward’s chivalric prowess and his suffering for a noble cause, that of restoring his dynasty to the throne and removing the Lancastrian usurpers. However, this is not to argue for a literal reading of Robert, not least given Henry’s reputation for extreme piety, not arrogance – a point to which I return in this chapter. Such interpretations do not therefore rely on an exact parallel between the plot of the romance and political events. That Robert, which carries the overall message of a lesson in humility visited on a prideful king, and political verses

26

27

28

The parhelion image appears on several occasions in this manuscript; see Jonathan Hughes, ‘The Alchemy of Kingship: The Emergence of Edward IV’, in Arthurian Myths and Alchemy, p. 82. The symbol was made famous by William Shakespeare; see Henry VI, Part 3, Act 2, Scene 1. For the dating of the manuscript see Chapter 1. I agree with the dating proposed by Brotanek and Guddat-Figge rather than with the narrow window proposed by Davis and Forster. Powell, ‘Textual and Generic Instability’, p. 82.

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produced during the Wars of the Roses share the same agenda fits in well with the aims of the author/compiler of this manuscript: to reflect upon the nature of events taking place during a particularly tempestuous period in mid-fifteenthcentury England. This example also supports the argument developed in this chapter, that the image of the suffering ruler employed in the Lancastrian and Yorkist propaganda was influenced by, and in turn influenced the reception of, models of suffering already familiar to fifteenth-century audiences from romances and religious literature. By copying Robert into his manuscript miscellany (previously called a ‘commonplace book’)29 the scribe/compiler invited a politically minded audience to make connections between this universal story and the contemporary situation, though the nature of such connections may only be accessed through an examination of both the Lancastrian and the Yorkist viewpoints on the situation. Two other features of this manuscript version are its length (seventy-nine lines, when most versions stand at 444+ lines) and its dialogue format, between a ‘Doctor’ and a ‘Rex’. Here Robert seems intended to remind the king as well as his subjects of the need to heed a lesson in humility in a historically specific context. The other texts accompanying it either are presented (as Robert is) in dialogue format (between ‘Doctor’ and ‘Rex’), perhaps as a reflection of the debating nature of the texts themselves (and an extension of the Abraham and Isaac play also copied in this manuscript), or are straightforward historical material, moral and political verses and prophecy. The ‘stage direction’ Doctor was perhaps intended as a safe avenue in ‘giving controversial, potentially inflammatory or critical advice to the monarch’; Powell notes that it is interesting that Robert ‘does not punish the clerk who has dared to suggest that God is more powerful than the king’.30 The a-historicity of the story is aided here by the creativity of the scribe/compiler of the manuscript, most probably alert to the political message concealed in a story of divine punishment consisting in kingly deposition. In fact the ‘potentially inflammatory’ nature of the text is disguised to some extent in that it does not carry the message of rebellion but rather confirms that some depositions are divinely endorsed. On the other hand, the dialogue format actually emphasises, rather than plays down, the king’s refusal to listen to good advice. In the text King Robert dismisses the clerk’s explanation of the Magnificat; in the meta-frame the ‘Doctor’ acts in an advisory capacity to another ‘Rex’, warning him through Robert’s exemplary story of divine retribution for sin. Indeed the Doctor, too, seems to have been dismissed by the hypothetical recipient of the text, the universal ‘Rex’. The dramatic presentation and tone of this short version of the romance seem to suggest a relationship with the (now lost) dramatic performance of Robert staged for Henry VI earlier

29 30

Guddat-Figge labels it a ‘miscellany’; Brotanek calls it a ‘commonplace book’ (see Chapter 1). Such labels are currently under (renewed) debate. Powell, ‘Manuscript Context’, p. 280.

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that decade, in 1452–53, in Lincoln.31 There at least the king’s pious disposition would have been appropriately flattered.32 Alongside the later versions of Robert in Harley MS 525 and CUL MS Ff.2.38, both dated to the second half of the fifteenth century, the copy of Robert in TCD MS 432 C is perhaps the most evidently politically tuned. However, no attempt has ever been made to establish a connection between these versions and the political situation in which they were copied. Powell downplays ‘what might be called “political” material’ in these manuscripts because to him it seems obvious that ‘one of the focuses of Dublin [manuscript] is right-living, not just for the individual, but also for the state’.33 Powell’s aim, to reassess Robert’s ‘generic instability’, produces what seems to be a traditional classification under the moralising tale label, although his work goes a long way in highlighting the differences between the extant manuscript versions. Powell did not attempt to contextualise the transmission of the romance or to propose an explanation for the glaring omission, in TCD MS 432 C and CUL MS Ii.4.9, of the scene in which Robert ponders on the folly of King Nebuchadnezzar and is moved to accept his own. The dating of CUL MS Ii.4.9 (around 1450) and the absence of the episode that focuses on the folly of both kings (Robert’s and Nebuchadnezzar’s) make this manuscript version of Robert conspicuously relevant to the political situation in England, when Henry VI, by then widely known for his ineffectual rule, collapsed into insanity. The association between Nebuchadnezzar’s folly and Henry VI’s mental incapacity may have been perceived by the scribe or commissioner as too sensitive a topic to be included.

31

32

33

Bishop Lexington’s rolls in the Lincoln Episcopal Registry reports: ‘31 Henry VI, 1452– 53, King Henry was at Lincoln for the second time; et Ludus de Kyng Robert of Cesill.’ See also Records of Plays and Players in Lincolnshire, 1300–1585, ed. Stanley J. Kahrl, Malone Society Collections 8 (Oxford, 1974), pp. 23, 31; and Arthur F. Leach, ‘Some English Plays and Players, 1220–1548’, in An English Miscellany Presented to Dr Furnivall in Honour of his Seventy-Fifth Birthday (Oxford, 1901), pp. 222–3; two references to the play in Chester, ed. Lawrence M. Clopper, Recors of Early English Drama (Toronto, 1979), p. 26 and p. 484. The former, dated 1529–30, states ‘The play of Robert of Cicell was plaied at the Highe Crosse’; and ‘In this yeare an Enterlude named kinge Roberte of Scissill was playde at the highe Crosse in Chestire’. It is referred to in Ian Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558 (Toronto and Buffalo, 1984), p. 110, no. 530. The second refers to an ‘Alleged letter to an unknown nobleman from the Mayor and Corporation of Chester’ about a play performed in 1531. I am grateful to Dr Carol M. Meale for the last two references. Sandra Billington reminds us that Henry VI had already been presented with the topic of the fool in Lydgate’s ‘Mumming at Hertford’, performed at Christmas in 1430; in the copy of this text contained in Cambridge Trinity College R.3.20, Lydgate’s prologue ‘begins with an apology for the low subject-matter it employs’ (‘“Suffer Fools Gladly”: The Fool in Medieval England and the Play Mankind’, in The Fool and the Trickster, ed. Paul V. A. Williams (Cambridge, 1979), pp. 36–54, at p. 42). Traditionally Lincoln was associated with the Lancastrians, and it is noteworthy that during Edward IV’s reign the pro-Lancastrian feeling was captured in the Chronicle of the Rebellion in Lincolnshire (see Three Chronicles of the Reign of Edward IV: John Warkworth’s Chronicle, Chronicle of the Rebellion in Lincolnshire, History of the Arrival of King Edward IV, ed. Keith Dockray (Gloucester, 1988), p. 12). Powell, ‘Manuscript Context’, p. 279.

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CUL MS Ii.4.9 contains, apart from Robert, a copy of the prose life of St Edward (Narracio de Sancto Edwardo), which may go some way towards explaining the association of these two texts as mirrors for princes designed to instil military and pious qualities in the ruler. Kingly folly may have also been the reason behind the omission of the same episode in TCD MS 432 C, especially if the copy of Robert in this manuscript can be related to a dramatic performance of the kind Henry VI was present at in 1452–53. These two manuscript versions of Robert, although lacking some of the force of the original, longer version, do, however, signal another element: without thinking about the similarity between his case and Nebuchadnezzar, Robert fulfils his repentance by himself, without the assistance of a biblical exemplum.34 Another detail in Robert apposite to a political reading is his transformation into court fool; the development of the story requires this stage in order to make Robert realise he is sinful. As such it is a crucial element, already present in the earliest surviving manuscripts dated to the end of the fourteenth century. However, evidence of additions in the later manuscripts, where the text is longer, points to a particular development of this theme. Dismissed by Hopkins, these interpolations appear quite early on in the story and alter its reception. Powell analyses these interpolations statistically, and concludes that the later fifteenthcentury manuscript versions ‘expend far less narrative space on Robert’s sin (proportionally) and far more on the consequences of that sin’.35 My examination of the versions copied into Harley MS 525, Caius MS 174 and CUL MS Ff.2.38,36 all three dated to the second half of the fifteenth century, reveals that numerous new lines were added, which emphasise both Robert’s new low social status 34

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Here it may even be said that Robert appears, at least symbolically, to have ‘liberated’ himself from the formal constraints of texts which require instruction from representatives of the Church. The implications of this interpretation are far-ranging, and I expand on this topic in ‘Robert of Sicily: Texts and Manuscript Contexts’, in Romance and Materiality, ed. Nicholas Perkins (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, forthcoming). Powell identifies the location of the first appearance of the interpolations ‘almost one-fifth of the way through the entire version (one-quarter of the way through Vernon)’ (‘Multiplying Textuality’, p. 183; my emphasis). In Harley MS 525 Robert follows the Seege of Troy, and the fact that the first folio on which the text of Robert starts is the last in the quire finishing the Seege suggests a deliberate choice on the part of the scribe to associate these two texts. This is in contrast with other manuscript versions of Robert or the other two pious romances discussed in this chapter (Isumbras and Gowther) in which it is harder or impossible to ascertain whether the romance in question was copied in sequence (a classic example is the Royal MS of Gowther, which was assembled long after the individual texts were copied). For a description of the contents of Harley MS 525, see Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, pp. 184–6); Guddat-Figge dates the manuscript to ‘mid fifteenth century’. In Caius MS 174, dated to the last quarter of the century, several religious texts are copied (see Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, pp. 81–2). In CUL MS Ff.2.38 Robert is part of a block of romances, not religious pieces, grouped at the beginning of the manuscript. Interestingly, here the pious tone and language employed in Robert did not seem to warrant its inclusion alongside Pety Job in the first part of the manuscript. It seems as if here Robert has moved to the secular world; it is also in this version that the largest number of variants are found (the longest version, at 516 lines). For a description of the contents of this manuscript, see Cambridge University Library MS Ff.2.38, ed. McSparran and Robinson, Intro.

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and his suffering as a court fool. To start with, the audience is repeatedly told about the scorn heaped on Robert the fool: There was in court grome ne page But with him dede grete mokage ffor nouder myght him knawe he was disfigurede in a throwe So low brought was neuer kyng To al men he was an onderlyng had pryde ne bene I vnderstond A wilier kyng came neuer in lond Ffor his pryde good game him grewe he bought him dere he wolde not him lese God made him to knowe his chastensyng To be a fole that ere was kyng.37

His low social status is more emphatically presented here than in the earlier versions: Atte lower Estate myght he not be Thanne be a fole as þenketh me, ffor eueryman had skornyng Of him þat before was a nobill kyng, So how sone be goddis might He was made lowe as it was ryght. He was euer so hard be stedde.38

The first four lines in this passage are also present in Caius MS 174 and CUL MS Ff.2.38, thus attesting to increased emphasis on the former king’s humiliation in the manuscript versions dated to the late fifteenth century. The insistence on the lowering of status is powerful; unsurprisingly, at least in Harley MS 525 the angel-king presses the reality of the humbling experience on Robert, who constantly refuses to accept it: The Aungel asked euery day: ‘Ffole, art thou kyng, thou me saye’ ‘Algate,’ he seyde, ‘that word I knowe, My bretheryn well the bryng lowe’.

37

38

Harley MS 525, fol. 38r; my emphasis. Transcriptions from this manuscript are mine. The equivalent place for these lines in the standard 444-line edition should be around lines 189–94, but there is no mention of being ‘an onderling’ and the last six lines in this passage from Harley MS 525 are not found in Vernon. Interestingly, also, the first four lines cited here, which focus on the scorn heaped on the former king, are missing in all the earlier versions (Vernon; Simeon; Oxford, Trinity College MS D.57, Harley MS 1701 and CUL MS Ii.4.9, the manuscript in which the Nebuchadnezzar episode was omitted. The possibility that the absence of both of these elements might be due to the contemporary debate in which Henry VI was mocked for signs of folly is tantalising. Harley MS 525, fol. 38v; my emphasis. The equivalent place for these lines in the standard 444-line edition should be around lines 195–206.

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‘That semeth the well,’ sayde the Aungell. Thou art a fole and that is dole.’39

Medieval audiences would have recognised the image of the fool not only from their experience of other literary texts and dramatic performances, but also in Robert’s attire.40 In the earlier versions he is merely shown to wear the distinctive sign of the fool when on his way to Rome – poor garb, accompanied by ‘foxes tayles ryuen aboute’ (lines 248–50). In the later versions Robert is made to wear additional humbling signs: the angel-king tells Robert not only that he will be accompanied by an ape, and wear a fool’s clothes, but ‘Lyke a fole and a fole to bee. / Thy babull schall be thy dygnyte’ right from the beginning (CUL MS Ff.2.38, fol. 255rb; lines 159–60 of the 516 in this version). Indeed the ‘babull’,41 or fool’s staff, becomes a painful reminder of his humiliating experience throughout the narrative in the late versions: ‘A babill a bare ayens his wille, / The aungels hest to full fille’ (Harley MS 525, fol. 40r; CUL MS Ff.2.38, fol. 256ra).42 Powell considers that ‘[t]he babul is a public token of Roberd’s sinfulness’ and ‘reference to the fool’s staff heightens the contrast with the angel’s splendor’, all of which leads to a more emphatic presentation of ‘how those around Roberd react to his situation’.43 The variants in these manuscript versions of Robert assist with reconstructing a particular political context for their reception. Rumours about Henry VI’s ‘foolish behaviour’ and records of indictments for treason based on the dissemination of such rumours from the 1440s onwards attest to the endurance of the theme of the king’s suffering and the emergence of explanations for Henry’s insanity as ‘holy folly’. Interestingly, Robert’s period of social invisibility and his behaviour when a court fool also associate his state with ‘holy folly’ – another possible reason for the scribal choice in the earlier Trinity College MS, where Robert was appended to the South English Legendary. Pious elements already present in the romance also fit in with popular devotional verse in the vernacular in the same period and the political propaganda employing penitential vocabulary. During Robert’s period of suffering as a fool he repeats the words ‘Lord, on thy fool thou have pite’ every four lines in his section of the romance; as Hopkins points out, this refrain

39 40 41

42

43

Harley MS 525, fol 39r–v. CUL MS Ff.2.38, the longest version, contains the same elaboration at this point, also repeated at lines 250–4. Dramatic representations of the fool in this period are discussed in Billington, ‘Suffer Fools Gladly’; Brantley and Fulton, ‘Mankind in a Year without Kings’. See MED, ‘babel, also bable’, n. 1 (b) ‘a jester’s sceptre’, but see also ‘babel’ n. 2 (1) ‘a scourge with spiked balls on thongs; also, one of the spiked balls’. Although only the former meaning is employed in the text, to denote Robert’s new status, it is interesting to note he chooses to live his new identity as if it were inflicting on him the real pain caused by the latter. However, these lines were omitted in some of the versions dated from the middle to the end of the century, Harley MS 1701, CUL MS Ii.4.9 and Caius MS 174. See Powell, ‘Textual and Generic Instability’, p. 266. Powell, ‘Multiplying Textuality’, p. 183 (my emphasis).

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is ‘strongly reminiscent both of the “Lord, have mercy” refrains in the liturgy and of penitential lyrics’.44 In true fall of princes fashion, Robert presents the consequences that kings who are guilty of not performing their duties well might have to face. The Yorkist Edward IV was seen by some as a proud king who deserved divine chastisement. Pro-Lancastrian chroniclers described Edward’s rule as a disappointment for at least some of his subjects; they expected peace and stability from the Yorkist rule, but it did not come. In a contemporary pro-Lancastrian chronicle we read about popular dissatisfaction with Edward: the comon peple seyde, yf thei myghte have another Kynge, he schulde gett alle ageyne and amende all manere of thynges that was amysse, and brynge the reame of Englond in grete prosperite and reste. Nevere the lattere, whenne Kynge Edwarde iiij regnede, the peple looked after alle the forseide prosperytes and peece, but it came not; but one batayle aftere another, and moche troble and grett losse of goodes amonge the comene peple.45

When such accusations were voiced by the Lancastrian party, the Yorkists were quick to respond by exploiting the very theme of the king’s suffering, already fully developed around Henry VI. Yorkist propaganda portrayed Edward IV’s woes as a penitent’s humble and patient acceptance of God’s will in punishment for earlier sins, including Edward’s part in the devastation caused by the Wars of the Roses, and Henry’s deposition. At the end of Robert the protagonist’s fate is commented on by his brothers, and, in some of the manuscript versions, a lesson to be learnt by all is delivered by Robert’s brother, the Pope, who preaches a sermon that incorporates Robert’s example of pride punished by God: The Pope of Rome here of can preche, And the pepull he can teche That þer pryde þey schulde forsake, And to gode vertues þey schulde þem take, And seyde hys brodur þat was kynge, Ffor hys pryde, was an vndurlynge. Ffor pryde ys ferre fro God all myght; Hyt may not come in hys syght.46

These lines are included in Harley MS 1701, Harley MS 525, Caius MS 174 and CUL MS Ff.2.38; Powell comments:

44

45 46

Hopkins, Sinful Knights, p. 192 and examples in Religious Lyrics of the XIVth Century, ed. Carleton F. Brown, 2nd rev. edn, ed. G. V. Smithers (Oxford, 1952), including ‘Make Amands’ (pp. 196–200) and ‘The Bird with Four Feathers’ (pp. 208–16). The latter contains a verse on ‘Nabugodonosor’ (Nebuchadnezzar) and a refrain ‘Parce michi domine’, echoing the development of translations and adaptations of the Dirige in the vernacular. Three Chronicles of the Reign of Edward IV, ed. Dockray, p. 12. CUL MS Ff.2.38, fol. 257va–b; lines 495–502 of this 516-line version.

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in H[arley MS 1701] and F [CUL MS Ff.2.38], the poet tells us that many others knew of the king’s fall, and the pope preaches about his brother’s sinfulness in H, Ha [Harley MS 525], C [Caius], and F. Roberd’s sin has, in these versions, become public knowledge and public property. No longer concerned with teaching the value of the private act of confession, the scribes of these manuscripts are interested in showing how Roberd’s sin, used for didactic purposes outside the text in the scribe’s society, is a lesson inside the text to the king’s society.47

The later versions thus combine the more overt connections between the king’s fool status and his humbling with a lesson for the entire population, though one pointedly directed to the king himself. As the analysis so far has shown, the importance of extant versions of Robert is indissolubly linked to additions in the manuscripts dating from the mid to the late fifteenth century, and the relevance of these additions to the theme of the king’s suffering, amply used in political propaganda in the period, and which, in its turn, likely shaped audiences’ response to the story of Robert.

Sir Gowther: broken lineages Poverty, anonymity and ‘fool’ imagery are also features amply exploited in the other two romances under discussion here, Gowther and Isumbras. In both the protagonists are brought low because of their initial pride and made to appear as ‘fools’: Gowther willingly undertakes a penitential journey which involves being a ‘fool’, while Isumbras is mocked by other knights during his period of (social) humbling. The agency of the woman in ensuring an heir is born is exploited in Gowther in relation to concerns over broken lineages and paternity.48 Isumbras appears to focus on the family and the male hero’s penitential journey; yet, the agency of his wife in bringing about a happy resolution is crucial. The two extant manuscripts of Gowther have been dated to the second half and the last quarter of the fifteenth century, respectively. Although probably composed sometime in the fourteenth century, Gowther shares the motif of the child of devilish parentage with other medieval stories, including that of Merlin’s conception, to which it refers (lines 10, 95).49 While the Royal version can only give an indication of what a manuscript compiler put together at some point (Gowther is part of a booklet that circulated independently from the other texts), critics have labelled Heege a household anthology, its primary purpose being identified by the same critics to be instruction in good conduct for young male and female readers.50 Indeed in Heege Gowther is followed by 47 48 49

50

Powell, ‘Multiplying Textuality’, p. 184 (my emphasis). For a synopsis of the plot, see Appendix 1. All references are to Six Middle English Romances, ed. Mills, cited by line number, including occasional glossing where the meaning is obscure. Mills’s base text is Heege. Line 10 is missing in the Royal manuscript. The Royal manuscript contains items collected at a later stage; hence the ‘visionary’ theme identified by the editors of the romance is pertinent to the discussion of its reception in a later period. See Intro. to the edition of Sir Gowther in The Middle English

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Lydgate’s Stans puer ad mensam (fols 28r–29v).51 Although a lesson in humility can certainly be inferred from Gowther’s acceptance of the penance imposed on him by the Pope, the educational value posited by Phillipa Hardman requires a re-evaluation. Gowther’s trajectory from devil’s son to saintly ruler is no sure path to redemption any readers could or would wish to follow. Moreover, true to romance fashion, Gowther contains a story replete with spectacular violence, including rape and burning abbeys, as well as divine intervention and miracles – an unlikely source of moral edification. In this romance the Duke of Estryke and his wife are childless for ‘ten year and sumdele mare’ (line 49). The duke tells his wife he thinks she must be barren, and it would be best if they ‘twyn’ (part), so that he can get heirs for ‘owre londys’ (line 56). It is noticeable here that both the duke and the duchess display strong emotion in this instance. We are told that he ‘for gretyng he con not blyn’ (for weeping he could not finish; line 57), and she ‘sykud and made yll chere, / That all feylyd hur whyte lere’ (sighed and was so unhappy that her face lost its brightness; lines 58–9). This situation is very different from that encountered in other Breton lays and romances where the unequal match between the two partners, with the man of a higher social status, seems to entitle him to leave his wife or lover without remorse or show of emotion.52 The love between the partners provides an interesting interpretative frame for the choice the duchess will make. Motivated by what appears to be love and sorrow at her imminent parting with her husband, the duchess prays that ‘God and Maré mylde / Schuld gyffe hur grace to have a chyld / On what maner scho ne roghth’ (lines 61–3, emphasis mine). In typical Breton lay manner, the duchess thus allows for outside intervention, here the devil’s eager approach. As she spends time in her orchard a man appears in the likeness of her husband and sleeps with her. Afterwards he announces that the child resulting from their union is the son of the devil, a prospect any mother would be frightened by. In Gowther, therefore, the lack of heirs is a strong enough reason for the duchess to utter a desperate prayer, leaving open the possibility of mysterious impregnation. When the stranger whom the duchess rather too easily takes to be her husband tells her that the result of their coupling is the offspring of the devil, she knowingly deceives her husband in order to protect him, herself and their lineage. The audience may sympathise, if only briefly, with a decision taken under duress, especially as the child is destined to become a mighty warrior, albeit a ‘wild’ one. In the words of the ‘felturd fende’, once the act of impregnation is consummated:

51 52

Breton Lays, ed. Anne Laskaya and Eve Salisbury (Kalamazoo, MI, 1995). The contents of Royal are, apart from Gowther: Sir John Maundeville’s Travels, William Staunton’s Vision of St Patrick’s Purgatory, the Vision of Tundale and a short religious poem beginning ‘Com home agayne / com home agayne / Mi nowine swet hart’. See Hardman, ‘A Mediaeval “Library in parvo”’; The Heege Manuscript, Intro. See also the section on Isumbras, below. See, for example, the Middle English Lay le Freine, where the male protagonist displays no sorrow at leaving his partner in order to seek another, of a higher social status, in order to secure the nobility of his lineage (in Middle English Breton Lays, ed. Laskaya and Salisbury).

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He seyd, ‘Y have geyton a chylde on the That in is yothe full wylde schall bee And weppons wyghtly weld.’ (lines 73–5; my emphasis)

powerfully

For the duchess in the story, as much as for a noblewoman or a queen, a greatly skilled warrior son would be most desirable, and a guarantee of successful inheritance. Mid to late fifteenth-century audiences of Gowther could read in the Duke of Estryke signs of a weak ruler, whose failure to produce heirs equals a failure to maintain the continuity of the lineage. In an interesting development, the resourceful duchess dresses up the events as a vision of an angel who announced the birth of an heir: Scho seyd to hur lord, that lade myld, ‘Tonyght we mon geyt a chyld, That schall owre londus weld. An angel com fro hevon bright And told me so this same nyght: I hope was Godus sond. Then wyll that stynt all owr stryfe.’  (lines 79–85)

Jeffrey Jerome Cohen has rightly pointed out that here the duchess transforms the moment she was impregnated into a parody of the Annunciation by presenting the demon as an angel.53 The duchess’s primary concern is to preserve her life in case the devil’s agency in her impregnation might be found out; at the same time the words being used refer to harmony in marriage (‘stynt all owr stryfe’) and the preservation of the shared lineage and inheritance (‘owre londus weld’). Her choice to cover up the devil’s intervention may be read as a desperate attempt to save herself and her husband’s honour at all costs while also ensuring continuity in the rule of their property. Some late medieval female audiences may have read the woman’s agency in providing the much-desired heir –which the (male) ruler had failed to do – in a positive light. Anxieties over paternity abounded in both medieval life and literature, and would be particularly damaging if related to a ruler’s lineage. Gowther, of course, points to paternity and its abuses,54 as well as its large-scale consequences. Like other romances in which women have recourse to unorthodox means of getting pregnant in order to avoid repudiation, this story attests to medieval fears about the king’s lack of control over the queen’s body, and, as a result, over the heir borne by her.55 For example, in the version of the Roman d’Alexandre presented to Margaret of Anjou on the occasion of her wedding to Henry VI, fears are expressed that the father of the great hero Alexander is the magician Neptanebus, who took advantage of Alexander’s mother, Queen 53 54 55

Of Giants: Sex, Monsters and the Middle Ages (Minneapolis and London, 1999), Ch. 5: ‘The Body Hybrid: Giants, Dog-Men, and Becoming Inhuman’. See Alcuin Blamires, ‘The Twin Demons of Aristocratic Society in Sir Gowther’, in Pulp Fictions, ed. McDonald, pp. 45–62. See Margaret Schlauch, Chaucer’s Constance and Accused Queens (New York, 1927).

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Olympias, when she was concerned about her apparent sterility.56 Gowther’s presence in manuscripts dated to the second half of the fifteenth century indicates that it appealed to audiences at the time. Interestingly, it conveniently combines the topoi of the fool, the ruler’s patient suffering and women’s agency in preserving the lineage, topics to which I will now turn. A striking connection with the fifteenth-century political situation is the popular interest in, and rumours about, the paternity of Prince Edward of Lancaster, Henry VI’s son. After eight years of producing no heir, Queen Margaret of Anjou conceived a son shortly before her husband suffered his first major attack of insanity in 1453, which led many to doubt that Henry was the father. For obvious reasons, establishing the legitimacy of the heir to the throne beyond doubt was of paramount importance to the Lancastrians as Richard, Duke of York, was gaining increasing support for his claim to the crown. Concerns over Prince Edward’s paternity were closely linked to frequent earlier (and continuing) rumours about Queen Margaret’s presumed adultery, though historians note how avoidance of criticism of the anointed king’s disastrous internal and external policies led the Yorkists to direct negative comments to Margaret, the foreign queen who became a scapegoat during this political debate, as explained in Chapter 1. However unfounded such rumours might have been, surviving evidence from contemporary records suggests they were widespread. In the fifteenth-century continuation of the Middle English Brut, the author records that ‘the quene was defamed and desclaundered that he that was called prince was nat hir sone, but a bastard goten in avoutry’ and that Margaret was ‘makyng pryue menys to some of the lordes of Englond for to styre the kyng that he shulde resygne the croune to hyr sone’.57 Other rumours suggested that the child was a changeling, as Margaret was blamed for not being interested in fulfilling her maternal role, but rather in wielding power.58 The author of a pro-Yorkist ballad posted on the gates of Canterbury in 1460 went as far as to suggest, albeit indirectly, that Margaret’s son was fathered by the devil: Regnum Anglorum regnum Dei est, As the Aungell to Seynt Edward dede wyttenesse, Now regnum Sathane, it semeth, reputat best, For filii scelerati haue brought it in dystresse. 56 57

58

This manuscript is London, British Library Royal 15 E.VI, presented to Margaret by John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury. An English Chronicle, ed. Marx, p. 78. Note that the possessive pronoun ‘hir’ in the first quote may refer to either ‘her’ or ‘their’ son; in other words, it is open to interpretation whether the chronicle records anxiety only over Henry VI’s paternity, or over both Margaret’s and Henry’s ability to conceive. The rumour is discussed by J. L. Laynesmith, who contends that ‘Given that even the Yorkist chronicler [of the English Chronicle] reporting the accusation [that Edward was a changeling] indicated his own scepticism, it is quite possible that the majority of contemporaries accepted the slander as mere propaganda, more important for its metaphorical comment on the legitimacy of Margaret’s authority and that of her son than as a representation of fact’ (The Last Medieval Queens: English Queenship 1445–1503 (Oxford, 2004), p. 137).

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This preueth fals wedlock and periury expresse, Fals heyres fostred, as knoweth experyence, Vnryghtwys dysherytyng with false oppresse, Sic omne caput languidum, et omne cor merens!59

The plural (‘filii’) employed in the ballad points to a direct accusation against the Lancastrian royal house. Previous accusations of adultery (referred to as ‘fals wedlock’ and ‘fals heyres’) are taken further, and the author of the ballad clearly makes reference to Henry’s insanity (‘filii scelerati’), and blames the current disastrous situation of the country on the arrival of the devil’s governance and domination (‘regnum Sathane’). Some doubts had already been expressed about Henry’s own legitimacy as his father’s heir, due to the contrast between his father’s successful military career and Henry’s nonexistent one. Prince Edward was also rumoured to be the result of adultery, hence of ‘fals wedlock’ and a ‘false heyre’, and a ‘wild’ boy. The plural ‘filii scelerati’ thus acquires even more weight when interpreted in this context, extended as it seems to be over at least two generations of Lancastrian kings.60 Neither a medieval audience nor modern scholars would want to oversimplify the interpretation of this romance by reading into the protagonist’s story a direct parallel with either Henry VI or his son Edward. A counter-argument to this reading of Gowther against the political background of the 1450s and 1460s would be that accusations of adultery and doubtful paternity abound in romances throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Childlessness was, of course, subject to intense debate when connected to a ruler’s lineage. However, the context in which Gowther was copied in the mid to late fifteenth century invites a reconsideration of the links political writers of propaganda may have wanted to establish between the contemporary situation and existing popular romance topoi such as the accused queen, degenerate or insane rulers, their heirs and the effect their bad governance would have on their subjects. Both in life and in literature Henry’s contemporaries encountered two women, the duchess and Margaret, who could be seen, at least by some, as resourceful providers of male heirs at a crucial time. On the other hand, the ‘parody of the Annunciation’ – to use Cohen’s phrase – the duchess stages strikingly recalls a parallel with fifteenth-century rumours about Margaret of Anjou’s manipulative nature and Edward’s parentage by the devil. Both the romance heroine and the fifteenth-century queen acted in order to preserve family honour and lineage. While Margaret was only rumoured to have manipulated Henry into accepting her son as heir, the romance heroine actually does manipulate her husband into sleeping with her so as to disguise her coupling with the devil. At least for modern critics it is ironical that, given Henry’s well-known piety (said

59 60

An English Chronicle, ed. Marx, p. 86. Whether or not the author of the ballad had in mind a connection (from a modern point of view) between Henry VI’s illness and that of his French grandfather, the mad Charles VI, a condition transmitted through women, in this case, a French queen, Katherine – remains unclear.

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to have led him to abstinence from sexual relations), it would seem plausible that Margaret could only persuade Henry to perform his conjugal duty (and a state duty at that) if she had recourse to a divine messenger. Indeed, in March 1461, two days before the Battle of Towton, the Milanese ambassador at the French court, Prospero di Camulio, reported a story about Henry VI’s surprised reaction to the announcement that his son was born; by this stage Henry had been through his first bout of insanity, so his (reported) words, that the boy ‘must be the son of the Holy Spirit’, attest to the political climate in which the king’s illness and ability to procreate were debated and interpreted. Laynesmith notes that the account, ‘which Camulio himself did not believe, played upon the king’s pious reputation to subvert it into one of unworldly naivety and, by implication, constructed Margaret as a scheming and unchaste woman. It may also have been playing on and subverting the associations traditionally made between the English queen and the Virgin Mary.’61 Whether widespread or not, such reports attest to the kinds of rumours that spread from the court into the wider arena of national and international circles and the avid interest in anything connected to the royal house at this time. One of the first messages of the story is that an heir born of the devil can only be expected to work his father’s will (‘He wold wyrke is fadur wyll’, line 173; the old earl later tells him ‘[you] art sum fendys son, we weyn, / That werkus hus this woo’, at lines 206–7). In the context of the present discussion it becomes clear that Gowther’s wild behaviour reflects on both his fathers.62 Firstly he behaves with the pride characteristic of the devil, then his unstoppable crimes point to the duke’s blindness as a father who does not see his weakness in not producing an heir, and later fails to control the one produced by his wife. Blamires has observed that the ‘heir out of control’ motif is ‘a point articulated more particularly in the Royal narrative’ (my emphasis) and that Gowther’s knighting by his father, although present in both versions, is ‘accompanied by an account of the father’s gift of his own powerful sword – and hence in theory the transmission of its patrilineal charisma – to Gowther’63 only in the Royal version. The difference is significant, because in the Heege version Gowther fashions his own mighty weapon, a ‘falchion’, which he uses in all his violent exploits: Be that he was fyftene yere of eld, He made a wepon that he schuld weld (No nodur mon myght hit beyr): A fachon bothe of styll and yron; A curved sword made of iron and steel Wytte yow wyll he wex full styron fierce And fell folke con he feyr. many, terrify (lines 136–41) 61

62

63

Laynesmith, Last Medieval Queens, p. 138, citing Camulio’s views from Calendar of State Papers and Manuscripts Relating to English Affairs Existing in the Archives and Collections of Milan, ed. Allen B. Hinds (London, 1912), I, p. 58. I discuss fatherhood in this romance elsewhere; see my ‘How Christian Is Chivalry?’, in Christianity and Romance in Medieval England, ed. Rosalind Field, Phillipa Hardman and Michelle Sweeney (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 69–83, at pp. 81–2. Blamires, ‘Twin Demons’, p. 53.

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Gowther’s use of the weapon indicates, at the beginning of the romance, that he is the uncontrollable heir, to whose wishes a weak father resigns (both versions read: ‘Tho duke hym might not chastyse, / Bot made hym knyght that tyde’, though in the Royal manuscript the duke is called ‘fader’). A reading of this aspect would in fact reinforce a further interpretation of the Royal version with Gowther seen as the heir on whom great hopes had been placed, but who inherits and perpetuates the abnormal behaviour of his father(s). Indeed, Gowther’s inheritance of his father’s sword in the Royal manuscript can only enhance his double legacy, the duke’s and the devil’s. When he wields the sword and uses it against his subjects he actually both enacts the devil’s evil and perverts his father’s rule: He gaf him hys best swerde in honde; There was no knyghte in all that londe A dent durst hym abyde.  (lines 145–7 in Royal)64

Not only does Gowther display extraordinary prowess in handling this weapon, but he also terrorises his subjects: Hor men myght tell of sorro and care Evyll thei wer bested. For wher he meyt hom be tho way, ‘Evyll heyle,’ myght thei say, ‘That ever modur h[i]m fed.’ For with his fachon he wold hom slo, And gurde hor horssus backus in too: All seche perellys thei dred.  (lines 158–65)

her alas smite

As the true son of the devil and a perversion of knighthood, Gowther perpetrates heinous crimes on his own, but also in the company of other young men: ‘Thei [the nuns] wer full ferd of his body, / For he and his men bothe leyn hom by’ (lines 184–5; my emphasis). Thus he ends up attacking the very people he is supposed to protect, women, children and the religious. Not only had he already deprived noble children of their mothers (‘full gud knyghttys wyffys’, line 109) when, still a baby, he suckled them to death (‘nyne norsus had he slon / of ladys feyr and fre’, lines 116–17), but he also grew up to dishonour wives, burn a widow alive and make friars jump off cliffs: All that ever on Cryst con lefe, Yong and old, he con hom greve In all that he myght doo. Meydyns’ maryage wolde he spyll And take wyffys ageyn hor wyll, And sley hor husbondus too. And make frerus to leype at kraggus 64

believe ruin over cliffs

In Heege the passage reads: ‘Tho duke hym myght not chastyse / Bot made hym knyght that tyde, / With cold brade bronde: / Ther was non in that londe / That dynt of hym durst byde’ (lines 146–50).

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And persons forto heng on knaggus And odur prestys sloo. To bren armettys was is dyssyre: A powre wedow to seyt on fyre, And werke hom mykyll woo.  (lines 190–201)

hooks hermits

Blamires suggests that some late fourteenth-century political connections can be read into Gowther, in particular the ‘decisive agency of the Pope in the text, and the horror of a dukedom ravaged for a while by tyranny’. This critic also acknowledges there are problems with dating the romance, which lead him to return to ‘some of the dominant class’s deepest anxieties about heredity’ and the ‘“demons” besetting a dynastic society’ as a key to understanding the text.65 In Gowther the wild behaviour displayed by the son resulting from the union of the duchess with the devil is a cause of distress for both his parents and his subjects. Gowther may indeed come to represent ‘the awful prospect of the corruption of dynasty through an heir out of control’.66 At the same time it should be pointed out that the fifteenth-century debate over issues of paternity in the royal house provided a context for a political reading of Gowther in this period. Anxieties projected on Prince Edward, whose parentage was questioned at his birth, were then translated into criticism of his presumed warlike, even bloodthirsty personality, described by contemporary writers. Both Sir John Fortescue and Giovanni Pietro Panicharolla, the Milanese ambassador in France, noted Edward’s overwhelming enthusiasm for martial exploits. Fortescue describes Edward thus: The prince, as soon as he became grown up, gave himself over entirely to martial exercises; and, seated on fierce and half-tamed steeds urged on by his spurs, he often delighted in attacking and assaulting the young companions attending him, sometimes with a lance, sometimes with a sword, sometimes with other weapons, in a warlike manner and in accordance with the rules of military discipline.67

In 1467 Giovanni Panicharolla wrote: ‘This boy, though only thirteen years of age, already talks of nothing but of cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne.’68 By the late 1460s Prince Edward had already displayed his penchant for cruelty, nurtured, according to anonymous accounts, by his mother; he is even said to have ordered the execution of the Yorkist leaders after the second Battle of St Albans in 1461 although his father, Henry VI, had promised to spare their lives: ‘at instaunce of the quene, the Duk of Exetre, and Therll of Deuonshyre, by iugement of hym þat was called the Prince, a chylde, he was beheded at Seynt Albons.’69

65 66 67 68 69

Blamires, ‘Twin Demons’, p. 57. Ibid., p. 53. John Fortescue, De Laudibus Legis Angliae, ed. S. B. Chrimes (Cambridge, 1942), pp. 2–3. Panicharolla, Calendar of State Papers: Milan, I, p. 117. An English Chronicle, ed. Marx, p. 98.

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Such comments about Prince Edward’s personality traits could be used by both sides, for different effect. Edward was indeed influenced by his mother, who saw in him the future heir to the crown, and wanted to bring out in him the qualities his father lacked (and contemporary Lancastrians wished for) in the person of their king. When rumours were spread that Margaret was encouraging in Edward a military career, the Lancastrian side would interpret them positively, while the Yorkists would see her as a woman of unnatural disposition, a foreign queen who could not to be trusted. Margaret was, of course, desperate to educate her son in the spirit of military enterprise so praised in his popular grandfather Henry V.70 Ultimately reports about Margaret taking Edward to battlefields (and leading armies to battle herself) were unfounded, even if conveniently exploited by both sides of the political debate.71 Furthermore, Gowther’s spiritual journey on the penitential path involves patient suffering of social degradation and isolation: he is mocked as ‘Hob the fool’, eats only what falls from the mouth of dogs under the table, and is not allowed to speak, following the penance the pope gives him (line 368). Gowther also takes a vow of complete silence until such a time that God will send him a sign that his sins are forgiven. He becomes a fool at the court of the Emperor of Almayne, whose daughter is dumb. A Saracen sultan wages war on the emperor in order to take the beautiful princess as his wife; Gowther prays for armour, weapons and a horse so that he can go into the ensuing battle. When God answers Gowther’s prayers, a shift takes place. Gowther is now called to exert his violence against the enemy of the Christian faith, and thus expiate the sins of his youth. The use of violence, for a good cause, shows that any remains of wild behaviour should be directed towards the enemy outside, as a contrast to Gowther’s previous attacks on his own people. Gowther’s identity remains that of a knight, who keeps using his self-made weapon, the falchion. This ‘fachon’ is mentioned repeatedly in the course of the romance (lines 163, 220, 256, 286, 487, 598 and 613 in Heege). As Mills rightly points out The effect of such strenuous repetition is to make it seem the outward and visible symbol of both his unbridled violence in his unregenerate days, and his militancy in his later career. His refusal to give it up at the Pope’s bidding in [lines] 289–91 underlines its significance as symbol and talisman: it is an essential part of him, and must go with him on his new quest for forgiveness.72

Richard Kaeuper also points out that ‘the falchion seems almost to function 70 71

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Laynesmith, Last Medieval Queens, p. 168. Such comments are best known from Shakespeare’s history plays and from his contemporaries, as Diana Dunn notes that Margaret is unlikely to have either led armies or even been present at battles. Margaret was rumoured to have been present at the Battle of Wakefield in December 1460, but, as Dunn has shown, she was probably in Scotland at the time. The rumours are reported in Gregory’s Chronicle, p. 210. See Diana Dunn, ‘The Queen at War: The Role of Margaret of Anjou in the Wars of the Roses’, in War and Society in Medieval and Early Modern Britain, ed. Dunn (Liverpool, 2000), pp. 141–61; and by the same author, ‘Margaret of Anjou: Monster-Queen or Dutiful Wife?’ Medieval History 4 (1994), 208–10. Mills, notes to Gowther in Six Middle English Romances, p. 215.

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as a symbol of his knighthood, which can be turned to good or ill use’.73 The dating of the Royal and Heege manuscripts and the mid to late fifteenthcentury political context for their reception described so far seem to indicate that specific details would have caught the attention of politically minded audiences. As Gowther fights valiantly for the Christian emperor (and symbolically, for the Christian faith), unrecognised by anyone but the emperor’s daughter, he becomes a Christian champion, though one who seeks no personal glory; he humbly disguises his identity on three consecutive occasions. On the last day his shoulder is pierced by a Saracen; at the sight of Gowther’s injury, the emperor’s daughter falls out of her tower, lies unconscious for two days, only to wake up and tell everyone that Gowther is the mysterious knight and that now he has God’s forgiveness. Gowther marries the princess, goes back to Estryke where he gives all his lands to his mother and the steward, who also marry. He then has an abbey built, to expiate the sins of his youth, and reigns as a good emperor after his father-in-law’s death. His good deeds earn him saintly status. The political context for the reception of the Royal manuscript version of Gowther in the mid fifteenth century supports the view that anxiety over the eponymous hero’s violent destruction of the lands, pillaging and raping as a result of his devilish parentage, can be read against contemporary views of political events. The image of the devilish heir in charge of hostile military actions which have devastating effects on his subjects’ lands also provides a code in which an astute reader could interpret contemporary comments on the advance of the Lancastrian armies led by Margaret and Prince Edward during the Wars of the Roses. In their southward progress towards the capital on the eve of the last clashes with the Yorkists, the vast army of northern Lancastrian allies was likened by Whethampstead, the abbot of St Albans, to ‘Attila’s Huns’, a comparison designed to point to a perceived barbaric devastation of the land and population in the name of the losing king. The author of the Croyland chronicle also noted the population’s state of panic at the sight of an army as ‘a plague of locusts covering the whole surface of the earth’.74 A fifteenth-century politically minded reader of Gowther would take heart from this story of a ‘wild’ heir turned saintly ruler, that violent rulers, punished by God, will change their ways. As Gowther becomes St Guthlac, the patron saint of Crowland Abbey (only in Royal MS 17.B.XLIII, fol. 131v: ‘Gotlake’, and then ‘Explicit vita Sancti’), the audience witnesses Gowther’s exemplary behaviour and the miracles that take place at his tomb. No direct link may be established between the Lancastrian Henry VI or his son and Gowther in this respect. Henry VI certainly was no Gowther; yet his son Edward did gain a reputation for ‘wild’ behaviour in Yorkist propaganda. On the other hand, kings or rulers turned saints were far from uncommon in medieval literature and culture. Henry’s cult gradually 73 74

Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999), pp. 265–72. See J. Whethamstede, Registrum Abbatiae Johannis Whethamstede, ed. H. T. Riley, Rolls Series, 2 vols (1872–73), I, p. 389, and Ingulph’s Chronicle of the Abbey of Croyland, trans. and ed. Henry T. Riley (London, 1854), pp. 421–3. It should be noted that the Abbot of St Albans was notorious for exaggerating rumours.

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emerged even during his lifetime and culminated at his death; miracles were recorded both during his lifetime and posthumously.75 He did visit Crowland Abbey during Lent 1460, and endowed it generously, as the author of the abbey chronicle reports.76 By this stage rumours about his ‘heir out of control’ were widespread. Later, in the 1460s, the Crowland Abbey chronicler noted the devastation caused by the advance of the Lancastrian army and safely referred to ‘the enemy’, perhaps in an attempt to avoid any accusations of Lancastrian partisanship.77 It is not clear whether the scribe of the Royal manuscript saw connections between Edward of Lancaster and St Guthlac, but it may well be that the association between Gowther and the abbey’s patron saint was not fortuitous at the time this version of the romance was copied.78 Gowther’s journey points to God-given grace in recognising the need to expiate sins originating in his devilish parentage. The lesson is that there is time to repent and change one’s ways, whether one is a king, a ruler or everyman. Such a story would appeal to an audience accustomed to texts focused on Job-like suffering as well as those depicting the king’s suffering, put forward as part of Lancastrian and Yorkist propaganda. A text originally composed in the fourteenth century and reflecting anxiety over inheritance became particularly topical in the mid to late fifteenth century, due to the contemporary political debate, dominated by discussion of heirs, the king’s suffering and the consequences on the population of God’s punishment of secular rulers.

Sir Isumbras: women, male suffering and the lineage Despite its pronounced pious content, and similarity with its source, the legend of St Eustace, Isumbras is neither as overtly didactic as Robert nor quite as sensationalist as Gowther.79 Its moral lesson is presented in terms which would appeal 75 76

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See Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, Ch. IV. The author reports that ‘King Henry, being inspired by feelings of devotion, came to Croyland in order to present his humble offerings at the tomb of our holy father Guthlac … Here he stayed, in the full enjoyment of tranquillity, three days and as many nights, taking the greatest pleasure in the observance of his religious duties, and most urgently praying that he might be admitted into the brotherhood of our monastery, a request which was accordingly complied with. Shortly after, being desirous to present us with a due return, of his royal liberality he graciously granted and confirmed unto us the liberties of the whole vill of Croyland, to the end that its inhabitants might be rendered exempt from all demands on the part of the servants and tax-gatherers of the king.’ See Ingulph’s Chronicle (Croyland), p. 420. John Watts has pointed out that the Croyland chronicler’s choice of words means that ‘from [the battle of] Wakefield onwards, [it was] the men of the North, not the queen or the Lancastrians, or anything to do with the prior political and dynastic conflicts’ that contributed to panic in the population (Henry VI and the Politics of Kingship (Cambridge, 1996), p. 360 n. 422). The situation is also reflected in the Paston letters; see Paston Letters, ed. J. Gairdner, Library edition, 6 vols (London, 1904), III, p. 250. Interestingly, later in the century some attempts were made to associate Prince Edward of Lancaster, then even Margaret, to Henry’s emerging cult (Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, pp. 115–18). For a synopsis of the plot, see Appendix 1.

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to ‘everyman’: the protagonist’s sin is said to have manifested itself in pride in ‘gold and fee’ and neglect of his Christian duties. The fact that its male protagonist is not a king, but a local ruler, a knight who has a following, may also account for the popularity of the story with middle-class audiences. The protagonist’s social status does not, however, mean that politically minded audiences would not associate some of its lessons with contemporary debates over kingly behaviour and governance, suffering and female agency in the preservation of the lineage. The popularity of Isumbras is attested to by references to its popularity in other texts, and its presence in diverse manuscript contexts. It is extant in nine medieval and early modern manuscript copies, and in many more manuscript and printed copies than any other Middle English romance. My grouping of the manuscripts into three periods follows the same principles defined for the other two romances: a fragmentary copy survives in a manuscript dated to the fourteenth century, three to the mid fifteenth century and four to its end. The first striking detail in Isumbras is that the protagonist neither displays arrogance, like Robert, nor excessive behaviour, like Gowther. In fact Isumbras is introduced as a much-loved landowner, respected by his retainers and allies: A man he was ryche ynowghe Of men to drawe in his plowghe, And steeds also in stalle; He was both curteys and hende, Every man was his frende, And loved he was with all.  (lines 13–18)80

One day as he rides in the forest Isumbras hears a bird speaking to him with a human voice, and reveals his sin is ‘pryde of golde and fee’: So hit byfell upon a day, The knyghte wente hym to play, His foreste forto se; As he wente by a derne sty, He herde a fowle synge hym by, Hye upon a tre. He seyde, ‘Welcome, syr Isumbras: Thow haste foryete what thou was, For pryde of golde and fee. The kynge of hevenn the gretheth so, In yowthe or elde thou schall be wo: Chese whedur hyt schall be.’  (lines 43–54)

Isumbras’s experience bears the marks of personal revelation, as in the source of the romance, the legend of St Eustace. The divine message is that he must repent. He is given a choice between penance in his youth or in old age. As required by the logic of the plot, he chooses youth so as to avoid sickness which 80

All quotations are from Six Middle English Romances, ed. Mills, by line number, unless stated otherwise. This edition takes as its base text London, British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii.

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leads to incapacity (which he associates with old age). When he justifies his choice of penance in youth, he thinks future woes will equal poverty: Worldes welthe I woll forsake; To Jesu Criste I wyll me take, To hym my sowle I yelde. In yowthe I may ryde and go; In elde I may noght do so: My lymes wyll wex unwelde. Lorde, yf it thy wyll be, In yowthe sende me poverté, And welthe in myne elde.  (lines 58–66; my emphasis)

Isumbras makes the connection between the sin of pride in worldly possessions and status (‘gold and fee’), which translates into generosity (in line 30 we read that ‘In worlde was none so fre,’ and that he uses his ‘gold and fee’ to reward minstrels and followers) and loss of wealth as a result of embarking on a journey of penance, but does not anticipate the consequences of his choice on his dependants. His choice is understandable as one would find more strength to endure trials when still in one’s youth. However, Isumbras is not a young knight errant, but a husband and a landowner whose personal and public duties would be affected immediately by his choice. Indeed, as soon as Isumbras has made his choice, his fortune changes instantly and dramatically, and he loses the very markers of chivalric status: his horse drops dead under him, his hounds run away to the forest. He then returns to his home only to find that his possessions are lost in a fire, his people are running away, and his own family have barely escaped, naked, with their lives: And as he by the wode wente A lytyll knave was to hym sente, Come rennynge hym ayeyne. Worse tydynges he hym tolde: ‘Syr, brent be thy byggynges bolde, Thy mene be manye slayne. Ther is noght lefte on lyve But thy children and thy wyfe, Withouten any delayne.’ […] Forth he wente hymselfe alone; His herdemen he mette eche one, He seyde, ‘What eyleth yowe?’ ‘Owre fees ben fro us revedde, There is nothynge y-levedde, Nowghte on stede to thy plowe.’ (lines 79–87, 91–6)

(servant) boy running, towards burnt, dwellings alive delay

is wrong with cattle, stolen left horse

His wealth now scattered, Isumbras anticipates the desertion of his former friends and supporters: And we full evell kan wyrke Owre frendes of us wyll yrke:

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Of londe I rede we fare. Of myselfe have I no thowghte, But that I may yeve my menn noughte, For hem is all my kare.  (lines 121–6; my emphasis)

His caring words about the welfare of his people (‘my kare’) reflect his desire not to be a burden upon his friends (who will ‘yrke’), and an acknowledgement of the difficulty of the situation he has placed himself in. Isumbras’s words point to the sacrifices made in order to pursue individual penance, such as would have repercussions on the dependants of the penitent. A medieval audience would recognise the difficulties faced by a temporal ruler at any level, whether of royal, noble or gentry standing, in having chosen the pursuit of spiritual perfection (here atonement for one’s sins) over his people’s welfare. This interpretation is supported by evidence in Ashmole MS 61 (the Rate manuscript), where a Latin epigram on the topic of losing one’s friends in times of trouble was copied a few folios after Isumbras (fol. 21v); this seems to indicate a reflection on the links between themes in the romance and a medieval audience’s life experience, a point to which I return in the following pages. Isumbras’s decision has immediate personal and political consequences that he had not fully considered; in this he can be read as a ruler who should think carefully about his dependants (family and retainers) as well as his personal salvation. Indeed his caring words for his followers cannot conceal the fact that their suffering is actually caused, unbeknown to them, by his personal choice to undertake penance: The[y] wepte and yaf hem yll; The knyghte badde they schold be styll: ‘I wyte nowght yow this wo. For God bothe yeveth and taketh And at his wyll ryches maketh, And pore men also.’  (lines 97–102)

were distressed gives

His Job-inspired wisdom (‘God bothe yeveth and taketh’) is a poor consolation for the devastating losses suffered by his tenants, and his desertion of the lands does not assist with improving their situation either. A critique of this reconstruction of Isumbras’s reception would point out that he is the only protagonist who is not a king, like Robert, or even of a high social status, like Gowther. Of course no medieval or modern reading would reduce the plot of a romance to a simple equation between fifteenth-century political actors and literary heroes. On the other hand, the topic of a landowner or temporal ruler suffering for various sins, including that of pride, was one likely to find an audience eager to discuss abuses in local and central government and rulers’ lack of interest in the welfare of their subjects or retainers. The dating of the extant versions of Isumbras ranges from the end of the fourteenth to the end of the fifteenth century, in the decades preceding and following Henry VI’s two depositions in 1461 and 1471, respectively, and again during the time his cult was promoted, in the 1490s. The evidence attests to the constant presence of this romance in the cultural and political environment

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in which a king’s responsibilities and the king’s suffering were debated. In the course of his trials and tribulations in the 1450s, including his mental collapse, Henry VI lost his dignity and was deposed; in the 1460s and 1470s he was presented in Lancastrian propaganda as a suffering Job, who lost not only his crown and possessions, but also his family, as he was separated from them at times. A contemporary audience would be struck by the image of Isumbras’s doleful departure from his lands: The knyghte and the lady hende Toke here leve at her frende, And forth they wente her waye. For hem wepte both olde and yynge For that doolfull partynge, Forsothe as I you seye.  (lines 145–50)

The exiles of royal families were in fact employed by both sides of the political spectrum, the Lancastrians and the Yorkists: Richard, Duke of York, and his son, Edward, Earl of March, later Edward IV, on the one hand, and the deposed Henry VI, his queen, Margaret of Anjou, and their son, Edward, on the other, appealed to the sympathy of the population when they went into exile. Isumbras’s sin is ‘pryde of golde and fee’, the same sin that both political factions were guilty of, due to the charge of usurpation levied against them. In the mid to late fifteenth century Isumbras could be read not only for its penitential content, but also for its emphasis on the responsibilities of rulers towards their subjects (here followers or retainers). This may explain why Isumbras was copied in the company of romances focused on local affinities and difficulties in maintaining stability in the locality, as in the Lincoln Thornton manuscript.81 In the late fifteenth-century versions extant in the Heege and Rate manuscripts, following the progressive development of a political discourse centred on the king’s suffering, Isumbras is increasingly associated with saints’ lives. It is likely that the ‘accentuated pathetic and heroic ambivalence’ identified by Murray Evans in the Heege copy of Isumbras82 points to evidence of this development. Isumbras thus remained a story that appealed to audiences suffering through a period of uncertain loyalties and powerful debates over rulers’ disposition 81

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Johnston has recently suggested that three of the romances Thornton chose to copy (Sir Isumbras, Sir Eglamour and Sir Degrevant) ‘feature protagonists who are gentry landowners and who fight to establish and/or protect their families. Eglamour and Degrevant, in particular, effect a gentry fantasy, whereby the knight’s vulnerability to the whims of a neighbouring magnate is overcome through the exertion of martial prowess’ (‘A New Document’, pp. 309, 311). Thornton’s experience of local and national politics made him reflect not only on local strife over property as a result of the breakdown of the king’s peace in the localities, but also on kingship and governance. For him and his first audience a heroic presentation of Isumbras in the Lincoln Thornton manuscript points to a desire to debate effective local, but also national, leadership at a time when governance in the localities was deteriorating. Evans, Rereading Middle English Romance, p. 75. See also Hardman, The Heege Manuscript, Intro. In his notes on his edition Mills notes the particularly impressive portrayal of the protagonist in the Thornton, Heege and Rate manuscripts (p. 211), an idea further developed in the present chapter.

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to pursue personal interests (including spiritual) while neglecting their duty of good governance of the land and its people. Henry VI was a king widely recognised as unfit to rule, though excused for his incapacity on the grounds of his excessive piety. Like a penitent romance hero, Henry lost his property, was separated from his wife and son and was mocked for his ‘fool’ status. Being brought low is part of the choice and cost of spiritual growth, something that is emphasised in Isumbras; yet, a medieval king was expected to thank God for the great favours bestowed upon him as ruler, in particular by fulfilling his kingly responsibilities. The theme of the king’s suffering would have provided a new framework for the reception of existing romance models of patient suffering in Isumbras, Gowther and Robert even if in these texts the sin of pride is mentioned as an underlying cause for divine punishment. In the later versions of Robert more emphasis is placed on the consequences of the king’s sin on the population, while in Gowther it is evident all along that the protagonist’s violence has devastating effects on his subjects. In Isumbras, however, mid to late fifteenthcentury audiences could read a counter-model for governance as the protagonist’s choices are coupled with the lesson he learns (how to perform one’s religious and secular duties well) from his wife, the next topic in the present discussion. Isumbras chooses personal salvation over public good as any Christian would be expected to do. He accepts God’s punishment and also chooses a sort of self-imposed penance by leaving his lands with his family, later going on pilgrimage. His relationship with his wife and her supportive role in the story are crucial to our understanding of his penitential journey and subsequent return to society, in an even more powerful position than he enjoyed initially. When he finds his home in disarray, Isumbras resolves to take to the road with his family, whose members he loses one by one, much in the way that Job lost his earthly possessions and family members. First, Isumbras loses his wife, following a passage over the sea, to a pagan sultan who offers to buy her and then separates her by force from her husband; second, the children are abducted by three beasts, a lion, a leopard and a unicorn. Isumbras’s wife is not raped by her new husband, but is instated as a queen in a far-off land. It is in this guise that, later in the narrative, she gives shelter to her husband, and displays the attributes of a medieval queen, in particular alms-giving – the opposite of the pride in ‘gold and fee’ that Isumbras displayed in his former life. A sign that Isumbras is not merely a ‘family’ romance, however, is the focus on his personal journey following the loss of his possessions and family; he reshapes his social identity from destitute penitent back up the social ladder. Isumbras is reduced to starting a life of manual work as a smith, and gradually learns the trade until the moment when he is skilled enough to fashion his own suit of armour: There the knyghte bare stone Tyll twelve monthes wer come and gone: He wroghte his body mykyll wo. He severely strained his body Tyll he kowthe wyrke a fyre, keep up Thenne toke he mannes hyre, wages

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And wroghte more thenne two. In myche sorowe and care, Sevenn yer he was smythes man ther, And monethes mo also. By thenne he cowthe armour dyghte, knew how to make all the armour All that fell for a knyghte, that a knight should have To batell whenn he sholde go.  (lines 397–408)

In the company of the smiths he learns the value of manual work as well as the importance of each profession/class in society – an indispensable lesson for any good ruler. In this respect he resembles the other romance hero, Havelok, whose upbringing among the fishermen made him more socially aware and prepared him for kingship, and in other ways Orfeo, whose descent into the wilderness could be read as a return to the common people, whom he neglected before.83 Isumbras’s ‘civil death’ is self-imposed; yet, his forging of armour acquires a more complex significance than merely rebuilding his ‘social body’, his chivalric persona.84 He learns that the core of chivalry is prowess in arms, giving thanks to God, something he forgot in his previous life as a ‘fre and courteous’ local landowner. This section of the romance functions as another lesson meant to teach a ruler to increase his prowess in arms, and turn back to his secular responsibilities once his penitential journey is over. As mentioned, the Heege versions of Isumbras and Gowther combine the militaristic and pious features, though their collocation with Sir Amadace led Phillipa Hardman to label this manuscript a thematic anthology of ‘favourite religious narratives’, in other words ‘a library in parvo’.85 Codicological analysis persuaded Hardman that this manuscript reflects a recognisable trend among romance miscellanies, that is, to suit middle-class interests in instructional or courtesy material such as would promote family values and a didactic shaping of personal conduct.86 Hers is a persuasive reading of the penitential romances, which fits in with earlier labels of Isumbras and Gowther (Mills’s ‘edifying romances’). Indeed, in Heege our romances appear alongside Lydgate’s Stans puer ad mensam (a popular text on table manners which appears elsewhere in the company of romances, for example in Manchester, Chetham Library MS 8009),87 the Life of St Katherine on folios 30r–47r and Marian lyrics at folios 65r–v and 89v–90v. Other texts copied into this manuscript are the Vision 83 84

85 86

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Havelok, ed. G. V. Smithers (Oxford, 1987); Sir Orfeo, in Middle English Breton Lays, ed. Laskaya and Salisbury. See Elizabeth Fowler, ‘The Romance Hypothetical: Lordship and the Saracens in Sir Isumbras’, in Spirit of Medieval Popular Romance, ed. Putter and Gilbert, pp. 97–121, at p. 102. Hardman, ‘A Mediaeval “Library in parvo”’; The Heege Manuscript, Intro. Hardman concludes that this manuscript was built as a series of separate booklets. Phillipa Hardman, ‘Medieval Popular Romance and Young Readers’, in A Companion to Medieval Popular Romance, ed. Radulescu and Rushton, pp. 150–64. See also Mary Shaner, ‘Instruction and Delight: Medieval Romances as Children’s Literature’, Poetics Today 13 (1992), 5–15; Hardman, The Heege Manuscript, pp. 22–8. For a description of this less studied miscellany and its contents, see Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, pp. 238–40.

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of Tundale (a text which also accompanies a second surviving copy of Sir Gowther in the Royal manuscript, though the texts in this manuscript circulated independently for some time before they became one volume) on folios 98r–157v and selections from the Life of Oure Lady at folios 176r–210r (a hagiographical text, though one that interestingly traces the birth and youth of Christ, perhaps intended as a pious counterpart to the chivalric childhood of the romance heroes).88 However, while the presence of Isumbras in this collection is expected if an educational aim is favoured, Gowther’s rather extraordinary set of adventures appear less than edifying, indeed, sensationalist; suckling wet nurses to death and biting his mother’s nipple off only mark the beginning of Gowther’s long string of violent acts, which later include raping nuns and terrorising his subjects. The juxtaposition of this romance with the courtesy tract Stans puer ad mensam could hardly persuade a medieval audience that extremely bad behaviour such as Gowther’s devilish ways can be countered through appropriate teaching of good manners.89 Neither is a social reading of the other romances alongside the courtesy tracts in terms of aspirational material for the Sherbrookes, the local yeoman family who owned and read this manuscript, entirely satisfactory. Johnston in fact acknowledges that ‘the three romances [Isumbras, Gowther and Amadace] distill class fantasies that did not map onto the social reality of the Sherbrookes in the late fifteenth century’.90 While a close reading of any of this material (religious and devotional alongside courtesy and romance texts) would cast some doubts over its appropriateness to the social circumstances and availability of routes to ennoblement for this particular yeoman family, a political reading of these romances, uniting the various strands in the texts copied in Heege, provides a valuable alternative for the use of these romances. Inflammatory political comments made by husbandmen and yeomen from the 1440s onwards about the king’s sanity and ‘fool-like’ behaviour led to indictments for treason and punishment. The circumstances in which Heege was copied and then read were clearly different at the end of the fifteenth century; however, the potential for political readings did not cease, but rather increased in those decades when Henry VII actively sought Henry VI’s canonisation, and when the cult of Henry VI gained popularity. A comparative analysis of Heege with other anthologies of the same kind, and the collocation of the same romances in different contexts, has led Evans to challenge the view according to which Isumbras, Gowther and other similar penitential romances accompany religious material and form a group of favourites sharing a devotional outlook.91 I agree with Murray that, since the latter part

88

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This text would resonate with readers aware of the so-called romance of Ypotis (or Ypokrephum), which describes Christ’s childhood, listed among the secular romances in Chaucer’s ‘Tale of Sir Thopas’ and included in the Vernon and Simeon manuscripts. The reference in Chaucer’s ‘Thopas’ is found at lines 897–902 in The Riverside Chaucer, gen. ed. Larry Benson (Boston, 1987). This is Hardman’s argument; see her Intro. to The Heege Manuscript, p. 23. Johnston, Gentry Romance (my emphasis). Evans, Rereading Middle English Romance, Ch. 3.

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of Heege, including the Vision of Tundale and Lydgate’s Life of Oure Lady, was probably only bound with the first part of the manuscript in the early nineteenth century, and the booklet containing Gowther and his career ‘from son of a devil to vanquisher of pagans, wedded knight, and saintly ruler’ precedes Lydgate’s table manners, the arrangement of the texts in this codex is ‘much looser than what Hardman sees as the parallel organisation of individual booklets’.92 It is also evident that the manuscript versions of Isumbras contained in the Lincoln Thornton (dated to the 1440s), Heege and Rate MSS (dated to the 1490s) are ‘noticeably more violent than that of Cotton Caligula A.ii’, a view also shared by Mills.93 Extra lines were added in these three manuscript versions to emphasise Isumbras’s prowess in arms at numerous points in the narrative. This prowess in arms is mentioned in Heege at the beginning of the story when he rides in the forest: ‘þo knyght þat was so styffe in stowr / þat no mon myth is dyntys dowr’ (fol. 48v, lines 13–14; my transcription); this brief passage was inserted just after Isumbras has heard the divine message and agreed to take penance in his youth, while ‘with carefull herte and sykynge sore, / He fell upon his knees thore’ in Caligula A.ii (lines 55–6). In Heege this portrayal of Isumbras draws attention to his fall from power in words similar to those encountered in Robert, said to be proud of his reputation of conqueror and ‘the flower of chivalry’ (see above, pp. 44–5). Later on, when Isumbras fights the Saracen sultan who had previously abducted his wife, the author of the Heege version provides additional evidence of our hero’s prowess and determination: And when he se þo sowdene with syȝht He was egur os, a lyon full ryght And thefe he con hym call Þerfore þo sowden and his men infere Ychon of hor manere Of hym þei had marvel all.  (fol. 52v; lines 5–8)

These lines represent, in Mills’s view a very individual (and decidedly longer) account of these stanzas [found at lines 409–56 in Caligula A. ii], that emphasizes still further the heroic nature of Isumbras. He does not now suffer any hurt until the very end of the passage and needs no help from anyone else (since his horse is not here killed as in L [Caligula] 438); more positively, he is made to inspire the utmost terror in his opponents.94

The numerous additional lines emphasise Isumbras’s heroic stature and his pathetic state when he falls from his high position.95 On each occasion Isumbras displays admirable behaviour both in his humbled state and in his encounters with his enemies – also the enemies of the faith. In the process of learning how

92 93 94 95

Ibid., p. 74. Ibid., p. 57; Six Middle English Romances, ed. Mills, notes to Isumbras, p. 211. Mills, Isumbras, p. 211. For a discussion of the stemma, see Sir Ysumbras, ed. Zupitzas and Schleigh, p. 87f.

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to become a better Christian Isumbras learns too how to become a better ruler, so it is unsurprising that the coronation of his efforts is not martyrdom, as in the legend of St Eustace, but kingship. The heroic dimension encountered only in these manuscript versions may have been a component of the earliest, now lost, text composed in the fourteenth century, especially if we consider the crusading campaigns of that period, as Lee Manion has argued.96 On the other hand, one cannot dismiss the agency of later scribes and compilers in the transmission of the text, enhancing certain features and leaving out others. The presence of the versions in Thornton, copied in the 1440s, the decade when rumours about Henry VI’s ‘foolish’ status and his evident lack of interest in military exploits entered the arena of political debate, and in Rate and Heege, copied in the 1490s, in the aftermath of the Wars of the Roses, indicates that scribes, compilers and members of their reading circles encountered the pious and the heroic dimensions associated with the ruler’s suffering in romance and the contemporary political reality. It is impossible to ascertain what degree of freedom, if any, these scribes and compilers had in choosing which romance version to include in their books; as modern book historians have so often noted, extant evidence suggests there was a poverty of exemplars when it came to selecting material for copying. Nevertheless, the transmission of the texts in these manuscript contexts and at these particular times does suggest a correlation between the endurance and popularity of those aspects of the story that fit in best with the thematic angle discussed in the present study. The combination of heroic and pathetic elements in manuscript versions of Isumbras was further supported, and possibly enhanced, by their being copied alongside other texts, in particular saints’ lives. Hardman acknowledges that the version of The maryage of Seynt Kateryne copied into Heege in quire 3 (fols 30r–47r), preceding the one containing Isumbras (which starts in quire 4, fol. 48r), ‘combines an enthralling story of a heroic individual with a practical model of how to live a life of noble, Christian virtue’ and thus could be used as instructional material for the education of young women. However, she defends the view that the anthology was primarily designed for an audience of young boys, on the basis of the composition of quires 2, 4 and 5, which contain the romances.97 The militaristic overtones of the Heege versions of Isumbras and Gowther support this theory, though the presence of St Katherine and her heroic model also mesh well with the role of the queen in Isumbras. In fact the copying of Isumbras in the same booklet as Marriage of St Katherine links with the renewed interest in retelling the stories of female saints and martyrs from the fourteenth century onwards, which led to important changes in the way models of behaviour were recommended to lay women. Close analyses of the verse and prose versions of the Life of St Katherine and the Life of St Margaret, both of which are copied alongside romances in the manuscripts dated to the mid to late fifteenth century, have led scholars to recognise that patient endurance and meek obedience became staple ingredients in the interpolations added to these stories,

96 97

Manion, ‘The Loss of the Holy Land and Sir Isumbras’. Hardman, The Heege Manuscript, Intro., p. 30.

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which usually precede the saints’ martyrdom; this would support medieval society’s expectations of female behaviour.98 This does not take away, however, from these female martyrs’ active and outspoken service to God, which involves stubborn refusal to conform to male restraint, like standing against accepted or imposed norms of behaviour, as Hopkins reminds us in her recent work.99 A reading of the materials contained in the Heege should therefore take into account the levels at which its texts speak to adult female readers as well as to young boys. The pious romances appeal as much to the notion of male secular journeys through chivalric exploits as to spiritual journeys of penance, and roles played by female heroines (the duchess and the unnamed princess in Gowther, and the unnamed wife/queen in Isumbras) speak to the female readers, responsible for the education of the young and actively reading and seeking personal improvement at the same time. A new focus on female readings of the romances in hand reveals the dual importance of the message portrayed here, which emphasises the heroic, chivalric exploits, without leaving aside – in fact also highlighting along the way – the crucial role played by the female protagonists. Evans reaches a similar conclusion, though on different grounds; he argues, contrary to modern editorial and scholarly practices of considering a romance as one text, that medieval audiences may have regarded each manuscript version of a romance (here Isumbras) as a different text, due to the generic nature of the manuscript context in which the romance was presented to its audiences: These different readings of Isumbras – as romance, particular story of romance, hagiographic and religious piece, and courtesy piece – directly bear on the nature of the romance in particular and on the question of homiletic romance in general. Not only do the two main versions of the romance point it in heroic directions, on the one hand, and chivalrous ones, on the other; its differing manuscript contexts also suggest that compilers/readers regarded variously what we modern scholars often abstract from manuscript context as ‘the same work’.100

The generic adaptation of a romance in a specific manuscript context may have been less important to its audiences than its function; in other words, given the fluidity of medieval texts’ generic boundaries, it is quite likely that the average

98

99 100

Elizabeth Leigh Smith, Middle English Hagiography and Romance in Fifteenth-Century England: From Competition to Critique (Lewiston, NY, 2002), pp. 116–20; Katherine J. Lewis, The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 39–41 and 181–2; Karen A. Winstead, Virgin Martyrs: Legends of Sainthood in Late Medieval England (Ithaca, NY, and London, 1997), esp. Ch. 4: ‘The Politics of Reading’, for a discussion of the various fifteenth-century versions of the legend of St Katherine. Andrea Hopkins, ‘Female Saints and Romance Heroines: Feminine Fiction and Faith among the Literary Elite’, in Christianity and Romance, ed. Field et al., pp. 121–38. Derek Pearsall has demonstrated that the current went both ways, that is romance elements were introduced into saints’ lives; see his ‘John Capgrave’s Life of St Katherine and Popular Romance Style’, Medievalia et Humanistica n.s. 6 (1975), 121–37. Hopkins, ‘Female Saints and Romance Heroines’, p. 125. Evans, Rereading Middle English Romance, pp. 81–2.

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literate reader derived as much pleasure as moral, religious and even political instruction from the pious romances under discussion. Whether or not different versions of the same text were regarded by medieval readers as independent texts, it is evident that the more heroic aspect (of both male and female protagonists) is shared between Isumbras and Gowther in Heege, and could be linked as much to secular (therefore also political) as to pious interests. The copying of saints’ lives alongside Isumbras may be interpreted from yet another perspective, one which leads us back to the political climate in which both these types of texts were read. St Katherine’s life inspired another mid fifteenth-century writer, John Capgrave. His Life of St Katherine displays an engagement not only with theological issues of the day, but also with two major issues in the present analysis: the right of a woman to rule, and the consequences for the population of a king’s or queen’s extreme piety. As Karen Winstead has pointed out in her edition of this text: For Capgrave, addressing a broad audience does not mean avoiding complex social and philosophical issues but rather engaging ordinary readers in those issues. The long debate in Book 2 over a woman’s fitness to rule sets forth contradictory yet equally compelling arguments about government, tradition, and gender, and it concludes with no clear-cut winner. […] With equal temerity, Capgrave implicitly criticizes the current English monarch, Henry VI. Like Katherine, Henry was widely accused of being overly pious, inattentive to matters of state, and insufficiently manly. If these traits led a great saint’s kingdom to ruin, where were they likely to lead Henry’s? As a shield for these dangerously topical allusions, Capgrave adopts a quintessentially Chaucerian device: he interposes between himself and the text an intrusive narrator whose digressions, contradictions, and bizarre interpretations can only frustrate the reader looking for simple truths.101

Capgrave’s attitude to the questions raised by St Katherine’s life was justifiably cautious, given the topicality of the issues to the political situation in in mid fifteenth-century England, when Queen Margaret’s right to govern was questioned, and Henry VI’s extreme piety and resulting lack of interest in matters of state were amply debated. There is no reason to doubt that many of his contemporaries would have read into the popular story of St Katherine’s life (available in its anonymous prose and verse versions in many manuscripts owned by the middle classes) the same kinds of questions, relating them to the current situation even without being influenced by Capgrave’s work. In this context it is telling that Isumbras appears in the same quire as The Layfolks Mass Book in Heege, given the emphasis on the process by which Isumbras is made aware of his sin, then decides to repent and receives divine forgiveness and reward. It may be less evident why Isumbras keeps company with

101

John Capgrave’s ‘Life of St Katherine’, ed. Karen A. Winstead (Kalamazoo, MI, 1999), Intro. See also her earlier study ‘Piety, Politics and Social Commitment in Capgrave’s Life of St Katherine’, Medievalia et Humanistica n.s. 17 (1990), 59–80, further developed by the same author in John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, esp. Ch. 5: ‘Capgrave and Lydgate: Sainthood, Sovereignty, and the Common Good’.

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political verses. These are Deceyte (fol. 61v), taken from Lydgate’s Fall of Princes (II: 4,432–8) and the historical poem ‘þat pese may stond’ copied at fols 66r–67v (dated by Rossell Hope Robbins to 1436–40), a poem that warns about civil strife and treason in both the period when it was first composed and the latter part of the century. The collocation of the romance with political verse redirects attention, at least in the context of this quire (and, I would argue, this anthology), to political concerns of the recent past as explored in this chapter.102 Heege is dated to the late fifteenth century, a period following Henry VI’s second deposition and subsequent death; this is the time when his cult increased in popularity, but also a period of turmoil continuing in the last years of Edward IV’s reign and Richard III’s brief rule. Male as well as female readers of the romances, hagiographic, courtesy and political materials would have derived secular as well as spiritual benefits from pondering on the messages delivered through these texts; on the other hand, the potential for their reading through a specific political lens could be heightened. The spread of news and political rumour was, as now known, a reality of late medieval England, and modern historians of the period have long demonstrated the speed at which events and news of national importance would travel across country and penetrate all social levels (see pp. 15–16 above). The version of Isumbras copied into the Rate manuscript, dated to the same period, offers a slightly different perspective on this argument. In Rate Isumbras is preceded by the didactic tract ‘How the good wife taught her daughter’ (fols 7r–9r) and followed by a poem on the Ten Commandments (fols 16v–17v), Lydgate’s Stans puer ad mensam (fols 17v–20r) and the popular poem ‘Dame Courtesy’ (fols 20r–21v). This arrangement in Rate points to another instance of framing of the romance within a didactic context for the instruction of young men and women. However, even here Isumbras appears alongside items that point to anxieties over local governance and relationships, as the Latin epigram ‘Tempore felici, multi numerantur amici. / Cum fortuna perit, nullus amicus erit’ (In happy times, many friends are counted, / When good fortune disappears, there will be none; fol. 21v) could be read as a link with Isumbras’s loss of good friends in times of trouble. The immediate relevance of courtesy tracts is complemented by the copying of another text for pragmatic use, The Rules for Purchasing Land, which led George Shuffelton to observe that ‘[r]omances may have helped English audiences dream about the benefits and consequences of possession, but The Rules for Purchasing Land faces the hard-nosed realities’.103 Shuffelton considers that the Latin epigram merely indicates ‘fifteenth-century humanism’ and represents classical and medieval ideas of friendship. However, Gillespie and others have noted how moral and religious verses copied into manuscripts were clearly intended as a commentary on the contemporary political situation 102

103

See Hardman, The Heege Manuscript, Intro., pp. 9, 27, 28, 52. The political connotations of the poem, though from the broader perspective of ‘Englishness’, have been explored in Hardman, ‘Compiling the Nation: Fifteenth-Century Miscellany Manuscripts’, in Nation, Court, and Culture: New Essays on Fifteenth-Century English Poetry, ed. Helen Cooney (Dublin, 2001), pp. 50–69, at p. 66. See also Riddy, Malory, p. 93. Codex Ashmole 61, ed. Shuffelton, pp. 448–9.

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(see p. 46 and n. 18). Given the context in which the romances appear in this and other manuscripts, the collocation of these items points to ways of reading Isumbras and other romances in a political light as well. Interestingly, Rate shares with Heege not only the rough period to which it has been dated by scholars, but also a social environment (lower gentry/upper peasantry) for its copying and circulation – the environment in which we find more political involvement as the fifteenth century drew on. The chivalric and military overtones of the later fifteenth-century versions of Isumbras actually contribute to diminishing the impact of the pious message by returning attention to the secular world in which the action takes place. Instead of ending in martyrdom, the story of Isumbras, his wife and three sons ends with their victory against 30,000 Saracens. Isumbras’s sin resides in his pride in wealth and worldly position, which translates into extreme largesse and pursuit of pleasure at the beginning of the romance; he is said to always give ‘gold and fee’ (line 27) to his minstrels.104 As already demonstrated, in some of the manuscript versions he also took pride in his prowess in arms; as a result he must be humbled. In contrast to earlier criticism, Hopkins suggests that Isumbras’s tears at the feast in his wife’s castle, where she rules as queen, should be read as regret for his excessive generosity, which led to his life of penance, and not self-pity:105 She toke in syr Isumbras; For a pore palmere he was, She rewed hym most of all.        pitied The ryche quene in golde seete; Menne her served to honde and feete, In ryche robes of palle. A cloth in the flore was leyde; ‘The pore palmere,’ the stewarde seyde, ‘Shall sytte above you all.’ […] The palmere sette and ete ryghte nowghte, But loked abowte the halle. He syghe myche game and gle – For he was wonte therein to be, Theres he lette down falle.  (lines 559–67, 569–73)

This view is justified if the romance is seen as a didactic tool, and Hopkins is correct in identifying a spiritual development in Isumbras at this stage, a feature that would have appealed to fifteenth-century audiences interested in pious improvement. However, it appears too that he sheds tears because he recognises in the queen (not knowing she is his wife) the attributes he should have displayed in his own earlier position of power. Unwittingly, the queen shows Isumbras the correct display of generosity as alms-giving, not merely rewarding minstrels, friends and loyal followers. Thus the romance shows that rulers at

104 105

I concur with Hopkins in this view; Hopkins considers the sin is ‘chivalric’ (Sinful Knights, pp. 132–3). Ibid., p. 138.

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any level in society must perform their duties well, and sometimes learn to do so from their closest family members. Notable is the fact that Isumbras’s wife is now a ruler of a much higher social rank than Isumbras was in the first place, and an exemplary one at that: she not only displays qualities previously lacking in her husband, such as being generous with the poor and mindful of the situation of her subjects, but also possesses a strong personality, reflected both in the way she governs and when she supports her husband, following their emotional moment of mutual recognition. Female strength and determination were certainly witnessed during Henry VI’s gradual descent into insanity and his queen’s control of the crown starting in the 1450s. Margaret of Anjou is known to have displayed both the pious (and hence more appropriately female) and the secular (more manly) qualities of a ruler in her handling of the troublesome political situation in this period.106 Isumbras’s (unnamed) wife plays a more prominent role than that of the main character even if on the surface it is Isumbras’s fall and subsequent reinstatement that are closely followed. Without his wife’s agency Isumbras might remain anonymous (and dejected) in his pathetic state as beggar at her table; perhaps he would not even see any possibility of redeeming himself. Instead the author of the text emphasises women’s agency in restoring men to their former position. This is what Margaret actively pursued during Henry’s gradual decline and ultimate loss of the crown. In this romance the agency of the female character in raising her husband to high status, leading to a victory against the enemy, presented mid fifteenth-century audiences with opportunities to consider and reassess the role of women in contemporary politics. Indeed upon recognising Isumbras, his wife is instrumental in his decision to fight and gain control of the foreign lands. She even dons armour and fights alongside him and their newly returned children against the Saracen enemy, and in the process they kill no fewer than 30,000: She seyde, ‘Lord God that I ne were dyghte In armour as I were a knyghte, For with you wyll I fare. If Jesu wolde us grace sende That we myghte togydur ende, Lyve wolde I no more.’ He halpe his lady that she was dyghte In armour as she were a knyghte, And forth wente with spere and shelde. Ayeyn thrytty dowsande and mo: Ther come no Cristen but they two, Whenne they mette in the felde.  (lines 739–50; my emphasis)

Although the role she plays in the denouement of the story has ‘more to do with fantasy miracle’, one cannot deny the fact ‘it must still reflect some capacity

106

See Helen E. Maurer, Margaret of Anjou: Queenship and Power in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2003), Ch. 10: ‘Control and Conciliation’, esp. p. 157.

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for identification or admiration in the reader’.107 Here Isumbras’s wife is clad in armour and bears a spear and shield. As mentioned, Margaret, effectively a ruling queen during her husband’s bouts of insanity, was said to have engineered several political events and even to have led armies in battle alongside her political allies. Her behaviour was condemned in contemporary poems like the one posted by the Yorkists following their victory at the Battle of Towton in 1461, in which she is described as an unnatural ruler, who abused her role as queen: Also scripture saith, ‘woo be to þat Regyon Where ys a kyng unwyse or Innocent.’ Moreovyr it ys Right a gret abusion, A womman of a land to be a Regent – Qwene margrete I mene, þat ever hath ment To gouerne all engeland with myght and poure, And to destroye the Ryght lyne was here entent, Wherfore sche hath a fal, to here gret langour. And now sche ne rought, so þat sche myght attayne, Though all engeland were brought to confusyon; Sche and here wykked affynite certayne Entende uttyrly to destroye thys regioun; ffor with theym ys but Deth & distruccioun, Robberye & vengeaunce with all Rygour. Therefore all þat holde of þat oppynioun, God sende hem a schort ende with mech langour.108

Yet in this guise her image was not just that of an unnatural woman, but also that of a wife and mother who both resembled romance heroines (like Isumbras’s lady) and provided an inspiration (however frowned upon) to other strong noble and gentle women of her time, who had to manage and sometimes even defend their land and property in the absence of their lords and husbands during the Wars of the Roses.109 Margaret’s vigorous, active involvement in politics attracted negative comments from her opponents, the Yorkists, although to some extent her actions were justifiable in a traditional manner: she was trying, by all means possible, to preserve her husband’s lineage and her son’s claim to the throne. However, it has been argued that not everyone would have regarded Margaret as unwomanly in her performance of duties; much of the surviving evidence about her role 107

108 109

Helen Cooper, The English Romance in Time: Transforming Motifs from Geoffrey of Monmouth to the Death of Shakespeare (Oxford, 2004), p. 224 (my emphasis). Cooper mentions this example in relation to female agency in romance, but does not explore fifteenth-century political interpretations. ‘A political retrospect’ (1462), in Historical Poems of the XIVth and XVth Centuries, ed. Rossell Hope Robbins (New York, 1959), p. 224. See, for example, among others, the well-known example of Margaret Paston’s management of the manors of Caister, Drayton and Haylesdon, Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, 3 vols, EETS s.s. 20–2 (Oxford, 2004–5), I, ed. Norman Davis, no. 179–81, pp. 293–300.

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in the Wars of the Roses and her control of the crown (and her husband) sprang from Yorkist propaganda.110 Robert Fabyan, writing in the early Tudor period, described Margaret as ‘that noble and most bounteous princess, of whom many and untrue surmise was imagined and told’ and Edward IV as the usurper.111 As Antonia Gransden has argued, although he used the London chronicles, known for their Yorkist view of fifteenth-century politics, Fabyan was free to display his Lancastrian sympathies in the reign of Henry VII, a period in which the king was seeking the canonisation of Henry VI. Polydore Vergil, writing around the same time, also collated received comments on Margaret, of both a positive and negative nature. He recounts how in 1459 the queen did seek peace, since she was ‘of herselfe, for diligence, circumspection and speedie execution of causes, comparable to a man’, and he even calls her ‘this wise woman’ who ‘called togethers the councell to provide remedie for the disordered state of thinges’.112 It is known that Margaret’s contemporaries debated her role both in maintaining the lineage and in politics generally; the Paston letters, for example, include some comments on Margaret’s behaviour.113 The Pastons were, like other gentry, both avid readers of romances (and other texts) and keen observers of contemporary governance and politics; their views reflect middle-class interests in political affairs and ideas presented in literary texts.114 That other readers of romance, both the gentry and yeoman strata of society, debated such rumours and comments would not be surprising. It is within this context that one might consider the amplification, in the Copland print, of the episode in which both Isumbras’s deeds and his wife’s (essential) support in the final battle are portrayed from a military perspective. This aspect of the romance seems to have influenced the compiler of the version in Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale MS XIII.B.29, a paper manuscript which contains an unfinished copy of Isumbras (lines 1–123; pp. 114–15, but with some space left for the rest of the text to be copied in at a later stage from 115b to 118). Our romance is preceded by recipes for women, Sir Beuys of Hampton (pp. 23–79), a brief life Of Seint Alex of Rome (pp. 80–6; ending ‘Explicit vita Sancti Alex’), the romance Libious Desconious (pp. 87–113), a stanza of ‘moral verse’ 110 111

112 113

114

See Dunn, ‘The Queen at War’. The New Chronicles of England and France by Robert Fabyan, named by himself the Concordance of Histories, ed. Henry Ellis (London, 1811), p. 640. See Gransden, Historical Writing in England, II, p. 247. Three Books of Polydore Vergil’s English History, Comprising the Reigns of Henry VI, Edward IV, and Richard III, ed. Henry Ellis, Camden Society n.s. 29 (London, 1844), p. 102. In a letter recorded among the Paston papers, John Bokkyng commented that ‘The Quene is a grete and stronge labourid woman, for she spareth noo peyne to sue hire thinges to an entent and conclusion, to hir power’ (Paston Letters, III, ed. R. Beadle and C. Richmond, no. 1029, pp. 161–2). Sir John Paston commissioned his ‘grete boke’, now London, British Library MS Lansdowne 285, from his scribe William Ebesham (see his booklist in Paston Letters, II, ed. Davis, no. 751, pp. 386–7 and no. 755, pp. 391–2). The manuscript contains chivalric material, including the oath and ceremonies of the Knights of the Bath, Vegetius’s De Re Militari and Lydgate’s Secrets of the Philosophers. The manuscript is discussed in Sir John Paston’s ‘Grete Boke’: A Descriptive Catalogue, with an Introduction, of British Library MS Lansdowne 285, ed. G. A. Lester (Cambridge, 1984).

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(p. 113), Chaucer’s ‘Clerk’s Tale’ (missing lines 1–91, pp. 119–46) and, at the end of the manuscript, Lydgate’s ‘Beware of Doublenesse’ (p. 146), on the same page where the scribe wrote the date 1457.115 The very placing of the text in the company of Chaucer’s tale of patient endurance seems to suggest that the theme of Job-like humility dominates this part of the manuscript. Interestingly, the tone of this ‘modest, but carefully written manuscript’, to employ Guddat-Figge’s words, is more complex than that. The military and chivalric aspects in Isumbras are enhanced through the presence of the romances of Bevis of Hampton and Lybeaus Desconus, while the pious tone is highlighted by association with Bevis’s patient suffering in prison.116 Griselda’s suffering, alongside her wise governance of her noble husband’s lands, displays her inner strength and nobility of behaviour, despite her lowly upbringing. It reminds the reader of Isumbras’s wife, who is elevated from the position of wife to a local ruler to the status of queen (even if against her will), and is admirable in her performance of queenly duties.117 115

116

117

Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, pp. 241–2. She notes this is a ‘miscellany’, written by only one scribe, and that Isumbras was probably copied from a defective exemplar, since the scribe left space (pp. 116–18) to complete it later. My examination of the digital facsimile of the manuscript leads me to concur with James Weldon’s view that it was compiled for a female audience. See James Weldon, ‘The Naples Manuscript and the Case for a Female Readership’, Neophilologus 93:2 (2009), 703–22. Weldon provides strong evidence for such a reading, including the emphasis on recipes, remedies for female illnesses and advice on childbirth, all of which also suggest that military features and patient endurance were enjoyed by both female and male audiences. As Jennifer Fellows has noted, the expansion on the theme of patient suffering in the Middle English Bevis versions dated to the mid to late fifteenth century was ‘probably directly influenced by the legend of St George, [and] accords with an increased emphasis in the later English versions of the story upon Bevis’s role as Christian knight. […] incidents potentially suggestive of a more passive mode of Christian virtue are introduced in various of the Middle English redactions, arguably in an attempt to redress the balance between the militant and spiritual virtues necessary to the perfect Christian knight. In the Middle English Bevis tradition as a whole, there is more emphasis than in Boeve upon the hero’s sufferings in prison, and some of the motifs that appear here relate the hero to St George in his role as martyr rather than as soldier’ (‘The Middle English and Renaissance Bevis: A Textual Survey’, in Sir Bevis of Hampton in Literary Tradition, ed. Jennifer Fellows and Ivana Djordjević (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 80–113, at 89–90). The manuscript does not contain this section of the story, given that the copying was abandoned, probably due to a defective exemplar, at line 123 (fol. 115a). However, it is clear from the space the compiler left for its completion, sufficient, by my calculations, for another significant portion of the romance, that s/he knew the story (at an average of forty lines per column, in two-column format, it would have allowed at least 280 more lines to be copied into the remaining space; the average version in Caligula A. ii stands at 775 lines). I have only been able to consult the manuscript in its digital facsimile format, which does not allow any observations on its collation, or comments on any missing leaves. The point I am making is that the selection of the text is fully justified on the grounds of Isumbras’s wife’s agency in assisting her husband and displaying the qualities of a good ruler. Weldon comments on the codicology of the manuscript, but not in relation to the portion in which Isumbras appears. For a discussion of the manuscript, see also Lybeaus Desconus, ed. Maldwyn Mills, EETS o.s. 261 (London, 1969), Intro., pp. 6–8.

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The copying of only two stanzas from Lydgate’s misogynistic reflections on women’s ‘doubleness’ into this manuscript also displays the compiler’s choice to excerpt the section of the poem that could be read in a positive light by women: O ye wymmen whiche been enclyned Bi enfluence of ȝoure nature To bene as pure as gool fined In ȝoure strenght for to endure.

gold

Arme ȝour silfe in stronge armure Leste men assaile your sikirnesse Set on ȝour brest ȝour silue to assure A myghti schilde of doblenesse.118

Excerpted from their original poetic context, and placed in the company of stories of female patient suffering and exceptional strength, these two stanzas actually reinforce a positive reading of women’s ability to use the metaphorical ‘stronge armure’ and ‘myghti schilde’ of ‘doblenesse’ in order to survive in difficult circumstances. This interpretation is supported by the compiler’s choice to copy the stories of Bevis, Isumbras and ‘The Clerk’s Tale’, which, although pointing to male protagonists and their trajectory, actually focus on female heroines (Josian, Isumbras’s wife and Griselda) who provided a late medieval audience with models of admirable perseverance in the face of adversity, and strength that is ultimately rewarded. As Weldon says, even a heroine like Griselda, who may appear passive, ‘emerges paradoxically stronger than Walter, so that she like Josian, the Lady of Sinadoun [from Lybeaus Desconus], and the wife of Sir Isumbras, is a strong agent in her narrative’.119 Each of these romance heroines also works hard to preserve their lineage and the female reception of this manuscript further confirms, rather than removes, this political dimension. At the end of the romance Isumbras’s wife appears particularly forceful when she urges him to kill the sultan (Hopkins even calls her ‘Lady Macbeth-like’), which ‘puts the killing of the Sultan in the context purely of ambition and worldly aspirations’.120 Hopkins saw this episode as ‘time-out’ from penance for Isumbras, and the hero’s prayer to Jesus to be ‘clearly motivated by a desire for revenge’. Both of these readings are hard to accommodate in a penitential reading of the romance, but seem to acquire new relevance in the original fourteenth-century crusading context Manion has persuasively argued for, and in the

118

119

120

My transcription and emphases. The full poem is edited in The Minor Poems of John Lydgate, ed. H. N. MacCracken, II (London, 1934), pp. 438–42 (‘Beware of doublenesse’). Weldon, ‘The Naples Manuscript’, p. 718 (my emphasis). It may not be fortuitous that in the Thornton MS, dated to the 1440s, Isumbras, called the ‘Romance off Sir Ysambrace’ (fol. 109r), is followed by a copy of the other romance focused on a strong woman, Erl of Tolous. Thornton, and subsequently the readers of his manuscript, would have associated the two heroines, Isumbras’s wife, and Dame Beulybon, in their admirable endurance of trials, but also stern refusal to compromise. Hopkins, Sinful Knights, p. 141.

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fifteenth-century political context made in the present study. Isumbras’s pious trajectory now turns, reassuringly, back to secular and political pursuits, and his humble acceptance of faith is replaced by his active militaristic stance against Saracens. This conforms to the same pattern encountered in Gowther, where the hero’s penance is complete once he has fought and won a battle against the enemies of the Christian faith. At the same time the reader is reminded that the ruler who has, temporarily, abandoned his chivalric persona in order to pursue the humble life of a penitent is now called back into the public arena to fulfil his role in the secular world. The movement of the narrative thus follows the trajectory of the ruler, from a life led in the secular world, with pride and no care for personal salvation, to a period of penance, when the ruler is forced to focus on his spiritual journey involving physical and moral suffering, and then back to the secular world, once he is forgiven. In this way each story reassuringly tells the audience that a ruler’s suffering in this world should end with his acceptance of his political as well as spiritual duties, and, ideally, by channelling his energies not in living well (like Isumbras and Robert) or exerting violence against his own subjects (like Gowther), but in external conflict that is beneficial to the Christian faith. In this respect the didactic aspect of these romances may be read not only as just instruction in piety and good conduct for boys – as Hardman and others have argued – but as a mirror for princes, dealing with governance, as well as a not-so-subtle didactic tool in support of female authority. The backbone of the plot in the pious romances discussed here – the fall from grace of a wealthy and powerful man – requires the protagonist to start off in high office so that the overturning of his status appears more dramatic. While all three stories contain spectacular, sometimes even magical, turns of fate involving supernatural agency (God, an angel, the devil) and requiring patient endurance on the part of the protagonist, only Isumbras contains self-imposed manual labour unworthy of a noble hero, which brings him closer to ‘everyman’ and renders the story more appealing to a socially diverse audience. Gowther and Robert contain different degrees of shocking details, literally making the protagonists undergo the life of dogs, but also more consoling solutions for their subjects at the end of each story. In each of these stories fifteenth-century audiences encountered the fall of princes motif, combined with a high dose of suffering in the person of the penitent sinner; yet, the reader is never allowed to forget this sinner is a local ruler (Isumbras), a duke (Gowther) or a king (Robert). Each of these characters, already of a noble status, will be rewarded with even greater power than they initially held as a reward for their humble acceptance of God’s punishment. In Gowther and Isumbras the theme of kingly suffering is also associated with anxieties over paternity and women’s agency in preserving as well as defending the lineage, sometimes in battle (Isumbras); both of these topics bring these romances into dialogue with fifteenth-century concerns over the current political situation. Didactic and pious readings of the romances of the ‘everyman’ type would be common in the period as well. Some readers might have found, as Hopkins has suggested, that these three romance heroes are examples of ‘this ignorance [which] corresponds closely to the Bernardine concept of the habitual sinner, who has become impervious to any sense of guilt because he is so hardened

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to the nature of his sins that he no longer sees them as extreme’. However, as Hopkins also acknowledges, in these romances there is ‘conspicuously little recourse to the offices of the Church (Gowther being, of course, the exception)’.121 The lack of extensive sermonising in these romances (with the exception of the brief mention of the Pope’s sermon at the end of Robert in some manuscript versions), coupled with the prominence of the themes of governance and the fall of those in power to humble positions, further supports a secular reading of the texts, very much in line with issues of topical concern in the fifteenth century. Later in the century miscellanies such as Heege and CUL MS Ff.2.38 reflect further developments in the perception of the monarchy, the discourse of the king’s suffering and women’s agency in preserving the lineage. Both young and older readers of miscellanies such as Heege and CUL MS Ff.2.38 lived through years of as much political effervescence as during the mid fifteenth century; their interest in political matters is unlikely to have diminished once Henry Tudor was on the throne. As the popularity of later stage productions, such as William Shakespeare’s Richard II and King Lear, attests,122 the themes of the king’s (or any ruler’s) suffering as a ‘fool’ continued to feed the imaginations of generations to come.

121 122

Hopkins, Sinful Knights, pp. 20, 21 (my emphasis). Martin Walsh notes the popularity of Robert as late as the seventeenth century; as mentioned, the story was dramatised on repeated occasions, though the plays are now lost (for the later plays, see Walsh, ‘The King’, p. 44 and nn. 15, 16). For an analysis of Robert (and its popular counterpart, the story Robert the Devil) as sources for Shakespeare’s King Lear, see Donna B. Hamilton, ‘Some Romance Sources for King Lear: Robert of Sicily and Robert the Devil’, SP 71:2 (1974), 173–91.

3 Chronicling Britain’s Christian Conversion Henry Lovelich’s History of the Holy Grail By the time Lovelich, a London skinner, completed his translations of the first two pillars of the Old French Vulgate Cycle, the Estoire del Saint Graal and Estoire de Merlin (henceforth the Graal and the Merlin), in the first half of the fifteenth century, manuscripts of the various parts of the cycle had been in circulation in England for two centuries.1 The Graal and the Merlin circulated together in sometimes heavily illuminated manuscripts, which may account for Lovelich’s choice or at the very least the way in which his two translations were copied and presented in the unique surviving copy of his work, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 80.2 The Graal focuses on the story of the conversion of Britain to Christianity through the agency of Joseph of Arimathea, his son Josephe and their followers; it also contains the adventures of the newly converted king of Sarras Evalac (Mordrain by his new name as a convert), his brotherin-law Seraphe (Nascien once baptised), Celidoine (Seraphe’s son and Evalac’s nephew) and his descendants up to King Launcelot, grandfather of Launcelot

1

2

See Roger Middleton, ‘Manuscripts of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle in England and Wales: Some Books and Their Owners’, in A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, ed. Carol R. Dover (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 219–35. The History of the Holy Grail by Henry Lovelich, ed. F. J. Furnivall, EETS e.s. 20, 24, 28, 30, 45 (London, 1874–1905), henceforth History, cited by chapter and line number (in all cases the irregular capitalisation in the MS and Furnivall’s edition has been removed); Henry Lovelich’s Merlin, ed. Ernst A. Kock, EETS e.s. 93, 112, o.s. 185 (London, 1904–32), cited by line number. Neither edition contains a full critical apparatus, any consistent glossing or textual notes. The editions of the Graal consulted and cited in this chapter are L’Estoire del Saint Graal, ed. J.-P. Ponceau, Les classiques françaises du moyen âge 120, 121, 2 vols (Paris, 1997) (henceforth P, cited by page, paragraph and line numbers) and, where necessary, for fine points of difference, The Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances, ed. O. H. Sommer, 7 vols (Washington, 1908), I, based on London, British Library MS Additional 10293, fols 1–76 (the Short Cyclic Version) (henceforth S, cited by page and line number); and Le Saint Graal, ed. E. Hucher, 3 vols (Le Mans, 1877– 78), based on Le Mans MM 354 (henceforth H, cited by volume and page number). The identification of Lovelich’s source is complicated by the fact that most extant manuscripts of the Graal contain mixed versions. Translations are from Lancelot-Grail: The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate in Translation, gen. ed. Norris J. Lacy, 5 vols (New York and London, 1993–96), vol. I (henceforth L, cited by page number only). However, the translations reflect a text conflated from the several available versions of the Vulgate Cycle; for this reason in some instances I have altered some of the wording or added my own translations, as necessary, in order to reflect the content of the original text of the Graal cited in this chapter.

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de Lac.3 As Emmanuèle Baumgartner has shown, the Graal contains a third translatio, of the knowledge of God’s secrets vested in Joseph of Arimathea and symbolised by the Grail;4 this was most likely one of the factors contributing to its appeal to Lovelich and his commissioner. In other words, the Graal unfolds around divinely inspired journeys and exotic characters, but is grounded in the journey of the Grail from the Holy Land to Britain. In contrast, the Merlin displays a narrower focus on the politics of the Arthurian world predominantly from the eponymous character’s viewpoint: it starts with Merlin’s birth and childhood and tells the story of his indispensable role in the establishment of Uther Pendragon’s and then King Arthur’s rule. Together these two parts of the Vulgate Cycle constitute the foundation stone of the Arthurian story. This chapter investigates Lovelich’s interest in, and translations of, the history of the Grail from Old French into Middle English at the beginning of the fifteenth century. In particular, it examines the ways in which his works reflect contemporary interest in the king’s suffering, women’s role in preserving the lineage and the English Church’s efforts to establish its prestige abroad and at home, in particular its precedence over Scotland and Wales through the use of the legend of Joseph of Arimathea. Lovelich’s systematic emphasis on chronicling the history of the Grail, its keepers and followers, his ‘Englishing’ of the Old French narrative and more narrowly defined interests, particularly on rulers’ suffering and genealogical descent, attest to the alignment of his work with emerging contemporary trends on the literary and political scenes identified and explored in the present study. In order to better understand his original contribution to the development of these themes and Arthurian literature in the English vernacular, a first port-of-call is his relationship to previous translations of the Old French Vulgate romances into Middle English.

Lovelich and the Arthurian legend The first two branches of the Vulgate Cycle, the Graal and the Merlin, appeared in the English literary landscape in two stages. The Merlin was translated nearly a century before Lovelich’s time, with one copy surviving in the Auchinleck manuscript, Of Arthour and of Merlin, dated to the 1330s.5 An early fifteenth3

4

5

For a synopsis of the Graal plot see Lancelot-Grail, ed. Lacy, V, pp. 315–19. For an analysis of the conversion theme, see Carol Chase, ‘La conversion des païennes dans l’Estoire del Saint Graal’, in Arthurian Romance and Gender, ed. Friedrich Wolfzettel (Amsterdam, 1995), pp. 251–64. In the Prose Lancelot, the branch of the Vulgate Cycle written before the Graal, Joseph of Arimathea is presented as Launcelot’s paternal ancestor, but this is contradicted in the Graal, in which Joseph is Yvain’s ancestor, and Launcelot is descended from Seraphe/Nascien. See Chase, ‘La conversion’; see also Appendix 2 in the present study. Emmanuèle Baumgartner, ‘Géants et chevaliers’, in The Spirit of the Court, ed. Glyn S. Burgess and Robert A. Taylor (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 9–22, at p. 9. There Baumgartner explains the importance of this third translatio from the East to the West after the translatio studii et imperii. The online edition of the Auchinleck manuscript (Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.2.1) is available at http://auchinleck.nls.uk/

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century version of the same poem was copied into London, Lincoln’s Inn MS 150, which, Simon Horobin and Alison Wiggins have persuasively argued, could be associated with the metropolis.6 The earliest translation of the Graal into Middle English is available nowadays in fragmentary form in the lesser-known and usually neglected short poem Joseph of Arimathie, copied into the late fourteenth-century Vernon manuscript (fols 403r–404v).7 No motive has been identified for the drastic condensation of the plot in this fragmentary poem,8 nor for the anonymous author’s choice to include elements from the other branch of the Vulgate Cycle, the Queste del Saint Graal.9 The most significant features of the poem are its focus on the conversion of King Evalak, which provides the opportunity to include ample explanations of Christian doctrine from the Graal and his military exploits; at the same time there is a lack of interest in the Holy Grail itself, which becomes, to quote Lawton, ‘simply a sacred object of reverence, þat ilke blod’.10 The author breaks off before the story turns to the core of the Graal narrative, that is Joseph of Arimathea’s role as proto-evangelist of Britain and the foundation of the greatest Arthurian chivalric lineages: Gawain’s, Yvain’s and Lancelot’s.11 In Vernon the poem keeps company with the romances Robert of Sicily and King of Tars, a collocation that seems to reinforce a particular emphasis on the ruler’s suffering and conversion (see Chapter 2). Whether or not Joseph of Arimathie was known to Lovelich (and there is no evidence to suggest he knew it), he chose to emphasise the same themes encountered in the earlier poem, the suffering of the king and military exploits.

6

7

8 9

10

11

Simon Horobin and Alison Wiggins, ‘Reconsidering Lincoln’s Inn MS 150’, Medium Ævum 77:1 (2008), 30–53. The poem survives in four medieval copies and two sixteenthcentury prints; there was also a (now lost) dramatic adaptation in the seventeenth century (see Cooper, English Romance in Time, Appendix, pp. 423–4). Ralph Hanna examines fourteenth-century literature produced in the metropolis in his London Literature, 1300–1380 (Oxford, 2005). Vernon Manuscript (digital facsmile), ed. Scase; Joseph of Arimathie: A Critical Edition, ed. David Lawton (Garland, 1983). It was copied in prose format; its 709 lines condense large swathes of the Graal. See W. R. J. Barron, ‘Joseph of Arimathie and the Estoire del Saint Graal’, Medium Ævum 33 (1964), 184–94; Valerie M. Lagorio, ‘The Joseph of Arimathie: English Hagiography in Transition’, Medievalia et Humanistica n.s. 6 (1975), 91–101 and, by the same author, ‘The Glastonbury Legends and the English Arthurian Grail Romances’, Neophilologische Mitteilungen 79 (1978), 359–66. Joseph of Arimathie, ed. Lawton, Intro., p. xxx. This consists of the addition of an episode in which an angelic White Knight explains to Galahad the history of the shield with the red cross on it, a story also picked up and translated by Malory. Lawton, Intro., p. xxxiv. See James Noble, ‘The Grail and Its Guardian: Evidence of Authorial Intent in the Middle English Joseph of Arimathea’, Quondam et Futurus 1–2 (1991), 1–14, and, by the same author, ‘Typological Patterns in the ME Joseph of Arimathea’, Chaucer Yearbook 1 (1992), 177–88. In the Middle English versions the name of this character is spelled either ‘Evalak’ (in Joseph of Arimathie) or ‘Evalach’ (in Lovelich); in the various extant manuscripts of the Graal he is Evalac/Evalach. See Carol J. Chase, ‘The Gateway to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle: L’Estoire del Saint Graal’, in A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, ed. Dover, pp. 65–74, and, by the same author, ‘La conversion des païennes’. See also Appendix 2 below.

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Lovelich’s faithful approach to his source, including his choice to retain all the exotic material contained in the original Graal, earned him a minor place in the Arthurian literature canon. His passion for Old French romance is evident in the sheer volume of his body of work, standing at over 50,000 lines of verse: 11,892 couplets in the acephalous History and 27,852 lines in his Merlin. His competence in Old French shows in the accuracy of his translation and his close attention to detail; yet modern scholars have been more interested in pointing out that his translation is insufficiently original, and his use of metre the work of an amateur.12 On the other hand, the History of the Holy Grail, although lacking its beginning in Corpus Christi MS 80, does contain the remainder of the Graal story, which means that Joseph of Arimathea’s conversion of Britain to Christianity and the foundation of the chivalric lineages of the future Arthurian knights constitute the second major theme in his translation. With Lovelich we have the first appearance of the Holy Grail in Middle English literature.13 Lovelich is one of those rare medieval authors who deliberately inserts references to himself in his narratives. He records his name three times in his work, once in the History (LVI: 533) and twice in the Merlin (lines 10,251 and 21,596), while one annotator of the manuscript confirms Lovelich’s authorship of the translation in a marginal note (fol. 127r, discussed below).14 The layers of annotations in Corpus Christi MS 80, some of which are probably contemporary with Lovelich, provide additional interest in his translations and a fascinating insight into the literary tastes of his first readers. The majority of the annotations appear in the margins of the History; yet to date neither his translations nor the manuscript in which they survive have received much attention. The History is 12

13

14

In Helaine Newstead’s words: ‘He had no talent for writing and no ear for verse, but he deserves some attention because he was evidently a man of substance who respected poetry and considered it a worthy offering to an admired friend’ (‘Arthurian Legends’, in A Manual of Writings in Middle English, ed. Jonathan Burke Severs (New Haven, CT, 1967), I, pp. 38–79, at p. 49); W. R. J. Barron, English Medieval Romance (London and New York, 1987), p. 152. Marcella McCarthy, in her unpublished DPhil thesis, ‘Late Medieval English Treatments of the Grail Story’, University of Oxford (1990), examined the three translations of the Graal into Middle English: Joseph of Arimathea, Lovelich’s History and Malory’s ‘Tale of the Sankgreal’. She was the first to acknowledge that Lovelich’s translation of the History at least contains ‘few – if any – of the verbal confusions found in less able translators’, and that Lovelich is, by comparison with the better known writer Thomas Malory, ‘less adventurous […] and scrupulously exact’ (pp. 63–4). A few of her findings are relevant to the present argument, and will be cited as appropriate; however, McCarthy followed a line of investigation different from mine. A comparative study of Middle English translations of the Estoire de Merlin is contained in Ambra Finotello, ‘Three Middle English Translations of the Estoire de Merlin: Of Arthur and Merlin, Henry Lovelich’s Merlin, and the Prose Merlin’, PhD thesis, Bangor University (2013). Lovelich’s History follows the plot of the Graal closely; for a synopsis of the plot, see Appendix 1. For the spelling of proper names I use Lovelich’s Evalach/Mordreins, Seraphe/Nasciens, Celidoyne, Sarracynte, Flegentyne and Tholomes and for the original Graal, Evalach/Mordrain, Seraphe/Nascien, Celidoine, Sarracinte, Flegentine and Tholomer. Robert W. Ackerman, ‘Henry Lovelich’s Name’, Modern Language Notes 67:8 (1952), 531–3, and, by the same author, ‘Henry Lovelich’s Merlin’, PMLA 67:4 (1952), 473–84.

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the first full translation of the Graal into English, but is usually only mentioned in passing in surveys of the appearance of the Grail in vernacular literature in England; even in one of the most recent collections of essays on the topic of the Grail, including in Middle English literature, Lovelich’s work was granted only one passing reference.15 Lagorio, in her classic study of Joseph of Arimathea, notes that Lovelich was the first English literary author to translate the location of Joseph’s burial place from Scotland to England, at Glastonbury – although the association had been mentioned in the insular chronicles before him.16 However, Lovelich’s changes to the Graal are more extensive than the brief passages highlighted by Lagorio, or, more recently, Michelle Warren.17 The History displays features which urge a critical reconsideration of his contribution to our understanding of a historical period when both the theme of the suffering king and the questions posed by interrupted royal lineages raised important concerns at all levels of society. Archbishop Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409 announced a new era for the English Church and, in their aftermath, transformations not only at institutional level, but also in vernacular theology and the practice of religion; the long-term consequences of this event have been assessed and questioned in turn by modern critics.18 To complicate things further, the English Church faced a renewed challenge when, at the Councils of Pisa, Constance, Siena and Basle (1409–34) the English prelates argued the prestige of their national church on the European scene by using the legend of St Joseph of Arimathea, as explained in Chapter 1. The repeated claim was taken seriously by Continental prelates, but, as James Carley points out: because of their Continental ambitions the English were unable to find a method of exploiting national (in the modern sense) claims within a conciliar framework. […] By Basel […] the principle of organization into nations had

15

16 17

18

Phillip C. Boardman, ‘Grail and Quest in the Medieval English World of Arthur’, in The Grail, the Quest and the World of Arthur, ed. Norris J. Lacy (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 126–40, at p. 126. Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, p. 226 (see also Chapter 1, pp. 12–13). Some original features of Lovelich’s History are mentioned in Michelle R. Warren, ‘Lydgate, Lovelich and London Letters’, in Lydgate Matters: Poetry and Material Culture in the Fifteenth Century, ed. Lisa H. Cooper and A. Denny-Brown (Basingstoke, 2008), pp. 113–37, and, by the same author, ‘Translation’, in Middle English, ed. Paul Strohm (Oxford, 2008), pp. 51–67. See Nicholas Watson, ‘Censorship and Cultural Change in Late-Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate, and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409’, Speculum 70 (1995), 822–64, and, by the same author, ‘Visions of Inclusion: Universal Salvation and Vernacular Theology in Pre-Reformation England’, JMEMS 27 (1997), 145–87. For a reassessment, see Vincent Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Theology’, in Middle English, ed. Strohm, pp. 401–20 and the essays in After Arundel: Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century Writing, ed. Vincent Gillespie and Kantik Gosh (Turnhout, 2011), in particular David Lawton, ‘Voice after Arundel’, pp. 133–52. Lawton makes a persuasive case for a plurality of voices encouraged by Arundel’s Constitutions, in contradistinction to the earlier view that censorship limited vernacular voices in that period.

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been rejected and the disputes over Joseph’s mission […] were – as much else at the council – more or less academic.19

With the English crown’s change of attitude to political and ecclesiastical matters abroad, the claims lost their force.20 That Lovelich (and his commissioner) chose to translate a story that demonstrates the prestige of the Christian Church in England on the basis of the legend of Joseph of Arimathea seems to indicate an alignment with current concerns in the metropolis in that period. At the same time Lovelich’s choice to expand on the part of the story concerning Evalach (Mordreins by his new Christian name), his suffering, military exploits and models of kingship and governance already present in the Graal points to his reflections on the thematic threads identified in the present study. Interest in the Grail and Arthur in the early decades of the fifteenth century needs to be understood, at least in part, in relation to the features displayed by the unique extant copy of Lovelich’s work, Corpus Christi MS 80. The narrowest interval to which it has been dated is 1425–40, with Jonathan Burke Severs opting for c. 1420–25 and W. R. J. Barron for as late as 1450. On the other hand, Roger Dalrymple points out that a ‘persuasive terminus ad quem is the death in 1435 of the poem’s dedicatee, Henry Barton; there is no implication that the dedication is posthumous’.21 While there is no reason to question this reasoning or Barton’s commission of the translations, the unfinished nature of the manuscript (with spaces clearly left for miniatures which were never even sketched) seems to suggest that either the project that Lovelich’s translations were part of was abandoned after Barton’s death or that the manuscript is a copy of an exemplar left unfinished for some other reason. Irrespective of the manuscript’s appearance, textual innovations in the translations discussed in this chapter, sometimes echoing recent events Barton had played an important part in, show that Lovelich must have started his project during his patron’s lifetime. The only names associated with the manuscript are those of Barton, John Cok and Anne Hampton; of the three, the identity of the last remains a mystery. Lovelich’s relationship to and patronage by Barton, fellow skinner and twice mayor of London (alderman 1406–35; mayor of London 1416–28),22 are mentioned in a marginal note in Cok’s hand on fol. 127r (next to line 10,251 in the History of 19 20

21

22

Carley, ‘A Grave Event’, p. 295. See Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, esp. p. 221 and references at n. 54. The claims were revived in the seventeenth century, when Sir Robert Cotton used Joseph’s Christian mission in England as a justification for the English ambassador’s precedence over the envoy of Spain in France (Kevin Sharpe, Sir Robert Cotton 1586–1631: History and Politics in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1979), p. 225, referenced in Carley, ‘Grave Event’, p. 296, n. 36). Severs, Manual, I, p. 15; Barron, English Medieval Romance, p. 152; Roger Dalrymple, ‘“Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne, jn certeyne”: Henry Lovelich’s Merlin’, in Medieval Insular Romance: Translation and Innovation, ed. Judith Weiss, Jennifer Fellows and Morgan Dickson (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 155–67, at p. 155, n. 1. Elspeth M. Veale, The English Fur Trade in the Later Middle Ages (London, 2nd edn, 2003), pp. 81, 131 nn. 206–7; Chronicles of London, ed. C. L. Kingsford (London, 1905), pp. 96, 131; James Wadmore, Some Account of the Worshipful Company of Skinners of London, Being the Guild or Fraternity of Corpus Christi (London, 1902), pp. 152–4.

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the Holy Grail), which reads ‘henre louelich skynnere þat translated þis boke oute of ffrensshe in to englisshe at þe instaunce of harry barton’. That Lovelich and Barton knew each other well is attested to by documentary evidence involving the transfer of property.23 Meale has commented on the potential contained in the word ‘instaunce’, interpreting it in terms of commercial contract rather than mere friendship, perhaps as an indication of Lovelich’s intended aim for his translation project, that of ‘wider circulation than it might seem’.24 Ian Doyle has pointed out that Cok, the scribe who acknowledges his authorship of the annotations in the margins of the History, was associated with the entourage of the more famous copyist of manuscripts and translator John Shirley.25 Roger Dalrymple and Michelle Warren, the only scholars of Lovelich (primarily of his Merlin), identify a clear civic focus linked to the interests and aspirations of the London Skinners’ Company.26 Dalrymple has highlighted several aspects of Lovelich’s originality, starting with his London-centric view of Arthur’s reign, the emphasis Lovelich seemingly placed on the performative elements of his translations and on the recording of events in the manner of chronicle writing.27 Taking Dalrymple’s investigation a step further, Warren has argued in favour of considering Lovelich within a shared literary and scribal circle (or circles) with Shirley and Cok, and investigating degrees of potential literary affinity between Lovelich and the more famous poet John Lydgate, whose productions were presented to both the court and the London elite, including the London guilds.28 Only some of these initial critical suggestions are substantiated by Lovelich’s History, and the localisation of the story (though not in London) is one of them. In his Merlin Lovelich clearly narrowed the focus of his Old French source to a Londoncentric view, suitable for his contemporary citizen audiences (Dalrymple), while he also broadened the focus of the original narrative to include all social classes

23

24

25

26

27 28

London, Guildhall Library MS 31302/135, 198, dated 1409, contains a property transfer among skinners in which Lovelich acted as Barton’s representative. Warren identifies another reference in National Archives, Husting Roll 139 (8, 10), dated 1411, in which Lovelich transferred his own property to Barton (‘Lydgate, Lovelich’, p. 120 and n. 37). Carol M. Meale, ‘“Gode men / Wiues, maydnes and alle men”: Romance and Its Audiences’, in Readings in Medieval English Romance, ed. Carol M. Meale (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 215–20, at p. 219. Warren has identified the use of the same term ‘instaunce’ in John Shirley’s description of literary patronage by royal and aristocratic figures of the day (Warren, ‘Lydgate, Lovelich’, p. 122 and references at nn. 45, 46, 47). A. I. Doyle, ‘More Light on John Shirley’, Medium Ævum 30 (1961), 93–101. Doyle provides ample evidence of records which link Shirley and Cok, primarily through the transfer of property in the vicinity of St Bartholomew’s Hospital in Smithfield, London. Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’; Warren, ‘Lydgate, Lovelich’. Carol Meale also discusses the ambitions of the Skinners’ Company in the context of corporate patronage, focusing, in particular, on two large folio manuscripts containing the statutes and membership lists of the fraternities of Corpus Christi and Our Lady’s Assumption, commissioned by the Skinners’ Company in the second half of the fifteenth century (‘Patrons, Buyers and Owners’, pp. 212–13). Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’. Ibid.; Warren, ‘Lydgate, Lovelich’.

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(Warren).29 Dalrymple is also right to notice that Lovelich adapts references to cities and towns in the Merlin in places where the Vulgate has castles – another indicator of his tendency to close in on London life and make the narrative more appealing for his contemporaries.30 Lovelich’s History is not touched by quite the same interests. In his translation he preserves the aristocratic tenor of the narrative and sometimes even emphasises it, in what appears to indicate his reverence for the importance of the mission entrusted to the Grail keepers. At the same time, however, he carefully differentiates among the echelons in the upper classes and mentions social status below that of a knight; yeomen and ‘swayns’ appear where the original Graal would only have chevalier and baron. The court becomes a ‘parliament’ and references to baronial ‘counsel’ appear where there were none in his source. Lovelich also changes the geographical location of Joseph of Arimathea’s final burial place from the ‘Abbey of Glay’ in Scotland in the Graal to Glastonbury in England (see below). This opening of social ranks, while the social hierarchy of the original Graal is maintained (only descendants of noble and royal lineages will be entrusted with the guardianship of the Grail), shows that Lovelich believed in both the elite message promoted by the Graal and in the importance of making this message widely available, as his translation did, to others outside aristocratic and royal circles. These features, alongside his choice of vocabulary and narrative structure in his History, display a fondness for amplificatio in particular sections of the plot,31 which translates into a tendency to elaborate on cameo portraits of leaders, including their suffering and emotional responses to the adventures. A tendency for repetition was already a feature of the Vulgate Cycle;32 yet Lovelich varied the style he inherited from the Graal and Merlin. His passages of amplification add variety and depth of emotion, rather than merely replicate the repetitions in the Graal. If considered as a whole, Lovelich’s literary enterprise, largely a faithful translation of his sources, expands, rather than abridges, the material in an effort which goes against traditional modern critical assumptions about the nature of romance translations from Old French into Middle English (simplifying the plot, and eliminating extraneous information being the most common features).

29

30 31

32

In the Merlin, Warren argues, Lovelich aimed at showing a ‘democratic’ view of the legitimating moment when Arthur pulls the sword out of the stone and becomes king. The Archbishop of Canterbury’s injunction that the rich/noble and the ‘powr, comown, other on bacheler’ attempt to pull the sword (7,137–8) allows for, in Warren’s words, a ‘radical possibility of a king from any sector of society’ while ‘affirm[ing] clear social differentiation’ (Warren, ‘Translation’, p. 56; my emphasis). In the context of this romance, this interpretation is debatable. Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’, p. 165; followed by Warren, ‘Translation’, p. 57. According to McCarthy’s calculations, ‘30% of all […] changes [in Lovelich’s History] are formed by the addition of descriptive detail’ (‘Late Medieval English Treatments of the Grail Story’, p. 66). This feature posed difficulties to the recent translators of the whole Vulgate Cycle, given the need to render the often prolix syntax of Old French into more readable modern English (see Intro. to L) – a difficulty Lovelich himself would have encountered when he first attempted his translations.



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A first insight into the reception of Lovelich’s two translations by his contemporaries can be ascertained from Cok’s annotations; the other factors contributing to a modern understanding of the prevailing interest among Lovelich’s contemporary audiences in discourses of the king’s suffering and genealogical literature can only be identified by examining the texts within the extant manuscript. Cok’s annotations seem to be due to the fact that he was checking parts of the manuscript, marking up sections he was satisfied with. The annotations, entirely confined to the History, may be justified through his personal interests, given his position as a priest and scribe known to scholars for his production of the cartulary of St Bartholomew’s Hospital in Smithfield, London, and his links with Shirley.33 These annotations point to Cok’s particular interest in the suffering king Evalach/Mordreins and his brother-in-law, Seraphe/Nasciens (the latter being the ancestor of the future Grail knight Galahad) and genealogical lines of descent attesting to the nobility of the Grail keepers and the ancestry of the English Church. An examination of both his translation and the material evidence contained in Corpus Christi MS 80 therefore is an indispensable element in the present analysis. The manuscript’s programmatic design is supported by features denoting professional production,34 with ninety-seven spaces strikingly left blank, most likely intended for miniatures. Thirty-six of these spaces were left in the body of what is now an acephalous History and the rest in the unfinished Merlin. Only six spaces in the whole manuscript, all of them located in the Merlin, are marked out with clear indications as to their planned content: one for Arthur’s coronation (‘coronnacio Arthuri’, fol. 117v), one unnoticed to date, in the gutter of the page (not visible in the online digital facsimile), seemingly pointing to the arrival of Kings Ban and Bors after their victories (‘obviantes [?obviacio] Regum’, fol. 123r)35 and four pageants (these indications are in English: ‘pageant’, ‘apagent’: one on fol. 153v, two on fol. 154r and one on 159r). Close analysis of the remaining

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Judith Etherton, ‘Cok [Coke], John (c. 1393–c. 1468)’, ODNB online edition, accessed November 2011. According to evidence in the register of Richard Clifford, Bishop of London (d. 1421), Cok became a ‘subdeacon at St Bartholomew’s Hospital on 8 March, and a deacon on 22 March 1421’. See Meale, ‘Gode men’, p. 219. Images of Arthur’s coronation are rare in the extant manuscripts of the Merlin. The only one I have been able to locate among manuscripts with a known circulation in England is Oxford, Bodleian Library Douce MS 178 although this manuscript only arrived in England after the fifteenth century. In Douce MS 178 the miniature corresponding to the space in Corpus Christi MS 80 marked ‘obviantes Regum’ (placed after the lines that read: ‘Thussone they maden hem redy forto go […] / and forth to kyng Artheur now doth hyt wende, / that is at Londone jn gret Bretayne, / that logres tho was clepyd, jn certaygne’; VIII: 9,211, 9,216–18) displays the arrival of the kings Ban of Benwic and Bors de Gannes at King Arthur’s court (Douce MS 178, fol. 189v). It seems very likely that a similar image was intended for Corpus Christi MS 80 at this point, given the indication in the margin and the text it is associated with (I am grateful to Prof. Martha Carlin for assistance with this note). I consulted Douce MS 178 in situ and the online digital facsimile at http://bodley30.bodley.ox.ac.uk:8180/luna/servlet/view/all/ what/Manuscript/MS.+Douce+178/. I discuss Warren’s hypothesis of a relationship between Douce MS 178 and Corpus Christi MS 80 below.

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spaces in the manuscript reveals that they were intended to form part of a programme of illustration, given their arrangement and distribution in relation to the text and comparable examples in extant manuscripts of the Graal and Merlin, as will be discussed in this chapter. However, no spaces were left for initials (even if these are marked in the texts), and no distinguishing markers were added to the beginning of chapters or important sections.36 The fact that the manuscript is made of paper, its relatively large size (15.6 in × 11 in) and, most importantly, the presence and size of the spaces left for miniatures (ranging from thirteen to sixteen lines of text) are aspects which seem to suggest that it was intended as a deluxe object for the use of one or several prominent members of the London Skinners’ Company. Painted illuminations in paper manuscripts of secular works were relatively rare in the early fifteenth century,37 as several scholars have pointed out, while the use of paper instead of vellum also points to a choice guided not by affordability (paper remained an imported item, and therefore an expensive commodity for some time), but rather by the aspirations of the commissioner(s) of Corpus Christi MS 80 in presenting Lovelich’s translations in the format already known to audiences of the Vulgate Cycle.38 Lovelich’s additions to the Graal and Cok’s annotations emphasise the act of recording history, charting the spiritual progress of new converts to Christianity, primarily through a detailed focus on their suffering and trials and the establishment of Arthurian chivalric lineages, as well as Joseph’s conversion of Britain to Christianity. In order to fully appreciate Lovelich’s contribution to 36

37

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Flourishes on the ascenders of letters in the lines copied at the top of the columns (the manuscript was copied in a two-column format, most probably in imitation of that found in many, though not all, of the extant manuscripts of the Vulgate Cycle) were possibly added by a later hand starting from folio 60vb, and throughout the rest of the manuscript. It is doubtful that these may be ascribed to ‘Shirley’s decorative style’, as Warren has suggested (see Warren, ‘Lydgate, Lovelich’, p. 120). Warren’s assumption is based on Linne Mooney’s assessment of Cambridge, MA Harvard University Houghton MS Eng. 530 (‘John Shirley’s Heirs’, YES 33 (2003), 182–98), presumed to be in the hand of one of Shirley’s followers. Upon close inspection of both original manuscripts (Corpus Christi MS 80 and Houghton MS Eng. 530), I do not think that the flourishes in the latter bear sufficient resemblance to those in the former to warrant such a clear association. Many scribes learned and imitated a style of flourishing ascenders and descenders of letters in words written at the top or bottom of a manuscript page; yet the so-called ‘Shirleian’ style Warren identifies is not developed enough to compare in the two manuscripts. I thank Dr Margaret Connolly for discussing this aspect of Shirley’s style (and that of his ‘Shirleian’ followers) with me. A famous example of a manuscript in which ninety-four spaces were left for miniatures is the ‘Corpus Troilus’ (Cambridge Corpus Christi College MS 61), a copy of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde. However, this early fifteenth-century manuscript is made of vellum, not paper. The manuscript was in the hands of John Shirley at some point; see Troilus and Criseyde: A Facsimile of Corpus Christi College MS 61, ed. M. B. Parkes and Elizabeth Salter (Cambridge, 1978), Intro., pp. 1–23. Another example, of course, is the Thornton MS (also made of paper). For a full description of the manuscript, see the online catalogue of ‘Parker on the Web’ at http://parkerweb.stanford.edu/parker/actions/manuscript_description_ long_display.do?ms_no=80. The links between the format and miniatures in extant manuscripts of the Graal and those planned for Corpus Christi MS 80 are explored in the following pages.

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his contemporaries’ interest in the king’s suffering and genealogical descent, three different aspects of his style not touched on to date will be explored in this chapter: his use of amplificatio in the depiction of battles, in order to highlight secular leaders’ need to recognise God’s power in the world of action, and to introduce his self-proclaimed role as a herald or recorder of events; his original emphasis on violence and emotional responses via an accumulation of words from the same register in self-contained couplets; his anglicising of the original by adapting the locations, social structures and styles of governance in his source in response to his contemporaries’ expectations. These features will be explored in four sections, as follows: the first establishes the chronicle framework Lovelich proposes for his retelling of the Grail history; the second and third explore Lovelich’s and Cok’s approaches to the themes of the king’s suffering and female agency in the preservation of the lineage; the last investigates the mechanisms by which Lovelich claims authority and veracity for his account by aligning his narrative with contemporary exploitations of the legend of Joseph of Arimathea at Glastonbury.

Chronicling God’s victories in the secular world One of the first changes Lovelich introduced in his translation of the Graal is the space he dedicates to battles, especially in portraying King Evalach (baptised Mordreins) and Seraphe (baptised Nasciens), and their God-given victories over their enemies. Like the anonymous author of Joseph of Arimathie, Lovelich chose to emphasise these military exploits because they represent evidence of God’s intervention in the lives of Evalach and Seraphe, as a prelude to their subsequent conversion to Christianity. Both Evalach and Seraphe are called to convert as individuals, but in the process of being converted God shows them their responsibilities as leaders in terms of repenting past sins, reforming personal behaviour and presenting their subjects with a model to follow as new Christians. By drawing attention to the combination of military zeal and humble acceptance of God’s will in the person of the king, Lovelich’s History functions as a ‘mirror for princes’, fitting in with the literary vogue of Lydgate’s Lives of Ss Edmund and Fremund, to take just one example. During the period in which he was writing, possibly from the 1420s onwards, the reception of his narrative would have been influenced by received images of Richard II’s suffering, rumours of his possible return and the hopeful expectation that Henry VI would grow to be a military leader like his father, Henry V. The image of the suffering king as well as that of the military leader appealed in equal measure to the contemporary imagination. Later in the century the reception of these themes in Lovelich’s History in Corpus Christi MS 80 was aided by Cok’s annotations on the king’s suffering, especially in the decades following Henry VI’s first recorded mental collapse in 1453. In this section I will show that Lovelich used amplificatio in the early battle scenes involving Evalach and Seraphe in order to impress on his audience a change in his role from that of a traditional romance-teller to a chronicler of great events in the prehistory of Britain’s conversion to Christianity. By empha-

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sising the military successes as well as the conversion of Evalach/Mordreins and Seraphe/Nasciens Lovelich draws his audiences’ attention to the later part of the narrative, when Nasciens’s son Celidoyne is revealed as Lancelot’s ancestor, and, in due course, Galahad’s. An analysis of these early sections in the History is therefore indispensable for a better understanding of Lovelich’s crafting of a chronicle frame in the exploits of Evalach and Seraphe as a prelude to later episodes of the Christian conversion of Britain. In the course of this process Lovelich translates and localises the political institutions and social hierarchy he encountered in the Graal, for example by transforming the London court of the English king Lucius into the London parliament.39 All of these aspects further establish his trustworthiness as a chronicler of the noble and ancient history of God’s conversion of Britain and of those entrusted with the mission of accomplishing it. The History lacks its beginning in Corpus Christi MS 80, so it starts in medias res just after a meeting between the Devil and Joseph, at the point when the Egyptian king Tholomes is about to invade Evalach’s lands. Lovelich expands the text where battles occur, assuming the role of a herald. His description of the battlefield and the chivalric exploits performed by Seraphe serve as an act of chronicling great deeds of arms (with God’s help), with the purpose of inspiring courage and admiration in the audience. When Seraphe arrives to assist Evalach, Lovelich not only expands on the French original, but also amplifies the scale of Seraphe’s achievements, thus manipulating the effect these would have on his audience: Ful wondirfulli wel diden Seraphes men Whanne into that semble they entred then; But of the prowesse and the worthi dede, Of the hardynesse and of the manhede That Seraphe dide with his owne hond, It is ful hard to ony man forto vndirstond; And of the merveilles that be him wrowht was, Weren neuere of man sein in non plas; For a gret ax took he betwenen both his honde, Where-with he wrowghte ful mochel schonde, Whiche that was trenchaunt scharpe & merveillous, Riht a merveillous tool & an hidous, And therto him self was a large man, With grete thyes, as I discryven kan, And in the scholdres bothe strong & large, Where vppon he scholde beren his targe, With grete stepe eyen in his hed also, And strongliche boned he was therto,

39

At this late stage in the narrative King Orcaws is called to appear at Lucius’s court in London (P 532 para 841.12–13; S 272.31), while Lovelich states Orcaws is summoned ‘[t­]­o Londone to comen to parlement’ (LII: 290; my emphasis). Here Lovelich’s emphasis on typically English institutions fits in with his later adaptation in his Merlin, where he translates Logres as London (Merlin 8,553–4; 9,411–12; 13,527–30; 13,592–8; 13,617–18; 25,527–8), already noted by Dalrymple (‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’).

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With smale handes and fyngres longe, And therto gret strengthe euere amonge; So that a merveillous siht it was to se Him thus on horsbak, as thinketh me, And a good hors that him bar, Whanne into that semble he prekid thar, So that he ferde lik a man ful of prowesse Whanne that his scheld he threw down in that presse, And his hors bridel he fastened ful wel, And gan to sterin him with his ax of stel.  (XIII: 635–62; my emphases)

The tone of the Graal is much more factual at this stage.40 In contrast, Lovelich intervenes, amplifying the effect of the scene from the privileged position of the one invested with the authority of writing the story: ‘as I discryven can’, ‘as thinketh me’, as well as spending more time on describing the weapons Seraphe uses (his axe ‘Whiche that was trenchaunt scharpe & merveillous [is] Riht a merveillous tool & an hidous’), his physical stature and his abilities (‘a man ful of prowess … his scheld he threw … his hors bridel he fastened … gan to sterin him’). Lovelich’s use of amplificatio here is likely due to his admiration for the divine inspiration and force behind Seraphe’s deeds. Seraphe is the unaware agent of divine intervention in the secular world and Lovelich is the herald who chronicles Seraphe’s, but also God’s deeds: Somme, the hed from the body he smot; Somme, the armes; somme þe scholdres, foot-hot; And somme the legges, and somme þe body on sondir, And somme he so claf as strok of thondir; And manie hors slowgh he ded in the feld, And be him many knyht ded vndir his scheld, And many a footman he slowh that stownde, And manie of here hors he browhte to grownde, That so manie merveilles wrowhte he that day That into this tyme ȝit of him speken we may; Of his manhod & his chevalrye It were i-nowgh an herowde to discrye.  (XIII: 667–79; my emphasis)

The original line ‘it were i-nowgh an herowde to discrye’ brings the narrative closer to his English readers than the brief report in the Graal; here Lovelich attunes his position to the recording of historical events typical of chronicle writing in his period, as will be demonstrated in the following pages. He not only translates the passage, but also adds a more powerful tone which creates the hallmark of a chronicle account worthy of a great chivalric hero – with no 40

References are inserted to equivalent passages primarily in Ponceau’s edition. Equivalent passages are not cited in full in all instances, but only when the comparison provides fine points for analysis. The equivalent passage for this example is P 116–17 para. 186, but see also S 55.29–56.3; H II 237–8; L 37. Note that references to Ponceau’s edition given in the first edition of the modern English translation, in L, are no longer accurate (the paragraph numbering changed between Ponceau’s draft and its publication), but those given here are.

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equivalent in the Graal. Then he develops the description of Seraphe’s exploits further, lengthening the whole episode by nearly one hundred lines. As a result, the audience is made aware of God’s intervention and of the power of Evalach’s prayer to God for Seraphe’s victory. The scale of Seraphe’s success is measured in Lovelich’s text in the amount of graphic violence described in detail: And whanne Seraphe gan this beholde, Seraphe gan hem ascrie mani-folde; Ȝit Seraphe left not for than, But torned aȝen as a worthi man, And his ax in his hondys he bar, And manie of hem ther-with slowghe thar; He to-clef bothe habiriown and hawberk, And amonges hem made a sory werk: Here helmes he to-clef in a-two, Here scheldris he alto-schatered also, Here hedis he clef into the teth, – Thus hem he serveth that aȝens him beth, So that non man his dyntes myhte abyde They weren so merveillous at that tyde.  (XIII: 725–38)

The equivalent passage in the Graal records Seraphe’s deeds with some force, but the description is not quite as powerful as in Lovelich: Et quant Seraphés vit ke ses gens s’en aloient vilainement, si s’escrie et il lor laisse courre le hache enpoignie, ke tous affichiés es estriers, si lor commence a decauper et escus et hiaumes et haubiers, ke nule nule armure n’i pooit avoir duree qui de la hache fust bien conseüe. (P 118 para 187.14–17)41 (When Seraphe saw that his men were beginning to lose ground and were departing so basely, he cried out and, firmly planted in his stirrups, charged, grasping his battle-axe, and began to cut and slice shields, helmets, and hauberks so fiercely that no armor the battle-axe struck well could withstand it. L 37)

By drawing attention to his recording of evidence in chronicle style Lovelich establishes the validity of the story he translates in an attempt to remove any doubt over its veracity; he may have felt that his audience would perceive the story as geographically and temporally remote, removed from their contemporary experiences and expectations. Lovelich thus interrupts the flow of the story in order to announce that his task is to preserve the story of brave people like Seraphe/Nasciens (the predestined ancestor of Lancelot and his son, the Grail knight Galahad), whose marvellous feats of arms are a result of divine intervention: Now lete vs speken of Seraphe, Of his worthinesse, & of his meyne

41

See also S 56.26–9; H II 239.

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That ȝit with fowre batailles don fyhte, And kepen here owne as men of myhte; For as it is put into memorye For on of the most wondir storye That euere was rad in ony book, Owther in storye, as men cowden look.  (XIV: 1–8; my emphasis)42

The act of ‘book-making’ is then complemented by further amplificatio of Seraphe’s deeds, which results in a compelling portrayal of the gory battle and the shocking display of its cruelty. In the Graal Seraphe is said to cut off a knight’s arm, depriving his enemy of his main weapon-wielding limb (P 124–5 para 198; S 60.15–20; H II 249; L 39). In the History he cuts the knight’s body to the waist and the knight’s heart falls out into the field – leading to a passage of gory description clearly not intended for the faint-hearted (XIV: 218–32). Passages like this one make occasional appearances in the Graal, though the extant versions of the Old French text display a much more pragmatic and factual approach to description than Lovelich’s translation. In the History they acquire an emotional appeal, so that the lines in which Seraphe is said to chop off so many legs and arms that ‘his ax he bathede in mennes blood / From the point to the hylt, there as he stood’ (XIV: 37–8), although present in the original, are much more powerful. Dalrymple points out that Lovelich’s descriptions of combat in his other translation, the Merlin, show that ‘[c]ontrol of the verse form is hardly at a premium here; the sense is hammered home with all the delicacy of one of Gawain’s own blows’.43 Indeed the amplification may be seen as clumsy; yet in the History such passages convey a more vibrant, lively encounter, one that would impress upon the audience the lesson that God’s power is manifest in the world in sometimes terrifying ways.44 Such effects could not be achieved, of course, through the use of reported speech in the Graal. In his analysis Dalrymple also notes that Lovelich’s language contains features present in vernacular chronicles written during this period. A connection may indeed be established between Lovelich’s linguistic choices and the register in which the first London chronicles were written, in prose, from the beginning of the fifteenth century onwards.45 In fact, through Barton, one of the most prominent London skinners, mayor of London and commissioner of Lovelich’s work, 42 43 44

45

The passage in italics has no equivalent in the Graal; see P 121–2 para 194.1–5; see also S 58; H II 244–5; L 38. Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’, p. 160. The homophony between Seraphe’s name and the Middle English word seraphim/ seraphin may have played a role in Lovelich’s decision to amplify this character’s stature in the text, as a visible presence of God’s intervention in the battle before the divine messenger, the White Knight, miraculously appears to help Seraphe and Evalach (see OED, online edition, ‘seraphim’/‘seraphin’ n., accessed July 2012). A precedent exists for a similar influence on the author of the Graal, who possibly used ‘Sarracinte’ (the name of Evalach/Mordrain’s wife) due to its homophony with ‘sainte Sarah’ (the biblical Sarah), as Chase has suggested (‘La conversion des païennes’, p. 261). Dalrymple uses Kingsford’s older edition and views on the London chronicles; a thorough revision and investigation of these views is Mary-Rose McLaren, The London Chronicles of the Fifteenth Century: A Revolution in English Writing (Cambridge, 2002).

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Lovelich came into contact with another skinner, William Gregory, previously credited with the authorship of a London chronicle.46 Lovelich and Gregory are mentioned in the probate of Barton’s will dated 31 July 1434; Lovelich is mentioned early in the document with the titles that accompany his name in all the other extant records (‘cive et pelliparus’; citizen and skinner), while Gregory is named executor of the will.47 While no particular stylistic connections may be established between Lovelich’s style and that of ‘Gregory’, the evidence of the will links the two men in ways that indicate they would have known each other well; in Gregory’s entourage Lovelich would have come across London citizens who discussed contemporary politics as well as produced historical notes later gathered in annals and chronicle format. As Mary-Rose McLaren has demonstrated, the London chronicles were the product not only of institutions, but also of private individuals, and their flourishing contributed to the spread of literacy in the capital.48 Even if Gregory was not the author of the London chronicle in which his name is recorded, he and Lovelich lived in and absorbed the linguistic usage current in the metropolitan milieu in which chronicles were produced in increasingly greater numbers. Another model of chronicle writing for Lovelich’s choice of descriptions of battles and chivalric exploits is the Brut chronicle tradition. The Brut chronicles, a medieval best-seller, contain passages influenced by the romance tradition (in particular, chivalric descriptions), which the London chronicles only display on comparatively rare occasions. As Lagorio has demonstrated, the emergence of an interest in these issues can be dated back to the mid fourteenth century, with at least one record of annotations which depict Arthur’s descent from Joseph of Arimathea in the margins of a manuscript of Robert of Avesbury’s Historiae Edwardi III.49 More fully developed accounts based on John of Glastonbury’s 46

47

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49

See Gregory’s Chronicle. For Gregory’s biography, see the introduction to the edition, and Elspeth Veale, ‘William Gregory, chronicler, d. 1467’, ODNB online edition, accessed December 2011. London, British Library MS Egerton 1995 contains Gregory’s chronicle, but it is clear that the text was copied by someone other than himself, given that it continues well after his death in 1467, as well as other inconsistencies pointed out by McLaren (London Chronicles, pp. 29–33). This does not, however, demonstrate that Gregory was not involved in chronicle-writing of some sort at some point – which may be why he was credited with the authorship of this one. London, Guildhall Library MS 31302/189, Probate of the will of Henry Barton dated 31 July 1434. The document mentions ‘Henricus Loveliche Cive & pelliparus’, and was witnessed by ‘Radulpho Barton, Willemus Aston, Johanii Stafford et Johannis Rubie’. Mary-Rose McLaren, ‘Reading, Writing and Recording: Literacy and the London Chronicles in the Fifteenth Century’, in London and the Kingdom: Essays in Honour of Caroline M. Barron, ed. Matthew Davies and Andrew Prescott (Donington, 2008), pp. 346–65. Patterns of reading and writing emerge from a close examination of the chronicles composed in the first part of the fifteenth century, though records cannot attest with accuracy to the level and extent to which authors mastered the full canon of literary and/or historiographical skills one assumes in other, professional writers of the later Middle Ages. Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, p. 217 and n. 39; the material is edited in Robert Huntington Fletcher, The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles, Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology and Literature, 10 (Boston, 1906; 2nd edn R. S. Loomis, New York, 1966), p. 189. The family of Joseph of Arimathea was also added in the Welsh Triads, as evident

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Chronicle, including the story of Joseph’s arrival in Britain with two vials of Christ’s blood, were interpolated into a version of the Latin Brut from the early fifteenth century, now Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Rawlinson C 398, and its translation into Middle English entitled ‘The New Croniclys compendyusly idrawn of the Gestys of the Kynges of England’ in Holkam Hall MS 669, New York, Columbia University MS Plimpton 261, and a fragment in Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 791.50 In Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Hatton 50, a fifteenth-century copy of the Middle English Brut, a reader added the following passage in the margin of the text referring to the nativity of Christ: The 63 yere after Christes birth come into Britaine Joseph of Aramathia and 11 other Christians who builded them a chaple in the Ile of Avaron and were they buried with place some is miracles and nemly builded was named Glastoenbury. (fol. 14v)51

In this manuscript the interest in Joseph of Arimathea and Arthur and the evolving position of the English Church in Europe on the eve of the Reformation continued to be commented on well into the sixteenth century,52 thus attesting to how both topics were still perceived beyond the medieval period as being intimately connected. The story of Joseph of Arimathea and the early history of Glastonbury were also copied into another fifteenth-century manuscript, now London, College of Arms MS Arundel 58 (fols 90r–91v). According to Lister Matheson, this manuscript contains an ‘ambitious historical compilation in verse and prose’, including a version of Robert of Gloucester’s Chronicle into which a passage about Joseph’s arrival in Britain was interpolated; the passage reads: Thus com lo Cristendom in to Brutayne londe. But there were erst some preueliche Cristendom hadde fonge. At the place of Glastyngbury Joseph of Arimathie lyuede there in Criste’s lay with hys companye.53

50

51 52 53

in Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS Peniarth 50; for a description of this manuscript’s contents, see Rachel Bromwich, ‘The Welsh Triads’, in Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages, ed. R. S. Loomis (Oxford, 1959), p. 51, updated in Bromwich, The Triads of the Island of Britain, 3rd edn (Cardiff, 2006), pp. xxvii–xxix. This development attests to the manipulation of lineages inherited from the different branches of the Vulgate Cycle in the insular chronicle tradition. The Holkam Hall, Plimpton and Ashmole MSS form part of Matheson’s group ‘Peculiar version to 1437, Group B’, although he does not discuss the content related to the legend of Joseph (The Prose ‘Brut’, pp. 302–6). These manuscripts are also discussed in Kennedy, Chronicles and Other Historical Writing, pp. 2638–40, 2833 and, by the same author, ‘Glastonbury’, pp. 118–21 and nn. 84–96. Tamar Drukker, ‘“I Read Therefore I Write”: Readers’ Marginalia in Some Brut MSS’, in Readers and Writers, ed. Marx and Radulescu, pp. 97–130, at p. 107. Elizabeth J. Bryan, ‘Dialoguing Hands in MS Hatton 50: Reformation Readers of the ME Prose Bruts’, in Readers and Writers, ed. Marx and Radulescu, pp. 131–87. Manuscript transcription from Matheson, who classified this version of the Brut under the label ‘Peculiar Texts and Versions’ (The Prose ‘Brut’, pp. 330–2). The corresponding place in the chronicle (where the passage was inserted) is Robert of Gloucester’s Chronicle, ed. Thomas Hearne, 2 vols (Oxford, 1725), I, p. 73. Moll also discusses this manuscript, though not this interpolation (Before Malory, pp. 199–210).

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The manuscript was completed in 1448, the year in which the roundels depicting the kings of England in the margin of the anonymous verse ‘Kings of England from William the Conqueror to Henry VI’ end.54 For this compiler at least, the ancestry of the English Church, going all the way back to Joseph of Arimathea’s arrival in Britain, and that of the English kings are clearly very important; he also shows an interest in romance by substituting Gloucester’s account of Richard the Lionheart’s reign with the Middle English romance Richard Coeur de Lion.55 The existence of these interpolations and marginalia and their continuous presence in chronicles points to the relevance of Lovelich’s choice in translating the Graal for an English audience. There is evidence that at least one fifteenthcentury London skinner, William Nasby, owned a copy of the Middle English Brut in 1464;56 it is likely that others, like Lovelich, would have had access to this popular narrative earlier in the century. The narrative of Joseph of Arimathea’s arrival in Britain contained in the History would have no doubt fuelled further enthusiasm for the Arthurian legend and the spiritual legacy left by Joseph and his followers to future generations. Turning to the pages of Corpus Christi MS 80, bearing in mind the pictorial descriptions of battles Lovelich has created, the reader would expect to encounter at least some spaces left for images of Seraphe and his followers fighting the enemy. However, only one such space was left in the manuscript, at the beginning of what in the modern edition is Chapter XIV, fully dedicated to Seraphe’s deeds. In Lovelich’s approach to depicting the stature of a great hero one can observe an appeal to ‘the eyes of memory’ – depicting in words that which an illuminator might only partially succeed in painting on the pages of

54 55

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Mooney, ‘Lydgate’s “Kings of England”’, pp. 263–73 and 278–89. A further witness to the endurance of the story of Joseph of Arimathea’s arrival in Britain is the late fifteenth-century London, Lambeth Palace Library MS 84. See Matheson, Prose ‘Brut’, pp. 309–11, and, by the same author, ‘The Arthurian Stories of Lambeth Palace Library MS 84’, Arthurian Literature 5 (1985), 70–91, at pp. 73–5. Moll briefly mentions this manuscript but does not take an interest in the Joseph of Arimathea connection (Before Malory, pp. 210–16). The manuscript is now New Haven, Yale University, Beinecke Library MS 494, dated, on internal evidence, to the first half of the fifteenth century, and owned by William and Robert Nasby, whose signatures and ownership are marked on many folios; William bought the book for 150s. on 12 April, 3 Edward IV (1464): ‘This Book Coste me William Nasby skyner of London the xii day of Aprill In the yere of the Reigne of our souereigne lorde kyng Edwarde the iiijte after the conquest’ (fol. 1v). An earlier purchase is recorded on the last leaf in 33 Henry VI (1455), from S. Belamy. The name ‘Nasby skyner’ appears over an erasure, and in the same hand as the signature ‘Wyllyam Nasby’ (fol. 2r). For a description of the manuscript, see Matheson, Prose ‘Brut’, pp. 81–2, and the digitised catalogue of Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library: Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts, at http://brbl-net.library.yale.edu/pre1600ms/docs/pre1600.ms494. htm. MS consulted in situ (March 2012). The scribe who copied the chronicle was also responsible for the copying of a Middle English Brut into the early fifteenth-century London, Society of Antiquaries MS 93. See descriptions of these manuscripts on the ‘Imagining History’ project website, Queen’s University Belfast, at http://www.qub. ac.uk/imagining-history/resources/ accessed 2010, 2011.

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a manuscript.57 A review of Lovelich’s self-positioning as a chronicler of great events (including cameos of chivalric heroes) therefore leads to a fuller appreciation of his achievement in depicting vibrant scenes, and reinforces his desired effect: that of establishing his narrator as a worthy authority, a ‘herald’ and a chronicler. By amplifying Seraphe’s portrayal Lovelich enhances his textual presence, a decision which will assist with his ‘authority-building’ exercise. This seems to suggest that Lovelich’s amplificatio required no further pictorial reinforcement.58 Another stylistic choice which contributes to a ‘chronicle effect’ in Lovelich’s translation is his use of a series of words from the same register when describing moments of intense emotion. On one level the effect of this type of amplification may appear as tedious repetition – an instance of his use of fillers in order to conclude a couplet. Textual evidence, however, suggests that a detailed description of the devastation wrought by Seraphe in Tholomes’s army, for example, is served better by the force of gruesome detail, absent in the Graal: And whanne Seraphe beheld this bekering, Non lengere he ne abod for non thing, And Tholomes men closed al with-inne, So þat from hem myhten they not twynne; 57

58

I am using John Scattergood’s phrase in ‘“The Eyes of Memory”: The Function of the Illustrations in Dublin, TCD MS 505’, in Readers and Writers, ed. Marx and Radulescu, pp. 203–26. The evidence casts doubt over Warren’s preliminary observation, that Corpus Christi MS 80 might have been ‘a book of the same content and form as Bodleian, Douce 178’ (Warren, ‘Translation’, p. 55). The latter, a fourteenth-century manuscript of the Graal and Merlin that came to England in the post-medieval period and was read, according to the inscription on its leaves, by an aristocratic audience (‘Anne Graville suis’, fol. 417r), contains numerous very accomplished miniatures in the hand of a Bolognese artist, which are then followed by miniatures by a lesser artist. The specificity of the details (the spaces are only half the size of those in Corpus Christi MS 80, also taking up only half of the column space, with only twenty-six miniatures in the Douce Graal (a complete text) against the thirty-six in the acephalous History in Corpus Christi MS 80 – which is clearly missing even more miniatures in the initial episodes) seems to go against Warren’s identification of this manuscript whose ‘spaces for images, the chapter initials, and the double-column layout’ she claimed would represent an ‘exact mirror’ of Corpus Christi MS 80. See Summary Catalogue of Western MSS in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, ed. F. Madan, H. H. E. Craster and N. Denholm-Young, 7 vols in 8 (Oxford, 1895–1953), 19th c. collections to 1850, Pt II, under the old shelfmark 21752, p. 546. The manuscript measures 13 in × 9½ in, stands at iv + 423 leaves, and the texts were copied in a two-column format. See Middleton, ‘The Manuscripts’, pp. 8–92, at pp. 56, 73–5 (and numerous references therein to studies of the miniatures in this manuscript); see also Alison Stones, ‘“Mise en page” in the French Lancelot-Grail: The First 150 Years of the Illustrative Tradition’, in A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, ed. Dover, pp. 125–44, esp. 128–30, 132–4. My examination of Douce MS 178 leads me to question Warren’s preliminary statement on the similarity of the two manuscripts. The only points the two manuscripts have in common are the illuminations for Arthur’s coronation and the arrival of Kings Ban and Bors (see above, p. 95 n. 35); however, this is insufficient evidence to substantiate Warren’s assessment. It is more likely that the programme of illumination in Corpus Christi MS 80 followed, to some extent at least, the model in a now-lost manuscript of the first two branches of the Vulgate Cycle.

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So that angwisschously ascryed they were, And slayn, takyn, & maymed, many weren there.  (XIV: 755–60, my emphasis)59

As Dalrymple has noted, the use of the verb ‘beker’ here, with the meaning ‘make an attack of assault upon’, may be identified both in the Merlin and in a copy of a London chronicle.60 This use of the word, alongside other examples Dalrymple identifies in the London chronicles, shows that Lovelich’s style reflects the development of specific linguistic usage for descriptions of military encounters in both chronicles and romances written in the fifteenth century. Lovelich also used the opportunity to anglicise the institutions and style of governance he encountered in the original Graal. Following Seraphe’s advice, the Graal Evalach sends word to ‘ses gens’ (his people; S 52.29–30; the words are not in P 109 para 175.3–4 or H II 226) who hold land from him (‘ke qui jamais vauroit de lui tenir tere et honour, si le secourust a chest daarrain besoing’ (‘anyone who wished to hold land or honour from him should help him in this need’; L 35). Lovelich’s Evalach sends ‘Aftyr his barowns into euery ende / That ho that howghte him ony worldly honour / Scholde comen to helpen him in that stour’ (XIII: 201–4; my emphasis). Holding honour means holding lands from your lord, and this is evidently present in both versions. However, Lovelich’s translation is more specific, substituting ‘barons’ for the generic Old French ‘gens’, which is an exceptional move in his translation – usually characterised by an opening of the ranks and higher specificity. Here he places emphasis on honour as an aristocratic value, an element which fits in with a trend in his writing, maintaining the aristocratic tenor of the narrative and differentiating the different levels in the army. At this stage his Evalach had already ‘cleped he both knyhtes & bachelere’ (XIII: 103; my emphasis) where in the Graal ‘rapiela les chevaliers’ (called his knights; P 108 para 172.7; S 51.27–8; H II 223). In the same chapter Evalach leaves an old knight in charge of the city, so ‘That no man in thedir scholde entren agein – / Were it erl, knyht, baroun, other sweyn’ (XIII: 253–4; my emphasis), in a passage that displays Lovelich’s concern with describing a more varied and layered society than in his original.61 59

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In similar vein, much later in the narrative Lovelich was touched by the killing of all the inhabitants of a Welsh city by Nasciens (XLVI: 157–74); the passage draws its force from the emotional impact of the devastation, which a London audience would most likely have experienced faced with this episode. The corresponding passage in the Graal merely reports the devastation (P 472 para 748; L 134). Merlin reads: ‘Jn this Manere the were dyd laste, / that ech aȝens oþer bekeryd ful faste’ (12,855–6). See MED, s.v. ‘bikering(e)’, ger., and Chronicles of London, ed. Kingsford, p. 54: ‘ther was a grete bekeryng bytwene Englysshmen & Bretons’. Another example unnoticed to date is found in the History: ‘And thanne these knyghtes to hem ronne, / and there sore begeringe they begonne’ (XX: 244–5). The original reads: ‘Aprés apiela chelui qui la chité gardoit, si li commanda, si chier com il avoit son cors, ke la chité fust si fermee, tantost com il serroient hors, ke ja puis nus hom n’i mesist le pié’ (P 110 para 176. 9–11). (Next he sent word to the city watchman, ordering him that if he held his life dear, the city should be closed as soon as they were all outside, so that no man might then set foot therein unless he himself ordered it; L 35.) See also S 53.7–8; H II 228.

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It is in the same spirit that Lovelich’s Evalach delivers an inspiring speech to his army when he ‘cleped forth lord, dwk, erl, and bachelere, / And al his peple that was there’ (XIII: 501–2; my emphasis), while in the Graal Evalach merely ‘apiela ses chevaliers et si lor dist’ (called his knights and told them; P 114 para 182.1; see also S 54.20; H II 233). Such changes draw attention to Evalach’s position as a military leader who both commands respect from all his men and offers them respect in return, with each of them feeling valued for his position, whether a lord, a duke, an earl, a bachelor or a footman. Lovelich’s innovation in specifying the social rank of Evalach’s followers brings the narrative of events from long ago and far away close to his fifteenth-century audiences, lending it the quality of an eyewitness account. It also has the effect of drawing the audience in at an emotional level. When Seraphe and his men are temporarily defeated and taken prisoner at a low point in the battle, Lovelich does not merely use a generic term to denote ‘all Seraphe’s men’, as the author of the Graal did, but instead says ‘Thanne weren there take, bothe bacheler & page’ (XIV: 254; my emphasis). In doing so Lovelich once again reminds the audience of the reality of war and the individuals taking part in it. For the same reasons the battle against Tholomer’s men is reported in a much longer passage, and in greater detail than in the Graal, with Lovelich including original dialogues on strategic planning. His Evalach uses commanding, but respectful words: ‘comanded and preide tho to Seraphe’ (my emphasis) and implements his military strategy, that ‘Seraphe in the rere-ward scholde falle / On Tholomes men, and on hem there calle, / And with his bataille to preven his myht, / As he was bothe worthi and gentil knyht’ (XIV: 721, 23–6; my emphasis).62 Evalach’s knights are also described in greater detail by Lovelich than in the Graal; he mentions their riding on ‘destreris / As vaylaunt knyhtes, both worthi & ferss’ (XIV: 727–8; my emphasis). Furthermore Evalach’s address to the army after the White Knight appears is resonant of a cry to arms typical of the English chronicles: ‘At armes! Knyht, bacheler, and belamye!’ (XIV: 734).63 Lovelich translates the warning, but then adds the battle cry in a visible attempt to enthuse his audience while also maintaining the atmosphere of war reportage. The expansive nature of these additions is further enhanced at the end of this episode, where a comparative analysis of the History and the Graal shows that Lovelich emphasises the reward due to all involved on Evalach’s side, not just the army elite: Thanne to Orcaus ward wente Eualach, – Alle the Egipciens to mochel wrak, – And with him alle his meyne That at theke tyme hadde he, 62

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In the original: ‘si commande a Seraphé ke, quant il verroit ke il serroit a aus assembles a toute la premiere bataille’ (P 131 para 211.8–9). (He issued orders to Seraphe that, when he had seen that they are all assembled after the first battle; wording adapted from L 41). See also S 64.24–6; H II 260. The original Graal does not contain this battle cry, but merely reports that Evalach ‘rescrie s’enseigne et se trait a une part’ (P 131 para 211.6–7) (cried out his battlecry very clearly and drew his men aside; L 41).

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For þere nas no man of non degre That thorwgh theke bataille holpen was he; Bothe duk, knyht, and bachelere, Alle weren encresid that weren there, ȝe, and also bothe ȝomen and page For alle here lyves hadden they gage.  (XIV: 879–88; my emphases)64

An even greater interest in social stratification and the king’s support from a wide range of social strata is evident here, whereas the wording in the Graal is less specific. It becomes clear that Lovelich invests in amplifying the effect of mentioning rewards for those below the rank of ‘duk, baron and knyht’ to incorporate the ‘ȝomen and page’ who had given their lives by contract to the king. Their service should be remembered, in particular when opportunities to acquire wealth from the spoils of war present themselves. The use of ‘encresid’ also points to ennoblement in service – the traditional way in which young ambitious men might achieve rank and nobility which they would not have access to by virtue of their family line. This dimension may be related to Lovelich’s perception of the service rendered by London citizens to the king in periods of crisis, especially when war supplies were needed or service in arms was required.65 London chroniclers, including ‘Gregory’, were to specify such details in their narratives, with the express aim of recording the great service provided by the capital’s inhabitants, big and small, to central government and the king himself. Lovelich was thus responding, as the authors of the London chronicles also did, to a desire among his contemporary London citizens to see their contributions properly acknowledged, even if the specificity of belonging to a town is not recorded in this episode.66 64

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There is no equivalent to this in the Graal, where the reader encounters only the dry statement: ‘Ensi furent li Egyptien desconfit par la vertu Jhesucrist. Si s’en tourna Evalach en Orcaus entre lui et sa gent, qui tant avoient gaaignié qu’il n’i avoit si caitif ne si feble qui quidast a tous jours mais estre riches et assassés de son gaaig’ (P 134 para 215.5–9). (Thus the Egyptians were vanquished by the power of Jesus Christ. Evalach returned to Orcaus with his men, who had won so much booty that even the poorest and weakest expected it would make them rich and comfortable; L 42.) I have amended the proper name to Orcaus so as to fit in with the original; in L the chosen spelling is ‘Orcaut’. See similar wording in S 66.9–13; H II 263. See Sylvia Thrupp, The Merchant Class of Medieval London: 1300–1500 (Chicago, 1948; 2nd edn, Ann Arbor, MI, 1976); Veale, The English Fur Trade; Caroline M. Barron, ‘The Political Culture of Medieval London’, in Political Culture in Late Medieval Britain, ed. Clark and Carpenter, pp. 111–33, and, by the same author, London in the Later Middle Ages: Government and People, 1200–1500 (Oxford, 2004). There is ample evidence from the late fourteenth and throughout the fifteenth century that English kings sought favour and tried to maintain the goodwill of the London merchants and guildsmen. Letters from Edward IV to the mayor and citizens of London asking for support were copied, for example, by John Vale, a scribe in the household of London mayor John Cook in his book, now London, British Library MS Additional 48031A; see The Politics of Fifteenth-Century England: John Vale’s Book, ed. Anne F. Sutton, Livia Visser-Fuchs, Margaret L. Kekewich, Colin Richmond and John Watts (Gloucester, 1995). Londoners’ support was crucial in the Wars of the Roses, as both the Lancastrians and the Yorkists discovered on occasions when the city gates were opened, or kept closed, at the arrival or one or the other party. Later still Lovelich places more emphasis on specific social status and the king’s direct

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Lovelich’s interest in social stratification reveals another facet of his intentions later in his story, where he not only follows his source by stating that the Graal is composed so as to ‘put everyone out of doubt’, but also adds that ‘this blessid Storye / Of Seint Graal ful Sekerlye, / Whiche that is Clepid “the Sank Ryal” / Of kyng, lord, bacheler, boþe gret & small; / ho dar Sein the Contrarie Of this?’ (XXVII: 350–4; my emphasis).67 Social stratification and social inclusion are important here as Lovelich ensures some of the aristocratic tenor and the high message of the Graal are retained; yet he opens the description by mentioning ‘boþe gret & small’. Thus he issues a more generous invitation to all in his audience to partake in the Grail story than the author of the Graal does. This decision is particularly relevant as the narrative of the original Graal could easily be perceived as exotic, involving people from long ago and far away, whose link to the Grail – even a Grail then claimed by the British – may have appeared tenuous to Lovelich’s fifteenth-century contemporaries. He envisages a broadening of the social perspective here, which fits in with developments previously noted by scholars in his Merlin, a story even more visibly tailored to the interests of his civic audiences. Other original elements in the History assist with focusing the reader’s mind on exemplary lessons in governance which provide the audience with mirror for princes moments. Lovelich shows models of governance at the courts of those who will join the lineage of Nasciens and his son Celidoyne. One example is the governance of King Label, whose daughter will marry Celidoyne, Galahad’s paternal ancestor. Label is not a Christian, while Celidoyne is, having converted with his father, Seraphe/Nasciens. Upon Celidoyne’s arrival at King Label’s court, the latter notices Celidoyne’s pleasing appearance and admires his wisdom relative to his young age. In both the History and the Graal Label and his counsellors decide Celidoyne should be made a knight, though the wording in the source merely indicates that Label consults his ‘men’ (‘ses homes’) what is best to do with Celidoine, given that he is a stranger, and a Christian man in a pagan land (P 303 para 479.10; see S 144.13–17; H II 501–2; L 88). In contrast, Lovelich’s translation shows Label taking advice from his counsellors: Thanne seide his cownseil to hym tho ‘Maketh hym a knyht, we reden ȝow so, advise For that, sire, is the manere Of Cristen peple everiwhere For an awnter vs thenketh in oure mynde adventure That a fairere child schole ȝe neuere fynde.’  (XXXII: 189–94; my emphasis)

Later on, when Label asks his nearest counsellors for advice on what to do

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approach to his subjects. Where the Graal has ‘vns valles’ (a squire) Lovelich uses ‘a ȝoman’; his deliberate choice is reflected in his use of ‘thou’ when he repeats, in close succession, the same social rank, as the duke says ‘telle me here anon, thou ȝomane’ (XLIV: 132). Not in P 259 para 416; S 120.4–7; H II 439; L 76. There are numerous other similar examples.

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following his disturbing nocturnal visions, in the Graal ‘demande li rois a cels qui entor lui estoient’ (P 321 para 507.13; the king asked those around him; L 93, see also S 155; H II 526), while in Lovelich: axede this kyng anon ryht Of duk, erl, barown and knyht ȝif thy wolden conceillen him therto this manere thing al forto do.  (XXXIII: 385–8; my emphasis)

Once again Lovelich emphasises King Label’s wide consultation with his advisers, selected from the different echelons of the upper classes, a detail which shows that Celidoyne has a model of kingship to follow in his future father-inlaw. Lovelich’s narrative thus proposes a model of kingship and counsel that his audiences, familiar with Lydgate’s and Hoccleve’s mirrors for princes, would have approved of. The present discussion of Seraphe’s God-given victories and Evalach’s and Label’s good governance demonstrates Lovelich’s design for this part of the History as a chronicle and a mirror for princes. In these early sections of his translation he prepares the ground for further amplificatio in relation to the king’s suffering and women’s assistance in the preservation of the lineage, the topics of the next two sections in this chapter. Even more importantly, the chronicle atmosphere in these early episodes lends gravitas to his retelling of the later part of the story concerned with Britain’s conversion to Christianity through the agency of Joseph of Arimathea and his worthy followers, the topic of the last section in this chapter.

The king’s suffering The portrait of Evalach/Mordreins as a respected battle leader is complemented through episodes depicting his suffering on the path to Christian conversion. Evalach’s trials prompted further innovation on Lovelich’s part, matched by Cok’s annotations; both sets of additions (textual and marginal) invite contemporary readers to ponder on the implications of a leader’s trials in terms both personal and public, in other words the ways in which he responds to God’s call to reform his life while looking after his subjects’ spiritual and material well-being. The story of Mordreins’s many trials offered the kind of morality which could be applied to late medieval English kings. Suffering is accompanied by and causes excessive emotions; as such it is an indispensable feature of many a chivalric romance, especially in connection with the requirement to keep the right balance between private and public duties. It is perhaps not a coincidence that the military exploits and conversion of Evalach/ Mordreins first appeared in Middle English at the end of the fourteenth century in the fragmentary Joseph of Arimathie. As shown in Chapter 2, the theme of the king’s suffering was received by fifteenth-century audiences in relation to its consequences not only on his subsequent behaviour (reforming his ways), but also on the welfare of his subjects. In the Vernon manuscript, especially when

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considered in association with its neighbouring texts, Robert of Sicily and King of Tars, the narrative in Joseph of Arimathie was quite likely intended as a powerful reminder that kings should heed the lessons derived from God’s trials visited on them. By the time Lovelich undertook his translations in the early years of Henry VI’s minority, the topic of the suffering king could be read in a number of ways. In 1420 Londoners still heard rumours that the long-suffering Richard II was alive. Whether or not the opinions expressed by Adam of Usk about the cause of Henry IV’s illness were widespread, the topic of the king’s suffering certainly endured in the early Lancastrian period, and was applied to both sides of the political divide: the supporters of the late Richard II emphasised his innocent suffering at the hands of the usurper, and the pro-Lancastrians like Usk saw divine retribution for the act of usurpation in Henry IV’s illness. It may not be fortuitous that one of the books Henry IV owned was Gregory the Great’s Moralia on the life of Job (see Chapter 1 p. 21 n. 72). Whether or not he considered himself entitled to depose Richard, Henry IV had occasion to ponder on God’s testing of Job’s faith and patience during his own tribulations; his son Henry V later acknowledged and expiated his father’s sins by moving Richard II’s body from Langley to Westminster and endowing two religious foundations. Cok’s annotations clearly guide future readers to the theme of kingly suffering. In the 1440s such pointers could be read from the viewpoint of rumours about Henry VI’s increasingly visible insanity; after 1453, the king’s suffering became a reality. In the fifteenth-century political climate Lovelich’s and Cok’s decisions to underline this theme would not have passed unnoticed by the audiences of the History. Lovelich’s textual innovations are first evident in Seraphe/Nasciens’s God-driven exploits on the battlefield discussed in the previous section. However, Cok starts annotating the History when Evalach/Mordreins’s suffering also commences. At the textual level Lovelich prepares the ground by showing Evalach/Mordreins as a leader capable of displaying affection for his loyal followers. During the battle with Tholomes, Evalach/Mordreins surveys the field, noticing that his steward is trying to attack Tholomes, the leader of the Egyptian army, but ends up surrounded by the enemy: ‘And whanne king Eualach this melle gan beholde, / Ful sone his herte be-gan to colde’ (XIII: 827–8; my emphasis). Then Lovelich builds upon his original use of the verb ‘to colde’, telling the audience how Evalach/Mordreins ‘saugh, he stood, & there beheld / How, with as grete mases as they myth weld’ (XIII: 857–8; my emphasis) the enemy beat the steward to death. The Graal Evalach ‘en fu si dolens ke par un petit ke il n’issoit du sens’ (P 120 para 192.54–5; so upset that he nearly went out of his mind; L 38). Lovelich presents a more restrained response to the situation, with the leader still in control of his emotions by comparison with his French equivalent. While Lovelich’s style may be clumsy at times, this and other similar examples discussed in the following pages show he is in control of the story, if not of metre. Elsewhere Lovelich redramatises the reported speech of the Graal, as for example when he expands the section in which Evalach and Seraphe meet before the battle with Tholomes. Here Lovelich focuses on the friendship the two bear each other, while in the Graal they are said to have been arch-enemies.

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His Evalach sees Seraphe and recognises him as ‘his owne wyves brothir / That of men he lovede passing al other’ (XIII: 135–6; my emphasis). In the Graal Seraphe is said to be, in unambiguous wording, ‘uns des homes du monde k’il quidoit qui plus le haïst’ (P 108 para 173.13; one of the men in the world who he thought hated him the most; L 34). The audience of the Graal therefore knew that the two characters had a history of enmity, the very reason why Sarracynte, Evalach’s wife, had to appeal to Seraphe, her brother, to go and help her husband. Indeed in both versions Seraphe reports that his presence is only the result of Sarracynte’s intervention (XIII: 137–41).68 It might be argued that Lovelich misunderstood the French text on the relationship between Evalach and his Seraphe. However, his knowledge of French does seem to extend beyond the simple vocabulary contained in this episode. In a long speech the Graal Evalac promises Seraphe to make amends for his past behaviour now that he has seen the great support Seraphe is prepared to provide; by contrast, Lovelich’s Evalach only promises to honour and celebrate Seraphe’s deeds in the latter’s household once the war is over (XIII: 159–62 and 174–82).69 Lovelich expands on Seraphe’s advice in a passage which now stretches from barely a few lines in the various Old French versions (S 52.26–7; P 109 para 174; L 35) to twelve in Lovelich’s translation (XIII: 183–94), emphasising both this character’s role in the story and the importance of direct speech for a good narrative. Changes in Lovelich’s narrative thus account for the lively tone of his chronicle style, ultimately engaging the reader in an analysis of admirable kingly conduct. As a result of this change, Lovelich’s Evalach does not have to navigate the difficult intersection between public and private relationships when Seraphe arrives to help him. Nevertheless, Lovelich retains the Old French Evalach/Mordrain’s pangs of conscience following his realisation that he had not rewarded Seraphe/Nasciens for his great service during the battle with Tholomes the Egyptian, as he had promised at the castle of Tarabel and later at Comes: And I ne cowde not thenken, sauf only to þe, To whom that I haue so longe vntrewe be; And for wheche thing is most myn hevynesse, That bringeth myn herte in al this distresse. For there nis now no man lyvenge That I am so moche bownden to in alle thinge, Ne that so moche that I haue trespaced vnto, As to ȝoure persone now that I have I-do. And what this vntrowthe it is to mene, I schal ȝow tellen ful wel & clene. […] Thanne comen ȝe prekynge with ȝoure meyne In socowringe, fortheringe, & helpinge of me.’ (XVIII: 211–20, 229–30; my emphasis)

68 69

P 108–9 para 173; S 52.15–17; H II 225–6; L 34–5. In one version of the Graal Evalach goes as far as to promise that he will kneel in thanks for Seraphe’s service in front of the latter’s own household within eight days of the battle if all goes well (P 109 para 174.9–12). See also S 52.24–5; H II 225–6; L 35.

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The image of the ideal ruler and humble new convert to Christianity appears here, to great effect. Mordreins is, to a larger extent than in the Graal, acutely aware of the pragmatic circumstances of Nasciens’s decision to assist him in person (‘ȝe prekynge’) with his own men, rather than a hired army (‘with ȝoure meyne’). This is not just brotherly service; it is a duty Mordreins understands in personal, chivalric and political terms (‘socowringe, fortheringe, & helpinge of me’), expressed in Lovelich’s typical style. Further, Lovelich and Cok take interest in the implications of Mordreins’s own gradual understanding of preordained events. To start with, Mordreins is miraculously lifted from his bed while he is asleep next to his wife Sarracynte. He wakes up on an island in the middle of the sea, where he receives many visions and visits from divine and devilish messengers, meant to teach him the need to interpret wisely the good and false advice they provide. On one such occasion, when Mordreins wakes up from a reverie after his encounter with a Good Man (Lovelich’s translation of Tout-en-Tout in the Graal) who appears to him on a ship, ‘whanne owt of this thowht he gan to gon, / To his kende memorie he cam anon’ (XXI: 173–4; my emphasis).70 Although Lovelich’s translation here is close enough not to appear unusual, the frequency of his use of ‘memorie’ (ranging in significance from memory itself, remembrance, the act of committing to writing a worthy story and the faculty of reason) seems intended to preserve as well as strengthen the association between the various meanings of the word and Mordreins’s (and the audience’s) gradual spiritual awakening to divine messages. Mordreins and, later on, Nasciens must make sense of what is happening to them and are exposed to a series of cryptic messages and revelations. The reader of the History is similarly encouraged – to a larger extent than the reader of the Graal – to ponder on the meaning of each event and the cumulative effect of Lovelich’s writing, the ‘making’ of his book and the relevance of the Grail to the history of Britain and its Church. The significance of this association is evident in other examples of Mordreins’s trials. While exiled on an island in the middle of the sea, Mordreins is frightened by the darkness that has descended over the island, and ‘for drede lost bothe wit and memore’ (XXII: 120).71 In both the Graal and the History the loss and especially the recovery of sense and memory (following the gesture of the sign of the cross) shed light on the recovery of the king’s faculties and the importance of humble recognition of human insignificance in the face of God’s greatness and power. Interestingly, a space was left in the middle of this chapter on the manuscript page at the point when the Good Man explains to Mordreins the revelation of Christ’s promise to deliver mankind out of the chains of sin. The space is left in the middle of Chapter XXII, following the lines ‘For thus witnesseth the profecie / Of holy prophetis that don non lye’ (XXII: 253–4). Miniatures depicting the encounter between Mordrain and Tout-en-tout in extant manuscripts of the Graal attest to the fact that a model existed for an image to be 70

71

In the Graal: ‘quant il eschapa de chest pensé et il fu repairiés en se memoire, si com il estoit devant’ (P 200 para 323.9–11). (When he came out of this reverie and his memory returned as before; L 60) P 206 para 333.6–7, 9–10; S 96.31–33; H II 368; L 65.

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inserted at this point in Corpus Christi MS 80.72 The placing of the space in the English manuscript is further highlighted by the weight of the words ‘prophecy’ and ‘authority’, once again an indicator of their importance to Lovelich, the commissioner of the manuscript and the person in charge of the programme of illustration. The Good Man’s explanations shed light on the events Mordreins has been through but also contain a description of the soul in words not quite captured in the French original; he explains that sinners have lost the limbs of their souls and urges Mordreins to understand that in such a circumstance: … sweche men forsothe they be, That the members of the sowle han lost sikerle, and þe swetnesse of þe herte with-drawe Be worldly lustes they han hem slawe; But otherwise scholden they do As I schal the seye, now herkene me to, What the swetnesse of the sowle it is, Ful delitable thing, & ful of blis. The membres of the sowle these bene: Swetnesse of herte is on ful schene, Good religiows, with pyte, Lowliche reuerence to God, & divinite Innocense, & ful therto of mercye: These ben the membres of þe sawle sekerlye; For the sowle, sosteined here-bi et is.  (XXII: 279–93; my emphases)73

Tellingly, Cok annotated this episode, numbering the items from ‘sweetness of heart’ through to ‘mercy’ in Arabic numerals from 1 to 7, adding in the margin ‘vijte membra anime J. Cok’ and a large maniculum to the side of Lovelich’s verses in order to draw attention to the list (fol. 21ra). A few lines down, next to the lines ‘For these ben the hondes & feet sekerle / That to mannes sowle 72

73

One example is available in Rennes, Bibliothèque Municipale MS 255, fol. 32r, reproduced in Sophie Cassagnes-Brouquet, Les romans de la table ronde (Rennes, 2005), p. 66. Other images of the same episode appear at fols 38r, 41v and 58r in BNF MS fr. 9123, which correspond to representations of Mordrain in the sea (at S 88.28; P 186 para 303. 1 and fol. 47v in BNF MS fr. 105, corresponding to S 100.26 + var Pon 206.333.2 + var (the latter comparisons are cited from Professor Alison Stones’s comparative analysis of BNF MSS fr. 105 and 9123 available online at http://www.lancelot-project.pitt.edu/LG-web/ Arthur-LG-ProjectMSS-pics/BNFfr105–9123-EG.html, consulted January 2012). The wording in the Graal is slightly different: ‘Il sont maint home en chest siecle qui mout bien sont fourmé de tous les membres du cors, et si sont si durement contrait ke il ne pueent aler; je ne sai noient d’ome plus contrait ke chil qui a pierdu les membres de l’ame est: che sont les boines tekes del cuer, si comme relegions, pités, révérenche, concorde, innocense, misericorde; ches virtus sont li membre de l’ame, car par eles est l’ame menee et avouee et soustenue’ (P 210 para 338.9–15). (There are many men in this world whose limbs are very well formed and yet who are so crippled that they cannot move. I know no one more crippled than someone who has lost the limbs of the soul, that is, the good riches of the heart, like religion, pity, reverence, concord, innocence, and compassion. These virtues are the limbs of the soul, for through them the soul is guided, kept on its way, and sustained; L 63.) See also S 98.21–9; H II 371–2.

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belongen echon’ (XXII: 296–7), Cok added a note (‘totum istum passum’) and placed the text in a box, in the same way as he did with the notes above, in what appears to be his way of signalling the sequence or portion of the text he had checked and marked as completed to his satisfaction.74 Furthermore, Cok consistently marks out the Good Man’s foreknowledge of Mordreins’s vision by adding a boxed text in the margin of the lines ‘Thou schalt him seen in a-visiown / Decende from the hevene adown ful rathe’ (XXIII: 56–7), referring to Mordreins’s vision: ‘[caret] Cok de visione Morderayn Regis’ ([caret] Cok of King Modreins’s vision; fol. 21va) and the usual boxed text which signals his approval of the translation and copying (‘[caret] Cok per totum’, fol. 21vb) next to the lines: ‘And be this I chastise the wel, / But from hens forward, neuere adel’ (XXIII: 87–8), showing his interest in the power and influence of the divine messenger on King Mordreins.75 At this stage he had already added his initials next to the lines in which the Good Man tells Mordreins that the Fair Woman was a hundred times more beautiful when she lived in his household than she is now (XXII: 317–18), drawing attention to the Fair Woman’s fall and banishment from the Good Man’s house, which he rightly interprets as ‘de casu lucifer’ (of Lucifer’s case; fol. 21rb). Cok clearly considered that Mordreins’s suffering and the explanations provided by the Good Man deserved systematic annotation so as to guide subsequent readers to privilege these elements above others. The fact that Cok was a religious may also justify his further interest in Mordreins’s physical and spiritual mortification. Indeed Mordreins’s endurance is put to the test through natural phenomena such as tempests, darkness, heat and hunger, which have a physical effect (exhaustion) and a more complex one: they lead to the loss of his senses and the acuity of his perception of the truth. This is most evident in the episode when Mordreins meets the Fair Woman who

74

75

Cok annotates the text in this way on numerous occasions, each time preceding the brief note with what appears to be his personal style, adding a caret sign before the note. There are many more annotations in the manuscript than those I discuss here. I am grateful to Dr Carol Meale for discussing this aspect with me. We concur in the view that this appears to be the most plausible interpretation of this phrase in the manuscript. Recent work on newly discovered annotations in the hand of Cok in the margins of a mid fifteenth-century manuscript of Ranulf Higden’s Polychronicon suggests that Cok’s interests extended beyond the pious and devotional, as previously gleaned from his profession as a religious and his composition of the Cartulary of St Bartholomew’s Hospital in Smithfield, London. In his forthcoming article ‘A New John Cok Manuscript: Oxford, Bodleian Library Bodley MS 358’, James Freeman shows that Cok used the same techniques of separating portions of text into manageable units for the reader in all the manuscripts he annotated, be they religious or secular in nature (using, on a regular basis, the caret sign to mark up passages of interest). This discovery further substantiates my claim for the care and interest Cok displayed in reading and signalling portions of the text in Lovelich’s History, particularly Evalach/Mordreins’s trials, Britain’s Christian conversion and the genealogy of Galahad, the Grail knight. I thank James Freeman for sharing his work with me prior to publication. Cok also adds ‘quod Cok vii’ next to the lines in which the Good Man tells Mordreins that his fate is to remain on the rock seven days until the devil would take him away by his left hand (XXIII: 166–8, fol. 22ra).

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tempts him, promising conquest and power in this world, if only he returns to his old creed before his Christian baptism. She calls him by his old name, Evalach, but he refuses to respond. Although Lovelich follows the original closely, his description of the contrast in circumstances between the glorious fame he enjoyed when Evalach the conqueror and the sorrow he now experiences in his new identity as Mordreins is more effectively underlined: So whanne that Eualach sche cald him there, For that name he wolde not answere; For, he seide, the devel he hadde forsake, And onlych to God be baptem him take; Thanne gan sche to lawghen eft sone, And seide, ‘Eualach, litel hast thou to done; For be that name, I the now say, Worschepe and Conqwest hast thou geten mani day; But be that whiche now þow hast to name. Ne gote thow neuere but thowht, sorewe, & schame.’ (XXII: 309–18; my emphasis)76

In Corpus Christi MS 80 a space was inserted at this point, after which the description of Mordreins’s temptation resumes, focusing on his suffering again, expressed, in Lovelich’s typical style, in a sequence of carefully chosen words which further emphasise the misery of Mordreins’s state: Ful longe it lasted, this temptacioun Toward this kyng with gret tribulaciown, That so sche him reproved of his distresse, Of his angwisch, & of his porenesse. And euere answerid this kyng agein, Onlich of goddis myht tho in certein.  (XXIII: 319–24; my emphasis)

A reader of this manuscript version would most likely expect an image of the suffering king, whose resolute refusal to go with the woman’s promises is clearly intended as a moral lesson for any Christian tempted by the devil. The same reader would also be constantly reminded that the one tempted is a king and former conqueror, and as such his experience is exemplary in the manner of a mirror for princes, even if his temporary trials are suffered in isolation from his former life. In extant Graal manuscripts one finds a miniature of Mordrain in conversation with the Fair Woman on the ship at this point in the narrative, and in at least one case the Fair Woman is actually portrayed in a devilish way, with horns protruding through her headdress; her image would shock the reader, therefore somewhat overshadowing Mordrain.77 Whatever image was intended for this space in Corpus Christi MS 80, the effect of Lovelich’s style is to shift attention to Mordreins rather than the devilish woman. Cok once again highlighted this passage, drawing it to the attention of the 76 77

P 217–18 para 349.7–10; S 101.3–7; L 65. See BNF MS fr. 9123 (fol. 43v) and Stones’s online comparative analysis for similar images.

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reader by adding a marginal note (now cropped) to these lines (XXIII: 321–3). Here Cok points to Mordreins’s continuing temptation: ‘de assidua [t]emptatione [M]ordradi Regis dyam in mare’ (of King Mordreins’s continuous temptation for seven days at sea; fol. 22va), and immediately afterwards adds along the lines describing Mordreins’s physical torment when a thunderbolt knocks off the top of the rock and little space is left for the king to rest (XXIII: 371–2): ‘[caret] de tempestate post temptacionem Regis’ (of the tempest after the king’s temptation; fol. 22vb). Cok thus marks words and events useful for the discipline of ‘everyman’, using Lovelich’s translation of Mordreins’s temptation by God and his stoic endurance of trials. At the same time Cok notes, on each occasion, that the temptations are the king’s; in other words, he never misses the opportunity to draw subsequent audiences’ attention to the message in the text, that it is King Mordreins, not ‘everyman’, who suffers here. Cok’s annotations increase in frequency on the following folios of Corpus Christi MS 80, always in connection with God’s testing of Mordreins’s physical strength and the king’s patient suffering. On folio 23r he inserted no fewer than four annotations, which guide the reader to Mordreins’s hunger (‘de fame Regis’; of the king’s hunger), alongside ‘Lik as gret hunger it gan to make’ (XXIII: 420); the extraordinary appearance of the phoenix otherwise known as the bird Scipilions (‘de descriptione volucre’; of the bird’s description), alongside ‘For so he wondirful was, & so divers’ (XXIII: 435); the fact that it bears triplets (‘de natura volucre demonstrata Regi’; of the nature of the bird shown to the king) and how the female bird combusts.78 Afterwards, when Mordreins looks into the distance and sees a ship coming his way, Cok notes ‘quo’ dyabolus appropinquat ad temptandum Regem’ (how the devil approaches the king to tempt him; fol. 23vb; alongside XXIII: 651–2),79 thus highlighting the turning of the weather as a sign of Mordreins’s further physical torment during a second tempest, and his relief at the sight of the sun and clear air (‘de pacientia Regis’; of the king’s patience; fol. 24ra; alongside XXIII: 691–2). Thus it is not just the king’s suffering but also his patient endurance of the trials that matter to Cok, and warrant his careful reading and checking in this chapter more than in any other part of the entire History. Mordreins’s adventures on the island have a very clear purpose: to make him understand that a Christian needs to rely on God’s assistance at all times, especially in terms of understanding and accepting God’s will. The Christian should also display gratitude for the talents bestowed on him, and the rewards God gives in return for humble prayers. In the episode when Mordreins experiences the storm, he crosses himself, and this simple gesture seems to provide Lovelich with another occasion to specify the various parts of a man’s conscience and mind: He made the signe of God Almyghty, And besowhte God, for his special grace, 78 79

Additional annotations appear related to the bird and Cok’s checking of the text. I am grateful to Professor Ralph Hanna for discussing some of these annotations with me, and to Professor Rex Smith for assistance with translations from Latin. Any remaining errors are my own.

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Him to comforte & kepen, in that place, In riht wit, mynde, & memorye; Thus this kyng tho to God gan crye.  (XXIII: 394–8)80

Soon after this passage Lovelich describes the phoenix, again drawing attention to memory and its function: ‘As recordeth here the devyn storye / That to vs hath put in memorye (XXIII: 465–6, my emphasis). Lovelich’s style thus combines the effects of suffering and emotion on the human mind and conscience with the importance of understanding God’s message correctly. All along it is King Mordreins, however, not ‘everyman’, who is tested in this exceptional way. The extraordinary trials he experiences demonstrate the pressure under which the king is placed, on a par with his elect status for the Grail adventures and his own high status. Thus the theme of the king’s suffering is amply demonstrated in both Lovelich’s amplificatio in this chapter and in Cok’s pointers for future readers. That Lovelich’s use of these cumulative expressions is deliberate is evident when he ends this section of Mordreins’s adventures with repeated emphasis on the latter’s doubts over the reality of his experiences: … merveilled of the grete aventours that he hadde there suffred of dolours; and of alle this thanne felte he ryht nowht, where-offen he merveillede in his thowht; and otherwhille he thowghte a dremenge to be, and otherwhilles he thowghte it for certeinte, and otherwhilles he cowde remembren him wel of the aventures thanne everidel.  (XXIII: 729–36)81

The same concern with the reality of the trials is shared by Cok, whose annotations to the opening lines of the following chapter, ‘Thanne thowghte the kyng in his herte / Of manie trebulacions & of peynes smerte / that the day was past, & wax to eve, / thanne the kyng was ful sore gan him meve’ (XXIV: 1–4), draw attention to miraculous happenings: ‘de mirabile visione fantastica per diabolum82 facta Regi Mordreyns in mare’ (of the marvellous and fantastical vision created by the devil for King Mordreins at sea; fol. 24rb). Yet Mordreins’s marvellous adventures do not stop here; he soon sees a ship coming his way, on which there are not only weapons and two shields displaying his arms and Nasciens’s, but also a horse (XXIV: 26) – which Cok dutifully notes (fol. 24rb). Then a look-alike brother of Mordreins’s steward, who had been slain at the battle of Orcaus, lands (XIV: 53–4), prompting Cok to add what is now a partly cropped side comment: ‘de fantastica & diabolica illusione [fac]ta Regi in mare’ (of the fantastical and diabolical illusion made for the king in the sea; fol. 24va) and then another, this time in Middle English, explaining how this vision of

80 81 82

P 218 para 351.14–17; S 102.5–6; L 65; not in H II 388. P 222–3 para 357–8; S 104.24–6; L 67. My emendation of the cropped text is justified by the narrative.

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a man takes ‘[cropped] dyabolus83 in sp[…]es [cropped] la kynge [Mo]rdreyns by þe [lef]te hande oute [þ]e p[…]s Roche [cropped] an schippe’84 (fol. 24va), summarising the lines next to which the comment is added (XXIV: 79–82). Cok adds his usual ‘[caret] totum per Cok’ next to the line when King Mordreins is said to have swooned at the sight of what he believes to be Nasciens’s corpse on the ship (XXIV: 91), which indicates that, once again, he had checked and was satisfied with Lovelich’s translation up to this point. In the same episode, and on the same folio, the striking concern Cok displays for Mordreins’s trials continues with his annotations next to the lines describing how the Good Man arrives, the one who ‘him comforted often sithe’ (XXIV: 119): ‘quo dominus comfortat Regem post temptacionem’ (how the Lord comforts the king after the temptation; fol. 24vb).85 A few lines down Cok adds ‘quo dominus manifestauit omnia dyabolica figmenta in temptando Regem & c’ (how the Lord showed all the diabolical deceits in tempting the king; fol. 24vb) to the lines which contain the Good Man’s warning that Mordreins will not be granted his deliverance until Nasciens comes to him in human shape, since the previous vision had been engineered by the devil himself (XXIV: 147–50). Once the story of Mordreins’s suffering ends, the reader of the manuscript does not encounter any more annotations in Cok’s hand until the part of the text focused on Britain’s conversion to Christianity and the genealogical descent of Nasciens, Galahad’s ancestor. Aside from Cok’s own interests in the story, the lessons to be learned from Mordreins’s suffering are emphasised more in Lovelich’s translation much later in the story, especially in relation to his humble understanding and acceptance of God’s trials. Mordreins admits his sin, his attempt to get too near the Grail: ‘Therefore this veniawnce here sekerly / On me oure lord hath taken openly’ (XLVI: 315–16). Mordreins has correctly identified God’s anger towards him, and then states ‘that me oure lord for his child doth holde / that of my sinnes me chastiseth manyfolde’ (XLVI: 321–2).86 Mordreins would also be commended by

83 84

85 86

Again here the word is cropped, but the meaning of the phrase indicates it should also read ‘diavolus’. This gloss is in Latin and Middle English and partly cropped, as indicated. My reading reconstitutes what I consider to be the intended meaning of the partially visible text in Latin. In many of the Latin glosses there are non-standard grammatical constructions; in my transcriptions and translations I have attempted to regularise grammar, at least partially, to clarify meaning. In an earlier note Cok had already recorded God’s comforting of Mordreins after seven days of trials (fol. 23vb). In the Graal: ‘car je voi ge bien que Nostre Sires me tient a son fill, qant il me repret einsi isnelement de mon pechié’ (P 475 para 753.7–8) (for now I see that Our Lord considers me His son, when He punishes me so quickly for my sin; L 135). See also S 242.20–1, which replaces ‘fill’ with ‘sergant’. For Middle English examples, see R. T. Davies, Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical Anthology (London, 1963); for a study of such examples, see Rosemary Woolf, The English Religious Lyric in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1968).

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English readers for his proper display of Christian humility.87 In this way his model shows that the powerful and the mighty will learn the lesson of humility and how to give thanks for God’s grace. At this point in the story Mordreins displays concern for his subjects’ welfare as they are distressed to witness his punishment by God. He provides for them, both with wise words and by undertaking a painful journey to Galafort, where he conducts the wedding of Celidoyne and the daughter of King Label, so that their union might produce a much-needed heir (another Nasciens), who will fulfil the prophecy revealed to Nasciens about his lineage. As he embarks on this journey, his physical strengths diminish and he becomes incapacitated: For the kyng so hadde lost his syht And therto of alle his membres the myht, So deden Nasciens & dewk Gaanore For his deseise wepten they ful sore. And in middes of al here morneng, They browhten an hors to the kyng, And an horsbak to setten hym there.  (XLVI: 341–7; my emphasis)

This detailed description has no parallel in the French.88 Unsurprisingly, Cok’s interest in this issue is marked when Mordreins entrusts the rule of his kingdom, his affairs and also his wife to Nasciens: ‘how kinge Mordraynes whan he was made blynde commendinge the kepinge of his wyf & his scheld vn to Nasciens here broþer’ (fol. 68va).89 In both the Graal and the History the smooth passage of governance is highlighted by returning to the story of ‘Sank Ryal’ itself, and how it was translated by ‘myn sire Robert of Borron’: Which that this storie Al & som Owt of the latyn in to the frensch torned he, Be holy chirches comandement sekerle; And as holy chirche afermeth also, How longe king Mordreins lyvede þere tho, Two hundred ȝer & more aftir sire Nascien, As this holy storye reporteth then.  (XLVI: 498–504)

87

88 89

Here Lovelich’s use of vocabulary to describe loyalty and faith recalls the wording of the popular Lay Folks Catechism: ‘sytthe þou haddyst dyscrecioun of good and euyl. and of þis amende þe be verry contricion schryft and satisfaccion. And if þou hast don ony good dede wele þank god þerof. for his grace hit was. and not þou þy-self. / and pray hym ȝeue þe grace to laste and ende trewly in hys seruyse’ (Lay Folks Catechism, ed. T. F. Simmons and H. E. Nolloth, EETS o.s. 118 (London, 1901), p. 41, lines 620–6). P 478 para 756, 757; L 136. A couple of lines later he states, in usual fashion, that he has checked and marked the work up to this point (‘per totum Cok’). Earlier Mordreins had also displayed care for his subjects when he named a successor, Aganore, openly for all to hear (XLV: 190–4). Audiences familiar with the story of Arthur’s ascent to the throne of England (recounted in the Merlin) may have reflected on Uther Pendragon’s failure to name an heir, which led to anarchy in his realm.

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The passage prompted Cok to draw a large maniculum (the second in the manuscript), and add the lines ‘Sir Robert of Borron’ þat turnyd þis metre of latyne in to ffrensche’ (fol. 68va). Here Lovelich associates his storytelling (as the author of the Graal did) with the authority of Robert’s original by claiming truthfulness for his own original contributions to Mordreins’s portrayal as a more caring and wise king than his counterpart in the Graal. In conclusion, both Lovelich’s additions to Mordreins’s suffering and Cok’s annotations highlight a particular interest in the ways in which the king responds to God’s testing, while also preserving his ability to govern well and look after his subjects’ material and spiritual welfare until the appointed time when he names a successor. A clear interest in the conversion of kings was behind Lovelich’s enterprise, alongside his two other major topics of interest: the suffering of women, and Joseph of Arimathea’s spiritual legacy, which will be discussed in the next two sections.

Women, suffering and the preservation of the lineage While the trials endured by the king are clearly of great importance to both Lovelich and Cok, the role played by women in the story seems to have touched Lovelich in particular. As already demonstrated, extreme feelings and emotions are emphasised more in Lovelich’s translation by comparison with the Graal. Such features may be observed in relation to the characterisation of both men and women, though in the latter case the emotions under scrutiny are more closely linked with the agency of women in preserving the lineage. In particular, Sarracynte and Flegentyne, Mordreins’s and Nasciens’s wives, respectively, play significant roles in the development of the original narrative by protecting and defending their lineage. In many respects the Graal, through both textual evidence and accompanying manuscript illustration, already emphasised women’s ancillary role in the narrative. Among the female characters in the Graal, Sarracinte and Flegentine are most prominent,90 although Solomon’s wife, at whose instigation the ship, bed with spindles and legacy of Galahad are created, and King Label’s daughter, who marries Celidoine, also play crucial roles in the development of the history of the Grail. In this section I will demonstrate how Lovelich’s presentation of female characters results in an even more positive view of their agency in supporting noble and royal lineages than in the original Graal. To start with, Sarracynte is distressed at Mordreins’s state when the latter mournfully laments during the night, remorseful for not having rewarded Seraphe’s service in battle: ‘Vpe sche ros, and to hire brother took the way, / Sore wepinge & sore syghenge, / With gret sorwe & lawmentinge, / And so cam to Nasciens hire brotheris bed’ (XVIII: 138–41; my emphasis). Sarracynte’s emotional display, typical of Lovelich’s style, is also visible at Mordreins’s 90

I distinguish between the French and English texts by using the original spellings of characters’ names, as before. For the Graal I use Sarracinte and Flegentine, for the History Sarracynte and Flegentyne.

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subsequent disappearance, when he is lifted out of his bed by invisible hands and carried to an island in the middle of the sea (as discussed above). Here Lovelich displays sensitivity to detail and care in modulating the register of emotions: And wende owt of hire wit sche scholde han gon, Swich sorwe sche made, & so gret mon. Whanne of hire swowneng sche a-wook, Sche quaked, sche trembled, sche wepe, sche schook, And with a deolful vois sche gan to crye, ‘Swete brother Nasciens!’ certeinlye.  (XIX: 77–82; my emphasis)91

Lovelich prefers his own rendition of the extreme emotions experienced by Sarracynte, which is more moving than the brief summary in the Graal. Sarracynte’s agency in the narrative is closely linked to the role played by women in education, including Christian education and religious practice, in their lives. She explains to Josephe that she had first received Christian instruction from her mother; this testifies to the interest, on the part of Graal’s author and early audiences, in this aspect of women’s responsibilities within the family unit.92 First Sarracynte’s mother advises her to do her penance in words typical of Lovelich’s style; here there is an amplification of the remorse felt by the penitent sinner in a brief passage that echoes advice given to Middle English audiences in contemporary manuals:93 With weping & sore syghenge, With bonching on brest, and repentinge Of alle the sinnes that ȝe hauen I-do, With high contricioun, dowhter, euere-mo.  (XV: 563–6; my emphasis)

Although none of the extant manuscripts of the Graal contain a miniature depicting the moment in which Sarracinte receives instruction from her mother, in Lovelich’s manuscript a space is visible in the middle of the chapter (XV, 91

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In the equivalent passage in the Graal Sarracinte ‘eut mout grant paour et ele se repasme tout maintenant. Et lors orent tout et toutes mout grant paour de li ke ele ne chaïst en pierte de son sens et de sa memoire par l’angoisse de la pamisson. Et quant ele fu revenue, si commencha a crier a hautes vois: ’ (P 183 para 298.3–7). (She was very frightened and fainted again immediately. Then they were all afraid that she might lose her senses and her memory because of the anguish of her faint. When she came to, she began to weep and cry out: ‘Dear brother Nascien!’; L 55–6.) See, for example, Felicity Riddy, ‘“Women Talking about the Things of God”: A Late Medieval Subculture’, in Women and Literature in Britain, 1150–1500, ed. Carol M. Meale (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 104–27. For a discussion of penitential manuals from this period, see Marjorie Curry Woods and Rita Copeland, ‘Classroom and Confession’, in The Cambridge History of Medieval English Literature, ed. David Wallace (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 375–406; Sue Powell, ‘The Transmission and Circulation of The Lay Folks Cathechism’, in Late-Medieval Religious Texts and Their Transmission: Essays in Honour of A. I. Doyle, ed. A. J. Minnis (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 67–84.

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fol. 10r) where Sarracynte explains her mother’s instruction on her deathbed. This occurs in the middle of Sarracynte’s direct address to Josephe before she lists, in brief, her mother’s teaching: Lo, Sire, thus my modir tawhte tho me How I scholde me governe in eche degre, Lik as this storie doth me now telle, And we ȝe me heren to ȝow now spelle: Swich thing as to my sowle profitable scholde be, Alle sweche manere thinges my moder told me; And alle thing þat scholde don me noysaunce, Hem scholde I flen for ony chawnce.  (XV: 571–8)

Some extant manuscripts of the Graal contain miniatures depicting the scene in which Sarracinte talks to Josephe.94 Many factors may have influenced the placing of this space in Corpus Christi MS 80; among them most prominent is the existence of a model which, at least from a visual viewpoint, dictated the scribe’s positioning of the spaces for illumination. The result of this choice draws some strong parallels between the teaching of the faith by religious men and women’s role in being the first educators in the faith. However, as McCarthy has pointed out, at the textual level, the arguments used by Josephe to persuade Sarracynte to convert appear ‘clumsy and unsophisticated beside the pagan’s ready understanding of the truth’.95 This is expressed in Lovelich’s unusually economical comment that ‘Iosephes merveillen began / That so moche wit myht ben in womman’ (XV: 105–6). A miniature depicting Sarracynte in conversation with Josephe in Corpus Christi MS 80 would have emphasised Lovelich’s textual changes, in particular Sarracynte’s wisdom and faith, thus guiding readers to a more positive interpretation of female characters than the Graal had allowed for. Medieval women played an important role not only in informal schooling of the young at home, but also as schoolmistresses, especially in the capital. As Caroline Barron’s work has demonstrated, the literacy of the London citizens was much encouraged by the establishment of schools for lay people’s children; there female schoolteachers taught the basic skills of reading and writing to young boys and girls.96 Legacies were left specifically as endow94

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The image appears in Rennes, BM MS 255, ‘Sarracinte s’entretient avec Joséphé’ (fol. 23v); reproduced in Cassagnes-Brouquet, Les romans, p. 57. This image is recurring in other manuscripts, though not in the same textual environment; in other manuscripts it represents Queen Sarracinte with a hermit, as in BNF MS fr. 9123, fol. 29, reproduced online as part of Stones’s online comparative analysis (http://www.lancelot-project. pitt.edu/LG-web/Arthur-LG-ProjectMSS-pics/BNFfr105–9123-EG.html, consulted December 2011). McCarthy, ‘Late Medieval English Treatments of the Grail Story’, p. 81. Of course at this stage Sarracynte is no longer a pagan but rather a Christian, albeit living her faith in secrecy. Note that in Corpus Christi MS 80 the spellings of Joseph’s name and his son’s, Josephé, are inconsistent. In the translation of the Graal into modern English Chase opts for ‘Josephus’ instead of ‘Josephe’; in the present study I use ‘Josephe’. Caroline M. Barron, ‘The Education and Training of Girls in Fifteenth-Century London’, in Courts, Counties and the Capital in the Later Middle Ages, ed. D. E. S. Dunn (Stroud, 1996), pp. 139–53.

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ments towards the keeping of lay schools run by educated women; Barron notes the will of one William Cressewyk, London grocer, who, in 1406, left money to a ‘Scolemaysteresse’ (Guildhall Library, Commissary Wills, MS 9171/2 fol. 88).97 Whether the bequest was intended for the schoolmistress’s wages or the purchase of books, the document attests to widespread recognition, and the establishment of women’s involvement in formal teaching. The survival of London anthologies such as London, British Library MS Egerton 1995 (which contains the London chronicle credited to Gregory, a courtesy poem and a dietary, along with other items of popular interest) also bears witness to the kinds of material male and female readers would have access to in Lovelich’s time. The professional appearance of the Egerton MS led Julia Boffey and Carol Meale to suggest there was ‘a definite market within the capital for commercially-produced commonplace-type books, catering for needs from leisure reading to health care’.98 Meale’s study of another commonplace book, John Colyns’s (though admittedly dated to the beginning of the sixteenth century), has also revealed that male as well as female London readers were interested in many types of material, including chronicles and romances.99 Indeed, Corpus Christi MS 80 actually contains evidence of the interests of an early female reader or owner, Anne Hampton, whose name was written in the margin of the narrative of the History (fol. 39r), and whose hand might be dated to the late fifteenth or more likely the early sixteenth century.100 It is impossible to ascertain what particular interest this reader may have entertained in relation to either the History or Merlin or both, though Lovelich’s emphasis on the role of women in the narrative could well be a plausible candidate for her attention. Lovelich and his audiences would not have been insensitive to the connotations 97

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Caroline M. Barron, ‘The Expansion of Education in Fifteenth-Century London’, in The Cloister and the World: Essays in Medieval History in Honour of Barbara Harvey, ed. John Blair and Brian Golding (Oxford, 1996), pp. 219–45, at p. 255 and n. 30. Julia Boffey and Carol M. Meale, ‘Selecting the Text: Rawlinson C. 86 and Some Other Books for London Readers’, in Regionalism in Late Medieval Manuscripts and Texts: Essays Celebrating the Publication of ‘A Linguistic Atlas of Late Medieval English’, ed. Felicity Riddy (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 143–69, at p. 149. The authorship of the London chronicle copied into Egerton MS 1995 (Gregory’s) is discussed in McLaren, London Chronicles, pp. 29–31. Miscellanies and ‘common profit’ books circulating in the capital played an important role in the shaping of cultural practices; see, in particular, Wendy Scase, ‘Reginald Pecock, John Carpenter and John Colop’s “Common-Profit” Books: Aspects of Book Ownership and Circulation in Fifteenth-Century London’, Medium Ævum 61:2 (1992), 261–74; Margaret Connolly, ‘Books for the “helpe of euery persoone þat þenkiþ to be saued”: Six Devotional Anthologies from Fifteenth-Century London’, in Medieval and Early Modern Miscellanies and Anthologies, ed. Phillipa Hardman, YES 33 (2003), 170–81, and, by the same author, ‘Practical Reading for the Body and Soul in Some Later Medieval Manuscript Miscellanies’, JEBS 10 (2007), 151–74. Carol M. Meale, ‘The Compiler at Work: John Colyns and BL, MS Harley 2252’, in Manuscripts and Readers in Fifteenth-Century England, ed. Derek Pearsall (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 82–103, at pp. 98–101; and by the same author, ‘London, British Library Harley MS 2252, John Colyns’ “Boke”: Structure and Content’, in Tudor Manuscripts 1485–1603, ed. A. S. G. Edwards, English Manuscript Studies 1100–1700, 15 (London, 2009), pp. 65–122, at p. 74. I am grateful to Dr Meale for discussing this aspect with me.

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implied in the moving passage quoted above, and neither would have been the person behind the programme of illumination intended for Corpus Christi MS 80.101 Closely related to this instance is another one, where, in the section on the Tree of Life, Eve’s taking of a branch of the tree out of paradise is said to signify ‘that be womman the world was brouht to nowhte; / and be a womman restored schal it be / wheche signefiet be þe blessed virgine Maree’ (XXIX: 122–4). Immediately after the last line in this excerpt a space was left in Corpus Christi MS 80 (fol. 31vb), which separates the explanation above from the development of the story of the branch itself, starting with the words ‘Lo now torneth the storye here ful pleyn / to groweng of this braunch anon here ageyn’ (XXIX: 125–6). This space does seem to have been left as a result of the scribe’s misreading of chapter beginnings (which tend to contain words to the effect of a change of narrative strand). A similar mistake seems to have occurred towards the end of Chapter XVIII, in which the story of the miraculous sword (and its scabbard) placed in Solomon’s ship concludes and the story turns to an explanation of the significance of the bed and its spindles (fol. 31rb). There the scribe could have been misled by the lines ‘Now beleveth this storye here / of the swerd and the schethe, in this manere / and speketh here of anothir entent’ (XVIII: 445–7) and inserted a space. On the other hand, however, he did not do the same a few lines later, when he encountered the line ‘but now this storye telleth here’ (XVIII: 459), because he probably noticed that the storyline had not changed, as it continues to tell about the bed and its spindles. On each occasion, the space in Corpus Christi MS 80 disrupts the regularity of the planned miniatures, which tend to mark sections in the narrative. The irregular fashion in which they are inserted on these three occasions seems to suggest other possibilities. Each time the episode involves the presence of a woman placed in a position of authority, if not by virtue of her knowledge (though this is evident in the first case, with Sarracynte’s mother), at least through her agency (Eve picking the branch, Solomon’s wife engineering the making of the bed and the spindles). One cannot speculate whether the images would have worked in this way or another, but it is tempting to consider the possibility that the first space at least may have been intended to draw attention not to Josephe (even if the miniature would have him and Sarracynte depicted together, as in equivalent

101

At least one female member of Lovelich’s household may have also been a member of the London Skinners’ Company, and a potential early reader of his translations. In Guildhall Library MS 31692 (‘Book of the Fraternity of the Assumption of Our Lady’), Henry Lovelich’s name (‘Henry Louelich’) is followed by one ‘Agneus Louelich’ (fol. 6r), a woman’s name – who could plausibly be his wife or relation. Lovelich is likely to have come from a family of skinners, for the name of one ‘Davio Louelich’ (fol. 5v) also appears within close proximity, preceding the entry for Henry. In another document, now London, Guildhall Library MS 31302/198, a tenement (‘ex dono & feoffamento’), Henry Lovelich is mentioned with his usual titles (‘Henricus Lovelich Civius & Pelliparij London’) in association with one ‘Margarete’ (mentioned without a surname), who was his wife. One ‘Herre Lovelich’ mentioned in connection with a London broker in the early fifteenth century was also said to be married (see below).

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manuscripts of the Graal), but to the intimate exchange and the remembrance of Sarracynte’s mother, who instructed her in the faith early in her life.102 Flegentyne, Sarracynte’s sister-in-law, also experiences dramatic events and their consequences. When Nasciens is under suspicion of having done away with his brother-in-law Mordreins, but the barons are unwilling to accuse him, a certain Sir Calaphere is the agent behind Nasciens’s (and his son Celidoyne’s) imprisonment. In some extant versions of the Graal Calaphere’s character is described in relation to his hatred of Christians, as he is said to be ‘fel paiens & crueus mais il auoit este crestienes sin e fu mie urais crestiens car il haoit les crestiens plus que nus autres’ (S 87; he was a cruel pagan but he pretended to be a Christian and he was not, since he hated the Christians more than any other). Lovelich follows the extended version of this episode, in which Calaphere’s treacherous nature is mentioned first, only to be exploited further when his anti-Christian feelings are described (XIX: 123–30, 184–92).103 In this context Calaphere appears to be a malicious and treacherous knight whose envy of Nasciens is grounded in his own political ambitions, which lead him to engineer the removal of both Nasciens and his heir from power. Lovelich’s Calaphere appears as a treacherous steward, a figure common in English popular romances.104 Emphasis is therefore shifted to intrigue within the court, with the insider using his power to destroy the political hierarchy, a move which takes away from the Christian content of the original story, and emphasises instead the evil in human nature.105 Although Flegentyne, Nasciens’s wife and Celidoyne’s mother, is powerless in the face of this act of treachery, her female intuition and agency in protecting her lineage are made apparent. The challenge she faces is not just that typical of the Christian patiently enduring God’s trials, but a political one as well. Flegentyne’s strength and suitable status as a defender of her lineage are evident in the episode where Sarracynte, her sister-in-law, insists that the two of them should keep company during the exile of their husbands, and attempts to 102

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The space left for illumination in the section about Eve may have been intended to represent the Tree of Life with Eve picking a branch, as in BNF MS fr. 19162 fol. 63r (Eve picks a branch from the White Tree; equivalent to the text of the editions in H II 457; S I 124/25+ var, Pon 270. 432.12 + var). See http://www.lancelot-project.pitt.edu/ LG-web/Arthur-LG-ProjectMSS-pics/BNFfr19162-EG.html, consulted December 2011. In Ponceau’s edition the two elements are separate (184 para 299.4–5, 301.5–8; L 56). The passage in Sommer conflates two points made some two long paragraphs apart, thus associating Calaphere’s disposition with his deception, motivated by his hatred of Christians. The motif is common in numerous romances; it is discussed by Geraldine Barnes, Counsel and Strategy in Middle English Romance (Cambridge, 1993). This aspect is picked up in a later episode in which King Agrestes’s treachery is evident in his pretending to be a Christian to ensnare and kill his newly converted subjects. Cok annotates the passage, pointing out ‘de falsissimo Rege Agrestes’ (fol. 68vb), and later ‘quo Rex Agrestes occidi fecit xij viros optimos consanguines Josephi Arimathie’ (fol. 69rb; by which King Agrestes had twelve of the best men of Joseph’s kin killed) in the margin of the lines in which King Agrestes threatens to kill twelve men of Joseph’s kindred unless they give up their faith (XLVII: 163–70). On these folios there are (once again) signs that Cok checked the text carefully.

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comfort her given that Flegentyne had also lost her child. Here Lovelich frames the exchanges between the two in words reminiscent of letter writing: Thanne the qweene Sarracynte, hire soster dere, To Flegentyne sente in this manere, And preide here, ‘for alle gentelnesse, For sosterhed, & for alle kendenesse, And in slakyng of hire peyne & wo, That sche wolde comen hire vnto, That ech of hem other myhte comforte, And ech in here angwisch to other resorte.’  (XXVI: 77–84; my emphasis)

Flegentyne dutifully replies in the aristocratic fashion expected of a woman of her status; she ‘thanked here of hire [Sarracynte’s] message / as womman that was of high parage’ (85–6; my emphasis). Lovelich thus adds emphasis to Flegentyne’s focus and purpose (XXVI: 87–94). Of course, the exchange between these characters is not reported in this manner in the Graal (P 243 para 391, 392; L 72). Flegentyne’s role in saving Nasciens is already well drawn up in the Graal, and her importance is highlighted through the miniatures dedicated to her in the extant manuscripts. However, no spaces may be associated with Flegentyne in Corpus Christi MS 80, just as Seraphe’s military exploits, amplified by Lovelich, were not accompanied by extra spaces either. In both cases it seems that Lovelich’s textual additions carried sufficient weight in order to highlight these characters’ prominent roles in the story. The lack of spaces for miniatures in this part of the text also draws attention to another effect already achieved by Lovelich in his translation: Flegentyne’s distress does not impair her determination and energetic pursuit of her aims, which are ultimately focused on finding and saving her husband and son, Nasciens and Celidoyne. Moreover, Lovelich reduces the description of the excess of feeling in the Graal, providing a more restrained but moving scene when Flegentyne finds temporary solace in Sarracynte’s company: To grownde bothe in swowneng fille That non of hem myhte speken other vntille; For so gret sorewe they maden bothe That to þe peple abowtes it was ful lothe.  (XXVI: 103–6)106

Sarracynte’s words to Flegentyne are also Lovelich’s addition:

106

The excess of emotion is evident in the Graal: ‘et si tost com eles se peurent entretrover, si fu toute la dolours renovelee, ne nus hom ne vit onques si grant duel faire a deus femes ke chis ne fust graindres ke la roïne et la ducesse faisoient. Mout dura li cris et li plours de lor duel et de lor angoisse’ (P 243 para 391.8–11). (As soon as they saw each other, their sorrow was renewed all day long. The queen and the duchess grieved more than anyone has ever seen. Their tears and grief and anguish lasted for a long time; L 72.)

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And swich comfort I wolde ȝow make, For my dere brothir ȝoure lordis sake That we ben so mochel bownden to; ȝif ony comfort to ȝow cowde I do.  (XXVI: 123–6)107

In a unique observation on Lovelich’s originality, Furnivall noted that more emphasis is placed on Flegentyne’s distress in the History than in the Graal.108 Lovelich inherited from the Graal the considerable role played by female characters in the story, although, in typical Arthurian romance fashion, the main focus at this point in the narrative is on the adventures of the male protagonists, Joseph and his son Josephe, Mordreins and Nasciens. Without Sarracynte’s intervention, however, Evalach would have been defeated by Tholomes; without Flegentyne’s active pursuit of her husband by sending out messengers to look for him, his fate would have turned out differently; without Solomon’s wife’s engineering of the idea of the bed, spindles, and sword, the future of the Grail keepers would have remained unclear. Women’s agency in preserving the lineage features in relation to other lesser female characters, like King Label’s daughter, who marries Celidoyne. Although women do not intervene in violent encounters, their role, already promoted in the Graal, is subtly emphasised in Lovelich by appeal to the power of their emotions, as a parallel to those experienced by their husbands and loved ones. The stress on lineages and women’s contribution to them is evident in passages where the ancestry of a suitable heiress is praised more than in the Graal. To take one example, the author of the Graal underlines the fact King Label’s daughter was unaccustomed to suffer hunger: ‘joene chose et tender ne n’avoit pas apris mal a soffrir’ (P 371 para 579.1–2; young, still tender, and had not yet learned to suffer; L 107).109 Instead Lovelich portrays her as ‘ȝong […] & tendre of age / of hy kyn born, and of gret parage’ (XXXVII: 36–7; my emphasis). The audience is left to draw conclusions on the contrast between the status of the princess (and her former life) and her current situation.

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Flegentyne’s earlier refusal to meet with Sarracynte had been justified, in both the French Graal and the History, by her fear that together they would fall prey to despair and deeper sorrow. Although these words are reported in the French: ‘car l’une de nous deus ne verroit ja l’autre de chele eure: ke tantost ne fust nostre doleurs renovelee’ (P 244 para 392.10–11; for each time we saw each other, our sorrow would immediately be renewed; L 72), in Lovelich the same feelings are expressed in a more moving manner: ‘Ne nethir of vs of oure lordis to speke, / The sorwe wolde maken owre hertes breke; / To heren ony thing of here deseisse, / In alle thinges it scholde vs misplese; And therfore myn owne lady & soster so dere, / Haueth me excused in this manere’ (XXVI: 145–50; my emphasis). Seynt Graal or the Sank Ryal, ed. F. J. Furnivall, 2 vols (London, 1861–63), II, Preface, p. iv. At a later stage, when she marries Celidoyne, Lovelich further again emphasises their ‘high parage’: ‘Of the two children of high parage, / And ful gret ioye there was to se; / But not so mochel as there scholde han be / As ȝif the kyng hadde ben in hele; / Of iustes ne pleyes nowher ny so fele’ (XLVI: 362–6). In P 476 para 754.1–6; L 135 no mention is made of their social status.

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Numerous other minor changes in the narrative of the Graal show that Lovelich adapted the text to suit his interests in portraying the nobility of the bloodlines that are joined, leading to the foundation of all the Arthurian lineages. He is both consistent and purposeful in bringing to the forefront of his narrative the ‘red thread’ of aristocratic lineages his readers could take pride in and learn from, as an endorsement of his retelling of the history of Britain’s Christian conversion, the topic of the last section of this chapter.

Authority and the book: the English claim to spiritual legacy Lovelich’s transformation of the Arthurian realm of Logres in the Merlin into the London of his time has already been mentioned. Nothing has been said to date, however, about other changes Lovelich inserted into the History in terms of topography and his ‘Englishing’ of the Grail, or the relationship between his role in telling the story (as a ‘herald’) and the importance of the message he put forth. To start with, Lovelich shows his self-consciousness in using English (though he also acknowledges his difficulties in finding appropriate equivalents to some French words he is less familiar with)110 by working with formulae identifiable in the surviving Middle English popular romances, displaying his knowledge and appreciation of a tradition he was clearly at ease with.111 The landscape Lovelich describes, however, is not affected by what both Dalrymple and Warren identify in his Merlin – a thoroughly ‘urbanised’ version of the Arthurian countryside of the original Vulgate Cycle.112 In the History Lovelich maintains the aristocratic tenor of his source (with the additional details on social stratification already mentioned) as well as localisation. Occasionally he inserts the odd comment that reveals his greater familiarity with, and sympathy for, urban life, such as the emotional loading in his translation of mortality on the streets of a city in North Wales (XLVI: 165–76) and random notes on the progress of a knight’s journey ‘whethir he ryde be weye other strete’ (LII: 378), neither of which have an exact equivalent in the Graal.

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At one point Lovelich acknowledges the difficulties he has encountered when anglicising the name of the miraculous fish that suspends a man’s memory if held in the hand; he states ‘“Tortenavs” is the name of this fysch, / As we it mown sownen in Englysch’ (XXVIII: 239–40). See P 263 para 422.10 (Cortenaus; L 77). When he describes the castle of Emelianz Lovelich adds that it is a ‘rial plase of lym & ston’ (XXVI: 410; there is no equivalent to this passage in P 248 para 399.20 (L 73). Another castle is ‘both fayr, swete & lel’ (XXXV: 228), and further along still, when the tower of marvels is built, with an adjacent chapel dedicated to Virgin Mary, it is said to be made ‘of lym and ston’ (XLIV: 222). This is a topos in Middle English popular romances; the stock phrase ‘of lym and ston’ points not only to common knowledge about building materials used in the construction of castles, but also Lovelich’s familiarity with the Middle English romance tradition. At no point in the Graal are any details of the building materials mentioned. See, for example, in The Erl of Toulous: ‘Tyll he come to a fayre castell, / There hym was levyst to dwelle, / Was made of lyme and stone’ (lines 463–5), and in Sir Degaré: ‘And amidde a river, / A fair castel of lim and ston’ (lines 740–1) (Middle English Breton Lays, ed. Laskaya and Salisbury). ‘Urbanised’ is my term.

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Two other additions Lovelich introduces were clearly intended to please his patron, Barton. The striking emphasis on lighting in the city during a pageant in Lovelich’s Merlin (lines 9,315f.) seems to echo Barton’s innovation in introducing the first system of lighting in London.113 When Josephe replaces the pagan temple with the foundation of the church of St Stephen (XLVIII: 256; P 484 para 765.20; L 137), Lovelich’s audience may have been led to think of Barton’s role in laying the fourth foundation stone of the second church of St Stephen Walbrook in London in 7 Henry VI (1429).114 When he deals with the actual (confused and confusing) topography of the original Graal, however, Lovelich (sometimes) rationalises placenames. For example, in the section where he translates the geographical position of the island on which Mordreins spends time being tested by God, Lovelich inserts topographical details more precise than those in the Graal: This Roche stont a-middes the se, Al this storie now telleth to me, Evene from Scotlond the ryhte weye Into Babiloyne, as I the seye, And from Erlond the weye also Streyht to Babyloyne it doth go. And so high the roche is there, That ouer the se I sein every where; And to Wales there mihte he se And into Spayne into that partee.  (XX: 29–38; my emphasis)115

The place is already on the sea paths from Scotland and Ireland, so it seems that Lovelich draws the conclusion that it must be off the coast of Wales, a detail which does not feature in the Graal. His instinct to place the island in the vicinity

113 114 115

Wadmore, Some Account, pp. 152–3. Ibid., p. 153. The equivalent passage in the Graal reads: ‘chele roche, si est assise en la mer Occeane, en ichele partie ou li drois trespass est a aler de la terre de Babiloine en la terre d’Escoche et d’Islande [Irlande in S] et es autres parties d’occident. En che trespass est chele roche et si est de sit res grant hauteche ke on en peut surveoir toute la mer d’Occident jusc’a ichés lieus ou terre puet estre trovee, et de l’autre part, a destre si comme devers galerne, en puet on veoir la terre de Cordres et toute la fin d’Espaigne’ (P 187 para 304.1–6). (This rock lay in the ocean, along the direct passage from Babylon to Scotland, Ireland and other Western parts. The rock was on this route, and it was so high that one could survey the entire Western sea as far as those places where land could be found. And in the other direction, to the right, towards Galerne, one could see the land of Cordova and the entire tip of Spain; L 57.) In her note to the modern translation, Chase states: ‘The description here suggests this might be the Rock of Gibraltar; however, the text later places the rock in the middle of the ocean. Geography in this romance tends to be imprecise’ (L 57 n 4). It is unlikely Lovelich mistranslated ‘Galerne’ in his original source as ‘Wales’, since he is consistent in rendering ‘Gales’ as ‘Wales’. Gérard Gros suggests ‘Galerne’ is the name of a Western wind (see Gérard Gros, ‘Le fin mot sur Pompée: etude littéraire de l’épisode de Foucaire, dans l’Estoire del Saint Graal (§303–318)’, Bien dire et bien aprandre 22 (2004), 119–36, at p. 122 n. 16). I am indebted to Carol Chase for this reference.

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of Britain appears to reflect a desire to render the story more understandable for his fifteenth-century audience through familiar geographical references. Lovelich also makes more sense of geographies of travel in relation to Emperor Pompey’s desire to overcome the pirate Fowcairs. Pompey is said to have sailed out of ‘Grece he seilede tho / Toward Cecyle he gan to go’ (XX: 93–4), where in the Graal either no specific area is mentioned or it is Syria he directs himself towards.116 Such striking choices in the precise locations for some events link up with Lovelich’s interests closer to home. He substitutes ‘Brooklond’ (XLIX: 12) for ‘Broceliande’, a point picked up by Cok, who adds in the margin of this line: ‘Pryer of Joseph hou þe mawmetys were brende in þe forest of brooklond’ (fol. 72va). Brookland is in Kent, part of Romney Marsh, not far from a church where a medieval spring was dedicated to St Blaise.117 Joseph is here only said to have found inspiration to walk (for an indeterminate amount of time) until he arrived in the forest of Brooklond on a Friday. Although this does not suggest a clearer journey pattern for Joseph’s travels cross-country than the original Graal, Lovelich’s addition may have been intended to provide his audience with the impression of a firmer geography of the country, and the wide area covered by Joseph in his preaching, from Wales to Kent, again as an indication of the spread of Christianity throughout Britain. In the same episode Cok picked up on Joseph’s open display of the faith, and noted in the margin of folio 72va: ‘at þe prayer of Joseph hou þe mawmetys were brende in þe forest of Broklond’ and ‘declaracione of þe feiþ by Joseph’.118 The whole passage seems to have stirred Cok’s interest for its engagement with the conversion of the incurable Mathegrans and his pagan followers, which occasions numerous marginal notes. He writes ‘de saracene Mathegrans’ (of the Saracen Mathegrans) in the margin of folio 72va, alongside the lines in the text that read: ‘Sertes quod Mathegrans thanne / Sire, I holde the for a trewe manne’

116

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118

The Graal reads: ‘s’empassa outre la mer de Greche et vint en la terre de Sulie’ (P 188 para 306.3–4; crossed the sea of Greece and passed into the land of Syria; L 57). Lovelich’s couplet does not require the invention of ‘Cecyle’ to complete the rhyme, and Syria would have been just as suitable. It is tempting to ponder whether the medieval association of St Blaise with the church in Brookland was known to Lovelich, and may have triggered the link with the Arthurian story, given the role ‘Master Blasy’ plays in the recording of events in the Merlin. Another possibility might be that Lovelich somehow wanted to connect the story to Kent as the region known by his contemporaries as the first landing of Augustine and his missionaries. A ‘Herre Loveliche’ is mentioned in the book of deeds of John Lawney, a London broker of the early fifteenth century who married a stockfishmonger’s widow in 1422; she came from a wealthy merchant family in Lynne. In this book of deeds, now London, City of London Archives, Lynne MS, Lawney refers to ‘þe modir of my Wyef and here husband herre loveliche’ (Thrupp, Merchant Class, p. 124). Whether business in East Anglia took Lovelich somewhere further down in Kent is not clear, but the references in his text and the possibility that he was the Lovelich mentioned in this record suggest he may have had first-hand knowledge of the area, due to personal connections. I am grateful to Dr Dalrymple for this reference. Furnivall does not attempt to differentiate the spellings of Joseph’s and Josephe’s names in his edition given that the scribe himself is inconsistent; hence, I have emended the spellings in his edition for clarity.

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(XLIX: 299–300), notes Joseph’s prayer, through which Mathegrans is healed (fol. 72vb; a comment written alongside line 323, which reads ‘Thanne Joseph gan him up for to dresse’),119 then adds ‘[caret] de conversione saraceni post conqueste’ (fol. 72vb;120 of the Saracen’s conversion after the conquest) alongside the lines which contain Mathegrans’s divinely inspired words in which he welcomes Joseph as ‘Seriawynt of Iesu Crist / That God of the croys thou took a-down’ (XLIX: 331–2). The annotations seem to reach a climax of sorts in the actual baptism of the Saracens, which Cok notes: ‘de baptismo saraȝenorum’ (fol. 72vb; of the baptism of the Saracens), alongside the lines which record the event: ‘Weren there Cristened forsothe anon’ (XLIX: 364).121 The return of Cok’s annotations in this episode is justified by the story of conversion, itself directly linked to Joseph’s missionary zeal in preaching Christianity to the pagan British populations, and an indication of his legacy to future generations – the lineage of Nasciens’s descendants all the way to Galahad, which Cok carefully annotates later on in the manuscript. Lovelich’s change to the geographical mapping of the original Grail history is nowhere more evident than in relation to the place where Joseph of Arimathea was buried – stated clearly in the Graal to be located in Scotland. Here we reach the pinnacle of Lovelich’s literary edifice in the History; as expected for an English audience, Glastonbury makes an appearance in a chapter replete with references to authority and book-making. It starts with Lovelich’s (by now traditional) transitional line ‘Thanne procedyth forth this storye’ (LIV: 1) and continues a few lines later with further reassuring lines such as ‘As I ȝow seye ful certeynle’ (LIV: 5), only to anticipate the burial site for Joseph of Arimathea’s body at the Abbey of the Cross, as in the Graal, but with a significant change in the location of this religious foundation from Scotland to England: In this mene whille deyde Ioseph his fadyr dere, and was entered in a fair manere In Engelond, as seith this storye, In an Abbey of the Croys, as it maketh memorye, Wherefore Iosephes sore discomforted was, For his fadyr was beryed in that plas.  (LIV: 7–12; my emphases)

The Graal reads: Et Joseph d’Abarimachie estoit ja trespassez del siècle et avoit esté enterrez en Escosce en une abeïe que l’en apeloit l’ abeïe de la Croiz: et ce fu une chose dont Josephés estoit molt desconfortez, car mout amoit son pere de grant amor. (P 555 para 874.5–7; my emphasis) (Joseph had already died and was buried in Scotland in an abbey called the Abbey of the Cross, which made Josephe very unhappy, for he loved his father dearly.) (L 157) 119 120 121

Although it is clear the gloss refers to Joseph’s Christian prayer, its exact wording is not easy to decipher. The end of the gloss should read ‘post conquestum’. Here as elsewhere Cok’s Latin phrasing is not grammatically correct. There are additional annotations along the same lines, not discussed here.

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Later in the same chapter we are told that Josephe dies after he has made the red-cross shield and entrusted it to King Mordreins: and thus Iosephes there parted hym fro. Vppon the morwe atte owr of pryme he paste to God in a blesid tyme, and was entered in that same abbey There as kyng Mordreins bedered lay.  (LIV: 136–40)

Indeed in the Graal men from Scotland come to take Josephe’s body and move it from the abbey where Mordreins was buried to their lands. There it works miracles by ending a famine and turning the land fruitful; ultimately Josephe’s body is entered at a Scottish abbey that the Graal author names ‘of glay’, on the basis of the ‘histories of Scotland’ or of ‘the story of the Holy Grail’, depending on the manuscript version: Mais puis en vindrent la cil d’Escoce et emporterent le cors en Escoce por une grant famine qui en lor terre estoit: et fu veritez prove et les estoires meesmes d’Escoce [‘lestoire du saint graal’ in S] le tesmoignent que a la venue de ce seint cors vint en la terre tant de biens et de beneürtez en totes choses qe il distrent veraiement que ce avoit fait Nostre Sires por miracle et por henor de celui saint cors qui iluec avoit esté aportez; et fu li cors enterrez en l’abeiïe del Glai. (P 557 para 877.2–8; my emphases)122 (But later Scotsmen came and carried the body away to their lands, because of a great famine there. It is proven truth and the Chronicle of Scotland [the History of the Holy Grail in S] itself attests that upon the arrival of this holy body, so many good things and such a great blessing in everything came to the land, that they said Our Lord had truly done this for love of the body that had been brought there, to the Abbey of Glay.) (L 157)123

Here Lovelich’s translation marks an exceptional departure from his source as he unambiguously states that the abbey of ‘Glay’ (‘Glays’ in his translation) is in fact Glastonbury: But thane commen othir men, and his Fadyr bore Into a nothir contre besides thore; For a gret affamyne amonges hem was. Hid body they boren into that plas, For this storye ful trewe it is, and also i-proved with-owten mys, that at the entre of that holy man Al that famyne secede anon than; and the lond becam ful of blessidnesse,

122 123

See also S 285.30–6; H III 282; Hucher notes that another manuscript has ‘l’abbaye de Glar’, a variant reading of ‘Glay’. Here my translation differs from that in L because Sommer’s manuscript contains a reference to the Graal; also, the abbey of ‘Urglay’ represents another variant reading from another extant manuscript, not in P or S; hence I have emended the translation accordingly.

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of catel, of good, and of al richesse; so that they seiden with-owten obstacle, ‘that God for that body wrowhte miracle the wheche they browhte into that contre’; and in abbey was buryed ful solempne, that thabbey of Glays that tyme was cald, whech Abbey of Glaystyngbery now men hald.  (LIV: 141–56; my emphases)

Lovelich thus makes sure that it is not Josephe’s body, but that of his betterknown and saintly father Joseph that ‘othir men’ take ‘into a nothir contre’ where it stops the famine and brings a time of plenty, only to be buried again at Glastonbury. Here Lovelich retains the emphasis on authority and evidence he encountered in the Graal (‘For this storye ful trewe it is, / and also i-proved with-owten mys’), but fails to refer to any sources. Hardyng, who was probably writing his Chronicle around this time, chose to incorporate the story of the Grail Quest, and mentioned the association between Joseph of Arimathea’s burial place and Glastonbury.124 Edward Donald Kennedy has argued for a reading of Hardyng’s integration of the other branch of the Vulgate Cycle, the Queste del Saint Graal into the history of Arthur’s reign as a reflection of Hardyng’s intention to credit Arthur and his court for the achievement of the Grail. This would support Hardyng’s aim, to emphasise ‘the spiritual authority of Arthur’s rule’ and dismiss earlier Scottish claims referring to Arthur’s illegitimate rule over Scotland, and Scotland’s ‘preeminence as a Christian nation’ on the basis of the legend of St Andrew’s Christian mission.125 There is no evidence that Hardyng knew the Graal; had he read it, he would certainly have changed the reference to the abbey of ‘Glas/Glay/Glar’ to Glastonbury, as Lovelich did. Later still in the same episode Lovelich calls the Grail ‘sank ryal’ (LV: 354), showing that he was aware of the association already made at Glastonbury with the story of Joseph, credited in some accounts with having brought over to Britain not the Grail (in the Graal said to be a ‘dish’ or ‘platter’), but two vials of Christ’s blood (see Chapter 1). In the work of Lovelich’s predecessor, the anonymous author of the now fragmentary Joseph of Arimathie, the Grail is also a ‘dish’, not a chalice, cup or vial. It was Lydgate, also writing at this time, who called the Grail the ‘sang ryal’ in his Fall of Princes, a preference which implies a shared understanding of the Grail as a chalice in the early fifteenth

124

125

Edward Donald Kennedy, ‘John Hardyng and the Holy Grail’, Arthurian Literature 8 (1989), 185–206; Felicity Riddy, ‘Glastonbury, Joseph of Arimathea and the Grail in John Hardyng’s Chronicle’, in The Archaeology and History of Glastonbury Abbey, ed. L. Abrams and James P. Carley (Woodbridge, 1991), pp. 317–31; Riddy, ‘Chivalric Nationalism and the Holy Grail in John Hardyng’s Chronicle’, in The Grail: A Casebook, ed. Dhira M. Mahoney (New York, 2000), pp. 397–414 and, by the same author, ‘John Hardyng in Search of the Grail’, in Arturus Rex, ed. W. Van Hoecke (Leuven, 1991), pp. 419–29. See also John Hardyng’s Chronicle, ed. Peverley and Simpson, forthcoming, notes to Book 3. I am grateful to the editors for sharing material prior to publication and to Dr Peverley for discussing Hardyng’s use of the Grail legend with me. Kennedy, ‘John Hardyng and the Holy Grail’, pp. 203 and 205–6.

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century.126 The Grail could be thought of as an object that offered continuity, almost as a symbol of God’s grace linking past and present that would symbolically ‘heal’ the broken royal lineages of British history.127 I agree with Felicity Riddy’s assessment of John Hardyng’s use of the Grail as a ‘heraldic emblem that harks back through history to Joseph of Arimathea, binding together the British past’,128 though Lovelich seems to use the religious symbolism of the Grail through its connection with Christ’s blood and the Eucharist in order to suggest a healing of the ‘broken lineages’ of the fifteenth-century present.129 It comes as no surprise that Lovelich’s History reflects contemporary trends which interpreted the Grail as a relic and Joseph as a proto-evangelist of Britain. Another effort at localising the exotic features of the Graal is Lovelich’s use of heraldic terminology not present in his source. The red cross made by Joseph on Evalach’s shield has traditionally been seen in Arthurian romance as the link established by later medieval English kings between themselves and the national saint St George.130 Vincent Gillespie’s reassessment of spirituality in the immediate aftermath of Archbishop Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409 is apposite here; he notes that Henry Chichele, Arundel’s successor, had ‘intellectual and ecclesiastical horizons that were broader than those of Arundel’ and saw the benefit in seeking to expand the notion of ‘national unity in regional diversity’ by raising the cults of St George and St David to the same level enjoyed by St Thomas Becket.131 Lovelich’s use of the red-cross symbol fits in with this new development; after all, his contemporary, the Lancastrian court poet Lydgate, was responding to the same demand when he wrote The Legend of St George.132 At the same time Lovelich’s use of the symbol now firmly associated with the national saint suggests he also wanted to follow a contemporary trend. Lydgate also wrote the Lives of Ss Edmund and Fremund and the Fall of Princes; these mirrors for princes were aimed at the young Henry VI as educational tools from which the prince would learn how to avoid the mistakes made by bad kings of old and emulate those who balanced personal piety and public service. At the same time these texts functioned as guides for the literate when judging past 126

127

128 129 130

131 132

Lydgate’s Grail (‘Sang Real’) appears in his account of Sege Perilous in his Fall of Princes (see Fall of Princes, ed. Henry Bergen, 4 vols, EETS e.s. 121–4 (London, 1924–27), Book 8, line 2788). The story of the two vials of blood brought by Joseph of Arimathia had already featured in the Latin Brut and its Middle English translations as well as in Hardyng’s Chronicle, see above, pp. 102–3. I touch on this idea in ‘Genealogy in Insular Romance’, in Broken Lines: Genealogical Literature in Late Medieval Britain and France, ed. Raluca L. Radulescu and Edward Donald Kennedy (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 7–25, at pp. 24–5. Riddy, ‘John Hardyng in Search of the Grail’, p. 426. I am grateful to Dr Sarah Peverley for discussing this idea with me. See Mary Flowers Braswell, ‘The Search for the Holy Grail: Arthurian Lacunae in the England of Edward III’, SP 108:4 (2011), 469–87. Braswell reviews some of Lagorio’s evidence (‘Evolving Legend’) but is not concerned with developments in the early fifteenth century. Vincent Gillespie, ‘Chichele’s Church: Vernacular Theology in England after Thomas Arundel’, in After Arundel, ed. Gillespie and Gosh, pp. 3–42, at p. 13. Jennifer Floyd, ‘St. George and the “Steyned Halle”: Lydgate’s Verse for the London Armourers’, in Lydgate Matters, ed. Cooper and Denny-Brown, pp. 139–64.

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and contemporary kings’ governance.133 Hardyng used St George to highlight ‘[t]he continuity of British chivalry [which] is thus woven into the very fabric of history as the St George cross acts as a banner around which successive generations of British kings and knights rally’.134 The inheritance of the red cross of St George through the centuries would thus symbolically unite the destinies of Evalach, Nasciens, Galahad and King Arthur, all the way through history to fifteenth-century English kings, symbolising the spiritual legacy entrusted to the English from the time of Joseph of Arimathea, as displayed in manuscripts of the Brut chronicles and the Welsh Triads (see p. 102). Read in this context, Lovelich’s translation of the Graal reveals an approach both traditional, by retaining the aristocratic tone of the story, and innovative, by opening up the social spectrum of those called to partake in the story. His History is a visionary text, where divine intervention is frequent and direct, while symbolic interpretations of visions and dreams are crucial to understanding the role of individuals in history; the sense of predestination is inescapable. Lovelich stresses the truth of the story and its authority. Both of these notions come, of course, from the beginning of the original Graal, where the author says that he received the ‘High Book of the Grail’ from God’s hands. Although Corpus Christi MS 80 lacks the beginning of the History, Lovelich’s attention to the passages in which authority and truth are mentioned is visible; he has a vested interest in the reception of his text as a truthful account: For it is the gyse of this storye, In non manere of wyse forto lye. Ful plein this storye putteth in mynde, That al the certeinte of Sank Ryal is hard to fynde For ony man that evere of womman was born, As I haue ȝow often rehersed beforn; For that holy storye that to therthe anexed was, As scheweth the mowth of trowþe in this plas, Which is Jesus Crist, Goddis sone, That for vs on the Roode was done.  (XXVII: 264–73; my emphases)135

Elsewhere Lovelich retains the original presentation of divine explanation of how mankind has sinned, but also adds: ‘And ek schewed hem there in that Scripture / Alle the lignage of man, I the ensure’ (XXVII: 322–3; my emphasis). These lines suggest trust in a direct relationship between Christ and everyman, further underlined in a passage on the universal appeal of the Grail story to all sections of society: this blessid Storye Of Seint Graal ful Sekerlye, 133 134 135

See the essays in St Edmund, King and Martyr: Changing Images of a Medieval Saint, ed. Anthony Bale (York, 2009); Somerset, ‘Hard is with seyntis…’. Moll, Before Malory, p. 182. The red-cross shield conveys a visually significant link between the Grail, Arthur and nationalism, later explored by Thomas Malory. P 257–8, para 415, 416; L 76.

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Whiche that is Clepid ‘the Sank Ryal’ Of kyng, lord, bacheler, boþe gret & small; ho dar Sein the Contrarie Of this? Non erthly man forsothe I-wis, Nethir be non devyn awtorite the contrarie proven in non degree. And ȝif he conne aleggen ony oþer wyse in ony degre as for his repryse for a leseng it moste be taken certeine, of alle swich that it don sosteyne.  (XXVII: 350–61; my emphasis)136

The frequency with which Lovelich appeals to notions of authority and the truthfulness of his account is, to some extent at least, linked to the use of convenient ‘fillers’ from the storage-house of his own ‘memory-making’ techniques. Many examples in both his History and Merlin attest to his tendency to repeat convenient phrases and lines, which result in moments of tedious narration and slowing the storytelling down. This feature seems to run counter to the claim made by both Dalrymple and Warren that Lovelich’s enterprise may have been intended for public performance, although the frequent appeal to an audience’s goodwill and veracity of an author’s claims have been traditionally associated with the minstrel and performance topoi. On the other hand, however, the repetition of phrases which could easily be classed as ‘fillers’ in key parts of the Graal bears witness to Lovelich’s similar concern with establishing his credibility and the truth of his story. His attempts to authorise the version of the Grail history he is creating are reinforced through the use of reference to the Scriptures. For example, when Solomon ponders on the importance of his lineage, he is delighted to discover that the Blessed Virgin Mary herself will be of his own lineage: Thanne stodyed Salamon from day to day, Of this blessed maiden to knowen more verray, ȝif that a modir that maide scholde be, and comen of his lyne, thus merveilled he, thanne was he glad in alle manere that of his awncestris swich a sprig scholde comen þere. (XXX: 109–14; my emphasis)137

Although in both the Graal and in the History the significance of this passage is related to Solomon’s lineage, the imagery employed in the latter is more vivid, 136 137

Not in P 258 para 415, 416; S 120; L 76. The original reads: ‘Lors comence a penser de jor en jor a cele beneüree feme por sauoir s’ele seroit mere ou fins de son lingnage’ (P 282 para 449). (Then he began to think each day about this blessed woman to learn whether she would be a mother and the end of his line; L 82.) Chase explores the implications of this section in the story in the Graal, especially in relation to the representation of the Virgin from the bearer of Christ to the root of Christ’s genealogical tree going back to King David in the ‘Tree of Jesse’ iconography in the thirteenth century; she points out that the belief went back to the Fathers of the Church, and contradicts biblical genealogies (‘La conversion des païennes’, pp. 259–60).

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reminding the reader not only of the Tree of Jesse in biblical exegesis, but also of its visual representations in the increasingly popular universal histories and royal genealogies circulating in Europe and then in England at the beginning of the fifteenth century (see Chapter 1).138 Late fourteenth- and early fifteenthcentury French royal genealogies and universal histories placed emphasis on the pious, church-building efforts of the French kings from the earliest episodes in history, while depicting in parallel the treachery-ridden, violent descent of the English kings. Lovelich’s concern with emphasising the noble and biblically sanctioned descent of the Grail keepers sheds light on his desire to emphasise the British as the elect nation whose claims to spiritual ancestry go all the way back to biblical accounts such as Solomon’s. As Lagorio has suggested, by promoting the (now English) proto-evangelist St Joseph of Arimathea/of Glastonbury the English prelates were able to offer, at the councils of the Church taking place in the first part of the fifteenth century, a worthy competitor to the cult of the French St Denis.139 The image created for ‘the eyes of memory’ here would link the story Lovelich tells with royal genealogies which stretched back all the way to Adam, in which English kings would want to be portrayed in as positive a light as their French counterparts. These genealogies were visually modelled on the Tree of Jesse usually employed in biblical genealogies.140 This episode leads to a renewed concern with the authenticity of the story, obsessively repeated through the use of filler phrases: ‘vs doth telle this story’ (XXX: 338), ‘as this storye doth devyse’ (XXX: 375) and ‘As this storye schal shewen with-owten variaunce’ (XXX: 488). That Lovelich had in mind the genealogical rolls which were beginning to gain popularity in England in his period is evident from his word choice in this episode and later, especially when he recounts the format in which Solomon’s descent is recorded, a ‘writ’ which contains the uninterrupted lineage of the Grail keepers from Solomon to Galahad in Arthur’s time:

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139 140

R. Howard Bloch studies the complex genealogy of Galahad, the Grail knight, who in the Queste del Saint Graal is said to come from the lineage of King David and of the kindred of Joseph of Arimathea, but without an clear indication whether this is on the mother’s or on the father’s side (Etymologies and Genealogies: A Literary Anthropology of the French Middle Ages (Chicago, 1986), pp. 208–12). For a discussion of Malory’s later use of Galahad’s genealogy from the Queste see Chapter 4. Lagorio, ‘Evolving Legend’, p. 221. Chase explains how the author of the Graal, by using and developing Lancelot’s genealogical descent from the Queste, ‘semble vouloir lui donner une ascendance paternelle aussi glorieuse que celle de sa mère, qui remonte au roi David’ (seems to want to grant him a paternal descent as famous as that of his mother, whose descent goes back to King David; my translation). By doing this the Graal author removes Lancelot’s link with Joseph of Arimathea mentioned in the Prose Lancelot; there Lancelot discovers he does come from the lineage of a descendant of Joseph, who had fought with the infidel in Britain (Joseph is also described as fighting in battles in this text, though in the Graal his mission is only accomplished through preaching). By contrast, the Graal attaches the lineages of Gawain, Yvain, and the Fisher Kings to Joseph’s; thus Galahad is descended, on his mother’s side, from the Fisher Kings, and all the way back from Bron, a character who is said to be one of Joseph’s kindred (‘La conversion des païennes’, p. 259 and references at nn. 15 and 34). See also Appendix 2 below.

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Thys was the begynneng of his writ there, Whiche Salamon wrot in this manere; For of Logres that worthy knyht Whiche that into this schip scholde be dyht Wrot Salamon this qwestion sekerly, And into the schipe it putte trewly. And now of forein londes scholen ȝe here As the storye of sank ryal reherseth in diuers manere. (XXX: 526–35; my emphasis)141

It is this ‘writ’ that Nasciens will find later on, when he understands the mission entrusted to his lineage: Thanne he opened he that wryt anon, And many merveilles þere beheld he son, That in Ebrw I-wreten there, And in lattyn, in dyvers manere; And openly it tolde of goddis knyhtes, & of his ministers anon there ryhtes.  (XXXIX: 205–9)142

A gloss was (possibly) copied in the margin of these lines; it reads ‘the genelogye of Nassen’ (fol. 54rb) as it seems to be in the same ink and hand as that of the text scribe. The gloss draws attention to the second main concern in Lovelich’s History, genealogical descent. Unsurprisingly, the interpretation of the ‘writ’ as a genealogical roll is already contained in Lovelich’s evolving choice of terminology from ‘a lytel writ’ (XXXIX: 157), to a ‘lyveret’ (XXXIX: 267) and finally a ‘rollete’: For he wiste wel with-owten dowte That it scholde be trewe al abowte, Lyk as he fond in that rolette, Whiche that in his hond was sette.  (XXXIX: 295–8; my emphasis)

Lovelich’s change to his source likely struck a chord with his readers and, moreover, would have satisfied his commissioner. The London Skinners’ Company, through its prominent member, Barton, could boast ownership and knowledge of a text that brought together the secular and spiritual aspirations of the highest echelons in society. The visual presentation of Corpus Christi MS 80, with its planned spaces for illustrations, supports the intended use of this book as an object to be enjoyed visually as well as read. Barton’s commissioning of the translations and possibly also of the manuscript itself are supported by evidence of his status on the London scene in the period. The impressive financial legacy he left after his death, with masses still sung for his soul well into the sixteenth century, suggests he envisaged leaving a mark in English society. The commissioning of Lovelich’s translations and the manuscript they were copied in would

141 142

In the Graal it is a ‘brief’ (P 287 para 457.1), translated into modern English as ‘letter’ (L 84). P 403 para 634.8–10; L 116.

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form part of Barton’s legacy.143 Lovelich’s role may be seen as that of ‘inscribing’ (for the benefit of his English audiences) the story of the Graal into contemporary fifteenth-century genealogical rolls, drawing attention to contemporary models of recording the history of the nation. Recording or indeed inscribing the story of the bed and its spindles requires both care and particular skill, and necessarily lead to a message of some obscurity for future generations. The message put forth in the Graal is that only the elect will receive a full vision of God’s mysteries, and even they will suffer in the process, especially if they do not have the patience and wisdom to wait until the appointed time. Nasciens, whose suffering is presented at some length, and in clear terms, as similar to that of Job, thinks the bed and its spindles denote a difficult cipher (‘for I ne can not demyn in my memorye’; XXXI: 21), though, with divine assistance, he then acknowledges ‘for I knowe wel in my memorye’ (XXXI: 119). The esoteric nature of the messages contained in the whole Graal and in this section in particular seems to have influenced Lovelich’s ‘making of memory’ – where the Graal contains none of this focus: And thowgh this mater and oþere longe not to þis ȝit he that this book made hath put it in memorye Forto maken a cler notysyng, And forto declaren so everithing More openly to mannes mynde, Al the mater the bettere to bryngen to an ende: thus alle thinges doth he putten in memorye, he that ferst made this holy storye.  (XXXIII: 541–8; my emphases)144

143

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London, Guildhall Library MS 31302/194 (dated during the reign of James IV, and to the records of the ‘Corporatio’ – then added ‘Societate de Skynners’, 15 February 1607) contains a record, among other, of the number of masses which had been arranged ‘pro anima Henrici Barton’ in perpetuity, which suggests a significant financial commitment planned during his lifetime for this purpose, as well as his investment in creating a monument of sorts – being remembered in the London community for years to come. In 1434 Barton also left properties to the city to create an almshouse although it seems the city did not fulfil the bequest; see Jean Imray, The Charity of Richard Witthington: History of the Trust Administered by the Mercers’ Company, 1424–1966 (London, 1968). For recent work on the related topic of mercers’ religion in the same period, see Amy Appleford and Nicholas Watson, ‘Merchant Religion in Fifteenth-Century London: The Writings of William Litchfield’, The Chaucer Review 46:1–2 (2011), 203–22; Amy Appleford, ‘The Dance of Death in London: John Carpenter, John Lydgate, and the Dance of Poulys’, JMEMS 38:2 (2008), 285–314; and, by the same author, ‘The Good Death of Richard Witthington: Corpse and Corporation’, in The Ends of the Body: Identity and Community in Medieval Culture, ed. Suzanne Conklin Akbari and Jill Ross (Toronto, 2013), pp. 86–109. I thank Professor Watson and Dr Appleford for discussing aspects of fifteenth-century religious devotion with me, and to Dr Appleford for sharing her work with me prior to publication. In the original Graal none of the emphasis on memory and ‘clear notysyng’ is present: ‘Si fist puis Nostre Sires maint biel miracle por l’amor de lui, dont li contes se taist, pour ce que cele estoire n’apartient pas del tot a ceste, ainz apartient a celui livre qui devise les estoires des rois de Persse’ (P 327 para 514.3–5) (Since then Our Lord has worked many beautiful miracles for his sake, which the story is silent about, because

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Lovelich’s use of memory in the context of verses with a spiritual import may also be related to medieval religious lyrics, where memory is associated with virtue; indeed, as Christiania Whitehead notes, ‘visual memory was widely viewed as the surest and most superior mode of recollection’.145 Lovelich may be considered, from this perspective, as a participant in the broader debate over memory and its functions in a period dominated by religious reform. According to Gillespie, Hoccleve was another writer who pondered on the issue: ‘The Series can be read on one level as a coded and allusive account of the English Church’s return from sickness with the beginning of the Council at Constance (1414–18) and its determination to reform in head and members.’146 Gillespie proposes this interpretation on the basis of Hoccleve’s references to ‘memorie’ and ‘recovering his wits’.147 Lovelich, writing sometime in the 1420s and 1430s, also seems to have focused on memory, speaking and understanding the truth, and the clarity of the divine message. It would not be surprising if he, like Hoccleve and his contemporaries, reflected, in their literary productions, on the state of the English Church in the aftermath of the very Church councils at which the English prelates’ claim for the prestige of their national church was justified by use of the legend of Joseph of Arimathea’s mission in Britain. Closely linked to the veracity of the story of the Grail is the devotional aspect of the story Lovelich inherited from the Graal, which he adapts, in some respects, to suit his contemporaries’ experience. As the Grail is mentioned with increased frequency and its importance reiterated, so is Lovelich’s appeal to ‘everyman’s’ duty to remember religious duties and God. Lovelich’s rendering of prayers is more intimate than in his source, reminding the modern reader of the wording of Middle English prayers and lyrics. To take just a few examples, the messengers ‘thanked Jesus, Maryes son, Anon’ (XXXV: 414)148 and later, when the Grail provides for them: And there they maden here preyere To Jesus Cryst so leef an deere that he wolde of his grete mercy Hem comfort to senden hastely And that he wolde not hem forgete There to dyen for fawt of mete; But as the fadyr socoureth the child, So do ȝe vs, goode lord, both mek & myld.  (XXXVII: 669–72; my emphases)149

145 146 147 148 149

this material does not at all belong to this book, but to the one that tells the story of the king of Persia; L 95.) Christiania Whitehead, ‘Middle English Religious Lyrics’, in A Companion to the Middle English Lyric, ed. Duncan, pp. 96–112, at p. 115. Gillespie, ‘Chichele’s Church’, p. 40. Thomas Hoccleve, ‘My Compleint’, in My Compleint and Other Poems, ed. Roger Ellis (Exeter, 2001), lines 50–6. See the difference in P 345 para 538.8–9; L 99. P 383 para 597.5–6; L 116 contains similar wording, but not the modern translations of ‘leef an deree’ or ‘mek and myld’.

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McCarthy reaches the same conclusion: Lovelich takes the rather fierce evangelization of the pagan world which is portrayed in the Estoire [del Saint Graal], and alters it to a more gentle process of conversion. In the same way that his language reflects colloquial and proverbial phrases, his understanding of the Grail quest seems to be coloured by the patterns of contemporary religious practice. Lovelich appears to feel that the change of heart which accompanies a conversion to Christianity arises from an ordering of the world which is founded on love.150

In the words of the sinner Chanaam, who deserves to be punished by God, Lovelich adds an appeal to an understanding of the mercy of God, with Jesus as the divine physician: And þerefore I beseche to God my Savyour That is medicyne to alle dolour, That he wolde, for his rihtwos pyte And for his large mercy, to rewen on me, – […] Ne forsaken myn sowle for his pite Which that he bowhte with his precious blood Thorwh his hard deth vppon the rood. And as of mercy and pite he is the rote, So to myn synful soule he do bote.  (LI: 43–6, 56–60; my emphasis)151

Devotion in Lovelich is not only to God in the person of Jesus Christ, but also to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and denying her virginity is an abominable sin.152 In the History the close translation of the episode in which Lucan’s denial of Blessed Virgin Mary’s virginity (XLIII: 163–8) is severely punished draws attention to Lovelich’s preference for a pro-Orthodox attitude.153 The practice of one’s faith is clearly important for Lovelich not only in the wording of the prayers, which he has evidently updated in tune with his contemporaries’ practice, but also in simple matters, such as attendance at mass. To take an example, Mordreins is like a fifteenth-century pious Englishman; he ‘herde he matynes and masse bothe’ (XLV: 125). Post Arundel’s Constitutions it may appear surprising that Lovelich translates and places emphasis on Josephes’s mission to his people, to preach:

150 151 152

153

McCarthy, ‘Late Medieval English Treatments of the Grail Story’, pp. 109–10. P 520 para 822.3–13; L 147. Lay Folks Cathechism, p. 26. This element is also confirmed in the earlier episode in which Evalach has a nocturnal vision in which he receives clarification on two aspects of the dogma that he is still troubled by, the Trinity and the Blessed Virgin Mary’s virginal status during and after Christ’s birth (Chapter XVII). On the history of the dogma see The New Catholic Encyclopaedia (New York, 1967). This Orthodox attitude is best studied in Valerie Edden, ‘The Devotional Life of the Laity in the Late Middle Ages’, in Approaching Medieval English Anchoritic and Mystical Texts, ed. Dee Dyas, Valerie Edden and Roger Ellis (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 35–49; Mary Erler, ‘Devotional Literature’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, III: 1400– 1557, ed. Hellinga and Trapp, pp. 495–525.

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Than Josephes departed thenne in hye And with him his compenye And of his kynnes men also, Abowtes in the contre forto go, The holy ewangelye forto preche, And the peple, of Christendom to teche.  (XLVII: 5–10; my emphasis)154

In the Graal the audience learns about Josephe’s departure from Galafort with the aim of preaching, but Lovelich carefully inserts more emphasis on this activity; he repeats the whole phrase a few lines later: ‘to prechen the peple ful certeinle’ (XLVII: 16). Cok also underlined Joseph’s and Josephe’s preaching and miracles accompanying their mission on a number of occasions.155 There is an unmistakable sense of mission here, one which includes a broad reassessment of the secular elements in the story of the Grail. Could this be a link to the ‘newly European, but also newly austere’ tenor which Archbishop Chichele gave to English orthodoxy? Gillespie points out: In their liturgical and institutional reforms they [Chichele and his men] set a new course for the English Church. The orthodox reformers also placed a new emphasis on preaching as the primary medium of scriptural instruction and exposition in the wake of Arundel’s cautions about the dangers of written vernacular translations of Scripture.156

In this context Lovelich’s repetition of ‘preaching’ might be read as a justification of his return to the safer topic of chivalric lineages.157 He works hard at maintaining his readers’ interest in the complex lineages of the Fisher Kings and of the main Arthurian chivalric heroes Lancelot, Gawain and Yvain. His chronicle style reinforces the idea that his narrative is a trustworthy recording of the history of Britain’s Christian conversion that he sees himself responsible for (LI: 1057–70; not in the Graal). The substantial emphasis on the future of the Grail keepers and their lineage at the very end of the story, both in the Graal and in the History, is also matched by Cok’s careful annotations. He writes ‘genalogye’ (fol. 87rb) in the margin of the

154 155 156 157

P 479 para 759.3–4; L 136. Fols 64ra, 64rb, 72va (noted above), 73ra, etc. I discuss all of the annotations elsewhere. Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Theology’, p. 417. One is reminded of Hoccleve’s ‘Address to Sir John Oldcastle’, in which the Lollard knight was urged to read the (safe) material of chivalric romances, and leave behind heresy: ‘Bewar, Oldcastel & for Crystes sake, / Clymbe no more in holy writ so hie! / Rede the storie of Lancelot de lake, / Or Vegece of the aart of Chiualrie, / The Seege of Troie, or Thebes thee applie, / To thyng þat may to thordre of knyght longe! / To thy correccioun now haaste and hie, / For thow haast been out of ioynt al to longe’ (Hoccleve’s Works: The Minor Poems, ed. F. J. Furnivall, EETS e.s. 61 (London, 1892), lines 193–200). In Lovelich we encounter none of the rebellious spirit of the Lantern of Light, the incendiary text the ownership of which brought about the death of a London skinner, John Claydon, in 1415 (see The Lantern of Liȝt, ed. L. M. Swinburn, EETS o.s. 151 (London, 1917, repr. 1988), p. viii). Here I disagree with Michelle Warren, who believes that there is something unorthodox about Lovelich’s trans­lation of the Graal (and Barton’s commission of it) into Middle English (private communication).

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narrative of Nasciens’s descendants158 and counts them, using Roman numerals (i–viii).159 Further underlining, in red crayon, of ‘Lawncelot’ (twice) and the line ‘And weddyd a kynges dowhter of Irlonde’ (fol. 87rb), ‘Lawncelot’ (fol. 87va), ‘Merline’, ‘Robert of Boron’ and other lines (fol. 88rb) could be assigned to Cok’s hand, or may be a witness of the influence of his annotations on a later reader of the manuscript. No such annotations appear in Lovelich’s fragmentary translation of Merlin, which suggests Cok did not take any interest in this text.160 Cok’s layers of annotation highlight his appreciation of Lovelich’s efforts to emphasise the descent of the future Grail knight Galahad, and testify to his interests in the same themes that Lovelich’s major textual innovations brought to the attention of his audience: the king’s suffering, genealogical descent and the spiritual legacy of Joseph’s mission in Britain. Lovelich’s translations raise a number of important questions about developments in Arthurian romance in Middle English and the place of romance on the London literary scene. As Hanna has demonstrated in his study of the earlier period, the capital’s engagement with Arthurian and non-Arthurian romance, alongside other genres, had been long-standing by the time Lovelich produced his work. The earlier translation of the Old French Merlin into Middle English, Of Arthur and of Merlin, was still being enjoyed by London audiences in the fifteenth century, as Horobin and Wiggins have argued (see above, pp. 88–9). Dalrymple has analysed Lovelich’s use of metaphors of physical movement when referring to the progress of his narrative from one scene to another in the Merlin; a similar tendency is evident in the History, though limited to fewer instances. At one point the narrator invites readers: ‘Now let vs beleven of kyng Evalach / And firthere into this mater now let vs walk’ (XV: 1–2), at another he tells us ‘Thus this storie forthere gynneth procede’ (XXVI: 1), ‘Now procedith forthere this storye / and openly scheweth to owre memorye’ (XXXVII: 1–2); ‘Now scheweth forth this storye / and putteth vs into more memorye’ (LVI: 1–2); ‘Now this storye doth forth procede’ (LII: 1). The evidence in the Merlin is a great deal more complex, with numerous examples suggesting the possibility that at least some sections of the text may have been read aloud in public performances.161 Against the broad canvas of Lovelich’s body of work (at over 50,000 lines), however, these are but few instances which stand as unique references to a process that can only be seen as a ‘pageant’ or performance if envisaged in brief, self-contained episodes extracted from what would other158 159 160

161

Cf. the earlier text scribe’s possible copying of the marginal gloss ‘genelogye of Nassen’ (fol. 54rb). There is another numeral, a possible later addition (the Arabic numeral 10), though it is not clear whether was intended to form part of the same numbering system. In the Merlin the only relevant annotation, though in a hand different from Cok’s, appears in the margin of the episode where Mordred is conceived; it merely states: ‘the birthe and the engendrure of Mordret’ (fol. 135r), drawing attention to this crucial moment in the Arthurian story, without any commentary. Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’, pp. 158–9. The extent to which these performances may be considered ‘public’ or ‘private’ (in the modern sense of the words) remains a matter of debate.

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wise be a particularly long and hard-to-follow story, especially in the case of the History. A possible meaning of the Middle English word ‘pageant’ was ‘a narrative’ or indeed ‘romance’, as attested by its usage in two other contexts, John Page’s poem Siege of Rouen and an annotation to the romance of Alexander and Dindimus, both from a period contemporary with Lovelich.162 Warren, following Dalrymple’s lead, concludes that Lovelich is ‘treating narration as a physical space [which] enhances the impression of a material relation between narrator and listening public, who share a physical relation to the performed text. In Lovelich’s case, ambulatory metaphors further link the narrative to the experience of public procession.’163 Warren’s hypothesis is based on a presumed commissioning of Lydgate’s Pageant for Corpus Christi by the London Skinners’ Company; she justifies this hypothetical act of commissioning by linking it to the prominence of this guild in fifteenth-century London.164 The narrative in Merlin contains events that would appeal to an early fifteenthcentury audience due to the presence of many popular Arthurian figures (Merlin, Uther Pendragon and, of course, King Arthur), and it may have been read as a mirror for princes or chronicle of sorts. On the other hand, it is hard to imagine how a performer could hold his audience’s attention in episodes of tedious narration related to adventures taking place long ago and far away, as is the case with the numerous excursus the Graal author engaged in and Lovelich faithfully translated. None of the traditional markers of performance, such as lines joining up couplets or signalling the rhyme encountered in so many of the extant manuscripts of popular Middle English romances, including the early fifteenth-century version of Of Arthour and of Merlin in Lincoln’s Inn MS 150, are present in Corpus Christi MS 80. Warren’s hypothesis that Lovelich’s name, revealed in an acrostic in Latin (Hen- gallina, rye cilligo, Love- amo, liche 162

163 164

In the poem The Siege of Rouen, attributed to John Page, and often copied into the Brut chronicles, reference is made to romance-writing. Interestingly, it is Egerton MS 1995 (which contains Gregory’s chronicle), that the word ‘processe’ appears with this meaning: ‘This procesce made John Page / with outyn fabylle or fage’ (fol. 109v). See Joanna Bellis, ‘Art’s Ambiguous Object: John Page’s Siege of Rouen, a Siege Romance of the Hundred Years War?’ in Insular Romance: Contexts and Traditions, ed. Ken Rooney, forthcoming. In the manuscript now containing the romance of Alexander the Great as well as the added letter of Alexander to Dindimus, a note was written by the scribe on a blank folio in order to justify the copying of the latter text: ‘Here fayleth a prossesse of this romance of alixandre the wheche prossesse that fayleth ye schulle fynde at the ende of tis bok ywrete in engelyche ryme and whanne ye han radde it to the ende turneth hedur ayen and turneth ovyr thys lef and bygynneth at this reson. Che fu el mois de may que li tans novele’ (Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Bodley 264, fol. 67r), discussed by Mark Cruse, Arizona State University, in his conference paper ‘Historiography, Geography, and Authenticity: The Marco Polo Text and the Alexander Romances in Bodleian Library MS Bodl. 264’, presented at the ‘Romance in Medieval Britain’ conference, Oxford, March 2012. See also MED, s. v. ‘proces’, 3 a., discussed in Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’, nn. 17, 18, 19. Warren, ‘London, Lydgate’, p. 132. Ibid., p. 118, and n. 24. The Confraternity of Corpus Christi counted among its members prominent figures in the royal family throughout the fifteenth century and had responsibility for the civic celebrations on the same feast since at least 1393 (Meale, ‘Book Production’, pp. 212–13).

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similis) as the second line in a couplet (now copied at the bottom of folio 171va) could have been part of an aural game during a performance, seems insufficiently substantiated by the evidence.165 It is likely that Lovelich shared with his contemporaries a passion for acrostics, and it happens that Cok, his annotator, was perhaps more than others inclined to use them on a regular basis. Margaret Connolly suggests that ‘a fondness for such clever riddles may have been one of the interests shared by […] two men [Cok and Shirley]’.166 In the absence of stronger evidence to link Lovelich directly with Shirley, one may only note that Cok would most likely have enjoyed Lovelich’s Latin pun, even that the two may have been part of the same literary circle at some point. The present analysis of Lovelich’s textual innovations and Cok’s annotations strongly suggests that both of them took an interest in the themes of the king’s suffering and genealogical descent. Lovelich and Cok make sure that their audiences are left in no doubt that the exceptional trials Evalach/Mordreins goes through, to some extent resembling Christ’s temptations in the desert, point to the status of the king, not ‘everyman’. The king rises up to the challenge, fulfilling not only his personal duty as a new convert on the difficult path to personal salvation, but also as a king who remains responsible for the welfare of his subjects and offers them a model of spiritual life. Lovelich displays an interest in a number of other literary issues directly pertinent to Lydgate’s work, with whom Dalrymple suggests he should be associated due to the latter’s productions for London civic display, whether pageants or religious feasts. Warren builds on this observation by suggesting that Lovelich shared with Lydgate the use of the couplet as the most suitable form for truth-telling.167 It may be argued that Lovelich did not need Lydgate’s model for the use of the couplet, which had been established in the popular Middle English romances since the fourteenth century; Lydgate is also better known for his use of the rhyme royal stanza. How familiar Lovelich was with Lydgate’s productions remains open to debate. In particular, the significance of the fact that the majority of Lydgate’s minor poems, including the mummings and disguisings, are contained in manuscripts copied by John Shirley, the associate of Cok, cannot be overlooked. Cambridge, Trinity College MS R.3.20,

165

166

167

Warren goes as far as to suggest that the pun may even have even been copied into the manuscript at a later date, since, she observes, it is written in ‘darker ink and below the line that defines the bottom of the column (fol. 172v) – the only line in the manuscript to break this boundary’, although also concedes that it completes a couplet which otherwise would have been left unfinished (‘Lydgate, Lovelich’, p. 125). Indeed missing lines were inserted at some stage in both translations in a hand that appears to be very similar to that of the text scribe who had probably skipped lines and thus left incomplete couplets; yet this does not indicate that new lines were composed – such as the pun on Lovelich’s name – to fill incomplete couplets. In fact the last line was clearly added not only to complete the couplet, but also to keep the text together, since it occurs at the bottom of column one, and column two starts with a space. Connolly, John Shirley, p. 165. Connolly (p. 169 n. 66) notes further instances of Cok’s passion for acrostics standing for his own initials in manuscripts he copied (first noted by Doyle, ‘More Light’, p. 99, n. 43). Warren, ‘Lydgate, Lovelich’, Dalrymple, ‘Evele knowen ȝe Merlyne’.

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compiled in the early 1430s, brings together those among Lydgate’s productions directly relevant to the present discussion of Lovelich’s translation. It contains six of the mummings and disguisings as well as the Procession of Corpus Christi, the Sodein Fal of Princes, The Legend of St George and Bycorne and Chychevache, which makes it, in the words of its recent editor, Clare Sponsler, ‘the single most important source for Lydgate’s performance pieces’.168 Each of these texts and Lydgate’s longer and better known Fall of Princes and Troy Book address themes Lovelich also used in his translation, whether lessons of the mirror for princes type, the legend of St George or emphasis on visual memory. It is less clear to what extent Lovelich made conscious reference to Lydgate’s work, or indeed whether he saw himself as working in the shadow of the greater writer of the Lancastrian court. In the absence of evidence to connect Lovelich with Lydgate – via Cok or Shirley, or in some other way – his conscious exploitation of themes in the greater poet’s work remains to be proven. Lovelich’s humble leave-taking at the end of the History, in the manner of traditional medieval writers, cannot disguise his textual innovations or the pride he takes in his enterprise: And I, as an vnkonneng man trewely, Into Englisch haue drawen this story; And thowgh that to ȝow not plesyng it be, ȝit that ful excused ȝe wolde hauen me, Of my neclegence and vnkonnenge On me to taken swich a thinge Into owre modris tonge for to endite, The swettere to sowne to more and lyte; And more cler to ȝoure vndirstondyng Thanne owther Frensch oþer Latyn, to my sopposing; And þerfore atte the ende of this storye A pater noster ȝe wolden for me preye, For me that herry Lonelich hyhte.  (LVI: 521–33; my emphasis)

In the light of the present analysis his reference to ‘neclegence and vnkonnenge’ should no longer be taken at face value by his modern critics. Quite early in his translation of the Merlin he asks for the audience’s prayers so that he can accomplish his task: ‘Therfore for herry Louelyche that ȝe preye, / that til this be endid, he may not deye, / but liven jn helthe and prosperite; / Now, good lord, grante hit moot so be’ (Merlin, X: 10,251–4). Whether or not he lived to enjoy some popularity for his productions, at least among the London skinners, remains subject to further research. Above all, Lovelich’s translation of the History of the Holy Grail responds to a climate of ideas emerging from a period marked by anxieties surrounding the deposition of Richard II and Henry IV’s illness, followed by the uncertainty of Henry VI’s minority. Suffering kings and subjects, concern over disruptions in the royal succession and the place of the English Church and state on the inter168

John Lydgate: Mummings and Entertainments, ed. Clare Sponsler (Kalamazoo, MI, 2010), Intro.

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national scene were topics debated in the capital while Lovelich was writing. In Cok’s annotations169 we witness an emphasis on these topics informed by an evident desire to highlight, from among Lovelich’s many innovations, the themes explored in the present study. Lovelich and his commissioner seized upon the narratives of the Graal and Merlin, in which they recognised a muchneeded line of continuity in British history and a reassurance (for their English audience) that British ancestry was firmly anchored in secular and spiritual histories from long ago.

169

It has come to my attention, at the proofreading stage of this book, that a recent PhD thesis contains a discussion of Cok’s annotations (Nicole Eddy, ‘Marginal Annotation in Medieval Romance Manuscripts: Understanding the Contemporary Reception of the Genre’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Notre Dame, July 2012); it was too late to engage with this work.

4 The Politics of Salvation in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur ‘a tale cronycled for one of the trewyst and of þe holyest that ys in thys worlde.’ (1037.9–12; fol. 409r)1

The transmission of the pious romances selected in this study throughout the fifteenth century proposes, as indicated in Chapter 1, an ‘open envelope’ structure for the analysis of Lovelich’s and Malory’s projects. While Lovelich and his annotator Cok took a visible interest in both strands explored in this study, Malory’s approach to one of the themes, the king’s suffering, is not as evident as his concern over lineages. Furthermore, it is a commonplace in criticism to note Lancelot’s pre-eminence in Le Morte Darthur (henceforth Morte), stemming from Malory’s empathy for his favourite knight’s values and inner conflicts. For these reasons another examination of Lancelot’s position in the Morte from the viewpoint of the king’s suffering may appear unnecessary. However, Malory repositioned Lancelot in the Middle English Arthurian tradition by adding justifications for his actions in the last two tales as well as more emphasis on his spiritual and political trajectories from the Grail Quest onwards. In some ways Lancelot overshadows Arthur towards the end of the Morte. As Malory’s readers are encouraged to review Arthur’s kingship and governance in the last two tales, Lancelot’s model leadership in political and spiritual matters gains prominence in the narrative. Given his unwavering loyalty to his king and friend, Lancelot is no competitor to Arthur; yet Lancelot’s model of spiritual and secular behaviour provides the audience with an alternative to Arthur’s predominantly secular outlook. When Sir Thomas Malory decided to incorporate into his Morte a version of the Grail Quest he had a choice between the Vulgate and the Post-Vulgate versions of the Queste del Saint Graal (henceforth Queste), not to mention additional relevant passages from other parts of the cyclic and non-cyclic romances.2 1

2

All references to Thomas Malory’s work are from The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, 3 vols, ed. E. Vinaver, 3rd rev. edn, ed. P. J. C. Field (Oxford, 1990), henceforth Works, cited parenthetically in the text, and, when relevant, from the only extant manuscript, London, British Library MS Additional 59678, known as the Winchester manuscript, cited by folio number. Field lists no fewer than four possible sources previously identified for several aspects of the Grail Quest, even if the base text for Malory’s translation was clearly the Vulgate Queste: The Vulgate and Post-Vulgate Queste, the Prose Tristan and the Perlesvaus (P. J. C. Field, ‘Malory and the Grail: The Importance of Detail’, in The Grail, the Quest, ed. Lacy,

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Most critical studies of his ‘Tale of the Sankgreal’ (henceforth ‘Sankgreal’), however, only consider it in comparison with its main source, the Queste.3 This approach has been accompanied by a critical tendency to isolate the discussion of religion in the ‘Sankgreal’ from episodes with a religious connotation preceding or following it in the Morte, with few exceptions, such as the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ in Tale VII and Lancelot’s saint-like death in Tale VIII.4 Invariably, Malory’s ‘Sankgreal’ has received attention insofar as critics have discussed Malory’s drastic paring down of the theological discourse on Christian doctrine he encountered in the Queste and his deliberate shift of interest from the elect knights, Galahad, Perceval and Bors, to Lancelot. Despite a range of new critical readings of political ideas in the Morte, no attention has been directed to Malory’s incorporation of the ‘Sankgreal’ story into his design of a political society in his Arthuriad.5 This chapter’s aim, to revisit Malory’s treatment of spiritual journeys, starts from the trajectory of one pre-quest Arthurian character, Balin, whose suffering and legacy foreshadow those of Galahad and Lancelot. Arthur’s pain at seeing the fellowship disintegrate in the last tales would have found eager audiences among Malory’s fifteenth-century peers, especially in the aftermath of the civil wars. However, such suffering, seen by some critics as a projection on Arthur of the Fisher King motif, is different from the discourse of patient, Job-like endurance of trials or that of the reformed sinner examined in the reception of other romances and fifteenth-century political discourse in the present study.6 It remains a matter of debate whether Malory’s Arthur should be seen as a king who struggles to control his knights in a political world dominated

3

4

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6

pp. 141–55, at p. 147). Ralph Norris, Malory’s Library: The Sources of the ‘Morte Darthur’ (Cambridge, 2008), argues that Malory also shows the influence of John Hardyng’s version of the Grail story (p. 117), but he does not mention that Malory appears to set the Grail story in Wales, which is where Hardyng says it is found in the second version of his Chronicle. La Queste del Saint Graal is cited from Albert Pauphilet’s edition (Paris, 1967) by page and line number; the Post-Vulgate Queste is cited from La version post-Vulgate de la ‘Queste del Saint Graal’ et de la ‘Mort Artu’: troisième partie du ‘Roman du Graal’, ed. Fanni Bogdanow, 2 vols (Paris, 1991), by page and chapter number; the Post-Vulgate Suite de Merlin (henceforth Suite) is cited from La suite de roman de Merlin, ed. Gilles Roussineau, 2 vols (Geneva, 1996), by chapter and line number. Translations are from Lancelot-Grail, ed. Lacy, cited by volume and page number. Among exceptions, see Murray J. Evans, ‘Ordinatio and Narrative Links: The Impact of Malory’s Tales as a “hoole book”’, in Studies in Malory, ed. James W. Spisak (Kalamazoo, MI, 1985), pp. 29–52. See Raluca L. Radulescu, ‘“Now I take uppon me the adventures to seke of holy thynges”: Lancelot and the Crisis of Arthurian Knighthood’, in Arthurian Studies in Honour of P. J. C. Field, ed. B. Wheeler (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 285–95 and, by the same author, ‘Malory’s Lancelot and the Key to Salvation’, Arthurian Literature 25 (2008), 93–118. This is partly due to Malorian critics’ (nearly universal) acceptance of Eugène Vinaver’s view that Malory favoured a form of secular chivalry in the ‘Sankgreal’, though one which is criticised almost as harshly as in the Queste (see Works, Commentary, pp. 1535– 42). For recent attempts to link Henry VI and Malory’s Arthur see Hughes, Arthurian Myths and Alchemy, esp. pp. 185–9, and Rushton, ‘The King’s Stupor’.

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by over-mighty subjects or one who is unable to change the course of inevitable destiny.7 Whichever way one considers Malory’s Arthur, his is a secular journey, hardly touched by the spiritual experiences of the Grail knights – not even to the extent of subsuming their achievements to the glory of the Round Table, as John Hardyng claims in his Chronicle.8 Malory’s writing notoriously resists the application of political interpretations which claim its depiction of events shows partisanship to one or the other of the political factions, although critical attempts in this direction are plenty.9 In the following pages it will be shown that Malory did participate in the broader debate over the king’s suffering and genealogy, but by exploiting the potential he found in his sources for Lancelot, not Arthur. It is Lancelot, the pre-eminent Arthurian knight, who takes the path of penance and heals the rifts of political discord at the end of his life by becoming a model of religious behaviour. In order to uncover how fifteenth-century audiences may have received Malory’s Morte and in particular the spiritual journeys his fictional characters embark on, the first port-of-call is the extant manuscript of his work, London, British Library MS Additional 59678, commonly known as the Winchester manuscript (henceforth Winchester), discovered in 1934.10 The manuscript contains marginalia, predominantly in the hands of the two text scribes, in the form of rubricated glosses drawing attention to various events, though it remains hard to extract an overall scheme of interpretation from the content of these glosses. The extant marginalia point to the earliest readership of the Morte; yet their possible effect on the interpretation of the text can only be gleaned when they are considered alongside the text divisions in Winchester, which are different from those in the current standard scholarly edition of Malory’s Morte produced by Vinaver and revised by Field. The latter is divided into eight books or tales, based on Vinaver’s analyses of the sources Malory used and his view that Malory intended to present eight separate romances. By examining the text divisions alongside the marginalia in Winchester in conjunction with the text 7 8

9

10

See Radulescu, Gentry Context, Ch. 4. Hardyng transforms Galahad’s Grail success into a victory to be added to achievements credited to the Round Table before King Arthur sets off to conquer Rome. On Malory’s use of Hardyng’s Chronicle, see Felicity Riddy, ‘John Hardyng’s Chronicle and the Wars of the Roses’, Arthurian Literature 12 (1993), 91–109; Edward Donald Kennedy, ‘Malory’s Use of Hardyng’s Chronicle’, Notes and Queries 214 (1969), 167–70; Moll, Before Malory, Ch. 6, esp. pp. 173–83. For a recent reconsideration of earlier views, see Edward Donald Kennedy, ‘Malory’s Use of Hardyng’s Chronicle: A Reconsideration’, West Virginia Philological Papers 54, special issue in honor of Armand E. Singer (2011), 8–15. See, for example, Edward Donald Kennedy, ‘Malory’s Morte Darthur: A Politically Neutral English Adaptation of the Arthurian Story’, Arthurian Literature 20 (2003), 145–69. For a recent review, though one going back to the hypothesis that Malory intended his Arthur to appear as weak king (much as in the French romances), whose governance resembles Henry VI’s, see Lisa Robeson, ‘Malory and the Death of Kings: The Politics of Regicide at Salisbury Plain’, in The Arthurian Way of Death: The English Tradition, ed. Karen Cherewatuk and K. S. Whetter (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 136–50. See The Winchester Malory: A Facsimile and the high-quality digital facsimile of Winchester now hosted by the Malory project at http://www.maloryproject.com/ overview.php, a project directed by Dr Takako Kato, De Montfort University.

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itself we can get closer to the reading experience of Winchester’s audience and how it was shaped by the presentation of the work. To take just one example, in Winchester Balin’s story is announced as ‘the booke of Balyne le Saueage’ (fol. 22r; my emphasis) and granted a large two-line initial at its beginning, albeit without any blank line-space separation from the preceding story. It is never called ‘Balin or the Knight with the Two Swords’ in either Winchester or Caxton’s printed edition.11 The modern editorial title was in fact taken from the Suite de Merlin and the modern reader’s experience of the text has been, as a result, shaped by Vinaver’s editorial choice.12 Few other stories in the Morte are in fact called ‘book’ in the main body of the text or in the incipits or explicits in Winchester. Despite the absence of a space marker before the beginning of this story, Balin’s story ends with an explicit which reads: ‘Thus endith the tale of Balyn and Balan, two brethirne that were borne in Northhumbirlonde, that were two passynge good knyghtes as ever were in tho dayes’ (fol. 34r; my emphasis). At this point in the manuscript a major division was marked by leaving a whole page blank (fol. 34v), with the next section, the ‘Wedding of King Arthur’, starting on a new page (fol. 35r) and ending, equally markedly, with more than half a blank page and a rubricated explicit (fol. 44v). The importance of these divisions cannot be underestimated. The only other major divisions in the Winchester equal in visual importance occur before and after the story of the Grail. Two blank leaves precede it following the end of the ‘Book of Sir Tristram’ (fols 347 and 348, with the best part of fol. 346v also left blank) and half a page occurs at the end (fol. 409r), before Tale VII or the ‘Book of Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere’ under Vinaver’s editorial title,13 a modern title chosen to distinguish it from the Tale III, ‘A Noble Tale of Sir Launcelot du Lake’. Various hypotheses have been put forward about the main narrative units identified in Winchester, not least Carol Meale’s, that Malory’s Arthuriad may have been intended as a four-part work, consisting, in her view, of Arthur’s rise to power and adventures, followed by his knights’ adventures (including the war with Lucius and the tales of Lancelot, Gareth and Tristram), the Grail Quest and finally the downfall of the Arthurian fellowship and Arthur’s departure 11 12

13

‘Le Morte D’Arthur’, Printed by William Caxton 1485: Facsimile, intro. Paul Needham (London, 1976), henceforth cited by book, page and line number (here p. 62). Starting with the Works edition, the use of uppercase for the word ‘booke’ in the phrase ‘the booke of Balin’ has been preserved in most modern editions, giving the impression that in the manuscript the word ‘booke’ is rubricated. The word is not rubricated in Winchester, although ‘of’ before ‘Balin’ is, most likely an indication that the scribe accidentally wrote ‘booke’ in brown ink, and only realised too late that a change of ink was required so that the entire phrase had to be rubricated (‘booke of Balin le Saueage’). In Winchester the last episode in this book, ‘The Healing of Sir Urry’, ends with Malory’s statement: ‘And bycause I have loste the very mater of Shevalere de Charyot I departe frome the tale of sir Launcelot; and here I go unto the morte Arthur, and that caused sir Aggravayne’ (my emphasis). The following sentences state the intended title of the last book: ‘And here on the othir syde folowyth THE MOSTE PYTEOUS TALE OF THE MORTE ARTHURE SAUNZ GWERDON PAR LE SHYVALERE SIR THOMAS MALLEORÉ, KNYGHT’ (fol. 449r; the text in capitals is rubricated in Winchester). Typically Malory tends to call ‘books’ the parts of his story based on discrete sources and ‘tales’ his own divisions in the Morte, though the differences are not clear cut.

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from this world.14 Appealing as this suggestion is, the special markers around the story of Balin require an explanation, given that his is a relatively small part of the larger picture of Arthur’s establishment of his rule. That Balin’s story would be given such a prominent space within the first narrative unit is significant because it points to possible links envisaged by Malory between his story and subsequent ones and raises this knight’s status in the Morte alongside that of major Arthurian characters, Arthur, Lancelot, Tristram and Galahad. The setting apart of the story of Balin together with the marginalia accompanying it in Winchester attest to mechanisms which guide the audience’s response to the role played by this character not only in his own brief story, but in the Morte as a whole. In particular, the number and placing of the marginalia in Balin’s story, when compared with extant marginalia in the rest of the manuscript, further attest to his exceptional status as a candidate for the audience’s attention.15 In the light of these details, only by considering the text as well as its manuscript context can we approach the reading experience of Winchester’s first readers. The sections of the Morte studied in this chapter provide the narrative thread for the main argument, that lineages and suffering offer an interpretative code in which fifteenth-century audiences were invited to consider spiritual journeys against a politically constructed Arthurian universe. As a result, the material examined here consists of the story of Balin, whose sword Galahad inherits, followed by Lancelot’s and Galahad’s journeys in the Grail Quest and finishing with Lancelot’s development in its aftermath. First, Balin’s story shows that he may be considered a model of suffering at the hands of Fortune that somewhat anticipates the blunders of the non-elect knights in the Grail Quest and mirrors what various characters go through in the pre-Grail Quest narrative Malory did not translate, but most certainly knew at least from the summaries of its plot in the Queste, the Graal.16 Malory uses Balin’s sword and destiny from the

14

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Carol M. Meale, ‘“The Whoole Book”: Editing and the Creation of Meaning in Malory’s Text’, in A Companion to Malory, ed. Elizabeth Archibald and A. S. G. Edwards (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 3–15 (esp. 8, 13–14). Alfred, Lord Tennyson was certainly influenced by the importance of Balin’s story as he chose it as one of the few sections in Malory’s Morte about which he wrote an Idyll and saw it as importantly foreshadowing the later, greater problems in his Arthuriad. See Alfred Tennyson, Idylls of the King, in The Works of Tennyson, ed. Hallam, Lord Tennyson, 9 vols (London, 1907–8), vol. VI. The Vulgate Graal and Merlin are known to have circulated together both on the Continent and in England (see Middleton, ‘Manuscripts of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle’). Although Malory used the Post-Vulgate Suite for the beginning of his Morte, echoes of the Vulgate suggest he may have had access, in some form, even to the parts he did not use directly. For a discussion of the possible influence of the Post-Vulgate Queste on Malory’s work, see Edward Donald Kennedy, ‘Malory’s “Noble Tale of Sir Launcelot du Lake”, the Vulgate Lancelot, and the Post-Vulgate Roman du Graal’, in Arthurian and Other Studies Presented to Shunichi Noguchi, ed. Takashi Suzuki and Tsuyoshi Mukai (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 107–29. Norris states that Malory’s references to the Grail as the vessel which contains the blood of Christ reflect ‘an English oral tradition’ (Malory’s Library, p. 40), but, as Kennedy points out, the Grail had already been mentioned as a vessel in terms similar to those used by Malory in two of his sources, the Perlesvaus

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Post-Vulgate Suite to create a form of symbolic legacy that is meant to draw attention to Galahad’s destiny as the quintessential Grail knight. At the same time, Malory’s decision to switch to the Vulgate Queste as his source for the ‘Sankgreal’ interrupts the (anticipated) mission for Galahad, to heal the wound inflicted by Balin, since the wound Galahad heals is of the same king, Pellam, but its cause is no longer his encounter with Balin, as will be discussed below. The effect of this fracture in the continuity of the story, irrespective of its origin (by design or lack of consistent editing on Malory’s part), reveals that legacies and lineages are fragile and the legacy of the past can be, for Galahad and Lancelot at least (who are both said to inherit and use the same sword), an honour and a burden in equal measure. Secondly, some of Malory’s original and hitherto unacknowledged additions in the ‘Sankgreal’ will be explored, in particular Galahad’s self-assurance and Guenevere’s original speech about his and Lancelot’s descent. Malory’s shift in emphasis from Galahad’s descent to Lancelot’s implies a parallel between Lancelot’s sin and King David’s. In this section of the chapter I re-examine the role played by the original episode in portraying a Lancelot whose experience is matched by and contrasted with that of King David, via the parallel with David’s adulterous love for Bathsheba.17 Lancelot thus emerges as a penitent sinner whose apprenticeship in humility continues in the episode of the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’. His exceptional promises of reparation to Gawain, Arthur and the entire Arthurian society testify to Lancelot becoming a model to follow in his dual leadership in the political and spiritual spheres. His chosen path after the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ shows that he has internalised the demand that he live up to his lineage and that he is beginning to write his own ‘saint’s life’. This chapter aims, therefore, to demonstrate that Lancelot’s religious experiences in the Grail Quest and afterwards are intimately related to fifteenth-century discourses of suffering, penance and continuity in lineages. Malory displays high sensitivity to the political implications of Lancelot’s spiritual journey and creates a new role for him, that of providing a model in both the secular and spiritual arenas. In this respect the traditional critical focus on a purely secular interpretation of the development of Lancelot’s character (through Lancelot’s conflict between private and public duties, represented by his love for Guenevere versus his duty to Arthur) will here be replaced by a focus on Lancelot’s duty to his (spiritual and secular) lineages.

17

(‘the holy vessel […] in which the precious blood of the Saviour was gathered on the day when He was crucified’; The High Book of the Grail, trans. Nigel Bryant (Cambridge, 1978), p. 19), and Hardyng’s Chronicle. The latter repeats the earlier tradition, also mentioned in other chronicles, that Joseph of Arimathea brought to England two vessels containing the sweat and the blood of Christ, respectively. See Edward Donald Kennedy, review of Ralph Norris, Malory’s Library, JEGP 109:2 (2010), 251–3. See also discussion in Chapters 1 and 3. In Malory the reference to the Grail as a vessel reads as follows: ‘blyssed bloode off oure Lorde Jesu Cryste, whyche was brought into thys londe by Joseph off Aramathye’ (846.1–3). In the story of Balin Malory also anticipates the Grail Quest, with the Grail understood as the same vessel that contains ‘the bloode of oure Lorde Jesu Cryste, which Joseph off Aramathy brought into thys londe’ (85.24–5). Unlike King David, Lancelot is always willing to serve King Arthur.

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Balin’s legacy There is no shortage of critical studies on Balin as a tragic character suffering at the hands of implacable Fortune.18 However, there is little agreement as to what Malory may have intended to do with Balin’s narrative beyond showing the tragedy of a knight living during the political chaos Arthur inherited in the early years of his reign before his establishment of the Round Table. Balin’s repeated failures in accomplishing the tasks he takes on, more often than not ending in the death of those he is supposed to protect, confound the audience’s expectations that good deeds and good intentions will ultimately be rewarded in this world.19 Most modern readers find that he merely seems to exemplify the workings of Fortune in the lives of Arthurian knights, while also fulfilling a narrative function, of wounding King Pellam, said to be healed by Galahad in the Grail Quest. Judging from its setting apart in Winchester, Balin’s story was clearly designed to receive particular attention; the extant marginalia further support this view. Whether or not the marginalia were invented by the text scribes, being as they are mostly in their hands,20 the overall number of notes in the margins of Balin’s story rival any other set of marginalia in the major narrative units in the Morte. Balin, whose story is proportionally insignificant compared to the tales of the Roman war or those of Tristram and even Lancelot and Gareth (to take a few examples), is therefore singled out not only through the layout of his ‘booke’ but also through the glosses and a pointing hand inserted in his tale alongside actions and events that punctuate his trajectory. In this section, I argue that the glosses and one maniculum guide the reader’s response to Balin’s story, exonerating him of the guilt of shedding blood and drawing attention to the repeated trials he is subjected to. Balin becomes the first suffering knight in Malory’s narrative, whose journey and, especially, failure to heed the advice and signs he is presented with, anticipate, at least on a symbolic level, the failures of some

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See Ralph Norris, ‘The Tragedy of Balin: Malory’s Use of the Story of Balin in His Morte Darthur’, Arthuriana 9:3 (1999), 52–67; Kevin Whetter, ‘On Misunderstanding Malory’s Balin’, in Re-viewing ‘Le Morte Darthur’: Texts and Contexts, Characters and Themes, ed. K. S. Whetter and Raluca L. Radulescu (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 149–62, revisited in his Understanding Genre and Medieval Romance (Farnham, 2008), pp. 99–149. Balin, however, dies having received the sacraments, accepting, though not willingly, his own death (90.33–5). I am grateful to Professor Field for discussing this aspect with me. Any ideas expressed here are my own. See Helen Cooper, ‘Opening up the Malory Manuscript’, in The Malory Debate: Essays on the Texts of ‘Le Morte Darthur’, ed. Bonnie Wheeler, Robert L. Kindrick and Michael L. Salda (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 255–84, who proposed the view that the scribes invented the marginalia, and P. J. C. Field’s response, ‘Malory’s Own Marginalia’, Medium Ævum 70:2 (2001), 226–39 (including an appendix, showing ‘at a glance’ all the marginalia and their location in Winchester), which makes a case for Malory as the author of most of the marginalia. For another discussion of marginalia referring to Balin, see Thomas H. Croft’s Malory’s Contemporary Audience: The Social Reading of Romance in Late Medieval England (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2006), pp. 71–93. My conclusions are different from his.

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of the Grail knights. Although Balin’s journey lacks the spiritual dimension of Mordrain’s and Nasciens’s trials in the Graal, he seems to accept God’s trials as they do when he repeats his ‘mantra’ statement ‘ye must take the aventure that God woll ordayne you’ (70.19–20).21 To modern readers, more attuned to seeking continuity in a narrative, Balin’s actions conform to the ‘wild’ nature introduced in his cognomen, ‘le Saueage’; indeed, before his book starts, the reader of Winchester discovers he is called ‘Balyne le Saueage’ in the explicit to the preceding episode (fol. 22r), a title that accompanies his name in an unusual gloss (but not in the text) much earlier, when the Lady of the Lake asks for a boon from King Arthur, the head of ‘Balin le Saueage’ (fol. 21r). The same cognomen accompanies him in the Suite, where he is called ‘Balin le Saueage’ and ‘Le chevalier a deux epees’ (the knight with the two swords), both of which Malory uses, though on fewer occasions than his source; the latter is used in the editorial title Vinaver gave to Balin’s story. However, the medieval or modern reader of the Morte (without benefit of the accompanying gloss) only finds out that Malory’s Balin is also called ‘le Saveage’ at the end of his story, when he is addressed by a supernatural figure, ‘an old hore gentleman’, who warns him not to take the path towards the castle where Balin will find his death in a fight with his own brother, Balan (88.5–6). The second occurrence of his cognomen is when Balin speaks to his brother once each has wounded the other to the death: ‘thenne said Balyn le Saveage’ (89.37–8). The third and last mention of his cognomen appears in Merlin’s inscription on his tomb, which fixes an interpretation on Balin’s nature as well as his destiny: ‘here lyeth Balyn le Saveage that was the knyght with the two swerdes and he that smote the dolorous stroke’ (91.9–11). For the reader of Winchester, Balin is not a ‘wild’ man (‘le Saueage’) for the best part of the story. It is impossible to ascertain whether this is due to design, negligence or lack of interest (Malory’s or the scribe’s); as a result of these omissions the audience of this part of the Morte is able to judge this character relatively free of the influence of pre-existing ‘labels’. On the other hand, Balin’s trials are incomprehensible not only to him, but also to his audience; neither within his story nor outside it is Balin or his audience provided with an explanation of the kind encountered in the later Grail adventures. This is largely due to the lack of religious overtones to his story, wherein all divine or supernatural elements have been removed, with the exception of Merlin’s prophetic words. From the perspective of the audience of the entire Morte – albeit not necessarily Malory’s – the lack of closure in Balin’s story is only compensated for, if frustratingly late, in the Grail Quest, in the link established by the sword Galahad inherits and Galahad’s healing of Pellam’s wound.22 The first marginalium the reader encounters in Balin’s tale occurs when he 21 22

See Jill Mann, ‘“Taking the Adventure”: Malory and the Suite de Merlin’, in Aspects of Malory, ed. Toshiyuki Takamiya and Derek Brewer (Cambridge, 1981), pp. 71–91. This represents, however, another notorious inconsistency in Malory’s writing; in the ‘Sankgreal’ Galahad states he will heal the wound inflicted by Balin, but the reader also finds out Pellam was wounded because he attempted to pull the sword with the strange girdles (see discussion below).

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argues his right to draw the sword despite the damsel’s doubtful attitude due to his poor attire; he says: ‘A, fayre damesell,’ seyde Balyn, ‘worthynes and good tacchis and also good dedis is nat only in araymente, but manhode and worship [ys hid] within a mannes person; and many a worshipfull knyght ys nat knowyn unto all peple. And therefore worship and hardynesse ys nat in araymente.’ (63.23–7; my emphasis)

In the Suite, Balin’s response is curt, denoting a fiery temperament; he says: ‘Damoisiele, ne m’aiiés en despit pour ma poverté: je fui ja plus riches’ (96.16– 17; ‘My lady, don’t despise me for my poverty; I was richer once’; IV: 186). Here is none of the modesty and deeper reflection manifested by Malory’s Balin. In Winchester the verb ‘to hide’ is missing due to a scribal omission; next to these lines a marginalium was added to the right of the text, encased in a shieldshaped surround; the marginalium reads ‘Vertue & manhode ys hyed wyth In the bodye’ (fol. 23r). A maniculum was also inserted to the left of the body of text, pointing to the same lines in the text. It is noteworthy that this marginalium was evidently written in a ‘sprawling hand much less professional than those of the text-scribes’.23 Perhaps ‘manhood and worship’ in the text may be seen as the equivalent of ‘virtue and manhood’ in the side gloss. ‘Vertue’, however, a quality found within, not in outward appearance, was also a concept that clearly appealed to the earliest readers of Winchester. Elsewhere I have argued that the presentation of Balin’s identity as noble but poor fits in with the social aspirations of fifteenth-century gentry audiences of the Morte.24 A desire to see inner qualities valued more than outward appearance would be characteristic of an aspirant to a higher social status. Indeed, Balin states that ‘in my herte me semyth I am fully assured as som of thes other, and me semyth in my herte to spede ryght welle’ (63.13–15; my emphasis). However, the wording of the marginalium, which Field has argued might be Malory’s own, possibly copied therefore, alongside the main text in Winchester, from an exemplar,25 is strikingly different from the words in the main text: ‘manhood and worship’ in both the Winchester main text and Caxton’s edition do not mean the same as ‘vertue and manhood’ in the gloss. Under ‘vertue’ n. (1) the MED lists ‘physical strength, power; force, energy; also, vigour; also, stamina’. For ‘vertous’ (adj.) we find, under 6 (a) ‘possessing or displaying the qualities befitting a knight; valiant, hardy, courageous, doughty; also, possessing or exhibiting the qualities appropriate to a ruler, kingly, just, equitable’. If ‘vertue’ here were understood as ‘stamina’ it would imply a degree of repetition in the gloss; if understood in terms of inner quality, it seems to suit the situation Balin finds himself in better. Its use does not, however, appear to indicate a relationship of equivalence between ‘vertue’ and ‘worship’ (under23

24 25

Field, ‘Malory’s Marginalia’, p. 231. The verb – albeit not this combination of words – also appears in Caxton’s printed copy of the Morte, and was used to supply the omission in Works. Red ink was used for the sleeve of the pointing hand, as for similar manicula in Winchester. See Radulescu, Gentry Context, Ch. 3. Field, ‘Malory’s Marginalia’, pp. 230–1.

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stood as reputation26), which would indicate the substitution of one word with the other in the gloss on the basis of being a near synonym.27 Since Caxton’s own printed version contains the words ‘manhood and worship’ at this point (II, 63.38), it may be that the marginalium represents either Malory’s own interpretation (if we follow Field’s suggestion), an early reader’s (different from the two scribes) or corrector of the manuscript, or perhaps even Caxton’s own.28 Whichever way the marginalium is interpreted, however, the critical question it raises remains unresolved. What kind of virtue is supposed to be hidden in Balin’s heart, since ‘manhood’ and ‘virtue’ are sometimes synonymous in Middle English? The pair ‘manhood and worship’ appears a more appropriate nod to a fifteenth-century understanding of the nobility of service being recognised above title and wealth. By this measure, ‘manhood’ and ‘worship’ refer to prowess in arms and the reputation associated with it. Indeed, this interpretation would fit in well with Balin’s desire to establish his right to pull a sword as a worthy knight should assert his right to an adventure open to all. Importantly, Malory has also changed another detail in Balin’s story: instead of stating, as the Suite does, that Balin had been imprisoned by the King of Northumberland, he has Balin imprisoned by Arthur, thus linking Balin’s entire existence and subsequent deeds to Arthur.29 On the other hand, virtue, here seen as a complement to manhood in the marginalium, seems to refer to the argument above, that Balin’s intentions are reflected in his setting off on adventures with ‘vertous’ aims in mind and heart, to perform deeds worthy of his knightly title and of Arthur’s respect. As a concept, it is broader than the narrow ‘worship’ or reputation implied in Winchester and Caxton; stretching its meaning to cover ‘worship’ in order to consider it a substitute for this word in the main body of the text seems unnec-

26 27 28

29

See MED ‘worship’ n. (1) ‘honour, high respect, esteem; worthiness, merit; fame, glory, renown’. I am grateful to Professor Andrew Lynch for discussing these nuances with me. The views expressed in this section are my own. Consultation of Tomomi Kato’s A Concordance to ‘The Works of Sir Thomas Malory’ (Tokyo, 1974), ‘vertu(e)’ and its derivatives ‘vertuous(e)’, and Kiyokazu Mizobata’s A Concordance to Caxton’s Own Prose (Tokyo, 1990), ‘vertu’/‘vertue’, does not suggest that Caxton would have corrected Winchester from the exemplar he used for his edition. Kiyokazu Mizobata’s Concordance to Caxton’s ‘Morte Darthur’ (1485) (Tokyo, 2010) shows a slight preponderance of the use of ‘vertue’ in its religious meaning, mirrored to some extent by Caxton in his own translations, which fits in with his programmatic printing of texts he sold as material for instruction and edification. These preliminary observations suggest it is unlikely Caxton himself was the author of the gloss. In the Suite Balin is ‘uns povres chevaliers qui estoit nés de Norhomberlande. Chis avoit esté desiretés de par le roi de Norhomberlande pour un parent le roi qu’il avoit ochis, et l’avoit mis em prison plus de demi an’ (94.28–31; one poor knight, born in Northumberland. He had been disinherited by the king of Northumberland because he had killed a relative of the king; they had put him in prison for more than half a year; IV: 186.) In Malory Balin ‘was a poore knyght with Kyng Arthure that had bene presonere with hym half a yere for sleyng of a knyght which was cosine unto Kynge Arthure’ (62.33–6). The difference was first noted by Vinaver; see Works, Commentary, p. 1305.

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essary. It seems that Balin’s well-meaning deeds, rather than their tragic effects, are at stake here, since, importantly, it is clear throughout the tale that his intentions are never corrupted by personal desire for gain, material or otherwise. In pursuing his best judgement, Balin qualifies for the damsel’s acknowledgement that he be ‘a passynge good knyght and the beste that ever y founde, and moste of worship withoute treson, trechory or felony’ (equivalent to the Post-Vulgate Suite: ‘s’i n’est li mieudres chevaliers de cest païs et li plus loiaus sans trecherie et sans voisdie et sans traïson’; 93.14–16; unless he is the best, most loyal knight of this country, free of treachery, fraud or treason; IV: 186). This interpretation of Balin’s intentions is supported by several glosses added or copied by the text scribe (Scribe A) in Winchester.30 Prior to Balin’s story, the only marginalium in Winchester marks Arthur’s dream (fol. 17r, 41.20),31 and, unexpectedly, some folios later, a forward pointer from the boon granted by Arthur to the Lady of the Lake when he gets Excalibur: ‘Here ys a mencion of þe lady of the laake Whan she asked Balyne le saveage his hede’ (fol. 21r, 53.05). The next marginalium in the hand of Scribe A (the scribe responsible for copying this part of the text) is, perhaps unsurprisingly, also related to the Lady of the Lake: ‘The dethe of the lady of the lake’ (fol. 24r, 65.02), with another maniculum drawn to the left of the body of text pointing to the manner in which Balin ‘with his swerde lyghtly he smote of[f] hir hede’ (65.02).32 Scribe A’s glosses, therefore, whether copied from an exemplar or invented, register the Lady of the Lake in succession, without any other incidents noted in between. Being rubricated, the marginalia draw attention to their function, whether to memorialise the death of characters or denote an event deemed of importance – an observation any reader of Winchester would make upon first inspecting the manuscript. Of all the marginalia in Winchester, however, the one referring to the Lady of the Lake’s request for a boon is the only one which signals forward to the story of Balin. It also gives Balin the title ‘le saveage’ (‘the wild man’), a title he is known by in the French source, but which is only mentioned at the very end of Malory’s story of Balin, as already mentioned. This suggests that this scribe had read ahead, understanding the text and the import of the connection, or, more likely, that he actually copied the glosses from his exemplar, wherein they reflected another person’s fuller knowledge of the text. I am inclined to agree that this marginalium could be Malory’s own; as Field has observed, ‘[t]hat kind of awareness is uncharacteristic of scribes in general and the Winchester scribes in particular, whose attention rarely seems to stray beyond the immediate context’.33 The author of this gloss had full knowledge

30 31

32 33

All the references to Winchester will be accompanied by a cross-reference to the corresponding place in Works for easy identification. Stephen H. A. Shepherd estimates that a first gathering, consisting of something like sixteen folios, is missing in Winchester; therefore a number of extra glosses may have been lost (Thomas Malory, Le Morte Darthur, Norton Critical Editions (New York and London, 2004), p. 3, first note to the text). No red ink was used to decorate the maniculum here; the marginalium is encased in a shield-shape drawn in red ink. Field, ‘Malory’s Own Marginalia’, p. 232.

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not only of the text ahead, but also, most likely, of the French source, which consistently calls Balin ‘le Sauveage’. The wording of the gloss mentioning the death of the Lady of the Lake is, however, surprising, if we take into account how often the death of various characters is mentioned in the side glosses to Winchester by naming the knight responsible, especially in Scribe A’s stints.34 Indeed, in the margins of the same story, Balin is credited twice with the killing of knights: the first time immediately after he has chopped off the Lady of the Lake’s head (‘How Balyn slew Launceor’, fol. 25v, 69.13) and the second time when he finally catches up with the invisible knight Garlon, thus managing to avenge the treacherous killings Garlon had perpetrated (‘How Balyn slew Garlon the knyȝt þat wente invisyble’, fol. 30v, 84.07). Balin is justified in killing both Lanceor and Garlon. Lanceor’s death is deserved, since he had set off from King Arthur’s court with less than honourable intentions, even if he stated he wanted to avenge Arthur’s shame after Balin’s discourteous killing of the Lady of the Lake: ‘the which [Lanceor] was an orgolus knyght and accompted hymselff one of the beste of the courte. And he had grete despite at Balyne for the enchevynge of the swerde’ (67.8–11; my emphasis). Garlon’s treacherous actions are highlighted in the following glosses, both encased in shield-shapes: ‘Here Garlonde þat wente invisyble slew Harlews le Barbeus vnder þe conduyght of Balyn’ (fol. 29v, 80.19); and, on the same folio: ‘Here Garlonde invisible slew Peryne a mounte beliard vnder þe conduyght of Balyn’ (81.13). A maniculum was also added in the margin of the text corresponding to the second gloss, which points to the exact manner in which Garlon killed Peryne, ‘thorowoute the body with a glayve’ (81.9–10).35 By contrast, the death of the Lady of the Lake is merely reported, with no reference to the manner of her death or the person responsible. It contrasts with all the other acts of killing reported before and with the gloss on the death of Lanceor’s lady, Columbe, which has no reference to Balin’s participation in the event: ‘How the lady Columbe slew hir selfe for the deth of Launceor’ (fol. 26v, 71.32).36 If the glosses were copied by the text scribe from an exemplar, they would be originally intended to offer some form of guidance to the accompanying text. In Balin’s story the glosses point to the circumstances in which the deaths of different characters take place; yet the details retained in each gloss are very specific. In this context it seems that Balin’s killing of the Lady of the Lake is deliberately presented in neutral terms, with no mention of Balin’s name as her killer. One might argue that the narrative itself tells the audience Balin chopped off her head, so it would be unnecessary to repeat that information; however,

34

35 36

An examination of all the extant glosses in Scribe A’s hand shows that he notes the name of the person responsible for the death of another in all instances apart from this one. See Field, ‘Malory’s Own Marginalia’, Appendix. The maniculum has a shape and size similar to previous ones in this tale, and similar decoration, though no red ink was used for the sleeve. The gloss on the death of the Lady of the Lake has not yet received attention to date in this way. Its interpretation, I argue, is related to the local context in which it appears and the wording of the glosses therein, see Croft’s Malory’s Contemporary Audience, for an alternative view.

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that is not the case with the other acts of killing (of Lanceor or Garlon) or suicide (Columbe’s), which specify both the names of those involved in each event and the circumstances in which the event takes place. Another element not noted to date is that Balin’s chopping off the Lady of the Lake’s head is not presented by Malory in the same light as in the Suite. Balin is a provincial knight from Northumberland in both narratives; yet he displays lack of courtesy mostly in the Suite. There he picks up the head he had just chopped off and purposefully makes his way to the king to show it and explain why he has done it; when rebuked for his discourtesy, the Suite Balin drops to his knees and asks forgiveness of the king (102.4–5), showing that he had not considered the great shame he brought on the king by killing his guest. Malory’s Balin does none of that; instead he merely accepts his banishment and vows to redress the situation by assisting Arthur in the fight with the disloyal kings. By eliminating the French Balin’s instant remorse, irrespective of Balin’s motivations, Malory turns the audience’s attention to Balin’s inability to channel his emotions; Malory’s Balin merely explains why he acted in this way and then leaves the court when Arthur banishes him (66.10–14). Thus far the marginalia in Balin’s story indicate that his trajectory is punctuated by a fine balance between actions he undertakes with full justification (the killings of Lanceor and Garlon) and the unfortunate deaths of those under his temporary ‘conduyght’ (Lady Columbe, Harbeus le Barbeus, Peryne a Mounte Beliard). The following marginalium and related maniculum reinforce this point. They appear in the section of the story where King Pellinor kills King Lot, with the maniculum pointing to the line where this takes place – ’and there with anone Kynge Pellinore smote hym a grete stroke þorow the helme and hede vnto the browis’ (fol. 28v, my transcription; 77.14–16) – and the gloss registering the death of Lot and of the other twelve kings in the margin of the text which describes King Arthur’s commission of a rich tomb for the defeated kings. Balin’s decapitation of the Lady of the Lake and his wounding of King Pellam are, in equal measure, acts of self-defence and expressions of his rash nature. The side gloss on the former possibly suggests some of the blame is removed for the killing. The latter act is highlighted by a maniculum clearly pointing to King Pellam’s action in chasing Balin: ‘Than kynge Pellam [caught in his hand] a grymme wepyn and smote egirly at Balyn’ (fol. 31r; 84.27–8).37 Pellam’s action justifies Balin’s retaliation, which can be read as self-defence. The situation is complicated, however, since Pellam is rightfully aggrieved by Balin’s killing of his brother. The maniculum, very likely in the same hand as the text scribe’s, was drawn using the same ink as the text, with some decoration in red for the sleeve, in the same way as other examples in Winchester already mentioned. With folios 32–3 missing from Winchester, it is hard to know whether any marginalia have been lost, for example in the scene of the wounding and death of the two brothers. Whether the glosses are authorial or not, the pointers and marginalia work in Balin’s favour, seemingly removing at least some blame for his killing of the Lady of the Lake and striking the dolorous stroke. What the

37

The emendation is from Caxton’s edition (see Works, p. 84).

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glosses cannot do, however, is exonerate Balin for his decision not to heed the warnings he is repeatedly given and for continuing to blunder through adventures working against him. For this reason, a return to Malory’s changes to his source is appropriate here, for Balin exemplifies not merely an older form of chivalry or the chaos of the forces in the kingdom before Arthur takes charge, but also the condition of the knight who cannot read the signs scattered on his path. Critics often forget that Malory’s Balin only ever receives earthly warnings, such as the sword damsel’s words, which predict the death of the man Balin loves most, his brother Balan, and two rather late admonishments: that of the old ‘hore gentleman’, who warns him not to go to the castle (at which Balin will eventually find his death) and then immediately disappears, and Merlin’s. Malory removed all other supernatural voices which in the Suite repeatedly warn the French Balin away from his intended course of action. Indeed, by the time he encounters the old gentleman, Malory’s Balin seems to have accepted his fate; as soon as the gentleman vanishes, Balin hears a horn being blown and famously states ‘That blast […] is blowen for me, for I am the pryse, and yet I am not dede’ (88.11–12). The French Balin has ample opportunity to heed such advice on a number of occasions, especially in the episode when he wounds King Pellehan. The narrator tells us that Balin runs from room to room, marvelling at their rich ornamentation, in search of a weapon to use against his pursuer. A description of the bleeding lance is inserted, slowing down the pace of the chase.38 As soon as the Suite Balin wounds Pellehan with the lance (and this 38

‘Quant cis as .II. espeez voit cest aventour, il n’est pas petite esbahis, si saute erraument en un chambre, car il i quid trover armeure acun. Mais quant il est venus, il n’i troeve ne ce ne quoi, e lors est il plus esbaïs que devant, car il voit que lui rois le sueut touz voiez le fust levé. E il saut encor en un autre chambre qui estoit encore plus long, mais il n’i troeve nient plus qu’en l’autre, fors tant qu’il voit bien que lez chambrez sont lez plus beles du monde e lez plus richez que onque mais vaïst. E il regarde, si voit l’uis overte de la tierce chambre qui estoit encore plus loing, si s’adresche cele part por entrer dedenz, car il i quid totez celui qui de prez l’enchace. […] Et qui regardast mult la lance, il merveillaist coment ele tenist droite, car ele m’estoit apoié ne d’un part ne d’autre. Lui Chevaler as .II. Espeez legarde le lanche, mais il ne la conoist pas trez bien, si s’adresse cele parte e ot un auter voiz qui li escrie mult haute: Mais il ne laisse onques por ceste parole qu’il ne preigne la lance as .II. mains e fiert le roie Pellehan […] Et lui chevalers retrait a lui la lanche e la remette ariere en l’orchuel ou il l’avoit prise. E si tost cum ele i refu, ele se tint ausi droit cum ele faisoit devant’ (202.11– 24, 36–203.1–5, 8–10). (When the Knight with Two Swords saw this, he was more than a little frightened. He sprang quickly into a room, for he thought he would find a weapon there. But when he got there he found nothing at all, and then he was more frightened than before, for he saw that the king was after him with his club raised. He ran into another room, which was longer, but he found no more there than in the first, except that he saw that the rooms were the most beautiful in the world and the richest he had ever seen. He looked and saw the open door of a third room, which was longer yet, and he headed that way to go inside, for he thought all the while to find some weapon there with which to defend himself against the man who pursued him so closely. […] The Knight with the Two Swords looked at the lance, but he did not recognize it. He headed that way and heard another voice, which cried loudly to him, ‘Do not touch it! You will sin!’ In spite of this warning, he took the lance in both hands and struck King Pellehan […] The knight drew the lance back to himself and put it back in the vessel from which

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despite the fact that he is warned, by a supernatural voice, not to use it), he places it back where it belongs and then notices that the lance goes into the position it was in beforehand as if by a miracle. Malory’s Balin, by contrast, rushes through the Grail castle so quickly as to suggest he cannot possibly engage with the extraordinary nature of the place and objects he encounters and misses the opportunity to consider the warning signs altogether. Picking up a weapon is a desperate act and not simply a foolish gesture, disregarding previous warnings. In the Morte the brief description of the room seems meant for the audience, who alone is aware of the associated mystery (which urges caution): And whan Balyne was wepynles he ran into a chambir for to seke a wepyn [and so] fro chambir to chambir, and no wepyn coude he fynde. And allwayes kyng Pellam folowed afftir hym. And at the last he enterde into a chambir was mervaylously dyght and ryche, and a bedde arayed with cloth of golde, the rychiste that myght be, and one lyyng therein. And thereby stoode a table of clene golde with foure pelours of sylver that bare up the table, and uppon the table stoode a mervaylous spere strangely wrought. So whan Balyn saw the spere he gate hit in hys honde and turned to kynge Pellam and felde hym and smote hym passyngly sore with that spere, that kynge Pellam [felle] downe in a sowghe. And therewith the castell brake rooffe and wallis and felle downe to the erthe. (84.30–85.12)

Since no extensive description of the rooms Balin runs through, of the lance or of the repeated warnings of the disembodied voice are present in the Morte, Balin’s use of the weapon is blameless, a mere example of the manifestation of fate in Arthur’s world. For this reason Malory’s Balin seems a tragic figure, caught in the rush of events, acting at least partially in self-defence against what appears to be a conspiracy against him. After all, King Pellehan/Pellam is the brother of the invisible knight Garlon, who had by now unjustifiably killed knights under Balin’s protection. Balin’s own actions are justified, even if their effects bring shame and guilt. Malory even removes some of the potential blame associated with Balin’s failure in preventing Columbe’s suicide. He takes pains to show that Balin is sensitive to the gravity of circumstances, making clear that Balin could not have saved the lady from death due to the fact that by intervening he could have caused her harm (‘but she helde hit [the sword] so faste he myght nat take hit oute of hir honde but yf he sholde have hurt hir’; 69.28–30). This detail, not present in the Suite, suggests that Malory wanted to exonerate Balin from at least some of the guilt and shame he experienced in the source. Two moments in Balin’s tale which should have warranted a gloss lack any commentary on his actions, though in one of them a maniculum seems to suggest Pellam’s rash chase after Balin is a justification of Balin’s striking of the dolorous stroke. The other is the encounter and battle between Balin and Balin, the part of the story missing in Winchester. The final gloss to Balin’s story reads:

he had taken it. As soon as it was back there, it held itself as erect as it had before; V: 212.)

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‘Here ys a prognostication of the Sank Greall’ (fol. 31r, 85.25); it is placed next to the lines corresponding to Merlin’s words predicting the future of the sword: ‘Thys ys the cause,’ seyde Merlion: ‘there shall never man handyll thys swerde but the beste knyght of the worlde, and that shall be sir Launcelot other ellis Galahad, hys sonne. And Launcelot with [t]hys swerde shall sle the man in the worlde that he lovith beste: that shall be sir Gawayne.’ (91.21–5)

Here parallels and contrasts between the two knights, Balin and Galahad, united by the use of the same sword, are anticipated; yet the evidence above suggests that rather than a black-and-white contrast, between the dark (and tragic) Balin and the perfect knight Galahad, they seem to represent, for Malory at least, the yet-unredeemed knight before the arrival of the saviour knight, Galahad, who is compared with Christ on more than one occasion. Balin’s tragedy can be seen as typological; to some extent his suffering resembles Mordrain’s and Nascien’s in the Graal, yet he is deprived of the privilege of divine guidance and explanations for his trials, the way both Mordrain and Nascien are. Balin is also like the sinners in Joseph’s company who are left alive in order to be released from their suffering by the Grail knight Galahad; yet his intentions remain pure throughout and his actions are not condemned at any stage. Ultimately Balin’s fault is blindness to divine providence, here presented through fate or Fortune. At the point he pulls the sword he is justly riding on the top of Fortune’s Wheel, even if the image is not used. Ironically Balin’s rather abrupt fall is caused by the very object that confirmed his status, the damsel’s sword, possession of which brings about ‘unhappiness’, to use Malory’s term. Balin is blind to fate and, near the end of his story, displays passive acceptance of his destiny, though he does not seek to find out the reasons behind it. Malory’s Pellam, wounded by Balin, shares at least some of Balin’s nature: he is rash, though also justified, in his vengeance for his brother’s death, thus prompting Balin to retaliate. Interestingly, whether intentionally or not Malory tells the other version of Pellam’s wound, but later, in the Grail Quest. There we learn that Pellam was punished for his presumption in handling the sword with strange girdles despite having been given a clear supernatural warning not to do so. Despite Malory’s inconsistency over the cause of Pellam’s wound, both the Pellam in the story of Balin and his counterpart in the ‘Sankgreal’, although not wounded by the same person or for the same reason, deserve their punishment, due to their common weakness, rashness. From this perspective Malory’s Balin anticipates Galahad, but in ways unnoticed to date: he unwittingly acts as God’s instrument in punishing Pellam’s anger at Balin’s just killing of Garlon.39 That

39

King Pellam is justly angered by Balin’s discourteous killing of Garlon, and should exact justice either by challenging Balin to one-to-one combat or by putting him on trial. Arthur is also justly angry at Balin’s discourtesy in killing the Lady of the Lake, but his reaction is in keeping with the expectations of a medieval audience: he banishes Balin from the court. It is arguable that Pellam’s gesture is rash due to the personal nature of Balin’s offence, killing Pellam’s brother; however, Pellam’s rash nature is confirmed in the Grail Quest when the audience learns about his wounding due to his handling of the sword with the strange girdles.

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Pellam is also said, both in Balin’s story and in the Queste, to have been a great and just king (‘the moste worshipfulist man on lyve in tho dayes’; 85.28–9) is overshadowed by both his behaviour towards Balin and the real cause of the wound Galahad heals in the Queste, which is Pellam’s presumption in handling the sword on Solomon’s ship.

Lineages through swords The current analysis has thus far shown that a symbolic lineage provides continuity between Balin’s story and later developments, that of the sword in the stone. Balin, Galahad and Lancelot are associated in Merlin’s prophecy. Murray Evans points out that in Malory’s French source ‘there are two swords and two prophecies: Balin’s sword Lancelot will use to kill Gawain; another sword, the second one, is placed in the stone for Galahad in the future’; he sees clear parallels in the plot ‘between Balin’s and Galahad’s careers via the sword […] Balin is repeatedly called the greatest knight in the world; the stone from which Galahad pulls the sword announces that only “the beste knyght of the worlde” will wield it.’40 It is true that the damsel calls Balin ‘le mieudres chevaliers de chaiens’ (I: 96.29; the best knight around here; IV: 186) in the Suite immediately after he has been released from prison and before he achieves the sword. With Malory’s Balin the damsel says she is disappointed she has not found ‘the beste knyghtes of the worlde’ at King Arthur’s court, as she had expected (62.28) and the audience is told Balin is a ‘good man named of his body’ (63.1–2). When he successfully pulls the sword, the damsel calls him ‘the beste [knight] that ever y founde’ (64.2) and later ‘one of the best knyghtes of thys realme’ (68.2–3) by Merlin, who confirms ‘there lyvith nat a knyght of more prouesse than he ys’ (68.10–11).41 If we consider Balin and Galahad a type of ‘best knight of the world’, though in different degrees, Galahad may be seen, as some critics have suggested, as the saviour and Balin as the dark knight whose actions need to be redeemed by Galahad. Balin, who in the Suite is compared to Eve, functions as a counterpart to Galahad.42 However, in Malory’s Arthuriad Balin’s blind abandonment to Fortune, against all reason and advice, seems a poor contrast to Galahad’s selfassurance in his divinely appointed role in the Quest. There is a line of continuity between the two characters’ destinies through the sword and Malory’s text shows that symbolic links established through weapons form fragile interpretative ‘lineages’ which complicate, rather than clarify, the meaning of stories. 40 41

42

Evans, ‘Ordinatio and Narrative Links’, pp. 32, 36. Hodges also discusses Balin’s status and his sword, though in the contexts of a different set of arguments; see Kenneth Hodges, Forging Chivalric Communities (Basingstoke and New York, 2005), pp. 22–3, 46–8, 94–5. See Norris, ‘The Tragedy of Balin’. Allan J. Mitchell exploits further the link between Balin and Eve, seen as evil-doers whose actions lead to the greater good, though he concludes: ‘events in the Morte are deprived of obvious providential significance, and moral judgements are correspondingly moderated’ (Ethics and Eventfulness in Medieval Middle English Literature (Basingstoke and New York, 2009), p. 126).

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Malory did not simply turn to the Vulgate Queste for his ‘Sankgreal’; as already mentioned, he knew and probably used elements from at least two other parts of the cycle, the Vulgate Graal and the Post-Vulgate Queste. It may be that Galahad’s lineage and the sword in the stone floating on the river appealed to him, as they did to the original authors of the Vulgate and Post-Vulgate cycles, in that they reflected a parallel between the beginning of King Arthur’s reign and Galahad’s arrival at the court. In the first scenes of the ‘Sankgreal’ the audience learns Galahad is a knight of special virtues because he not only is predestined to sit in the Siege Perilous and in due course accomplish the adventures of the Grail, but also possesses privileged knowledge about events, both past and future. A parallel is established between Arthur’s winning of his sword, which endorses his divinely ordained right to the English crown and marks an auspicious start for his secular career, and Galahad’s religious mission of leading the questing knights to the Grail. Malory inherited this parallel from the Vulgate Cycle, in which it works as a reminder that the values upheld by the two leaders, the secular (Arthur) and the spiritual (Galahad), are opposed and that the Arthurian knights have much to learn from the lessons of the Grail Quest. Galahad’s example of unrivalled purity and justice in battle, complete with his predestined role in the Quest, in particular through the working of miracles, is clearly designed to inspire awe and humble the audience within the story and outside it. Malory enriches the existing parallel between Arthur and Galahad via the sword in the stone by transforming Galahad’s character from the Vulgate Queste. The Vulgate Galahad’s attributes are physical stature and meekness (‘simplece’ – innocence; 2.32),43 whereas Malory’s Galahad is ‘demure as a dove’ (854.19), but a lot more confident and aware of his mission, in a way reminiscent of Arthur’s youthful confidence when he became king upon drawing the sword out of the stone. Galahad’s self-assured attitude is closely related to his predestined mission of leading by example in the Grail Quest and achieving the ultimate reward, the full sight of the Grail. This Malorian confidence is evident from the beginning of the ‘Sankgreal’ in the episode when he is knighted by his father, Lancelot, and before Galahad’s arrival at Arthur’s court. At this stage Lancelot is guided to an abbey where he finds Galahad, Lionel and Bors. Galahad is brought to Lancelot by the nuns so that he may be knighted, but from then on Malory’s Galahad asserts his individuality by answering to Lancelot without seeking the nuns’ approval. The Queste is characterised by both Lancelot’s and Galahad’s defer-

43

In the Post-Vulgate Queste his meekness is further emphasised: ‘ca em aquel tempo nom podia homem achar em todo o regno de Logres donzel tam fremoso nem tam bem feito; ca em todo era tal, que nom podia homem achar rem em que lhe travase, for a que era manso sobejo em seu continente’ (II.16; my emphasis; for no man at that time could find in all the kingdom of Logres a man so beautiful and so well made. In every way he was such that no one could find anything in which to censure him, except that he was exceedingly gentle in his bearing; V: 114; my emphasis) The text is cited from the PostVulgate Queste in its Portuguese translation, since this portion is missing from extant Old French manuscripts.

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ence to religious authority; the Vulgate Galahad, upon being made a knight, refuses to join Lancelot in his journey to Arthur’s court, to which Lancelot replies by seeking the abbess’s agreement in changing Galahad’s decision. The abbess confirms that Galahad cannot accompany Lancelot to the court on this occasion, and that the decision is not his: Cele nuit demora laienz Lancelot et fist toute la nuit veillier le vaslet au mostier, et a l’endemain a hore de prime le fist chevalier, et il chauça l’un de ses esperons et Boorz l’autre. Aprés li ceint Lancelot l’espee et li dona la colée, et li dist que Diex le feist preudome, car a biauté n’avoit il mie failli. Et quant il li ot fet tout ce que a novel chevalier apartenoit, si li dist: – Et lors dist Lancelot a l’abeesse: – (3.6–19; emphases mine) (Lancelot stayed the night at the abbey and had the young man keep vigil in the chapel. At the hour of prime Lancelot made him a knight, putting on one of his spurs while Bors attached the other. Then Lancelot girded his sword about him and gave him the traditional accolade, praying God to make him a valiant knight worthy of his extraordinary beauty. When he had completed the dubbing ritual, Lancelot said, ‘Good sir, will you accompany me to my lord King Arthur’s court?’ ‘No, sir,’ he said, ‘I can’t go with you.’ Then Lancelot said to the abbess, ‘Lady, won’t you permit our new knight to come with us to my lord King Arthur’s court? It will benefit him more to be there than to stay here with you.’ ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘he will not go now, but as soon as we feel the time is right, we’ll send him.’) (IV: 3)

Malory’s Lancelot is satisfied with Galahad’s reply; he respects his son’s independent judgement: So that nyght sir Launcelot had passyng good chere. And on the mor[n]e at the howre of pryme at Galahaddis desyre he made hym knyght, and seyde, ‘God make you a good man, for of beauté faylith you none as ony that ys now lyvynge. Now, fayre sir,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘woll ye com with me unto the courte of kynge Arthure?’ ‘Nay,’ seyde he, ‘I woll nat go with you at thys tyme.’ (854.26–33)

Malory’s brevity may be justified by his impatience with religious figures.44 The presence of the religious figures is, however, linked to the knighting ceremony, an episode Malory leaves out. Undoubtedly he read it with interest, being a knight himself. Perhaps he omits it because he takes for granted the details of a knighting ceremony. On the other hand, his omission also has the desirable effect of leaving out any details about the weapons with which Galahad was armed during the ceremony and the fact that a sword would necessarily accompany him from the moment he was knighted.

44

For a discussion of how religious values are subordinated to chivalric ones in the ‘Sankgreal’, see Radulescu, ‘“Now I take uppon me the adventures”’.

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Interestingly, the first gloss that appears in Winchester in the ‘Sankgreal’ is placed next to this episode, drawing attention to the moment when Galahad is made a knight: ‘Here Galahad was made knyght’ (fol. 349v; 854.23). The audience is left to ponder whether this brief reference to the knighting of Galahad warranted a gloss, or perhaps the marginalium was meant to point to proper procedure, here reduced to merely ensuring the candidate for knighthood desires the honour. The knighting ceremony would have included the girding with a sword – a detail mentioned in the Queste, but missing in Malory. This fits in with the words Malory’s Galahad utters upon drawing the sword out of the stone: Now have I the swerde that somtyme was the good knyghtes Balyns le Saveaige, and he was a passynge good knyght of hys hondys; and with thys swerde he slew his brothir Balan and that was grete pité, for he was a good knyght. And eythir slew othir thorow a dolerous stroke that Balyn gaff unto kynge Pelles, the whych ys nat yett hole, nor naught shall be tyll that I hele hym. (863.3–9; my emphasis)

Malory’s Galahad states that he will heal the wound inflicted on Pellam by Balin, though the audience is also told later on that Pellam’s wound was the result of divine punishment for his presumption in handling the sword with the strange girdles left on Solomon’s ship for Galahad (986–7). The Queste Galahad simply states that he has deliberately left his own sword behind, since he knows he will achieve this one; yet he does not say anything about the past history of the sword: Sire, fet Galaad, ce n’est mie de merveille, car l’aventure estoit moie, si n’ert pas lor. Et por la grant seurté que je avoie de ceste espee avoir n’en aportai je point a cort, si com vos poïstes veoir. (12.12–23) (Galahad replied, ‘My lord, that’s not at all surprising, since the adventure is mine, not theirs. It is because I was so sure of obtaining this sword, that I didn’t bring one to court, as you can see.’) (IV: 6)45

At this stage Malory establishes the symbolic lineage of the sword between Balin, Galahad and Lancelot. The merging of Balin’s and Galahad’s swords shows that Galahad’s mission is not just to show a counter-example to Balin’s unfortunate, blundering life as a knight, but to bring closure to Balin’s own story, symbolically healing the blindness of the tragic knight by asserting his own divinely sanctioned mission in the Grail Quest. Balin’s path of inexplicable suffering is counterbalanced and brought to a conclusion by Galahad’s meaningful search for the Grail and fulfilment of his mission. However, the lineage of the sword is neither the only line of continuity nor the only sign that Galahad is justly entitled to the title of the ‘best knight of the 45

In the Post-Vulgate Queste Galahad is merely led by King Arthur to the sword in the stone and pulls it out, observing he now needs a shield as well (19.33; V: 118; his words are the same in the Vulgate Queste). There are no traces of Galahad’s words as they appear in the Morte.

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world’. Galahad is recognised first as Lancelot’s son before he is hailed as the predestined Grail knight. Bors and Lancelot comment on the physical resemblance between father and son in the episode of the knighting, which takes place at the abbey where Galahad spent his youth. Later, when he arrives at court, Guenevere’s ladies-in-waiting also pick up on this resemblance in their gossip. In typical Malorian fashion, Galahad’s public introduction to the court retains all of the formality in the Queste since it is not Malory’s intention to leave space for private conversation: And with hym he brought a yonge knyght, and bothe on foote, in rede armys, withoute swerde other shylde sauff a scawberd hangynge by hys syde. And thes wordys he seyde: ‘Pees be with you, fayre lordys!’ Than the olde man seyde unto kynge Arthure, ‘Sir, I brynge you here a yonge knyght the whych ys of kynges lynage and of the kynrede of Joseph of Aramathy, whereby the mervayles of this courte and of stronge realmys shall be fully complevysshed.’ (859.6–15; my emphases)

In the Queste, the same man addresses similar words to Arthur, though the specificity of Galahad’s lineage is greater: Et li preudons venoit a pié et amenoit par la main un chevalier a unes armes vermeilles, sans espee et sans escu. Si dist a tost come il fu en mi le pales: Et après dist au roi la ou il le vit: (7.21–8; my emphases) (The worthy man approached on foot, leading by the hand a knight in red armour, without a sword or shield. Once he had fully entered the room, he said, ‘Peace be with you.’ And turning to Arthur, he continued, ‘King Arthur, I bring you the Desired Knight, descended from the noble lineage of King David and the family of Joseph of Arimathea. He will put an end to the wondrous events now taking place in this land as well in far-off lands. Here he is.’) (IV: 5)

Galahad’s genealogy is complex and only an audience familiar with the various lineages from the Graal and the Prose Lancelot would fully appreciate the nobility of his descent. On his mother’s side (Elaine of Corbenic) he is descended from the Fisher King and Grail guardian at Corbenic, King Pelles (themselves descended from the kindred of Joseph of Arimathea); on his father’s side he is descended from King David.46 In the Queste the specific details of Galahad’s descent from King David immediately associate him with the well-known biblical character.

46

See Chase, ‘The Gateway’, pp. 71–2. Galahad’s descent from Joseph of Arimathea is indirect; his paternal ancestor is Nascien, a pagan who was converted by Joseph, and befriended him. Nascien was also the keeper of the red-cross shield (the symbol made on it for his brother-in-law, Mordrain, by Joseph), who made sure it was kept safely for Galahad (see Chapter 3). See also Appendix 2 below for the lineages of these descendants of Joseph of Arimathea and his kindred, all the way to Lancelot and Galahad, Yvain and Gawain.

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In addition, the association shows that Galahad and therefore also Lancelot are descended from one of the Nine Worthies. It is somewhat surprising that Malory would leave out such an important detail, which can only enhance Galahad’s stature early on in the story of the Grail. On the other hand, Malory’s desire to emphasise the legacy of Joseph of Arimathea is evident and, in Winchester at least, supported by the explicit to the preceding tale of Sir Tristram, which reads: ‘But here folowyth the noble tale off the Sanke Greall, whyche called ys the holy vessell and the sygnyfycacion of blyssed bloode off oure Lorde Jesu Cryste, whyche was brought in to thys londe by Joseph off Aramathye’ (fol. 346v; 845.32–846.3). The explicit anticipates the code in which readers of Winchester should read the ‘Sankgreal’, not from the perspective of Galahad’s fulfilment of the Grail Quest, but rather as an unambiguous reference to the Grail as the ‘holy vessel’ containing the ‘blyssed bloode’ of Christ and its arrival with Joseph of Arimathea ‘into thys londe’ (in the same words employed in the earlier story of Balin: ‘for in that place was parte of the bloode of Oure Lorde Jesu Cryste, which Joseph off Aramathy brought into thys londe’; 85.23–5). The solidarity in purpose with Lovelich’s enterprise and a typical fifteenthcentury understanding of the legend of Joseph (as demonstrated in Chapter 3) are evident here. The emphasis on ‘thys londe’ draws attention to Malory’s intention to incorporate the Grail Quest into the adventures of Arthur’s fellowship, although his enterprise is not as bold as Hardyng’s, who completely integrated the Grail adventures into (and subordinated them to) the greater fame of Arthur’s court. In his Chronicle, written at the request of and dedicated to Henry VI and then revised and rededicated to Richard, Duke of York, Hardyng promoted the agendas of his time, stating the political and ecclesiastical primacy of England over Scotland on the basis of the Arthurian stories. For this reason Hardyng’s Galahad has a high mission different from that of the Queste and Malory, which is to establish a chivalric order of the Holy Grail, much in the spirit of fifteenth-century chivalric orders, so as to integrate his enterprise further within the British past and present, through the association of Galahad’s arms with St George. Instead, Malory states that Galahad comes from ‘kynges lynage’. Is he relying on his audiences’ prior knowledge of Galahad’s descent from King David? It is hard to ascertain how well attuned to the intricacies of Arthurian genealogical descent Malory’s readers would have been. Whether deliberate or not, Malory’s omission of King David’s name has repercussions on Lancelot’s presentation later on. King David, of biblical and ‘Nine Worthies’ reputation, was also known as the sinner whose adultery with Bathsheba led him to order the murder of her husband, Uriah the Hittite. Malory’s audiences would have been aware of it from numerous sources including church readings, sermons and popular reading such as Cursor Mundi. Malory makes more of the parallel between Lancelot’s and David’s sins and suffering. From this viewpoint, the early omission of the detail which links Galahad with King David might be due to a deliberate avoidance of sensitive information. Malory’s medieval readers would perhaps have trouble remembering the sometimes contradictory lineages in the various branches of the Vulgate Cycle; yet the link with King David needed no explanation. On the other hand Galahad’s kingly descent and link to Joseph of

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Arimathea would suffice to persuade the audience of his high calling to a life of perfection in spiritual and earthly exploits. Such a small omission may seem insignificant given Malory’s treatment of his source, the Queste, which he abridges so often – and drastically. As discussed in Chapter 3, clear evidence of fifteenth-century interest in Lancelot’s genealogy is available from both Lovelich’s manuscript, where Nasciens’s carefully numbered descendants all the way to Lancelot are recorded, and in contemporary fifteenthcentury Middle English Brut manuscripts. The annotations in Lovelich’s manuscript are particularly relevant to the discussion here in that they record the exact number of descendants between Nasciens and Galahad. Malory strikingly also chooses to introduce, in what appears to be his (typical) restrained tone, an original statement, which he uses in order to invest Guenevere with the privilege of uttering the full genealogical descent of Lancelot and Galahad. Upon finding out that Galahad has arrived at court and, having been informed of the rumours about his striking resemblance to Lancelot, Guenevere says: ‘Ye, forsothe,’ seyde the quene, ‘for he ys of all partyes comyn of the beste knyghtes of the worlde and of the hyghest lynage: for sir Launcelot ys com but of the eighth degré frome Oure Lord Jesu Cryst, and thys sir Galahad ys th[e] nyneth degré frome Oure Lorde Jesu Cryst. Therefore I dare sey they be the grettist jantillmen of the worlde.’ (865.7–12; my emphases)47

Guenevere’s words record her role, that of ‘reading out’ or revealing Galahad’s and Lancelot’s genealogical descent. Her role is almost that of a chronicler or herald and removed from the gossip-filled atmosphere of the court in the Vulgate (and Post-Vulgate) Queste. There Guenevere had occasion to remember Galahad’s conception, when Lancelot was tricked into sleeping with Elaine of Corbenic on the pretence she was Guenevere.48 In Malory Guenevere effectively makes everyone aware of the long and distinguished lineage of Lancelot and Galahad; they can only be expected to continue the spiritual legacy of their

47

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In the Queste she merely states: ‘Oil voir, fet la roine. Car il est de totes parz estrez des meillors chevaliers dou monde et dou plus haut lignage que len sache’ (14.33–15.2). (Without a doubt. He is descended from the world’s best knights and from the noblest family known; IV: 7.) In the Vulgate Queste a whole section is dedicated to the way in which Guenevere, who is dining in her quarters with her ladies-in-waiting, is notified of Galahad’s arrival by a page (‘vaslet’ in the original). The ladies comment on Galahad’s beauty and his mission to heal Rois Mehaigniez (the Wounded King); and the narrator adds ‘Car par ce que ele a oï parler de la semblance pense ele bien que ce soit Galaad, que Lancelot avoit engendré en la fille au Riche Roi Pescheor, einsi com len li avoit conté par maintes fois et dit en quel maniere il avoit esté deceuz; et ce estoit la chose pai coi ele fust plus corrouciee vers Lancelot, se la coulpe en fust soie’ (10.23–8). (The queen wanted to see him now more than ever before. What she had heard about the knight’s appearance made her think he must be Galahad, son of Lancelot and the Rich Fisher King’s daughter. She had heard the story many times of how Lancelot had been tricked into fathering the child. This more than any other event would have provoked her anger toward Lancelot, if he had been at fault; IV: 6.)

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ancestors.49 The specificity of Guenevere’s words also ensures that the audience of Malory’s text is ushered into the hall of fame of the Christian and secular ‘histories’ proposed in the Graal and sometimes in the genealogical descent of Joseph of Arimathea incorporated in fifteenth-century Latin and Middle English Brut chronicles (see Chapter 3). Malory’s Guenevere utters words that are original to Malory and Lancelot’s lineage is particularly privileged; to some extent his position at the court overshadows Arthur’s. Genealogical chronicles, whether those produced for propaganda purposes by the royal houses of Lancaster and York, or the universal histories which presented biblical and secular history side by side, signalled the importance of ancient royal ancestry. The mention of King David in Galahad’s ancestry would be all the more important in anchoring the story in an authoritative past, so it is surprising Malory decided to drop this detail at this point in the story. In the ‘Sankgreal’ the marginalia, now again in the hand of Scribe A (who is responsible for copying this part of the text), punctuate Galahad’s achievements: being made a knight (fol. 349v; 854.23); ‘How Sir Galahad sate in Seege Perelous (fol. 351v; 860.06); ‘How Sir Galahad pulled the swerde out of the peron’ (fol. 351v, 862.26).50 Surprisingly, only two of his achievements are glossed, though neither of them is related to the Grail; the first one records Galahad’s first success, ‘Here Galahad conioure a devil out of a tombe’ (fol. 357r, 881.33), while the second draws attention to Lancelot’s pre-eminence, in particular his foreknowledge of Gawain’s attempt at pulling the sword out of the stone, which will be punished later in the Quest: ‘He [sic] Sir Galahad hurte Gawayne lyke as Sir Launcelot made mencion to fore at Camelot’ (fol. 389r, 981.26). Neither Galahad’s full vision of the Grail nor his saintly end are highlighted by means of a pointing hand or marginalium, which is even more astonishing, given that all the other visions of the Grail elect or non-elect knights are carefully announced in the marginalia produced by the same scribe (‘The avision of Sir Launcelot’, fol. 373r, 928.16; ‘The avision of Sir Gawayne’, fol. 376v, 942.13; ‘The auysion of

49

50

On the other hand, a knowledgeable reader familiar with Lancelot’s lineage established in the Prose Lancelot, contradicted later in the Graal, would know Lancelot’s lineage had been pushed aside in the later text from Joseph of Arimathea’s descent, due to his sins (Chase, ‘La conversion des païennes’, p. 260). Chase reminds us that ‘[t]he Lancelot does present Joseph of Arimathea as Lancelot’s paternal ancestor. But there is only one clear statement of this relationship in the romance: a worthy man tells Lancelot that his grandfather was descended from his lineage and that he too fought the Saracens and helped to establish Christianity in Great Britain’ (Chase, ‘The Gateway’, p. 70). The reference from the Prose Lancelot is to Lancelot: roman en prose du XIIIe siècle, ed. Alexandre Micha, 9 vols (Geneva and Paris, 1978–83), V, p. 123. In addition, Chase points out, the only other instance where Lancelot’s descent from Joseph is mentioned relates to a brief statement from a lady telling Guerrehet that Lancelot ‘is descended from David and Joseph of Arimathea (Lancelot, IV: 27), but it does not indicate whether the descent is on his mother’s or his father’s side’. The use of the word ‘perron’ in this gloss is another indicator of the fact that the marginalia must have been composed by someone who had access to the source, like Malory, since the word appears in the Morte, but long before the ‘Sankgreal’; see Field, ‘Malory’s Own Marginalia’, p. 232.

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Sir Bors whan he fouȝt with Sir Pridam’, fol. 381r, 957.35; and again ‘The avisione of Sir Launcelot’, fol. 399v, 1011.06). The unusual heading ‘Now here ys a wondir tale of Kyng Salamon and of hys wyff’ (fol. 394v) is likely a gloss accidentally moved into the body of the text by the Winchester scribe,51 or perhaps another marker of the ‘avisions’ that feature in abundance in this section of the ‘Sankgreal’. Whether this glossturned-heading refers to the whole story of Solomon and his wife, including the building of the marvellous ship and bed, as Field has suggested, or was meant to point to Solomon’s second divinely inspired vision, in which the writing on the sword and further details about his lineage are revealed,52 it still functions as a pointer to marvels and visions and works in the same interpretative code as the other similar marginalia discussed here. Significantly, the next gloss is to Lancelot’s own (second) vision of the Grail, recording once again the significance of the Grail in his final experience and Malory’s typical identification of the Grail as the ‘holy vessel’: ‘The significacion of þe Sankgreal that ys called the holy vessell the whiche appered to Sir Launcelot’ (fol. 401v, 1015.34). At least for the readers of Winchester, therefore, Galahad’s achievements were not highlighted as a model to imitate or at least be mindful of, despite his quasisaint status. The last gloss, relating Lancelot’s achievement, recalls the explicit to the ‘Book of Sir Tristram’, cited earlier, in which similar emphasis is placed on the meaning of the Grail as a vessel and the fact that it was brought to ‘thys londe’ by Joseph of Arimathea. Here the gloss draws attention to Lancelot being singled out as the one whose experience of the Grail is hailed above Galahad’s. Whether or not we consider the argument that the marginalia were copied from an earlier exemplar, or represent Malory’s own glosses, their very presence in the Winchester ‘Sankgreal’ testifies to a layer of readings which favour Lancelot’s religious experience over Galahad’s and give precedence to moments of illumination encountered by secular non-elect knights (Lancelot, Gawain) over the elect (Bors’s vision is mentioned, but nothing at all is said about Perceval, whose name only appears in relation to his sister). The marginalia tell a story of reception, pointing to the spiritual journeys started by Galahad as a messenger of the Grail Quest, but continued and fulfilled by others, as if interest shifts from the other-worldly Grail knight to the models of repentance offered by the other knights, more realistically tuned to fifteenth-century expectations. The only other marginalia in the Winchester ‘Sankgreal’ relate to killing or dying, both of which can be associated with choices made by the individuals concerned and which have repercussions on their spiritual state: ‘Here Sir Gawayne slew Sir Vwayne his cousyn germayne’ (fol. 378r, 944.33); ‘How Sir Lyonell wolde haue slayne sir [sic] his broþer Syr Bors’ (fol. 386v, 970.05); ‘How Sir Lyonell slewe þe Ermyte and Collgreuaunce for þe rescowe of his broþer Syr Bors’ (fol. 387v, 972.26); ‘The deth of Sir Percevalls Syster’ (fol. 398v, 1003.20). 51 52

Ibid., p. 230. Another interpretation might be that there were two marginalia, one marking the story of Solomon and his wife, and the other pointing to the second vision, and they were conflated accidentally. This would also justify the wrong location of the gloss in Winchester.

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Another relevant aspect in Galahad’s trajectory is the nature of his achievements, in other words whether the miracles he performs are public and of the kind to inspire his followers. Alfred Robert Kraemer argues that Galahad’s princely status associates him, in the readers’ minds, with saints whose lives were popular with fifteenth-century Middle English audiences; he considers that ‘Malory makes Galahad’s participation in miraculous events conspicuously public as if to suggest that they are part of the Arthurian political life’.53 Galahad’s deeds certainly recall a saintly portrait such as those encountered in hagiographical accounts across centuries; indeed he arrives into Malory’s narrative with the aura of sanctity of the Vulgate Galahad. Yet Galahad neither goes through struggles or trials that saints of former kingly or queenly status had to endure nor does his experience receive the crown of martyrdom celebrated in the lives of saints Kraemer focuses on, written by John Lydgate, Osbern Bockenham and John Capgrave. Galahad’s miracles (conjuring a demon, fighting evil knights) take place in front of a very small company; the audience might wonder what their effect is on the other Arthurian knights. It is not the same with Lancelot’s healing of Sir Urry, a public event which impacts on the whole Round Table fellowship and, by extension, the Arthurian society. Galahad’s isolation from the world of Arthur’s court is evident and the accomplishment of his mission very personal; his healing of various Grail figures has no impact on the politics of Arthur’s world. It is hard to see any large- or even small-scale direct consequences for Galahad’s actions in the secular world of the Round Table fellowship or even in the spiritual journeys the other knights go on.54 The contrast between Galahad’s nearly private miracles and Lancelot’s public religious moment could not be greater. Galahad never holds any political office nor does he need to change his life in order to fulfil the divinely sanctioned role he is predestined for in the Grail Quest. Having considered the glosses in Winchester, which single out the achievements and adventures of the secular knights, with visible preference given to Lancelot and Galahad and the relationship between the spiritual and political implications of Galahad’s and Lancelot’s lineages and miracles, it is time to turn to Lancelot’s spiritual journey through the Quest and afterwards.

53 54

Alfred Robert Kraemer, Malory’s Grail Seekers and Fifteenth-Century English Hagiography (New York, 1999), pp. 75–7. This may be the reason why Hardyng chose to grant Galahad a much more prominent political role alongside leadership in spiritual matters: Galahad’s founding of a chivalric order signals Hardyng’s original integration of the Grail Quest and the purest knight into the secular politics of King Arthur’s world. It is noteworthy that Malory, who knew Hardyng’s text, chose not to develop his version of the Grail Quest along these lines, since he wanted to present Lancelot in a more favourable light than Galahad. Hardyng, following the insular chronicles, did not allow Lancelot a prominent place in the story of Arthur.

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Lancelot, the suffering penitent The details of Malory’s changes to the story of the Grail Quest discussed thus far suggest we need to re-evaluate Lancelot’s position within the ‘chronicle’ of the Quest, a tale that is ‘noble’ and contains ‘the sygnyfycacion of blyssed bloode off oure Lorde Jesu Cryste, whyche was brought in to thys londe by Joseph off Aramathye’ (explicit to the previous tale, of Sir Tristram, fol. 346v; 845.32–846.3). Lovelich and Malory shared an interest in ‘cronycling’ the history of the Grail and placed different degrees of emphasis on the legacy of Joseph of Arimathea bringing the Grail to England. While Lovelich’s enterprise, placed as it was in the early decades of the century, fits in with the English Church’s prestige claim on the basis of the Joseph legend, by the time Malory was writing the legend had been abandoned from the international ecclesiastical debate, yet kept its appeal as a national myth recording the arrival of the proto-evangelist in Britain. Several aspects of Malory’s translation and adaptation of the story, including signs of its reception recorded in the marginalia preserved in Winchester, suggest that he intended much more than to portray a contrast between earthly and celestial chivalry, with Lancelot as the best of all sinful knights. A fresh look at Lancelot’s progress from his experiences in the ‘Sankgreal’ to his saintly end will demonstrate Malory’s sensitivity to genealogy and the legacy of Joseph of Arimathea’s mission. In particular, Lancelot’s descent from King David will be examined in relation to both David’s adulterous love for Bathsheba and David’s place among the ‘Nine Worthies’, a motif popular with Malory’s first audiences, which Caxton exploited.55 Bearing in mind the popularity of biblical narratives with medieval audiences, it is not surprising to find the three Old Testament ‘worthies’, Joshua, David and Judas Maccabeus mentioned in a variety of media in Malory’s period.56 However, the extent to which the link between Lancelot and King David worked as a viable lineage in the Morte for his first readers has not been explored to date. As mentioned, Malory presents Galahad’s ancestry without specificity beyond ‘kynges lynage’ (859.12–13), but he reminds the audience of Lancelot’s entire descent later in the story. Bearing in mind Lancelot’s penitent journey in the Quest, it appears that he experiences, to some extent, 55

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In his preface to his 1485 edition of the Morte, Caxton hinted at his own plan for a ‘Nine Worthies series’. He had started it in 1481 with the printing of the Siege of Jerusalem, a text celebrating the deeds of the first Christian worthy, Godfrey of Bouillon, and, only a few months after the printing of the Morte, followed it with the romance of the third Christian Worthy, Charles the Grete, another of Caxton’s own translations from the French. Lawrence Besserman states: ‘As a self-aggrandizing myth for the armigerous class, and as crusading propaganda, the Nine Worthies themes had a long, pan-European life. Because it included the legendary King Arthur, the banner of the Nine Worthies was especially suited for adoption by the English knightly class. […] The Nine Worthies could provide an alternative, ahistorical version of the imbricated secular and sacred identity of medieval Christian chivalric culture – a version more appealing to the powerful institutional supporters of chivalry than the actual historical record could offer’ (Lawrence Besserman, Biblical Paradigms in Medieval English Literature (New York, 2012), p. 116).

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though not for the same reasons, the trials of his predecessor and mirrors, in his sin, David’s fate. Indeed the greater glory of achieving the Grail vision fully is reserved for Galahad, Lancelot’s son, just as Solomon, David’s son, accomplished the building of the Temple. Lineages aside, any analysis of Lancelot’s spiritual progress against the secular background of court politics needs to take account of his sinful status during the Quest. In particular, two other issues require attention: the extent to which other knights’ spiritual journeys commenced in the ‘Sankgreal’ are or are not continued after this tale and whether the lessons of the Quest leave any traces in the consciences of those knights who return to the court, Gawain, Bors and Lancelot. By nature individualistic and anti-communal, the Grail Quest adventure represented, in itself, from its earliest composition for the Vulgate Cycle, a concerted effort at criticising the values promoted in secular chivalric romance and a means of correction for secular chivalry. Malory critics have tended to focus on the inner workings of the tale, almost in isolation from, Lancelot’s moment of grace in the episode of the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’. The first and foremost reason for this tendency is Malory’s comment on Lancelot’s forgetfulness of the ‘promyse and the perfeccion he made in the Quest’ (1045.11–12) and consequent (rather swift) return to his relationship with Guenevere. The continuity of the argument related to Lancelot’s spiritual journey after the Grail Quest is therefore indebted to the way in which Malory treated Lancelot in the Quest. However, critics remain divided over the extent to which Malory changed Lancelot’s portrait in the Quest, whether these changes are positive or negative and where Lancelot might be left once the Quest is over.57 In the Queste Lancelot must be shamed during his chivalric adventures, in order to understand he is sinful, and must undertake penance. By contrast, Malory’s Lancelot humbly accepts the misfortunes visited on him during the Quest and his transformation into a penitent endears him to the audience.58 Yet for the audiences of the Vulgate Cycle, including the Graal and the various branches of the Prose Lancelot, Lancelot is at the same time the pre-eminent secular knight at King Arthur’s court, a king of France (even if not much is made of his power until the final war with Arthur) and the father of the Grail knight Galahad. With both Vulgate and Post-Vulgate Cycles surviving in manuscripts read in England in Malory’s time, the fictional character of Lancelot came to Malory’s audiences as a man with a lineage to live up to.59 Even within Malory’s Arthuriad

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To take just two examples, see Larry D. Benson’s Malory’s ‘Morte Darthur’ (Cambridge, 1976), for the view that Malory plays down Lancelot’s faults/sins as he found them in the Queste, and Stephen C. B. Atkinson’s opposite view, that Malory amplifies Lancelot’s sins in order to draw the reader’s sympathy, in his ‘Malory’s Lancelot and the Quest of the Grail’, in Studies in Malory, ed. Spisak, pp. 129–53. See Radulescu, ‘“Now I take uppon me the adventures”’. See Middleton, ‘Manuscripts of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle’, and, more recently, studies of the ownership and circulation of manuscripts of the Vulgate Queste among Malory’s social peers, such as Alison Stones, ‘Two French Manuscripts: WLC/LM/6 and WLC/ LM/7’, in The Wollaton Manuscripts: Texts, Owners and Readers, ed. Ralph Hanna and Thorlac Turville-Petre (York, 2010), pp. 41–56 and 99–100.

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Lancelot still bears the burden of his lineage and a mission he does not fully comprehend – apart from engendering Galahad. It is in this interpretative code that Lancelot’s attitude in the ‘Sankgreal’ and afterwards will be re-examined, with a view to uncovering his understanding of the role he should play in the secular and spiritual realms. The first aspect to note in Malory’s portrayal of Lancelot is that his favourite knight’s testing in the Quest marks the beginning of his apprenticeship in humility, a long process which will continue in the episode of the ‘Healing’ and once again when he enters his life as a hermit. This attitude, contrary to the pride displayed by the Vulgate Lancelot, seems indebted to Malory’s intention to associate Lancelot with the trials his ancestors endured, which contributed to their illumination and acceptance of God’s will in their lives. Malory’s Lancelot resembles more King Mordrain of the Graal, whose foolish desire to get too near the Grail earned him a disability only Galahad would cure (see Chapter 3, p. 119). Lancelot’s experience of the Grail is similar to Mordrain’s (a form of punishment for his presumption, despite the divine warning he is not worthy to get near the Grail) and different, in the sense that he is still granted visions and experiences like the purest knight, Galahad. Lancelot’s progression on the path to humility in the Quest is marked by reminders of his pre-eminence, as a measure of the God-given talents he should use wisely in his secular and spiritual life. To date these reminders have not been noted; they refer to his lineage and the reproach that his sinfulness is a form of blindness to the mission God has entrusted him with in this world. Lancelot’s sinful state goes against the requirement of a ‘clene confession’ prior to the start of the Grail Quest. At the beginning of the Quest, Melyas’s adventure serves as a warning (to the reader) that Lancelot’s later failure in discerning the correct path during his Quest might be due to the same sins as Melyas’s. At a crossroads Melyas must choose between two paths; his judgement is clouded by two deadly sins, pride and covetousness, as the hermit he subsequently meets explains (886.20–3). Unsurprisingly, in Winchester several extant marginalia record the importance of this early example of unwise choice. In the margin of these lines a monumental cross was drawn in red ink, depicted on a pedestal, which corresponds to the cross that Sir Melyas has just encountered, on which two paths are indicated (fol. 357v; 883). The text scribe (here scribe A) added or copied a gloss in the margin of the text, which reads ‘How Sir Melyas toke vp the crowne of golde’ (fol. 358r), thus drawing attention to Melyas’s greed and worldly ambitions. By this stage the only marginalia in the story of the Grail relate to Galahad: being made a knight (fol. 349v), his seating in the ‘Sege Perelous’ (fol. 351r), his act of pulling the sword out of the stone (fol. 351v) and conjuring a demon out of a tomb (fol. 357r). It is noteworthy that the cross and marginalium point not to Melyas, but to the path he has chosen and the sin he is guilty of. Indeed, like Melyas, both Perceval and Lancelot are concerned with increasing their fame by winning battles against unknown opponents rather than striving to find the Grail. For example, when they challenge Galahad, albeit without recognising him, they are both unhorsed by him; then Galahad rides away. The episode takes place ‘tofore the ermytayge where a recluse dwelled’ and shortly after their failure Perceval and Lancelot hear the words of praise

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the recluse addresses to Galahad: ‘God be with the, beste knyght of the worlde!’ (893.7). Hearing these words, Perceval decides to stay behind and learn more, thinking it wiser to take advice from the recluse; he appears to be more open to learning from spiritual guides than Lancelot. Meanwhile Lancelot, unperturbed by the recluse’s words (even if the title ‘best knight of the world’ is usually Lancelot’s), rides ‘overthwarte and endelonge a wylde foreyst and hylde no pathe but as wylde adventure lad hym’ (893.23–5), unlike the Vulgate Lancelot, who is keen to ride after the ‘White Knight’ (Galahad) in pursuit of Grail adventures. The Vulgate Lancelot’s focus on the Grail is clearly evident by comparison with Malory’s Lancelot, who is still undertaking the Quest as a chivalric adventure, despite his own foreknowledge of some aspects of it, such as his awareness that the sword in the stone was predestined for the elect knight.60 Perhaps Malory’s Lancelot is perturbed in some way, or he is, like Balin before him, too bent on pursuing the adventure that God will ordain for him (see discussion above). Either way he seems to pass up an important opportunity to learn more about the meaning of his failure to unhorse the new ‘best knight of the world’. Spiritually blind to the workings of God’s design for him, Lancelot sets off upon a path that can only prove difficult and lead to penitent suffering. Immediately after this adventure Lancelot witnesses the miracle of the Grail healing a sick knight but is banned from approaching the sacred vessel. His desire to find out more (895.29–33) reveals his appetite for spiritual illumination; yet his typically Malorian secular concerns still haunt him.61 In fact Lancelot’s evident self-blame for seeking ‘worldly adventures for worldely desyres’ (a link to Malory’s original Round Table oath, 120.23–4) and pledge ‘to seke of holy thynges’ are now once again linked to his ardent desire to get near the ‘holy bloode’ (896.5–7).62 His French counterpart does not mention chivalric deeds nor 60

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At the beginning of Malory’s ‘Sankgreal’ Lancelot displays confidence in his foreknowledge of the risks involved in touching the sword in the stone: ‘Sir, hit ys nat my swerde; also, I have no hardines to sette my honde thereto, for hit longith nat to hange by my syde. Also, who that assayth to take hit and faylith of that swerde, he shall resseyve a wounde by that swerde that he shall nat be longe hole afftir. And I woll that ye weyte that thys same day shall the adventure of the Sankgreall begynne, that ys called the holy vessel’ (856.20–7; emphases mine). His French counterpart is ‘toz corouciez’ (‘distraught’) and adds: ‘ – – ’ (5.28–6.2). (‘Indeed, not, my lord. The sword is not mine, and I would not have the courage or audacity to lay a hand on it. I’m not worthy or deserving enough to withdraw it. So I won’t touch it; that would be madness.’ ‘Try it anyway,’ said the king, ‘and see if you can pull it out.’ ‘My lord,’ said Lancelot, ‘I won’t do it because I’m certain that whoever fails at this will be wounded’; IV: 4.) Lancelot ‘demed never to have worship more’ and ‘somewhat he was comforted’, where in the Queste he is concerned that he would never have an opportunity to see the Grail openly (61.24–5). In the Queste the Grail is associated with the body of Christ; the blood is not mentioned. In the Graal it is the dish from which Christ ate, which Joseph found and used to collect Christ’s blood after Christ’s body was taken down from the Cross. The bowl receives

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the equation between the Grail and the vessel containing Christ’s blood. This reading of the Grail as the holy vessel containing the blood of Christ reveals not only Lancelot’s knowledge of the Grail and its healing properties, as explored during his stay at the Castle of Corbenic when he was healed of his madness by the Grail (824.25–7), but also his recognition of the object of veneration it was known as during Malory’s time. Devotional texts in which the miracle of transubstantiation and the veneration of the Eucharist were described were often copied in fifteenth-century vernacular manuscripts alongside romances with a penitential streak, such as Robert of Sicily (see Chapter 2).63 In his Instruction for Parish Priests John Mirk emphasised, as Riddy notes, the ‘miraculous benefits [that] accrue from merely seeing the sacrament, not necessarily in church, but perhaps being carried by a priest to a sick person’s house’.64 With the feast of Corpus Christi acquiring ever more prominence in late medieval England – and its feast celebrations organised by the Confraternity of Corpus Christi of the London Skinners’ Company since the late fourteenth century (see Chapter 3) – the presence of the object, so clearly identified in the Morte, would not pass unnoticed by contemporary readers. In other words, the desire manifested by Malory’s Lancelot to see the ‘holy vessel’ openly displays the overlap between the God-inspired want for communion and the veneration common to any fifteenth-century Christian. It also confirms Lancelot’s similarly God-inspired recognition of the object of guardianship entrusted to the Grail keepers, with its urgent call for repentance and reform. By noticing this meaningful overtone we can better appreciate the slight change in the episode that follows, in which Malory’s Lancelot seeks the opportunity for confession (896.14–26).65 Here Lancelot shows a full understanding of

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its name from Nascien, a new convert to Christianity (see Chase, ‘The Gateway’, pp. 68–9 and, by the same author, ‘The Vision of the Grail in the Estoire del Saint Graal’, in Philologies Old and New: Essays in Honor of Peter Florian Dembowski, ed. Joan Tasker Grimbert and Carol J. Chase (Princeton, NJ, 2001), pp. 291–306). In the insular chronicle tradition Joseph is said to have brought to Britain two vials containing the blood and sweat of Christ (see Chapter 3). Hardyng also used the latter tradition when he states that Joseph arrived with ‘two fyols fulle of the swete to sayne / Of Jhesu Cryste as rede as blode of vayne’ (2: 2,616–17). CUL MS Ii.4.9, dated to the mid fifteenth century, contains a copy of Robert, but also Nicholas Love’s Meditation on the Eucharist and miracles of the transubstantiation. CUL MS Ff.2.38, dated to the end of the fifteenth century, contains a number of romances (among them Robert) as well as religious and devotional material, including a poem, ‘Cryst þat was crucyfyed for synners vnkynde’, which draws attention to the presence of God in the Eucharist via its refrain ‘very God in forme of bredde’ (both manuscripts are discussed in Chapter 2). Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, p. 133, referring to the lines: ‘þat day þat þou syst goddes body, / þese benefyces schalt þou haue sycurly; / Mete and drynke at thy nede / Non schal þe þat day be-gnede; / Idele othes and wordes also / God for-ȝeueþ the bo; / Soden deth that ylke day, / The dar not drede wyþowte nay; / Also þat day I the plyȝte / þou schalt not lese þyn ye syȝte; / And euery fote þat þou gost þenne / þat holy syȝt for to sene, / þey schule be tolde to stonde in stede / Whenne þou hast to hem nede’ (John Mirk’s Duties of a Parish Priest, ed. E. Peacock, EETS o.s. 31 (London, 1868), lines 316–29). Here Malory closely reproduces the text of the Queste (62.24–63.6), with the change in direction of address from Lancelot to the hermit, and not the other way round.

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his past misbehaviour, consisting in placing the love of his lady above honour due to God and going against the Round Table oath by undertaking battles for ‘betiir to be beloved, and litill or nought I [Lancelot] thanked never God of hit’ (897.15–22). Interestingly, the hermit who hears his confession does not discuss these sins first, but rather draws attention to the greater sin of neglecting the duty of using God-given talents in a humble and adequately grateful way, since Lancelot ‘ought to thanke God more than ony knyght lyvynge, for He hath caused you [Lancelot] to have more worldly worship than ony knyght that ys now lyvynge’ (896.29–31; my emphases).66 At the end of Lancelot’s sorrowful confession, the hermit merely requires him to ‘no more com in that quenys felyship as much as ye may forbere’ (897.26–7) and promises him more earthly glory: ‘I shall ensure you ye shall have the more worship than ever ye had’ (897.30–1). By this stage the hermit has already urged Lancelot ‘loke that your harte and youre mowth accorde’ (897.29), a phrase that, Karen Cherewatuk points out, ‘specifically refers to two stages of the sacrament, contrition with its emphasis on the heart and confession with its emphasis on the mouth, that is, on oral rehearsal’.67 Although Malory’s hermit clearly ‘joyned sir Launcelot suche penaunce as he myght do and to sew knyghthode, and so assoyled hym’ (899.4–5), there seems to be some ambiguity over his lenience, since he only asks Lancelot to forsake the company of the queen ‘as much as ye may forbere’ (897.26) and does not give him the harsh penance the French hermit gives the Queste Lancelot, which includes fleshly denial, such as renouncing carnal sin (with the queen or any other woman), meat and wine (67.7–8, 129.9–15; IV: 23, 42).68 Cherewatuk is right to conclude that the fulfilment of Lancelot’s penitence is clearly intended to take place at a much later stage in the Morte, more specifically when Lancelot renounces his secular life and status and mortifies his body in expiation of his sins.69 Other aspects of his development in the Queste not considered to date contextualise the event further, displaying Malory’s insightful changes to his source. Given Lancelot’s inner tormented state, Malory’s hermit appears not lenient, but careful not to drive the sinner away from God and to despair. The promise of future worship also fits in well with Malory’s manifest special treatment of Lancelot as the best of sinful knights. Another reason why Lancelot’s penitence is not full may be due to Malory’s understanding of popular fifteenth-century practice, according to which a simple priest cannot absolve grave sins, such as adultery, false witness and manslaughter; in these cases the sinner should seek the bishop in order to receive penance and absolu-

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There are numerous references to Lancelot’s status as ‘the best knight of the world’, as attested by the hermit who tells him he is ‘more abeler than ony man lyvynge’ (927.15– 16) or later, the one who says: ‘no doute [Lancelot] hath no felow of none erthly synfull man lyvyng’ (948.20–9). Karen Cherewatuk, ‘Malory’s Lancelot and the Language of Sin and Confession’, Arthuriana 16:2 (2006), 68–72, at p. 69. Malory’s Lancelot starts wearing a hairshirt at his own initiative. Cherewatuk, ‘Malory’s Lancelot’, p. 70.

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tion.70 The interpretation of Lancelot’s penitence at the end of his life thus also appears in a different light. Lancelot’s trials do not end here, but rather continue, now filled with reminders of the legacy of his lineage. Importantly, Malory retains from his source a passage in which Lancelot is given yet another sign that his mission is of a worthier and higher nature than merely secular worship. While asleep, he is granted a supernatural vision, in which he sees seven kings and two knights in heaven who are rewarded for being ‘good and trew knyghtes’ to God, while he is rebuked by the same God for his persistence in living ‘ayenste [God] as a warryoure and used wronge warris with vayneglory for the pleasure of the worlde more than to please [God], therefore thou shalt be confounded’ (928.35– 929.1). Upon waking up, Lancelot meets a hermit who interprets the vision. Lancelot is urged to remember his ‘hyghe lynayge’, that is the line of seven kings and two knights who have vowed to serve God since the time of Joseph of Arimathea. Malory takes the opportunity to clarify Lancelot’s lineage – a legacy of the Graal, here summarised: Aftir the Passion of Jesu Cryste fourty yere, Joseph of Aramathy preched of the victory of kynge Evelake, that he had in hys batayles the bettir of hys enemyes. And of the seven kynges and the two knyghtes the firste of hem ys called Nappus, an holy man, and the secunde hyght Nacien in remembraunce of hys grauntesyre, and in hym dwelled Oure Lord Jesu Cryst. And the third was called Hellyas le Grose, and the fourth hyght Lysays, and the fifth hyght Jonas; he departed oute of hys contrey and wente into Walis and toke there the doughter of Manuell, whereby he had the londe Gaule. And he com to dwelle in thys contrey, and of hym com kynge Launcelot, thy grauntesyre, whych were wedded to the kynges doughter of Irelonde, and he was as worthy a man as thou arte. And of hym cam kynge Ban, thy fadir, whych was the last of the seven kynges. And by the, sir Launcelot, hit signyfieth that the angels seyde thou were none of the seven felysship. And the last was the ninth knyght, he was signyfyed by a lyon, for he sholde passe all maner of erthely knyghtes: that ys sir Galahad whych thou gate on kynge Pelles doughter. (929.31–930.14; my emphasis)71

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See Cursor Mundi, ed. Richard Morris, EETS o.s. 66, 68 (London, 1878; repr. 1966), parts IV–V in one volume, pp. 1484–5 (penance given by a priest), p. 1487 (a priest refers the penitent to a bishop): ‘And þar ar cases we writen find / þat preist mai noþer lese ne bind / […] His aun scepe, bot sal he send / To bischop for to his state amend’ (lines 26,204–7). Malory inherited, from the Vulgate Queste, a story replete with hermits who absolve knights; often he repeats the wording of his source, by allowing these hermits to hear penitent knights’ confessions, and give them penance and absolution for their sins. However, the changes Malory operates in respect of Lancelot’s confession at this point in the ‘Sankgreal’ and the fact that Lancelot is fully absolved of his sins at the end of his life, when he lives in a hermitage – where the bishop lodges when Lancelot dies – seem to indicate that Malory did try to bring his narrative in line with his contemporaries’ experiences of confession and absolution. I am grateful to Professor Field for discussing these aspects with me, though we disagree (private communication). Queste, 136.1–24–137.20–4 (IV: 44).

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Malory’s choice to retain Lancelot’s lineage (also mentioned in the Queste) and in such detail makes the latter’s decision to undertake penance all the more relevant to his fulfilling God’s request, to live up to and uncover the mission entrusted to him. Furthermore, Malory transforms the penitence he found in the Queste (the first confessor, who tells Lancelot to wear a hairshirt) into yet another reason to celebrate Lancelot’s initiative. As a result, Malory’s Lancelot willingly undertakes physical penance by wearing a hairshirt in an appropriately humble way: ‘but he toke hit mekely and suffirde the payne’ (931.8–10). The penance and Lancelot’s attitude to it echo the rules outlined in the Middle English penitential manual Jacob’s Well, in which penance for the sin of pride includes ‘hardnes of clothyng on bak & in bed’, ‘mekenes, lownes & myldenes’ and ‘restitucyoun’.72 Meek obedience to God’s will and humble acceptance of the trials visited on the sinner remind us of the king’s suffering and spiritual journeys referred to in fifteenth-century political discourse and Lovelich’s translation of the Graal. Although Lancelot is told he is not one of the spiritual fellowship due to his sins, the legacy of his lineage places additional responsibility on him in his penitence, to live up to his ancestors’ models of Christian behaviour. In this respect Malory’s choice to retain the detailed lineage seems to indicate he elevates Lancelot above the status of the other Arthurian knights engaged in the Grail Quest. At the same time Lancelot’s determination to persevere in his penance and heart-felt humility shows to Malory’s audience a model of penitence that could be put into practice by any fifteenth-century knight. During his spiritual journey Lancelot lapses because he is ‘so feble of evyll truste and good beleve’ (934.3); his weakness displays his humanity. He ‘ys nat stable, but by hys thought he ys lyckly to turne agayne’, as another hermit states, but ‘yett he shall dye ryght an holy man, and no doute he hath no felow of none erthly synfull man lyvyng’ (948.20–9), showing that patient endurance of one’s fate, while actively practising religious duties, has its rewards. We must now turn to two more stages in Lancelot’s spiritual journey via his political life which display his gradual understanding of his mission in this world. Both the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ and events in the last tale are closely linked to Lancelot’s experiences during the Grail Quest. Both stages fulfil different aspects of Lancelot’s duty towards his lineage and reveal his gradual awakening to his spiritual and political missions.

Lancelot’s healing of the fellowship The first stage of Lancelot’s post-Grail Quest spiritual development is the original episode of the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ at the end of Tale VII, which marks 72

Jacob’s Well, ed. A. Brandeis, EETS o.s. 115 (London, 1900, repr. 1973), pp. 194–5. As I have shown elsewhere, Lancelot’s pride is further tested, and he responds by adopting meek obedience to God’s will. See Radulescu, ‘Malory’s Lancelot and the Key to Salvation’. In the words of Cursor Mundi, the remedy for the sin of pride is meekness: ‘Ogaines þis sin es medcyn gude / Forto be meke and milde of mode / And knaw oure self in alkins thing’ (Cursor Mundi, V: 27650–2). Once again Malory’s Lancelot undertakes penance according to fifteenth-century expectations.

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Malory’s open disclosure of a new model of leadership in spiritual and secular terms. Elsewhere I argue that the fellowship’s main sin, excessive pride, is tested and Lancelot is representative of that sin; his humble approach to the adventure shows he has understood at least some of the lessons of the Quest.73 Here I turn to Lancelot the elect healer, whose touch restores health and closes wounds, physical and moral, individual and collective. Without any real counterpart in extant sources,74 the ‘Healing’ complements Malory’s treatment of sin and God’s grace in the Grail Quest.75 None of the extant possible sources for this episode contains either the spiritual connotations or the power of the collective experience presented here. Urry’s name is nowhere to be found in any other Arthurian story;76 yet it exists in Middle English as the adaptation of the name Uriah (the Hittite) from the biblical story of King David and Bathsheba.77 David’s adulterous love for Bathsheba leads to his order to have Uriah, her husband, killed. The story is clearly alluded to in the popular medieval legend of the Holy Rood, according to which three apple kernels given by an angel to Seth were placed under Adam’s tongue at his death, subsequently planted by Moses and looked after by King David, in whose possession (as in Moses’s) they worked healing miracles. Under the tree that grows from the seed David acknowledges his sin and does penance, as stated in the Middle English poem ‘Hou þe Holy Cros was y-founde’: ‘þo seint Dauid i-sunged hedde þe sunne of lecherie, / And Mon slauht þo for Bersabe he lette slen Vrie.’78

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See Radulescu, ‘Malory’s Lancelot’. The motif of the wounded knight only to be healed by the best knight of the world is not new. It is found in the Aggravain section of the Prose Lancelot with slight changes, the knight there being wounded by an arrow in punishment for his gazing at two damsels bathing (Works, Commentary, p. 1611, reference to p. 1145). Robert L. Kelly shows the change of focus from compassion to humility in the character of Lancelot in the ‘Healing’ and Lancelot’s previous successful healing in ‘“The Noble Tale of Sir Launcelot”: Wounds, Healing, and Knighthood in Malory’s Tale of Lancelot and Guinevere’, in Studies in Malory, ed. Spisak, pp. 173–97. Works, p. 263. Linda Gowans, ‘Three Malory Notes’, BBIAS 58 (2006), 425–34, draws attention to the similarity between the stories of Lancelot and King David by analysing the medieval Cornish play Origo Mundi (part of the Ordinalia cycle), itself an adaptation of the David– Bathsheba–Uriah story; Gowans acknowledges that it is impossible to demonstrate that Malory knew the play. ‘History of the Holy Rood’, in Legends of the Holy Rood, ed. Richard Morris, EETS o.s. 46 (London, 1881), p. 30; this is from Vernon, fol. 28vb. Another version in Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 43 contains the same lines (see lines 137–8 in Morris). The name variation is similar to the French ‘Vrie’ and the Cornish ‘Syr Vrry’, and in both French and Cornish versions Urry is called ‘a noble knight’. See History of the Cross, ed. J. P. Berjeau (London, 1863), p. 10. Only the French and the Cornish versions refer to Urry as a knight. Lechery, manslaughter and forgiveness provide a strong link between Malory’s Lancelot and the penitent David, as do the father–son relationship between Lancelot and Galahad, another echo of which may be read in the fifteenthcentury Middle English prose version of the legend, which states that God prevented the penitent David from building the Temple because of the latter’s sins; instead the great deed is reserved for Solomon, David’s son. See also Betty Hill, ‘The Fifteenth-

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Malory most likely knew the story of King David from popular devotion to the Holy Rood, and written accounts in verse and prose, including the full version of the story included in Cursor Mundi (V, pt 2, pp. 454–61, lines 7869–972), where Uriah is called ‘dohuti knight of fame’ and his name is ‘vrsi’, ‘vry’ and ‘vrry’ (7883, 7888, 7897). Cursor Mundi was widely read in Malory’s period;79 various concluding prayers at the end of tales in the Morte also suggest that Malory’s prison experiences turned his thoughts to spiritual matters. Whether he had read Cursor at some point in his life or merely remembered the popular stories, Malory, the Arthurian enthusiast, must have noticed the connection between David’s story and Lancelot’s as soon as he started translating the Queste. In the French the legend only refers to the branches of the tree which are later used as spindles; later Solomon’s wife has a ship made and Galahad inherits David’s sword, which Solomon places on the ship.80 Malory’s Lancelot feels unworthy to attempt the healing for some undisclosed reason, which may be connected to his return to his love for Guenevere. His tears seem to indicate he regrets his sin and remembers the greatness of his son’s spiritual achievement in the Quest. Indeed during the Quest Lancelot lost to Galahad the title ‘best knight of the world’, a title Lancelot will regain through his miraculous healing of Sir Urry. That Malory intended this episode to function as a link or parallel to earlier significant moments is evident in his choosing to place it at Pentecost (1145.32– 34), the Christian feast reserved for the most important political and religious events at Arthur’s court: Arthur’s successful pulling of a sword out of a stone, which grants him the crown, his establishment of the Round Table oath and Galahad’s own pulling of his sword. For this reason the episode marks a beginning, in the way that other events taking place at Pentecost do: Arthur’s pulling of the sword marks the beginning of his reign, Galahad’s pulling of the sword starts the Grail Quest and the renewal of the Round Table oath at Pentecost marks the link between Arthur’s fellowship and the unity of the fellowship with God’s blessing. Taking place at Pentecost, a unique test all the other knights have failed, Lancelot’s healing of Urry is his ‘sword-in-the-stone moment’, placing him on a par with Arthur and Galahad, the pair of divinely sanctioned leaders (political and spiritual) in the Morte. Lancelot’s return to a position of pre-eminence in the fellowship through a miracle also draws attention to his exceptional status as the one knight who, previously the uncontested leader in all secular exploits, publicly denies his worthiness in spiritual matters, despite the fact that at this stage he is the only knight apart from Bors to have experienced any of the mysteries of the Grail and to return to the court. In some ways it could be argued that Lancelot’s miraculous experience of healing Urry symbolically replaces the memories of Arthur’s sword-in-the-stone moment and Galahad’s miracles and full vision of the Grail. In the ‘Sankgreal’, Guenevere’s

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Century Prose Legend of the Cross Before Christ’, Medium Ævum 34 (1965), 203–22, at p. 219. John J. Thompson, The ‘Cursor Mundi’: Poem, Texts and Contexts (Oxford, 1998), Intro.: ‘Audience(s) and Socio-Literary Milieu(x)’. The emphasis on lineage may be the reason behind the heading relating to Solomon’s ‘wondir tale’ (fol. 394v, 993.27–8). See discussion above, p. 173.

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original speech proclaimed Galahad’s and Lancelot’s descent from a kingly lineage going all the way back to the time of Christ (865.9–12, cited above), thus elevating the two characters once again in the eyes of the court. Galahad’s healing of wounds in the Quest and Lancelot’s in the ‘Healing’ remind the audience of the imitation of Christ, the Divine Physician.81 However, Arthur’s secular rule is never complemented by a spiritual dimension and neither are Galahad’s Grail miracles significant in political terms. Only Lancelot’s healing of Urry combines the spiritual and political in one collective experience during which questions are raised about the nature of suffering, penitence, the role of the king in healing the political body and the revelation of Lancelot’s role in the future of the Arthurian world. The audience of Malory’s text would see it as particularly appropriate for the privilege of healing to be reserved to a holy man,82 not a sinner, even one who had the title ‘the best knight of the world’ for the whole of the Morte, but then lost it during the Grail Quest. For this reason Lancelot’s success in the ‘Healing’ requires a fresh assessment. Read against the background of the Grail Quest, therefore, the abundance of Christian references in the ‘Healing’ naturally leads to a comparison with the religious atmosphere in the Quest. Taking place at Pentecost, the ‘contest of healing’ requires a measure of formality, appropriately reflected in Arthur’s speech: ‘here shall youre son be healed and ever ony Crystyn man [may] heale hym’ (1146.22–4) and matched by the narrator’s voice: ‘we must begynne at kynge Arthur, as is kyndely to begynne at hym that was at that tyme the moste man of worship crystynde’ (1147.2–4). Arthur sets an example to the other knights, re-enacting the situation during Balin’s story, when he urged his barons to attempt to remove the sword by setting an example (62.8–12). In ‘Sankgreal’, however, Arthur refrains from pulling the sword out of the stone; there the king’s deliberate non-involvement signals the impending fragmentation of the fellowship under the pressure of individual quests for personal salvation and the king’s distancing from their personal spiritual journeys. In Balin’s story, as in Urry’s, emphasis falls on the collective experience with only one elect knight predestined to fulfil the challenge. On both occasions reference is made not only to prowess (though both Balin and Lancelot speak of worship and prowess), but also to inner virtue. Balin twice refers to the fact that he is assured ‘in his herte’ that he is worthy of the task; Lancelot refers to his ‘simple honesté’, an ambiguous term which could be interpreted as the purity of his intentions, the ‘vertue’ hidden in his heart or his reputation.83 While Balin seems banned from any revelation of the meaning of his achievement of the sword (only being warned

81 82

83

Kelly, ‘Wounds, Healing’, p. 176. See Marc Bloch, The Royal Touch: Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France, trans. J. E. Anderson (London, 1973). It is not known how late in the Middle Ages the belief in the ‘royal touch’ persisted. See MED, ‘honeste’, n. 1 (a) ‘honourable position; worthy or respectable status; eminence or the personification of it; also, wealth; (b) good name; reputation; (c) honorableness of character, conduct or action; honour, dignity; (d) respect towards (sb. or sth.); reverence; honour’. I am grateful to Professor Andrew Lynch for discussing the nuances of this term with me. All opinions in these sections are my own.

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afterwards about the risk he incurs by keeping it), there are clear signs Lancelot begins to understand the meaning of the test in the ‘Healing’ and accepts it not in the spirit of chivalric adventure (as Balin did his),84 but in humility, as is appropriate for a religious occasion. It seems, therefore, that the legacy of Balin’s sword, inherited by both Galahad and Lancelot, is now fulfilled: Galahad brings closure in his self-assured completion of his God-given tasks (thus symbolically closing a spiritual journey that started in Balin’s blindness and Pellam’s rash nature), while Lancelot further perfects the model of penitence by showing not only a concern with inner virtue and humility, but also obedience to Arthur’s command and the imperative of ‘bearing fellowship’. The structure of the ‘Healing’ is revealed to be of great importance to the interpretation of the adventure by Arthur and the court. As Malory chooses to present the social and political hierarchy of Arthur’s court carefully, detailing allies and ties within the fellowship, the audience begins to understand there is something familiar in this story, reminiscent of Arthur’s, Balin’s and Galahad’s sword moments, but also something completely different. On the one hand Arthur formally urges ‘all the kynges, dukis and erlis’ (1146.26) to follow his example, following secular hierarchy. On the other, the religious demands of the test seem to influence the way Arthur shows an example, as if he has learned a lesson from Lancelot’s and Bors’s accounts of the Grail adventures, humility and gentleness; he asks Urry ‘sofftely to suffir’ him to touch the wounds and ‘softely haundeled’ them (1147.5–18). Yet there is nothing Arthur can do to gain the company of this ‘full lykly man’ for the fellowship; Arthur cannot heal, as medieval audiences might hope God’s anointed should. Lancelot’s success in this episode indicates not only that Malory wants to elevate him once again, but also that he is the only one alive after the Grail Quest apart from Bors who has experienced at least some of the mysteries of the Grail. Malory’s omission of Bors from the list of knights who attempt the healing suggests that the public responsibility associated with this act can only be entrusted to Lancelot, who is worthy of the task due to status (now next in line after Galahad in being ‘best knight of the world’), descent (from King David) and proved favour with God (his experience of the Grail, despite his great sin). The penitent Lancelot of the Grail Quest re-emerges in the ‘Healing’ as he humbly refuses his earthly lord’s demand and rightly turns his prayers to God, irrespective of the motive behind his hesitation. For the first time since his refusal to pull the sword destined for Galahad at the beginning of the Quest Lancelot tries to extricate himself from the ‘contest’ Arthur urges him to participate in, twice invoking his unworthiness (1151.20–3, 1151.26–30). When he speaks a third time, Lancelot’s words reveal his open acknowledgement of his awareness that his penitence, started during the Grail Quest, has been insufficient: ‘for never was I able in worthynes to do so hyghe a thynge’ (1152.15). Although he displays a degree of humility in his refusal to obey Arthur, Lancelot is mistaken in overlooking Arthur’s emphasis on the value of fellowship and needs to be corrected:

84

See Balin’s personal creed: ‘“I shall take the aventure,” seyde Balyn, “that God woll ordayne for me.’ (64.12–13).

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‘“Sir, ye take hit wronge,” seyde kynge Arthur, “for ye shall nat do hit for no presumpcion, but for to beare us felyship, insomuche as ye be a felow of the Rounde Table”’ (1151.31–3; my emphasis). Here Lancelot is reminded that not all adventures are to be regarded as individual tests of one’s worth (in secular or spiritual terms), but there are at least some that require a degree of sacrifice to the benefit of the community. Therefore Arthur unwittingly offers Lancelot the opportunity to regain God’s favour after Lancelot’s earlier punishment for drawing too near the Grail and his half-reward of twenty-four days’ trance in the Quest. Lancelot steps into the role of worthy healer; his gestures, priest-like (hands risen up, eyes to the east), accompanied by pious prayer, not only foreshadow his conversion in his last years, but also mark his gradual awakening to the spiritual legacy of his kin, filled with God’s grace from the time his ancestor, Nacien, was converted by Joseph of Arimathea: And than he hylde up hys hondys and loked unto the este, saiynge secretely unto hymselff, ‘Now, Blyssed Fadir and Son and Holy Goste, I beseche the of Thy mercy that my symple worshyp and honesté be saved, and Thou mayste yeff me power to hele thys syke knyght by the grete vertu and grace of the, but, Good Lorde, never of myselff.’ (1152.18–25; my emphasis)

It is debatable whether Lancelot is concerned with his public image, for he mentions his unworthiness and his ‘symple worshyp and honesté’.85 The word ‘worship’ recalls the marginalium on Balin’s ‘vertue and manhood’ (in contrast to the ‘manhood and worship’ of the main text), suggesting a deeper concern with something that remains pure and loyal beyond the trespass of Lancelot’s love for Guenevere and his inconstancy as a penitent during the Quest and afterwards. This simplicity relates to his humble recognition of God’s favour; indeed Malory’s Lancelot may be said to receive the healing as a form of completion of his partial view of the Grail. He seems to experience a revelation of God’s grace; his tears, for some critics denoting relief at not being shamed,86 correspond to traditional accounts of overwhelming emotion in the encounter with the divine: ‘And ever sir Launcelote wepte, as he had bene a chylde that had bene beatyn!’ 85

86

If ‘honesté’ were understood as reputation, there would be some degree of unnecessary repetition in this phrase. This is not to say that repetitions are uncommon in the Morte; however, Malory’s careful structuring and wording of the episode do not seem to suggest he is only emphasising the same concept, of public reputation, in this instance, but that he is indicating that a deeper, inner dimension is at stake, as medieval audiences would expect in a religious episode. Barron, English Medieval Romance, p. 151. Andrew Lynch, on the other hand, considers that the ‘Healing’ ‘offers an instance of a potential split in Malorian identity between a knight’s self-consciousness and the objective proof of his worship in the eyes of others. Urre’s healing “proves” that Lancelot is “the beste knight of the worlde” (1145.19–20); but Lancelot’s reluctance to act, his humble yet priest-like prayer “secretely unto hymselff” (1152.19–20) and his weeping (1152.35–6) perhaps allow an equal importance to moral self-searching, even to feelings of guilt’ (Malory’s Book of Arms: The Narrative of Combat in ‘Le Morte Darthur’ (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 6–7). Lynch interprets Lancelot’s weeping as a sign ‘he is not arrogant and does now thank God in a heartfelt way’ (p. 8); I see Lancelot’s attitude to be one of perfect humility, something he never fully achieved in the quest.

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(1152.35–6).87 Lancelot seems to understand the greatness of the sign he has been shown and humbly accepts God’s grace in this moment. Indeed here Lancelot performs a deed worthy of his lineage. His act of healing is a God-given gift reminding the audience of public experiences of God’s grace granted during the Graal recounted in brief in the Queste, for example when Joseph, his son Josephe and their followers experience numerous public healings. As in the Graal miracles, Lancelot’s moment of grace is public; once again, in Britain, the land chosen by Joseph of Arimathea, public healings take place. It is a commonplace in Malorian criticism to emphasise a secular interpretation of this episode on the assumption that Lancelot’s continuing relationship with Guenevere can only allow him to experience one type of miracle, that of God saving Lancelot’s public reputation.88 Yet Lancelot may be seen as a channel of God’s grace in the world by virtue not of his peerless nobility but of his predestined fate, to heal. A sign that this is the case is that neither king nor court congratulate Lancelot on his success; there are no words addressed to him, rather ‘kyng Arthure lat ravyshe prystes and clarkes in the moste devoutiste wyse to brynge in sir Urré into Carlyle with syngyng and lovyng to God’ (1153.1–3). After the healing Lancelot recedes into the background and his name comes up again only in Malory’s concluding comments. His name punctuates the main moments in the episode, from the time he is not present, but his arrival is anticipated, to the end, when his aura extends to cover Urry, the newly appointed Round Table knight. Medieval audiences would recognise in his refusal to draw attention to himself the mark of sanctity, as Lancelot openly acknowledges the victory to be God’s, not his. It is all the more relevant, therefore, that God confirms the expectation that Lancelot will, once again, be ‘the best knight of the world’ once he has accepted the conditions of this exceptional test in the field of grace. Interestingly, Lancelot’s healing adds another knight to the fellowship during Pentecost, the feast when the Round Table knights renew their oath. Thus he brings unity after the dispersal of the fellowship and individual failures of the Quest. Lancelot is the last knight to heal sword wounds of a knight in the Morte, in public and during Pentecost, unlike Galahad, who performed miracles of healing in private, to a select few. So it is Lancelot, not Galahad, who shows the fellowship how pride may be healed through humility and that humility is a key to personal salvation when chivalry fails. Jill Mann and others have commented on the complexity of wounds and healing in the Grail Quest and the ‘Healing’, but without seeing a progression in Lancelot’s humility from one story to the other.89 Mann notes that ‘the wound opened by Balin is closed, healed by

87

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For a review of such intense expressions of feeling as a result of an encounter with the divine, see Aviad Kleinberg, Prophets in Their Own Country: Living Saints and the Making of Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Chicago and London, 1992), and André Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (New York, 1997). See, for example, Barron, English Medieval Romance, p. 151 and Lynch, Malory’s Book of Arms. pp. 6–7. The pair wound–whole has already been analysed by Riddy, Batt and Mann, to various ends. Both Mann and Riddy have commented on the importance of the phrase

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Galahad’, who ends a narrative thread, and that Lancelot achieves wholeness by acknowledging opening (and later closing) the gap between his outward reputation and the fragmentation of his inner self and through his union with Galahad.90 Wholeness, I argue, is achieved through the merging of Galahad’s two swords and the connection between his acts of healing and Lancelot’s. The healing Galahad performs during the Quest may be the long-awaited, saviourtype action required in the story, but it does not have long-lasting consequences for the Round Table fellowship. Lancelot’s achievement is more valuable to the fellowship than Galahad’s saintly deeds because the body of knights witness Urry’s healing together. When Lancelot touches Urry, the whole fellowship is symbolically healed and old rivalries are put aside, if only temporarily. Would the first generation of readers have remembered Henry VI’s doomed attempt to reconcile the Lancaster and Yorkist factions with a big procession two-by-two in March 1458?91 It is hard to know, though the ceremonial aspect of the event and the healing of the fellowship may have triggered such reflections on the part of an audience who had experienced the civil wars. Lancelot’s achievement in the ‘Healing’ counterbalances, on the one hand, his lack of an experience like the drawing of a sword in the ‘Sankgreal’ and, on the other, his failure in beholding the Grail openly. In this episode Lancelot’s healing has the symbolic function of restoring wholeness (giving Arthur a new knight) by closing sword wounds. As mentioned, Lancelot’s healing of Urry may even be considered a form of closure for the story of Balin, as a God-given sign that mercy is available if only the penitent is open to it. Similarly, while Arthur’s kingship provided unity and the beginning of the fellowship, Galahad’s arrival brought dispersal through the Quest. Lancelot’s success in healing a sword wound restores, even if only for a fleeting moment, the unity and harmony of

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‘hole togidirs’ in Arthur’s lamentation at the beginning of the quest, as well as the subsequent one in which he deplores the end of the fellowship through Mordred’s and Aggravayne’s ‘evill wyll’. See Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, pp. 116–17; Jill Mann, ‘Malory and the Grail Legend’, in A Companion to Malory, ed. Archibald and Edwards, pp. 203–20, at 210–11. Catherine Batt also talks about social integration and wholeness in this episode, but turns her attention more to Lancelot, whom she sees as the one to become ‘hole’ through Urry; she also discusses at length Urry’s seven wounds and their Christian interpretation: Malory’s ‘Morte Darthur’: Remaking Arthurian Tradition (New York, 2002), pp. 154–5. Mann, ‘Malory and the Grail Legend’, pp. 210, 212, 217. In the event, after long and difficult discussions between the Lancastrian and Yorkist parties behind closed doors, and much compromise, ‘former bitter enemies took each other by the hand and went arm in arm to London. […] It was an astonishing spectacle: if elaborate ceremonial, royal prayer and example, monetary payments, and the holding of hands could banish the personal and political differences of a decade, then Henry VI’s “love-day” may be regarded as a resounding success’ (Griffiths, The Reign of King Henry VI, pp. 806–7). Griffiths also points out that ‘the popularity of the device [‘love-days’ or dies amoris as an arbitration] in Henry VI’s reign was symptomatic of the crumbling domestic order’ (p. 596). It is hard to believe that recent experiences of fifteenth-century ‘love-days’, in particular the extraordinary display of amity after discord in March 1458, would not leave a mark on the reception of Malory’s episode of the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ by his contemporaries. However, I do not suggest Malory intended to create a direct parallel between Henry VI and Arthur.

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the fellowship before the disastrous events recounted in Tale VIII, something Arthur can no longer ensure.

Lancelot’s final penitence In the aftermath of his miraculous healing of Sir Urry, Lancelot already gains a quasi-saintly status. The interpretative ambiguity of the episode remains; it is compounded by the fact that it follows episodes so deeply connected with the secular world of the Arthurian court and its politics, including the poisoning of Sir Patryse, the death of Elaine of Astolat, Guenevere’s abduction by Melleagant, then her rescue by Lancelot. The overall interpretation of Lancelot’s moral status is understandably destabilised within the confines of this section of the Morte. However, following Lancelot’s development in the last book, ‘The Death of Arthur’, the audience realises that his trajectory involves a much more socially oriented religious performance of his duties exemplified not only in the reparation he proposes following his accidental killing of Gareth and Gaheris, but also in the manner of his repentance at the end of his life. That Lancelot’s healing of Urry is another step in his spiritual journey may be seen in his offer of compensation to Gawain as reparation for the death of Gareth and Gaheris. In a long speech, full of the self-assurance Malory only grants Lancelot, the latter promises reparation that goes well beyond any comparable fifteenth-century (or more generally, late medieval) gesture of the same kind: ‘But this much I shall offir me to you,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘if hit may please the kyngis good grace and you, my lorde sir Gawayn: I shall firste begyn at Sandwyche, and there I shall go in my shearte, barefoote; and at every ten myles ende I shall founde and gar make an house of religious, of what order that ye woll assygne me, with an hole covente, to sy[n]ge and rede day and nyght in especiall for sir Gareth sake and sir Gaherys. And thys shall I perfourme [from Sandwyche unto Carlyle; and every house shall have suffycyent lyvelod. And thys shall I perfourme] whyle that I have ony lyvelod in Crystyndom, and there ys none of all thes religious placis but they shall be perfourmed, furnysshed and garnysshed with all thyngis as an holy place ought to be. And thys were fayrar and more holyar and more perfyte to their soulis than ye, my moste noble kynge, and you, sir Gawayne, to warre uppon me, for thereby shall ye gete none avayle.’ (1199.30–1200.9; my emphasis)

That Lancelot’s ‘proffirs’ are appropriate for the occasion – or rather, even outmeasure medieval expectations – is evident in the reaction of the court: ‘all he knyghtes and ladyes that were there wepte as they were madde, and the tearys felle on kynge Arthur hys chekis.’92 Robert L. Kelly’s splendid discussion of ‘penitence as a remedy for war’ as an overarching theme in the last tale

92

I discuss this in ‘Tears and Lies: Emotions and the Ideals of Malory’s World’, in Emotions in Late Medieval Literature, ed. Frank Brandsma, Carolyne Larrington and Corinne Saunders, forthcoming.

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contains a detailed discussion of Lancelot’s offer as a reflection of his commitment to peace. Lancelot’s kingly generosity is evident upon close scrutiny of the details: founding a ‘house of religious’ every ten miles for the whole 320 miles between Winchester and Carlisle amounts to no fewer than twenty-four monasteries, the cost of which would have been, on available estimates, ten times Edward IV’s annual income from crown lands alone.93 References to Lancelot’s wealth can be linked to the earlier episode, when he offers Elaine of Astolat a dowry fifty times the annual income of a knight like Malory. These generous acts could only be afforded by a king – here Lancelot.94 The founding of abbeys and convents and the scale of the endowments associated with them can only be ascribed to royal or magnate patronage of the kind Malory’s peers could admire, never imitate. Lancelot’s original speech is inspired by the much briefer speech in the Mort Artu, in which Lancelot does mention walking barefoot: ‘ge vos jurrai … se vos voulez, que ge me partirai de Gaunes demain ainz eure de prime et m’en irai nuz piez et en langes, touz seuz, sanz compaignie, en essill, en tel maniere jusqu’a dis anz’ (I will swear to you … if you want, that I will leave from Gaunes tomorrow at the hour of prime and walk barefoot and in my shirt, alone, without any company, in exile in this way for ten years).95 However, in the Mort Artu no reference is made either to the founding of abbeys, or the distance he would walk. In fact his promises are closer to those in the Graal where, for example, King Galas founds an abbey in the place where he found the sinner Simon.96 The scale of Lancelot’s promise of reparation also links in with fifteenth-century concern with the community and collective worship, providing for the souls of the departed and one’s own in the process.97 Lancelot can only hope that his acts will compensate for his killing not only in the eyes of Gawain and Arthur, but also in those of the world. Lancelot thus advances on the path of self-directed penitence and he seems to gradually understand the mission entrusted to his lineage, to lead by example, as only a (penitent) king could. His gestures may be read in the light of fifteenthcentury political events such as the aftermath of the first battle of St Albans (22 March 1455), another ‘love-day’ between the Lancastrian and Yorkist factions,

93

94

95

96

97

These are Kelly’s estimates; available information on royal foundations is scarce, therefore only partly reliable (Robert L. Kelly, ‘Penitence as a Remedy for War in Malory’s “Tale of the Death of Arthur”’, SP 91:2 (1994), 111–35, at n. 39 and references therein). Malory’s income has been estimated at £20 a year, the lowest acceptable threshold for a knight in the period; Lancelot offers Elaine £1,000. See Christine Carpenter, ‘Sir Thomas Malory and Fifteenth-Century Local Politics’, BIHR 53 (1980), 31–43, at p. 32. La mort le roi Artu, ed. Jean Frappier (Paris, 1964), p. 190 para 147.74–6 (emphasis mine). My translation. There is no equivalent translation for this passage in IV: 129. See Works, Commentary, p. 1639. In his translation Lovelich also added details such as the number of monks in this monastery (sixty) as well as the nature of an endowment (‘fownde hem with good inowe / of londes and rentes, oxen and plowhe’; LIII: 309–10). These details point to fifteenth-century interest in the legacies left for the souls of the departed, and the good works performed during one’s life. See Appleford, ‘The Good Death of Richard Witthington’.

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when the losing party led by Richard, Duke of York, was required to atone for the slaying of the Earls of Northumberland and Somerset, the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Clifford, among others, by endowing a perpetual chantry at St Alban’s Abbey. The settlement, dated 24 March 1455 and signed at Winchester, soon became a landmark in popular culture, as it was incorporated into numerous historical and poetic accounts of the time.98 Malory’s Lancelot is, however, no magnate, nor are his ‘proffirs’ to be placed on the same scale as one chantry, albeit one endowed by the leaders of the Yorkist party. It may be that here Malory wanted to signal the need for kingly compensation, of the kind Henry V felt compelled to provide, in memory of his father, for Henry IV’s order of the execution of Richard Scrope, Archbishop of York, and the deposition (and probably murder of) Richard II. In 1415 Henry V founded two religious houses near his residence at Sheen, now Richmond: a Carthusian charterhouse, ‘Bethlehem’, and a double monastery, Syon, of the order of St Bridget of Sweden.99 Piroyansky reminds us that Henry V’s reburial of Richard II and the establishment of religious foundations ‘hint rather at broader political understanding and intent, of attempting to actively heal the old wounds of the body politic’.100 The speed at which the cult of Richard Scrope, the political martyr, spread across England would be reason enough for Henry V to take measures to compensate for his father’s sins. Lancelot’s offer of compensation, especially in the absence of guilt (he did not kill Gareth and Gaheris knowingly), seems to be of the same political order: he offers to heal the wounds he has inflicted on Gawain, Arthur, the fellowship, the court and society at large. His public penitence should be evidence enough of his willingness to do his utmost to fulfil the hardest act of all, to walk as only fifteenth-century criminals or pilgrims would, barefoot and willingly stripped of his status clothing (‘in my shearte, barefoote’), openly acknowledging the damage his actions had done to so many.101 Lancelot gradually emerges from among the Round Table fellowship not just as the best knight of Arthur’s court, whose loyalty is called into question, but as a leader whose political acumen is incontestable. His reference to the value of his generous compensation for the killing of Gareth and Gaheris stands as evidence of his wisdom and good choice of vocabulary at the end of his extended speech: ‘And thys were fayrar and more holyar and more perfyte to their soulis than ye, my moste noble kynge and you, sir Gawayne, to warre uppon me, for thereby shall ye gete none avayle.’ Lancelot shows to Arthur and Gawain, but also to the entire court, that he places more

98

99 100 101

Field has noted the association for the first time (see Sir Thomas Malory, ‘Le Morte Darthur’: The Seventh and Eighth Tales, ed. and intro. P. J. C. Field (New York, 1977), p. 271, n. 1102–3). Kelly, ‘Penitence as a Remedy for War’, p. 125, n. 39. Piroyansky, Martyrs in the Making, p. 52. William Matthews cites the example of William Monkton, a neighbour of the Malory estates at Hutton, who, for his numerous offences, was ‘sentenced to walk through the cathedral barefoot and bareheaded, wearing only a shirt and carrying a candle’ (The Ill-Framed Knight: A Skeptical Inquiry into the Identity of Sir Thomas Malory (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1966), p. 125).

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weight on reparation, at great cost to himself, for the benefit of the souls of the departed, than on vengeance sought through a war that would lead to the loss of even more lives. Another act that similarly draws attention to his political stature is his intervention to stop Bors from taking Arthur’s life when Bors has the opportunity to ‘make an end of it’, when the king is at a disadvantage in battle (1192.14–15). There Lancelot displays not only nobility – duly noted by Malory in Arthur’s reaction, when ‘teerys braste oute of hys yen’ (1192.29) – but also mercy. Lancelot’s speeches in the public meeting with Arthur, Gawain and the court further testify to his skilful mastery of public address and careful navigation of this difficult situation. In this episode Malory grants Lancelot a significant proportion of the verbal exchange. Some of the words Lancelot uses form a mirror to Tristram’s earlier in the story, including the clear appeal to the political wisdom of maintaining the status quo and Arthur’s role as a king in heeding good advice and not the voice of rash vengeance (1188.16–27).102 This is indeed sound political advice if considered from the viewpoint of fifteenth-century political divisions and the (sometimes urgent) need to make amends and rebuild alliances during the Wars of the Roses. Within the atmosphere of the Morte, however, there is a sense that the clash between Gawain’s (justified) grief and the rational solution Lancelot proposes (one that the Gawain of the previous books might have accepted) cannot be resolved by mere political action. Lancelot’s multiple appeals, through reparation to Gawain and the community, to Arthur and the court for his previous service and loyalty (1197; 1201.12–14, 20–2) and once again politically and personally to Gawain and his remaining kin (1167.33– 1168.7), show that the breakdown of governance is deeper and the rifts cannot be healed even by the confirmed healer of wounds, Lancelot. When the lack of response from Arthur and Gawain shows Lancelot that no change in the situation is possible, he makes a final appeal to the Wheel of Fortune, a timely reminder of his own status, which brings him even closer to Arthur at this point. He associates himself with Hector and Alexander, bringing his own image in line with the Nine Worthies, showing that he is consciously fashioning his own exemplary portrait as a leader worthy to be remembered, even if he has no ambitions or claims to the English crown: ‘But fortune ys so varyaunte, and the wheele so mutable, that there ys no constaunte abydynge. And that may be preved by many olde cronycles, as of noble Ector of Troy and Alysaunder, the myghty conquerroure, and many mo other: whan they were moste in royalté, they alyght passyng lowe. And so farith hit by me,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘for in this realme I had worshyp, and by me and myne all the hole Rounde Table hath bene encreced more in worshyp, by me and myne, than ever hit was by ony of you all.’ (1201.14–22; my emphasis)

Here Lancelot’s association with Hector and Alexander, two of the ‘good pagans’ who were among the Nine Worthies, actually elevates his status once again, placing him on a par with Arthur. It could be argued that Lancelot returns to

102

See Radulescu, Gentry Context, pp. 138–9.

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secular values and mentions the fall of princes motif of the great heroes of the past who found that ‘fortune ys so varyaunte’. By mentioning the Nine Worthies Lancelot inevitably draws attention to his own special status, as one descended from King David, another one of the Nine Worthies; the speech itself reminds the audience Lancelot is not just Arthur’s loyal knight throughout the Morte, but also a king in his own right, who now heeds the lessons in mirrors for princes. Malory gives him a moment similar to Arthur’s appeal to the ancestry of the chronicles in which his own title to Rome was written (188.5–6). So far Lancelot has been hailed (and humbled) like King David, his ancestor and one of the Nine Worthies, yet in this moment he seems to also assert his right to be commemorated as one of the greatest figures in the secular world; he shares their fate in falling off the Wheel of Fortune and will be remembered as a great hero. Lancelot’s lament is no longer just that of ‘a fleymed man [who] departith […] oute of a realme with no worship’ (1203.3–4), but rather the open acknowledgement of his fall, seen in clear terms as that of a king or prince. Lancelot’s pain is accompanied by his philosophical acceptance of mutability, a feeling reflected in the popularity of the fifteenth-century mirrors for princes. Malory’s original additions to Lancelot’s speeches – including the generous offers of reparation, the appeal to the Nine Worthies motif and the wheel itself – show that he envisaged a reading of Lancelot as a king in his own right, whose words, philosophical and resigned as they might appear to be, still make a case for his exceptional status, despite his humble and patient abiding by the rules of the Round Table code and Arthur’s rule all his life. No longer veiled behind his continuing loyalty to Arthur, Lancelot’s greatness as a leader of men who knows he deserves a place among the greatest heroes in world history shines through his stature in this episode, no matter what the validity or degree of truthfulness in his account. Malory’s shifting attention to Lancelot bears more than a resemblance to the discourses of the great during the Wars of the Roses, be they the Duke of Somerset, the infamous Earl of Warwick or other leaders of the two factions who pleaded publicly their loyalty to one cause or another. It may be that Lancelot’s choice to give up not only his wealth, by distributing it among his followers, upon his return to France, but also his status, his kingship, may be taken as a sign – as Kelly has suggested – that ‘the logical next step’ will be his giving up of knighthood and arms.103 Lancelot appears as a self-assured king whose choices reflect his nobility of intention in the worst of circumstances and one who is eminently suited to the task of showing the audience a model of self-governance by renouncing worldly titles and possessions and practising religion in an exemplary way.

103

Kelly further suggests that Gawain’s deathbed appeal to Arthur to recall Lancelot points to Malory’s Lancastrian view of the need for a French alliance in the years following Henry VI’s deposition (‘Penitence as a Remedy for War’, p. 135). Kenneth Hodges, on the other hand, argues that Lancelot should not be seen in terms of his French nationality, but in relation to regional conflict in fifteenth-century England, although Lancelot commands territories familiar to Malory’s contemporaries from the loss of English possessions after 1453 (Kenneth Hodges, ‘Why Lancelot Is Not French: Region, Nation, and Political Identity’, PMLA 125:3 (2010), 556–71).

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Lancelot’s performance of religious devotion takes numerous forms, including his fulfilment of Gawain’s ‘modest’ deathbed request to ‘pray som prayer more other les for my soule’ (1231.19–20) by overseeing what Kelly calls ‘characteristically magnificent funeral rites he sponsors at Dover’ (1250.20–1251.5). However, Lancelot not only buries Gawain with stately honours, but also shares the remainder of his fortune generously, giving away alms in person. Lancelot’s gesture would have been seen as exceptional by Malory’s first readers, since he gives twelve pence to each person present at Dover (1250.26–7), which represents six times the usual amount (about two pence).104 Even in this event, however, Lancelot displays leadership; this is due not just to the amount he gives away, so much higher than Malory’s audience would have been accustomed to, or that he does it in person, against tradition, but also to the fact he provides a model to the high-ranking company present at the event: And there offird first sir Launcelot, and he offird an hundred pounde, and than the seven kynges offirde, and every of them offirde fourty pounde. Also there was a thousand knyghtes, and every of them offirde a pounde; and the offeryng dured fro the morne to nyght. (1251.1–5)105

Lancelot’s model is in fact that of a secular leader, a king whose generosity strikes a chord with those present who follow in his footsteps. He can only be a leader in this respect because he is a greater king in this company and the chief mourner. This image of Lancelot is in consonance with the developments that accompany him in his life of penance after Arthur’s and Guenevere’s deaths. Lancelot’s pious refusal of all earthly comforts may be read in at least two ways, denoting his wasting away in grief for his lost loves, Arthur and Guenevere – his grovelling on Arthur’s and Guenevere’s tombs – or a commitment to reforming his life after the political and personal disasters he has been unable to prevent. Another way to look at Lancelot’s end is that he is, in fact, writing his own ‘saint’s life’, as a careful reader of the socio-cultural expectations in his audience. Cherewatuk has shown the interpretative framework fifteenth-century audiences would have employed in order to assess Lancelot’s religious commitment at the end of his life. Whereas the Lancelot of Malory’s main sources dies of an illness caused by his life of penance,106 Malory’s Lancelot undertakes a long and difficult penitential journey, seven years in duration (‘in grete penaunce syx yere’ and then ‘a twelve-monthe [Lancelot] sange masse’; 1255.3, 5), which completes the mission

104 105

106

Kelly, ‘Penitence as a Remedy for War’, p. 116. See references therein for late medieval customary practice. Once again, the generosity Lancelot displays here is relevant in a fifteenth-century context. In 1458 the Yorkist party was to pay about £45 for the endowment of a chantry in the aftermath of the settlement (‘love-day’) after the first Battle of St Albans (see n. 98 above). Here Lancelot pays more than twice that amount, and the kings in his company pay £40 each. Mort Artu (261 para 202.2); Stanzaic Morte Arthure, in King Arthur’s Death: The Middle English ‘Stanzaic Morte Arthur’ and ‘Alliterative Morte Arthure’, ed. Larry D. Benson, rev. Edward E. Foster (Kalamazoo, MI, 1994), lines 3,826–37.

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he seemed to have acknowledged and embraced, and only ‘fyl seek and laye in his bede’ after six weeks of mortification in the aftermath of Guenevere’s death (1257.12–13). Malory thus draws attention to Lancelot’s self-imposed and carefully followed penitence, a model to ponder for fifteenth-century audiences familiar with the conflicts and suffering caused by years of civil war. At the end of his life Lancelot dies in the ‘odour of sanctity’ just like Guy of Warwick, the other hero of popular romance. Lancelot’s soul is taken up to heaven, seen only by the bishop in his dream (‘mo angellis than ever I sawe men in one day’; 1258.8) and his corpse emanates ‘the swettest savour … that ever they felte’ (1258.17), evidence of his finding favour with God through his penitence. Guy’s soul is also seen to be taken up ‘with gret molodi / Into the bliss of Heven’, in full view of his wife and her company, by ‘a thousand angels and seven’.107 Malory thus conforms to the popular tradition of penitent romances, which includes other stories of reformed sinners turned saints explored in this study, such as Gowther and Robert of Sicily. In the process of becoming a saint Lancelot also provides a model of penitence to his followers, the best of whom choose to become monks like him: and whan syr Bors sawe sir Launcelot in that maner clothyng, than he preyed the Bysshop that he myght be in the same sewte. And so there was an habyte put upon hym, and there he lyved in prayers and fastyng. And within halfe a yere there was come syr Galyhud, syr Galyhodyn, sir Blamour, sir Bleoberis, syr Wyllyars, syr Clarrus, and sir Gahallantyne. So al these seven noble knyghtes there above styll. And whan they sawe syr Launcelot had taken hym to suche perfeccion they had no lust to departe but toke such an habyte as he had. (1254.31–1255.2; my emphasis)

This moment shows that Lancelot has fully accomplished what appears to be his mission: to renounce his kingly status, giving away his ‘lyvelode’ as he does during the war with Arthur, keeping only enough to survive on, then to perform religious duties to Gawain and Guenevere, organising their funerals, and finally provide a model of repentance and ascetic life to his followers. That Lancelot’s path is guided by God is evident in the intervention of the supernatural through God’s grace in the healing episode and the voice telling Lancelot to go to the abbey where Guenevere’s body is. The good deeds Lancelot performs are part of a broader movement typical of late medieval devotion and recognisable by Malory’s fifteenth-century readers. By this stage Malory has also made clear that even chivalric service, by itself, can redeem a sinner: Gawain’s favour with God is due to the service he had done to ladies in his lifetime (1234.1–2). In Lancelot’s case, however, the saintly path is complete; he follows the path of penitence to the end, shedding worldly power and wealth and dedicating himself to the salvation of his soul. In the process, though, he also manages to act as a model of both secular governance and religious inspiration, fitting in with the image of the secular ruler who leaves his affairs in order before he entrusts his life to God, like the romance heroes Robert of Sicily, Gowther and Evalach/Mordrain, 107

See Stanzaic Guy of Warwick, ed. Alison Wiggins (Kalamazoo, MI, 2004), lines 3514–16 (for Guy’s whole conversion, see lines 3,385–3,516).

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all of whom are blessed with a saintly end. Lancelot therefore acts as a counterexample to kings criticised for their excessive piety and dedication to personal salvation while neglecting their royal duties; among them Henry VI. Fifteenthcentury writers of saints’ lives like John Capgrave would have approved of Malory’s Lancelot. Malory thus presents Lancelot’s spiritual journey through the political realities of the Arthurian world, linking his progress to his gradual awakening to his mission in the world. Lancelot’s model combines the complexities demanded of the active way of life embraced by lay audiences in Malory’s time108 and provides an admirable summary of the complex demands placed on a ruler in the fifteenth century. The themes of the suffering king and genealogy feature prominently in his trajectory, as do the lines of continuity between the journeys undertaken by Balin, Arthur and Galahad. Malory’s approach to the king’s suffering and genealogical anxiety is therefore symbolic, not pragmatic: he shows a profound understanding of the depth of doctrine and practice of religion in his own time and is not merely dispensing with theological discourse, but rather seeking to replace it with a deeper, more moving example of lived experience, in accordance with the discourses of his day.

108

For a pertinent discussion of the active versus contemplative life, and the writing informing fifteenth-century audiences’ understanding of these, see Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, pp. 126–7.

Afterword The richness and diversity of the material explored in this study can only do partial justice to the complexity of the forms in which the two thematic strands of the king’s suffering and concerns over lineages were expressed from the end of the fourteenth century and throughout the fifteenth in England. Both themes emerge naturally from the material itself: first in the transmission of the pious romance Robert, then in striking linguistic parallels between the vocabulary employed in all three romances (Gowther, Isumbras and Robert), on the one hand, and the political propaganda produced for the houses of Lancaster and York, on the other. The broad chronological sweep of the extant manuscripts, as well as their continuing endurance in the print era, attest to the continuous popularity of these romances with audiences in these periods. Political readings of the male-centred romances can only be envisaged if previous labels, thematic (‘family romance’, ‘exemplum’) or genre-based (‘hagiographical romance’), to mention just a few, are (temporarily, at least) put aside, and a broader, yet also deeper, consideration of the cultural context in which these romances circulated is undertaken. Not all extant manuscript versions of the pious romances considered in this study would have necessarily been interpreted in a political way and neither would their political interpretation be of the same intensity or depth at all points of crisis in the period. On the other hand, the involvement of the upper peasantry and artisans alongside the middle classes in the political debates of the day shows that all of these romance audiences brought to their reception of these texts more diverse concerns than previously identified educational, devotional and leisure-oriented interests. The aspirations of these audiences were expressed in their participation in local politics as an avenue for upwards social movement; it is to be expected that their attitudes and understanding of political culture were shaped not only through their daily experience in the locality, but also through the reading of Brut chronicles and romances containing suitable lessons for instruction in personal conduct in private as well as public affairs. At times romances provided advice similar to that proposed in mirrors for princes; both of these types of texts, alongside chronicles and political propaganda, exerted an influence on their audiences’ judgement of national politics, including contemporary kings and their governance. Lovelich’s History of the Holy Grail and the manuscript in which it survives display all of these interests and much more. Far from being merely the longdisparaged author of a tedious narrative, as he has so often been qualified by critics, Lovelich claims a space in our reconsideration of the canon of medieval Arthurian literature in the vernacular on the grounds of both his innovations and his response to the local and national, ecclesiastical and political agendas of

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his time. Cok’s annotations to the Corpus Christi MS 80, the only extant manuscript of Lovelich’s work, are narrowly focused on the two themes of the king’s suffering and genealogy, the latter being understood in the broader context of the legacy left by Joseph of Arimathea’s mission in Britain. Lovelich’s enterprise thus points to a fascinating development in Middle English Arthurian literature: the appearance of the Grail as a vessel containing the ‘sank ryal’, a symbol/relic already in circulation in the insular chronicle tradition, but which had not, until Lovelich, received enough attention to be presented in the English language through the medium of romance. By revisiting Malory’s Morte Darthur, and in particular lines of continuity and discontinuity among different sections of his vast text, I show that close attention to both textual changes and the glosses in the Winchester manuscript can reveal how his first audiences’ reception of the text was guided to certain interpretations. In Malory’s company, the pious romances and Lovelich’s work gain more relevance rather than pale by comparison. Malory’s Lancelot, another suffering penitent in the late fifteenth century, is not merely the most popular character in the Morte, in no urgent need of reassessment. His trajectory in the ‘Sankgreal’ should no longer be isolated from the rest of Malory’s Arthuriad, and the social and political implications of Lancelot’s penitential journey should not be ignored either. Crossing boundaries that remain in favour with critics (Arthurian/nonArthurian romance, verse/prose, anonymous/known authorship), while keeping an eye on the intricate and fascinating cultural trends (here thematic threads) emerging in English culture (including political culture) at the end of the fourteenth century, then gaining popularity throughout the tumultuous fifteenth century, this study draws attention to ways in which the reception of well-known as well as lesser-known romances may be investigated afresh. It also points to new avenues for the modern exploration of romance reception in relation to other genres in late medieval manuscript contexts, and beyond.

Appendix 1 Plot Summaries (excluding Le Morte Darthur) King Robert of Sicily Robert, King of Sicily, is known as ‘the flower of chivalry’. His brothers are the Emperor of Germany and the Pope (in some versions, they gain their titles because of his prowess in arms). At midsummer, on the feast of St John (24 June), Robert goes to evensong, but is distracted by thoughts about his high state rather than focusing on his religious duty. On hearing the Magnificat (Deposuit potentes de sedes et exaltauit humiles; He has brought down the powerful from their seats, And he has exalted the humble, Luke 1:52), he asks his clerk to translate it for him. The meaning of the verse angers Robert, who rebels against God, saying the mighty should not fear being brought low and the humble should not come into high position. Then he falls asleep and, in an instant, an angel in his form appears and replaces him, leaving the church with the entire court. Robert wakes up as a beggar and, realising he is alone, asks the sexton to unlock the church door. Neither the sexton nor the castle gate-keeper recognises him. In his fury, Robert gets into a fist fight with the gate-keeper and loses. The angel king assigns Robert the position of court fool; he will have an ape as companion and will eat with the hounds. The angel’s rule is exemplary. After a while the angel decides to visit his brother in Rome, and takes Robert with him. Robert hopes his brothers will recognise him and take revenge on the imposter, but they mock him instead. At his lowest, Robert despairs of his situation and wishes he were dead. He recalls the fate of King Nebuchadnezzar and is moved to accept his own situation. On returning home, the angel orders everyone to leave his chamber, calls Robert in, and asks him once again if he still believes himself a king. Robert’s acceptance of his status of court fool confirms that he has fully repented. The angel restores Robert to his position by disappearing ‘in the twinkling of an eye’, and Robert is once again recognised by his subjects as their king. In some of the versions the Pope preaches a sermon on Robert’s story. In one manuscript version Robert is said to have become a saint.

Sir Gowther The marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Estryke is happy, but childless, so the Duke decides to take another wife in order to beget an heir to his lands. The duchess prays for a child, not caring in what manner this would happen. The devil takes her husband’s shape and impregnates her; after the event he tells her she will bear his son. The lady persuades her husband to sleep with

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her, saying she had an angelic vision that a child will be born of their union; Gowther is born. Gowther suckles noble nurses to death, bites his mother’s nipple off, and later, when fully grown, rapes noble women and nuns, burns abbeys and hermits, and terrorises his subjects. An old steward tells him he must be of devilish parentage, given his behaviour; when his mother confirms this, Gowther goes to the Pope in Rome, who gives him the penance of eating food only from the mouths of dogs and a vow of complete silence until God sends a sign that his sins are forgiven. Gowther becomes a fool at the court of the Emperor of Almayne, whose daughter is dumb. A Saracen sultan wages war on the emperor in order to take the beautiful princess as his wife; Gowther prays for armour, weapons and a horse so that he can go into the battle against the sultan. He fights valiantly on three consecutive occasions, unrecognised by anyone but the Emperor’s daughter. On the last occasion his shoulder is pierced by a Saracen, at which sight the emperor’s daughter falls out of her tower, lies unconscious for two days, only to wake up and tell everyone that Gowther is the mysterious knight who fought bravely and now he has been forgiven by God. Gowther marries the princess, goes back to Estryke where he gives all his lands to his mother and the steward, who marry. He then has an abbey built to expiate the sins of his youth and reigns as a good emperor after his father-inlaw’s death. His good deeds earn him saintly status.

Sir Isumbras Isumbras is a knight who enjoys living well, but forgets to give praise to God. One day a divine voice/an angel/a bird tells him that God will give him penance in youth or old age; Isumbras chooses penance in his youth. Immediately his horse drops dead, his hounds run away and, upon returning home, he finds his wife and three male children naked and his property burned. Patient and uncomplaining, he resolves to leave his lands with his family on a pilgrimage. On the way his eldest son is abducted by a lion, and the second by a leopard. Then his wife is forcefully taken away by a Saracen sultan, who makes her a queen in a distant land and leaves Isumbras with a bag of gold. The youngest son is abducted by a unicorn; an eagle steals the money. For seven years Isumbras works as a blower and a smith, makes his own armour and weapons, then fights as a knight. Afterwards he lives as a palmer for seven more years, at the end of which, near Bethlehem, an angel tells him his sins are forgiven. He wins various contests while at the court of a queen, where he receives alms. The queen is his wife, but neither recognises the other until one day he finds the gold stolen by an eagle. Saddened by the memory of his lost wife and children Isumbras hides the gold under his bed. Noblemen at the court find it and show it to the queen, who recognises it; Isumbras and the queen show each other their matching rings and a moment of tearful reunion follows. They are remarried and he is made a king. Isumbras’s new subjects refuse baptism, so he and his wife ride into battle together to defend the Christian faith. At this point their adult sons return, riding the three animals that had abducted them in their childhood. Isumbras

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divides up the former pagan lands among his sons and institutes the Christian faith in the population. They all live happily and after death go to heaven.

Henry Lovelich, History of the Holy Grail Note that Lovelich’s plot is mapped closely on to that of the Graal (available in ed. Lacy, V, pp. 315–19). The present plot summary is reproduced from the ‘Database of Middle English Romance’ project, the University of York (http:// middleenglishromance.org.uk/mer/28), by kind permission of Dr Nicola McDonald. Several details have been corrected and the spelling of proper names has been altered in order to reflect Lovelich’s use. [The beginning of the text is missing in Corpus Christi 80: After Christ’s crucifixion Joseph of Arimathea puts Christ’s body in his own tomb, collecting some of Christ’s blood in the cup used at the Last Supper. Joseph is imprisoned for forty-two years until he is released by Vespasian. Christ appears to Joseph and tells him to take the holy vessel to foreign lands preaching the gospel, with his son Josephe. Joseph and his family are baptised and go to Sarras, where the Saracens come from. The Saracen king, Evalach, under threat of attack from Egyptians led by king Tholomes, offers the new arrivals hospitality. Christ consecrates Josephe as the first Christian bishop. Joseph and Josephe tell Evalach about Christ.] Tholomes invades Evalach’s lands and Josephe, reminding Evalach of his origins as a herdsman’s son in Meaux, gives Evalach his white shield, with a cross of red silk tacked to it, to protect him. Tholomes routs Evalach’s army when they try to raise a siege, but Evalach’s brother-in-law, Seraphe, arrives with reinforcements. They head for Orcaus, which is attacked by Tholomes, but Evalach and Seraphe triumph against Tholomes’s exhausted men. Then Tholomes receives reinforcements and attacks Seraphe, who is saved by Evalach’s prayers, displaying great prowess. Evalach and his nephew rout Tholomes’s men who fire poisoned arrows as they flee, gaining the upper hand. Seraphe manages to rescue Evalach once but Seraphe is taken prisoner, badly wounded. When Evalach prays, a knight on a white horse appears, carrying a white shield with a red cross. He unhorses Tholomes, who is captured by Evalach, and rescues Seraphe. Tholomes’s army retreats, decimated. In Sarras, Evalach’s wife, Sarracynte, tells Josephe that she is a secret Christian. Twenty-seven years previously a hermit healed her mother, the duchess of Orbery, and baptised her. Sarracynte also converted and she and her mother received the host daily from a white box. On her mother’s death, Sarracynte took the box back to the hermitage and met a man in black there who told her that the hermit had died. They buried him and the man took the hermit’s place. Sarracynte admits that the open practice of her faith would anger Evalach. Meanwhile, Tholomes submits to Evalach, who sends him to Orcaus and returns with Seraphe to Sarras. There Seraphe asks for baptism, taking the name Nasciens, and converts Evalach, who is baptised as Mordreins, while Sarracynte reveals that she is already a Christian. Josephe baptises many inhabitants of

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Sarras and then Joseph, going to Orcaus, learns that Tholomes has been killed there. Panicking, many of the people of Orcaus become Christians but others die attempting to escape. An angel wounds Josephe in the thigh with a spear, embedding its head, as a punishment for not baptising those who died. Joseph eventually converts all of Nasciens’s country and chooses bishops, and then brings the bodies of the hermit and the man in black to Orbery and Sarras. Josephe shows Mordreins (Evalach) and Nasciens (Seraphe) the ark containing the Grail, but Nasciens lifts the cover and is blinded. An angel appears with the lance that struck Josephe and removes its head from Josephe’s thigh. Blood drips on to Nasciens’s eyes, restoring his sight, and Josephe explains that when the lance bleeds the secrets of the Grail will be revealed. He orders Mordreins to destroy the statue of a beautiful woman he keeps in his chamber. Later Mordreins has a disturbing dream, which neither Nasciens nor any churchman can interpret, about a lion and nine rivers flowing from the body of Nasciens’s son. The palace begins to shake and, amid terrifying sights and sounds, a voice cries ‘Here is the beginning of dread’. Meanwhile Mordreins is taken from his bed. Sarracynte comes home and is overwhelmed to find the whole household collapsed, Mordreins missing, and Nasciens in tears. A false knight, Calaphere, accuses Nasciens of killing Mordreins and Nasciens is imprisoned. Meanwhile Mordreins is taken by the Holy Ghost to a rock in the ocean. It was formerly held by pirates, but the Roman emperor, Pompey, killed them all before going to Jerusalem where he stabled his horses in the holy temple. St Peter afterwards shamed him by calling this conduct as bad as piracy. Mordreins, desolate, sees a ship approaching with a fair man in it and a cross. The man lands and tells Mordreins that his name is Good Man, warning him to trust in God, before disappearing. Another ship approaches, and a beautiful woman lands. She says that his faith is false, that Seraphe is dying, and that she can free him if he does her will. Mordreins refuses and she sails off into a storm that sinks her ship. The next day the fair man returns and tells Mordreins that the woman was once in his household but she became so proud that he expelled her and now she works against him. He warns Mordreins against temptation and disappears. The woman returns and offers Mordreins riches, but he refuses and she leaves. Thunderbolts ensue and Mordreins prays. He is about to eat some black bread when a phoenix, symbolising Christ, swoops by and knocks it from his hand, wounding him, and Mordreins swears to eat only God’s bread in future. The man and woman visit him daily until an empty ship appears, containing his and Nasciens’s shields and a horse that he took from Tholomes. Seeing a corpse that looks like Nasciens, he faints and on awakening finds the ship empty and adrift. The man appears and warns him against tempters. [Meanwhile Nasciens remains imprisoned, guarded by Calaphere.] Then a white hand carries Nasciens out of the castle, followed by Calaphere who is, however, prevented from catching him and collapses with incurable injuries. In revenge, he throws Nasciens’s son Celidoyne from a tower, but nine white hands catch him and Calaphere is killed as the tower falls. Sarracynte hears of Nasciens’s escape and sends messengers to him, while Nasciens’s wife, Flegentyne, evicted by Calaphere, also learns of Nasciens’s and Celidoyne’s escape and, seeing Nasciens in a vision, sets off westward to find him. Meanwhile, the white hand

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carries Nasciens to the Turning Island where he suffers uncomplainingly. He has a dream in which he flies with two white birds, removes his heart and gives it to them. Waking, he finds the island turning in the water. (The story of the Grail was written by Christ, after his resurrection.) Then a ship arrives, bearing an inscription saying that only those who are full of faith may enter. Nasciens boards and finds a rich bed with a crown at the head and a partly drawn sword at the foot. On a cloth is written that the sword shall be drawn by the best man who ever lived and springing from the bed are three rods, white, red and green, whose story follows: When Adam and Eve were expelled from Paradise after eating the apple, Eve took a branch of the tree of life. It grew and, when Abel was conceived under it, turned from white to green. It turned from green to red when Cain killed Abel while he was sleeping under it. The tree lasted till the reign of King Solomon, who was told that his last descendant would be the best knight. He therefore built a ship that would endure for 4,000 years and on a bed he left King David’s sword, to be drawn from its scabbard only by the last of his line. He also left King David’s crown and three rods from the tree of life, with a letter for his descendant. Angels sprinkled the ship with water signifying that it was God’s new house and a sign warned that no-one could enter unless he was of steadfast faith. The ship sailed away.

Nasciens thinks that Solomon’s ship might be a deception. It splits in two and he swims to the island, asking God for forgiveness. He prays and an old man arrives, who tells him that the ship is the church; the sea is the world; the bed is the holy table of the Eucharist, the cross and Christ’s resting-place after the Crucifixion; the rods are white for virginity, red for Christ’s Passion and charity, and green for patience. Nasciens dreams that he is attacked by a serpent but saved by a worm and wakes to find the man gone. Celidoyne, meanwhile, is taken to an island where he meets the Persian king, Label, who treats him kindly and knights him. Label has an inexplicable dream of which Celidoyne provides a Christian interpretation, warning Label that he will die as punishment for having killed his sister when she would not have intercourse with him. Label is amazed by Celidoyne’s knowledge and takes to his bed. There he dreams of walking on a broad highway and then, with a fair man, on a green path up to a high city, where he sees his murdered sister. Turned back because he has not washed in a well, he is attacked by thieves who take him to a foul house in a waste valley. Celidoyne expounds the Christian symbolism of the dream. Label is baptised and dies, but Label’s followers refuse to convert and cast Celidoyne adrift in a boat with a lion. He reaches Solomon’s ship which takes him to an island where he finds Nasciens and they sail on, meeting Mordreins who joins them. Mordreins grasps Solomon’s sword, which breaks and is then rejoined. A voice tells them to leave the ship but Mordreins delays and is wounded in the shoulder as punishment. Meanwhile, the messengers sent to find Nasciens reach Egypt where the youngest has a dream in which Joseph shows him Nasciens’s ship. They encounter another ship containing Label’s followers, all dead except for Label’s daughter. They bury the bodies and Label’s daughter joins them. Their ship

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crashes into a barren rock, where the messengers land. Label’s daughter says she will convert if it will help them survive and they find a rich bed and the tomb of Ypocras, whose story follows. Ypocras, honoured as a physician in Rome, fell in love with a woman who duped him into exposing himself to public ridicule. Hearing of the miracleworker, Jesus, in Jerusalem, Ypocras left Rome to see him, stopping en route to heal the King of Persia’s son and marry his daughter. They lived on an island where he built a castle with a magic healing bed. His wife, after several failed attempts, poisoned him and he was buried in the tomb.

On Ypocras’s island, Label’s daughter, despairing, says she will accept any help. A burning ship appears and a hideous black man offers to rescue them but they refuse. The messengers pray and an old man arrives who identifies the black man as the devil and urges them to be steadfast. Then the pagan Lady of Athens arrives and says she will save them if they do her homage. They refuse her and pray, and a boat arrives containing an old man and the lion that had accompanied Celidoyne. The man stays and the others go with the lion. They meet the ship carrying Mordreins, Nasciens and Celidoyne, board it, and all recount their stories. Mordreins’s wound is healed by a priest who walks to their ship across the sea; he also orders Celidoyne to sail off in an empty boat, while the rest go ashore. Mordreins’s wife, Sarracynte, arrives and Nasciens goes to Sarras where he is reunited with Flegentyne. Meanwhile Label’s daughter receives baptism. Then a voice tells Nasciens to go to sea, so he rides off in secret but Flegentyne sends a knight, Nabor, after him. Nabor finds Nasciens exhausted from fighting a giant and, killing the giant, tries to force Nasciens to return. Nasciens prays and Nabor dies. Nasciens’s followers arrive, including the lord of Tarabel who is struck dead after a voice accuses him of killing his own father. Nasciens leaves orders for Flegentyne to build three tombs for the bodies, and heads for the coast, where a fair woman asks him to carry her to Solomon’s ship. He tries but cannot and she turns into a fiend. He boards the ship, where he dreams of a man who gives him a letter and Celidoyne appears with nine men. Waking, Nasciens reads the letter, which lists his descendants. Celidoyne, Narpus, Nasciens, Aleyn the grete (le gros), Isaiah, Jonah, Lancelot, Ban, Lancelot [du Lac] and Galahad. An old man arrives, explains that Lancelot is a sinner and Galahad is born in sin but becomes supreme in prowess and remains a virgin, and then disappears. Ashore, Flegentyne builds the three tombs and refuses to leave her castle till she hears news of Nasciens. Meanwhile Joseph, delivered by God, begets Galahad I (Galaaz in L) on his wife. He and his followers want to go to the land Jesus has promised them, but they have no ship. Josephe says that only the chaste can go and the rest must remain and repent, so the Grail-bearers walk across the sea while the others sail on Josephe’s shirt and they arrive in pagan Britain. Joseph’s sinful followers, left behind and now repentant, are found by Nasciens who takes them to Britain on his ship and they are all reunited with Joseph. Hungry, they quarrel over bread until Josephe miraculously feeds them all. They go to Castle Galafort where they find Celidoyne, who has been living as a hermit, attempting to convert duke Gaanort.

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Ganor (Gaanort in L) has a dream which Josephe explains as showing baptism, sin and hell. Lucan, a pagan philosopher, is punished for questioning the virgin birth by the Virgin herself, who makes him pull out his tongue and die. Josephe reminds Ganor that he once saw a fleur-de-lys, out of which grew a rose-tree with foul roses on it and one beautiful rose which never opened. A man came out of this rose, even though it was unopened, and killed a serpent. The fleur-de-lys is Eve; the roses are the prophets; the closed rose is Mary, who bore Jesus as a virgin; the serpent is the devil. Then Ganor and 1,000 followers are baptised, but the rest die and Ganor erects the Tower of Marvels over them. Joseph’s wife gives birth to Galahad I. Then the king of Northumberland, angry at Gaanort’s conversion, besieges his castle, which Josephes has already left, but Nasciens and Gaanort fight the king and Nasciens kills him. The Christians destroy the Northumbrian army at the Humber. Joseph and Josephe take the Grail to North Wales, where king Crudelx imprisons them. Meanwhile, in Sarras, Mordreins has a dream in which Christ tells him that he, Sarracynte, Flegentyne and Label’s daughter must punish Crudelx, so they all set sail with Mordreins’s white shield, reach Britain and are reunited with Nasciens and Celidoyne, who tells his story. Then Mordreins, Nasciens and Gaanort go to North Wales to fight Crudelx, who is killed by Gaanort and his army wiped out. Josephe is released and says mass before the Grail but Mordreins approaches the Grail too closely and is blinded. Repentant, Mordreins asks to live until Galahad, the ninth descendant of Nasciens, arrives and this is granted. Celidoyne marries Label’s daughter, and Mordreins commits his wife Sarracynte to her brother, Nasciens, before entering a hermitage where an abbey is founded to await Galahad’s coming. Joseph and Josephe go to Camelot and convert many citizens, which angers King Agrestes, who erects a cross and kills any of his people who worship it. He butchers twelve of Josephe’s followers, staining the cross with blood, and then goes mad and dies. Josephe buries the martyrs and the cross remains red until Arthur’s time. There is a space at the Grail table between Josephe and his companion Bron, to be filled only by a truly holy man but Mois, a follower of Josephe, sits there and is borne away in flames. Josephe appoints Bron’s son, Aleyn, as his successor as Grail guardian and Josephe’s good followers are fed from the Grail while the sinners go hungry. Nevertheless Aleyn catches a fish which, through prayer, feeds them all and so Aleyn earns the soubriquet ‘the Rich Fisher’. Then Joseph meets a Saracen who asks him to cure his sick brother, and so they go to the Saracen’s castle, where he is killed by a lion while Joseph is imprisoned and wounded in the thigh. The Saracen’s sick brother, Mathegrans, is brought to Joseph, whose prayers destroy pagan idols, and Joseph restores the Saracen to life. The two brothers are converted and Joseph heals the sick brother with the sword-point that had been left in his thigh. The sword, we are reminded, will not be rejoined until the coming of the Grail knight, Galahad. Meanwhile Josephe and his followers cross a lake on foot, leaving behind Chanaan, a sinner, despite the efforts of his twelve brothers to get him across. Eventually he is taken over by fishermen who all drown. The company reaches a great house where Mois’s voice from within a fire begs Josephe to ease his suffering, so Josephe prays, giving Mois partial relief, but the flames will not

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die down until Galahad comes. Then Josephe goes to Scotland where everyone is fed except Symen and Chaanan who plot together; Chanaan kills his twelve brothers and Symen wounds Josephe’s kinsman, Piers. They are caught and punished but two burning men fly from Gales and carry Symen away. Chanaan repents and is released to build tombs for his brothers and himself, but as Piers’s wound worsens a fire appears on Chanaan’s tomb. Josephe says it will be put out by Lancelot and that Galahad will deliver Symen, Mois and Chanaan from their pains. Then Josephe resumes his travels, leaving Piers, who sails off in a ship and reaches the castle of the pagan king Orcaws, where a Christian prisoner heals his wound. The Irish king Marahans accuses Orcaws of poisoning his son. Disguised, Orcaws challenges his best knights to combat in order to choose a champion to fight on his behalf. They all lose, but Piers defeats Orcaws and so is chosen to fight Marahans whom he kills, vindicating Orcaws. In return, Orcaws converts and gives Piers his daughter in marriage. King Lucye also converts. Piers is the ancestor of King Lot of Orkney and his sons Gawain, Agravain, Gaheries, and Gareth; Lot’s supposed son, Mordred, was really Arthur’s. So Gawain descends from Joseph. Galahad I eventually returns to Galafort where his mother has died. He creates his good brother, Galahad I, king of Hostelice, which is renamed Gales in his honour, and Arthur’s knight, Uriens, is his descendant. One day Galahad I, out hunting, hears Symen’s voice coming from a fire, asking him to found an abbey where prayers may be said for him until he is released by Galahad. Galahad I builds the abbey and is later buried there. By the time Josephe returns from Gales Joseph has died and been buried in an Abbey of the Cross. Josephe goes to Mordreins’s abbey and asks for Mordreins’s shield, on which he paints a cross in blood from his nose and Mordreins’s sight is restored. The shield, which will be worn by Galahad, is to be hung over Nasciens’s tomb when he dies. Then Josephe dies and is buried in Mordreins’s abbey, and Joseph’s body is reinterred in Glastonbury Abbey. Aleyn, bequeathed the Grail by Josephe, cures the leprous king, Galafres, who is baptised as Alphasan and builds Castle Corbenie to house the Grail. Alphasan has a vision of the Grail at a mass and is told that he is not worthy to be there; wounded in both thighs, he dies. His descendant Lambors fights King Varlans, who takes the sword from Solomon’s ship and strikes a blow that renders the land waste. Lambors is succeeded by Pellean, the maimed king, on whose daughter, Pelle, Lancelot begets Galahad. Nasciens, Flegentyne, and Sarracynte all die on the same day. Celidoyne, after saving his people from the Saxons, dies and is buried at Camelot. He is succeeded by Narpus, then Nasciens, then Aleyne the Gros, then Isaiah, then Jonah, then Aume, then Lancelot, who begets Ban and Brons. Ban begets Hector, a bastard, Lancelot [du Lac] and Bors. Ban’s father, Lancelot, loves the wife of a duke virtuously, but the duke beheads him while he is drinking at a well on Good Friday after confession. The head cannot be removed from the well because the water in it boils, and the duke is subsequently killed by a falling stone. Lancelot’s tomb is guarded by two lions until they are killed by Lancelot du Lac.

Appendix 2 Genealogies The genealogical charts below are pertinent to the discussion in Chapters 3 and 4. They are adapted from Carol Chase, ‘La conversion des païennes dans l’Estoire del Saint Graal’, in Arthurian Romance and Gender, ed. Friedrich Wolfzettel (Amsterdam, 1995), pp. 251–64, by kind permission from the author and the publisher, Rodopi. Note that variant spellings of the names occur as mentioned in Chapters 3 and 4 as well as Appendix 1. 1  Joseph of Arimathea Joseph – Elyab

Josephe Galahad I – The daughter of the King of the Distant Isles Lienor

(in direct line)

Uriens Yvain

2  Piers (a kinsman of Joseph of Arimathea) Piers – Camille (the daughter of the King of Orcaws-Lamet) Herlant – The daughter of the King of Ireland Meliant Agrestes Hector – The daughter of the King of North Wales (Norgales) Loth of Orkney – Arthur’s sister Gawain Aggravain Guerrehet Gaheriet

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3  Bron (akinsman of Joseph of Arimathea) Bron 12 sons    Josue – The daughter of Alain (or the Rich Fisher) the King of the Terre Foraine Aminadap – The daughter of King Lucie Carcelois Manuel Lambor Pellehan

Pelles

His daughter (Elaine) – Lancelot Galahad

4 Lancelot’s ancestors The queen of Orbery Mordrain – Sarracynte A brother Nasciens – Flegentyne (Evalac) who disappeared (Seraphe) A son Celidoyne – Sarracynte Nappus (Narpus) Nacien (Nasciens) Hellyas/Alain le Grose (the Fat) Lysays (Ysaie) Jonas – The daughter    of Maroniex Lancelot – The daughter of      the King of Ireland

Ban Brons

Hector Lancelot Lionel Bors

Bibliography Only manuscripts consulted in situ or in facsimile (printed or electronic) are listed under ‘Primary sources’. A full list of manuscripts referred to is available in the Index.

Primary sources Manuscripts Cambridge Corpus Christi College MS 80 Gonville and Caius College MS 174 Gonville and Caius College MS 175 University Library MS Ii.4.9 University Library MS Ff.2.38 Cambridge, MA, Harvard University, Houghton MS Eng. 530 Dublin, Trinity College MS 432 C London British Library MS Additional 34801 British Library MS Additional 22283 (Simeon MS) British Library MS Additional 59678 British Library MS Egerton 1995 British Library MS Harley 1701 British Library MS Harley 525 British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii British Library MS Royal 17.B.xliii British Library MS Royal 17 D. XV British Library MS Sloane 4031 London, Guildhall Library MSS 31302/135, 189, 194, 198 Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale MS XIII.B.29 New Haven, CT, Yale University, Beinecke Library MS 494 Oxford Bodleian Library MS Douce 178 Bodleian Library MS Douce 261 Trinity College MS D. 57 University College MS 142 Printed sources Adam of Usk. Chronicon Adae de Usk, ed. and trans. Chris Given-Wilson (Oxford, 1997). Adam of Usk. Chronicon Adae de Usk, ed. E. M. Thompson, 2nd edn (London, 1904). Amis and Amiloun, Roberd of Cisyle, and Sir Amadace, ed. Edward E. Forster (Kalamazoo, MI, 1st edn, 1997, 2nd edn, 2007).

212 BIBLIOGRAPHY Brotanek, Rudolf (ed.). Mittelenglische Dichtungen aus der Handschrift 432 des Trinity College Dublin (Halle, 1940). The ‘Brut’, or the Chronicles of England, ed. F. W. D. Brie, 2 vols, EETS o.s. 131, 136 (London, 1906, 1908). Calendar of State Papers and Manuscripts Relating to English Affairs Existing in the Archives and Collections of Milan, ed. Allen B. Hinds (London, 1912), I. Cambridge University Library MS Ff.2.38, ed. Frances McSparran and R. Robinson (London, 1979). Capgrave, Johannes. Liber de Illustribus Henricis, ed. and trans. Francis Charles Hingeston (London, 1858). Capgrave, John. John Capgrave’s ‘Life of St Katherine’, ed. Karen A. Winstead (Kalamazoo, MI, 1999). Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Riverside Chaucer, gen. ed. Larry Benson (Boston, 1987). Chaucer, Geoffrey. Troilus and Criseyde: A Facsimile of Corpus Christi College MS 61, ed. M. B. Parkes and Elizabeth Salter (Cambridge, 1978). Chester, ed. Lawrence M. Clopper, Records of Early English Drama (Toronto, 1979). La Chronique Anonyme Universelle: Reading and Writing History in Fifteenth-Century France, ed. and trans. Lisa Fagin Davis (Turnhout, 2013). ‘Chronicle of Dieulacres Abbey, 1381–1403’, in M. V. Clarke and V. H. Galbraith, ‘The Deposition of Richard II’, BJRUL 14 (1930), 164–81. Chronicles of London, ed. C. L. Kingsford (London, 1905). Codex Ashmole 61: A Compilation of Popular Middle English Verse, ed. George Shuffelton (Kalamazoo, MI, 2008). Cursor Mundi, ed. Richard Morris, EETS in five parts; o.s. 57 part I (London, 1874); o.s. 66, 68, parts IV–V in one volume (London, 1878; repr. 1966). Davies, R. T. Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical Anthology (London, 1963). An English Chronicle, 1377–1461: A New Edition of Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS 21608, and Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Lyell 34, ed. William Marx (Woodbridge, 2003). An English Chronicle from the Reigns of Richard II, Henry IV, Henry V and Henry VI, ed. J. S. Davies, Camden Society o.s. 64 (London, 1856). English Historical Documents, 1327–1485, ed. A. R. Myers (London, 1969), IV. L’Estoire del Saint Graal, ed. J.-P. Ponceau, 2 vols, Les Classiques Françaises du Moyen Age 120, 121 (Paris, 1997). A Facsimile Edition of the Vernon Manuscript: A Literary Hoard from Medieval England, ed. Wendy Scase (Oxford, 2012). Fortescue, John. De Laudibus Legis Angliae, ed. S. B. Chrimes (Cambridge, 1942). Gransden, Antonia. Historical Writing in England: c. 1307 to the Early Sixteenth Century (London, 1982). Greer Fein, Susanna (ed.). Moral Love Songs and Laments (Kalamazoo, MI, 1998). Guddat-Figge, Gisela. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Middle English Romances (Munich, 1976). Hardyng, John. John Hardyng’s Chronicle (the first version), ed. Sarah Peverley and James Simpson, 2 vols, Middle English Text Series (Kalamazoo, MI, 2013). Hardyng, John. John Hardyng’s Chronicle (the second version), ed. Sarah Peverley (forthcoming). Havelok, ed. G. V. Smithers (Oxford, 1987). The Heege Manuscript: A Facsimile of National Library of Scotland MS Advocates 19.3.1, intro. Phillipa Hardman (Leeds, 2000). Henry Lovelich’s Merlin, ed. Ernst A. Kock, EETS e.s. 93, 112, o.s. 185 (London, 1904–32).

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Unpublished PhD theses McCarthy, Marcella. ‘Late Medieval English Treatments of the Grail Story’, DPhil thesis, University of Oxford (1990). Monroe, W. H. ‘Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Century Illustrated Genealogical Manuscripts in Roll and Codex: Peter of Poitiers’ Compendium, Universal Histories and the Chronicles of the Kings of England’, PhD thesis, University of London, Courtauld Institute of Art (1990). Norbye, Marigold Anne. ‘The King’s Blood: Royal Genealogies, Dynastic Rivalries and Historical Culture in the Hundred Years War: A Case Study of A tous nobles qui aiment beaux faits et bonnes histoires’, PhD thesis, University College London (2004). Pittaway, Sarah L. ‘The Political Appropriation of Lydgate’s Fall of Princes: A Manuscript Study of British Library, MS Harley 1766’, PhD thesis, University of Birmingham (2011). Powell, Stephen. ‘Textual and Generic Instability in the Middle English “Roberd of Cisyle”: A Study with Critical Edition’, PhD thesis, University of Toronto (1997).

Index Abbey of the Cross 132 Abbey of Glay 94, 133–4 Abraham and Isaac 34 n.111, 47 n.21, 50 Adam 138, 183 Adam of Usk 11, 111 adultery 26, 59–60, 154, 170, 175, 180, 183 adventures 73, 87, 94, 117–18, 128, 145, 152, 156, 158, 166, 170, 174, 176, 177, 178, 186 Aganore 120 n.89 Agrestes (King) 126 n.105 alchemy 12 n.35 Alexander the Great 5, 58, 145 n.162, 193 alms-giving 71, 79, 195 amplificatio 94, 97, 99, 101, 105, 110, 118 ancestors, ancestry 8 n.22, 19 n.67, 88 n.3, 95, 98, 100, 104, 109, 119, 128, 138, 148, 169 n.46, 172, 175, 177, 182, 187, 194 annotations 14, 24, 29, 38, 90, 93, 95, 96, 97, 102, 110–21, 126 n.105, 132, 143–5, 146, 148, 171 Annunciation 58, 60 anthologies 23, 28, 56, 72, 73, 75, 124 armour 18, 64, 71–2, 80–1 Arthur (King) 5, 12, 24, 38, 88, 92, 93, 138, 145, 149–56, 158–62, 164n39, 165, 166–7, 169, 176, 184–7, 190, 192–4; coronation of 95; wedding of 152 Arundel, Thomas (Archbishop of Canterbury) 5, 6, 91, 135, 143 Arundel’s Constitutions 91, 135, 142 Auchinleck manuscript see under manuscripts, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.2.1 Augustinian clergy 14 n.46 authority 12, 38, 45, 59 n.58, 85, 97, 99, 105, 114, 121, 125, 129, 132, 134, 136–7, 167 authorship 32, 90, 93, 102 Balan 152, 156, 162, 168 Balin (Balyn/Balyne) 38, 150, 152–4, 155–65, 168, 170, 178, 185–6, 187, 189, 197 ‘Ballad on the Battle of Northampton’ 49 ballads 49, 59–60 Ban (King) 95, 105 n.58, 181

baptism 116, 132 barons 94, 106, 108, 110, 126, 185 Barton, Henry 38, 92–3, 101–2, 130, 139–40 Bathsheba 154, 170, 175, 183 battles see under each battle by placename beasts 71; see also individual beast bequests 124; see also legacies and endowments ‘best knight of the world’ 165, 178, 180 n.66, 183 n.74, 184, 185, 186, 188 Bevis of Hampton 42, 35 n.119, 36 n.121, 82, 83 see also Boeve de Hampton ‘The Bird with Four Feathers’ 55 n.44 Blacman, John 17 A Remembrance of Henry VI 18 Blessed Virgin Mary see Virgin Mary Blome, John 12–13 Bockenham, Osbern 174 Boeve de Hampton 83 n.116 Bokkyng, John 82n113 book-making 101, 113, 132 Book of Job see Job Bors (King) (ancestor of Sir Launcelot) 95 Bors, Sir (Sir Launcelot’s cousin) 105 n.58, 150, 166, 167, 169, 173, 176, 184, 186, 193, 196, 208 Breton lays 57 Britain 13–14, 24–5, 88–148, 175, 188 Broceliande, forest of (as Brooklond) 131 Bron 138 n.140 Brut (Latin) 13, 103, 135n126, 172 Brut (Middle English) 6, 12 n.37, 17, 24–5, 48, 59, 102–3, 104, 136, 145 n.162, 171, 172 Cade, Jack 4 Caister 81 n.109 Calaphere, Sir 126 Canterbury 12, 59 Capgrave, John 18–19, 77, 174, 197 Liber de Illustribus Henricis 10, 11 n.30 Life of St Katherine 18–19, 72, 75, 77 Carlisle 188, 190, 191 cartularies 95, 115 n.74 castles 45, 79, 94, 112, 129 n.111, 156, 162, 163, 179 Comes 112

230 INDEX Corbenic 179 Emelianz 129 n.111 Pontefract 6 n.15 Tarabel 112 Caxton, William, 152, 157, 158, 175 Celidoyne/Celidoine 87, 90 n.13, 98, 109–10, 120, 121, 126, 127, 128 Chanaam 142 Charlemagne (king and emperor) 5 Charles the Grete 175 n.55 Chaucer, Geoffrey 2, 7, 77, 83 Canterbury Tales ‘Clerk’s Tale’ 36 n.122, 83, 84 ‘Man of Law’s Tale’ 2 ‘Monk’s Tale’ 7 ‘Tale of Sir Thopas’ 73 n.88 Troilus and Criseyde 96 n.37 Chichele, Henry (Archbishop of Canterbury) 135, 143 Chinnock, John (Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey) 12, 13, 14 chivalric orders 170, 174 n.54 Christ 136, 142, 164, 178 n.62, 185, 188 Christ’s blood and sweat 13, 153 n.16, 170, 178 n.62, 179 Christ’s nativity 73, 103 Christian conversion 12–14, 24, 45, 87–148, 169 n.46, 179 n.62, 187, 196 n.107 Christianity 5, 14, 45, 64–5, 67, 71, 75, 83 n.116, 85, 89, 116, 117, 120, 122, 126, 150, 182, 184, 185 chronicles 6, 18, 22, 25–6, 37–8, 55, 65, 93, 99–101, 102–3, 104, 107, 110, 136, 194 genealogical 9, 23–4, 25, 172, 194 insular 13, 91, 103 n.49, 174 n.54, 179 n.62 London 23 n.77, 25, 48 n.24, 82, 101–2, 106, 108, 124 Chronicle of the Arrivall of King Edward IV 19 chronicle style 105, 112, 143 chroniclers 14n46, 25, 55, 59 n.58, 66, 97, 98, 105, 108, 171 Church councils 13, 14, 91, 138, 141 Basle 91 Constance 91, 141 Pisa 14, 91 Siena 91 Church Fathers 137 n.137 cities 94, 106, 129, 130 civil wars 21, 38, 150, 189, 196 Claydon, John 143 n.157 Clement VII (Pope) 14 Cobham, Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester 8 Cok, John 14, 38, 92–3, 95–7, 110, 111, 113, 114–15, 117–21, 126 n.105, 131–2, 143–4, 146–8, 149

Columbe 160, 161, 163 Colyns, John 124 commissioners 7 n.18, 21 n.70, 23, 27, 38, 45, 51, 88, 92, 93 n.26, 96, 101, 114, 139, 145, 148 commonplace books 27 n.92, 28, 124; see also miscellanies common profit books 124 n.98; see also miscellanies confession 56, 177, 179–80, 181 n.70 Confraternity of Corpus Christi 145 n.164, 179 conversion see Christian conversion Copland, Robert (printer) 36, 82 Corpus Christi (feast of) 145, 147, 179 Cotton, Sir Robert 92 n.20 court fool see under fools Cressewyk, William 124 Crowland Abbey 65–6 crown (English) 8, 14, 16, 19, 25, 32, 49, 59, 80, 92, 166, 193 Croyland (or ‘Crowland’) chronicle 65, 66 Cursor Mundi 42, 170, 182 n.72, 184 Dame Beulybon 84 n.119 ‘Dame Courtesy’ 78 David (King of Israel) 5, 154, 169, 170, 172, 175–6, 183–4, 186, 194, 205 death 10–12, 19, 21, 62, 66, 73, 78, 92, 111, 139, 150, 155, 156, 159, 160–3, 164, 183, 190, 195–6 Deceyte 78 deposition 3, 4–7, 10, 22, 26, 32–3, 34, 44, 45, 47, 48, 49, 50, 55, 69–70, 78, 147, 192 Devil 98 devils 115 n.75, 116–17, 118, 119 devilish parentage 31, 41, 56–8, 59, 60–3, 65, 66, 74 Dieulacres Chronicle 6, 17 Dirige 20, 55 n.44 divine intervention 57, 99, 100–1, 136 divine physician 142, 185 doctrine 89, 150, 197 dogs 64, 85 Drayton, manor of 81 n.109 dual monarchy (England and France) 22, 23 East Anglia 7 n.18, 131 n.117 Ebesham, William 82 n.114 Edmund Mortimer (Edmund IV) 8 Edmund (Saint) 17, 97 education 17, 64, 75, 76, 122–4 Edward the Confessor (Saint) 17, 52

INDEX 231

Edward of Lancaster, Prince 11, 18, 59, 60, 63–4, 65, 66, 70 Edward, Earl of March see under Edward IV Edward II 32 Edward III 12, 55, 102 Edward IV 4, 19, 22, 34, 38, 48–9, 55, 82, 91 Earl of March 19, 49, 70 Elaine of Astolat 190, 191 Elaine of Corbenic 169, 171 Emaré 2 emotions 57, 80, 94, 97, 105, 106 n.59, 107, 110, 111, 118, 121–2, 127 n.106, 128, 129, 161, 187 endowments see legacies endurance 6, 21, 22, 75, 83, 84 n.119, 85, 115, 117, 150, 182 English Church 88, 91, 95, 103–4, 141, 143, 147, 153 n.16 Erl of Tolous 84 n.119, 129 n.111 L’Estoire del Saint Graal (Vulgate Cycle) 12, 13, 26, 37, 87–92, 94, 96–7, 98, 99–101, 104, 105–10, 111–14, 116, 119 n.86, 120–3, 126, 127–35, 136, 137, 138 n.140, 140, 141–2, 143, 148, 153, 155, 164, 166, 169, 172, 176, 177, 178 n.62, 181, 182, 188, 191 L’Estoire de Merlin (Vulgate Cycle) 26, 87–8, 90, 93–4, 95–6, 101, 105 n.56, 106, 129–30, 131 n.117, 137, 144–5, 147–8 Estryke Duke of Estryke 42, 57–8 Duchess of Estryke 57–8 Eucharist 135, 179 Europe 2, 14 n.46, 91, 103, 138, 143, 175 n.56 exemplum 40, 44, 49, 52 exile 49, 70, 126, 191 Evalac/Evalach (baptised Mordrain/ Mordreins) 87, 89, 90 n.13, 92, 95, 97–8, 100, 101 n.44, 106–8, 110–22, 126, 128, 130, 133, 135, 136, 142, 144, 146, 164, 177, 188, 196, 197 Eve 125, 126 n.102, 165 everyman 41, 44, 67, 85, 86, 117, 118, 136, 141, 146 Excalibur 159 Fabyan, Robert 82 Fair Woman 115–16 fall of princes (motif) 26, 40, 43, 55, 85, 194 famine 133–4 see also hunger fantasy 70 n.81, 118 Fathers of the Church 137 n.137 fellowship 150, 152, 170, 174, 182–90, 192 female readers 76, 124

Fisher Kings 12 n.35, 138 n.140, 143, 150, 169 Fitzhugh, Robert (Bishop of London) 14 Flegentyne/Flegentine 121, 126–8 Fleming, Richard (Bishop of Lincoln, later Archbishop of York) 14 fools 16, 22, 54, 56, 59, 64, 86 court fool 41, 44, 45, 52–3, 54, 64 Henry VI as fool 15, 16, 26, 51 n.31, 53 n.37, 54, 71, 73, 75 king’s fool 43, 56 Fortescue, Sir John 63 Fortune 6, 7, 68, 153, 156, 164, 165, 176 see also Wheel of Fortune Fowcairs 131 friendship 78, 111 Frome, Nicholas (Abbot of Glastonbury) 13 Gaanore 120 Gaheris 190, 192 Galafort 120, 143 Galahad 38, 89 n.9, 95, 98, 150, 151 n.8, 153–4, 155, 156, 164–74, 175–8, 183 n.78, 184–5, 186, 188–90, 197 Galerne 130n115 Gareth 152, 155, 190, 192 Garlon 160, 161, 163, 164 gatherings 102, 159 n.31 Gawain 14, 89, 101, 138 n.140, 143, 154, 165, 172, 173, 176, 190, 192–3, 195, 196 genealogical literature 23–5, 95, 140, 172 biblical genealogies 138 genealogical rolls 23, 24, 138, 139, 140 royal genealogies 23, 138 universal histories 23, 138, 172 genealogy 22, 24, 38, 88, 95, 96, 119, 138–9, 144, 146, 151, 169, 170–2, 175, 197 generic affiliation see labels generosity 66, 68, 79–80, 191, 192, 194, 195 gentry 31, 69, 70 n.81, 79, 82, 157 Geoffrey of Monmouth Historia Regum Britanniae 24 Glastonbury 12–14, 91, 94, 97, 103, 132, 133–4, 138, 208 see also Joseph of Arimathea glosses 29, 38, 119 n.84, 132 n.119, 139, 151, 155–6, 157–8, 159–60, 161, 163–4, 168, 172–3, 177 Godfrey of Bouillon 5, 175 n.55 Good Man (All-in-All/Tout-en-Tout) 113–14, 115, 119 governance 4, 6, 7, 8, 12, 15, 18, 32, 40, 41, 46, 47, 60, 67, 70 n.81, 71, 78, 82, 83, 85, 86, 92, 97, 106, 109–10, 120, 136, 149, 151 n.9, 193, 196

232 INDEX devil’s governance 60 Gower, John 7 Gowther see Sir Gowther grace 66, 120, 135, 176, 183, 187–8, 196 Graal see L’Estoire del Saint Graal (Vulgate Cycle) Grail see Holy Grail Grail keepers 38, 94, 95, 128, 138, 143, 179 Grail Quest 25, 38, 134, 142, 149, 152, 153–4, 155, 156, 164, 166–82, 182, 184–5, 186, 189 gratitude 117 Great Western Schism 14 Gregory, William 23 n.77, 102, 108, 124 Gregory’s Chronicle 48 n.24, 64 n.71, 102 n.46 Gregory the Great’s Moralia 21 n.72, 111 Griselda 83, 84 Guenevere 154, 169, 171–2, 176, 184–5, 187, 188, 190, 195–6 Guerrehet 172 n.49 guilds, guildsmen 31, 93, 108 n.65, 145 Guy of Warwick 21, 42 hairshirts 180 n.68, 182 Hallam, Robert (Bishop of Salisbury) 14 Hampton, Anne 92, 124 Harleus le Barbeus 160, 161 Hardyng, John 25–6, 38, 134–5, 136, 150 n.2, 151, 170, 174 n.54, 179 n.62 Chronicle 25, 134, 135 n.126, 151, 154 n.16, 170 Havelok 72 Haylesdon, manor of 81 n.109 headings 173, 184 n.80 healing 154, 155, 156, 165, 168, 174, 178–9, 183, 184–5, 187–90, 192 Hector 5, 193, 208 Heege manuscript see under manuscripts, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.3.1 heirs 11, 16, 17, 26, 42, 56, 57–64, 65, 66, 120 Henry IV 3, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 14, 21 n.72, 23, 192 illness 111, 147 Henry V 7, 10, 11, 14, 18, 64, 97, 111, 192 Henry VI 3, 4, 8, 11, 12, 15, 17–19, 22, 32, 51–2, 55, 63, 71, 97, 135 burial of 22 coronation (in Paris) 11 cult of 73, 82 deposition of 48, 49, 55, 70 Readeption of 4, 19 wedding to Margaret of Anjou 58 Henry VII 73, 82, 86 Henry of Lancaster 5, 7

heralds 97, 98, 99, 105, 129, 171 hermits 123 n.94, 177, 179 n.65, 180–1, 182 Higden, Ranulf Polychronicon 115 n.74 History of the Holy Grail see under Lovelich, Henry Hoccleve, Thomas 7, 110, 141 ‘Address to Sir John Oldcastle’ 143 n.157 Regiment of Princes 7 The Series 141 holy folly 15, 17, 54 Holy Grail 13, 38, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 94, 109, 113, 119, 121, 129, 132, 133–7, 141, 143, 154 n.16, 166, 168, 170, 172, 173, 175, 176, 177, 178–9, 184, 187, 189 see also Grail keepers see also Grail Quest Holy Land 12, 88 Holy Rood 183, 184 homophony 101 n.44 ‘How the good wife taught her daughter’ 78 humility 49, 50, 57, 83, 120, 154, 177, 182–3, 186, 188–9 Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester 8 hunger 115, 117, 128 husbandmen 16, 73 Hutton (Malory estates) 192 n.101 identity 41, 54 n.41, 64–5, 71, 116, 157, 175 n.56 illuminated manuscripts 87 Illustrated Life of Edward IV 49 illustration 96, 114, 121, 139 impregnation 57–8 inheritance 2, 58, 62, 66, 136, 153, 154, 184, 186 insanity 15, 51, 54, 59, 60–1, 80, 81, 111 inscriptions 156 Ireland 130 Isumbras see Sir Isumbras Jacob’s Well (penitential manual) 188 Jesse Tree see Tree of Jesse Jesus Christ see Christ Job 2, 6, 17, 18, 19–22, 41, 42, 66, 69, 70, 71, 83, 111, 140, 150 John, Duke of Bedford 23 John of Glastonbury, Cronica sive antiquitates Glastoniensis ecclesie 13 Joseph of Arimathea 12–14, 24, 87–8, 89, 90–2, 94, 97, 102–4, 110, 121, 132, 134–6, 138, 141, 169–71, 172, 173, 175, 181, 187, 188 Joseph of Arimathie 45, 89, 97, 110–11, 134

INDEX 233

Josephe/s (son of Joseph of Arimathea) 13, 14, 87, 122–3, 125, 128, 130, 132–4, 142–3, 188 Joshua 5, 175 Judas Maccabeus 5, 175 Julius Caesar 5 Kent 131 Kerver, John, of Reading 15 n.49 King of Tars 45, 89, 111 kingly suffering 5, 14, 19, 37, 40, 47, 85, 111 King’s Bench Ancient Indictments 16 n.54 king’s fool see under fools ‘Kings of England from William the Conqueror to Henry VI’ 104 kingship 7, 15, 18, 70 n.81, 72, 75, 92, 110, 149, 189, 194 knighting ceremony 61, 167–8, 169 Knighton, Henry 14 n.46 Label, king of Persia 109–10 King Label’s daughter 109, 120, 121, 128 labels (generic) 2, 28, 30, 40, 41, 49, 50 n.29, 51, 56, 72, 156, 198 see also exemplum Lady of the Lake 156, 159–61, 164 n.39 Lancastrians 7–8, 10–12, 17–18, 19, 22, 23–5, 34, 49, 55, 59–60, 64, 65–6, 70, 82, 111, 135, 147, 189, 191 see also propaganda Lancelot 14, 38, 89, 98, 100, 138 n.140, 143, 149–51, 152, 153–4, 165, 166–9 Langley 6 n.15, 10, 111 Latin 2, 13, 44, 69, 78, 103, 119 n.84, 145–6, 172 Launcelot (King, grandfather of Launcelot de Lac) 87 Lawney, John 131 n.117 Lay Folks Catechism 120 n.87, 122 n.93 Layfolks Mass Book, The 77 leadership 38, 48, 70 n.81, 149, 154, 174 n.54, 183, 195 legacies and endowments 123, 139–40, 191, 195 n.105 leopard 71 Lybeaus Desconus 82, 83 Life of St Katherine 18, 19, 72, 75, 76 n.98, 77 Life of St Margaret 75 Lincoln 51 Lincoln Thornton manuscript see under manuscripts, Lincoln, Dean and Chapter Library MS 91 lion 71 Lionel 166 literacy 3, 21, 24, 26, 77, 102, 123, 135 Logres 98 n.39, 129, 139, 166 n.43

Lollards 11, 143n157 London 6n15, 92, 93–4, 95, 98, 101, 104, 108, 111, 124, 129, 130, 131 n.117, 139, 140 n.143, 144, 145, 146; London citizens 102, 108, 123 London chronicles see under chronicles London Company of Skinners see under skinners London guilds 93, 145 Lot (King of Orkney) 161, 208 Love, Nicholas, Meditation on the Eucharist 179 n.63 ‘love-days’ 189 n.91, 191, 195 n.105 Lovelich, Agneus 125 n.101 Lovelich, Davio 125 n.101 Lovelich, Henry 12, 13, 14, 24, 26, 32, 37–38, 87–102, 104–48, 149, 170, 171, 175, 182, 191 n.96 History of the Holy Grail 87–148 Merlin 87–148 Lucan 142 Lucifer 115 Lucius 98, 152 Lydgate, John 7, 93, 110, 146–7, 174–5 ‘Beware of Doublenesse’ 83, 84 Bycorne and Chychevache 147 Fall of Princes 7, 21, 78, 134, 135, 147 The Legend of St George 135, 147 The Life of Our Lady 73, 74 Lives of Ss Edmund and Fremund 17–18, 97, 135 ‘Mumming at Hertford’ 51 n.31 Pageant for Corpus Christi 145 Procession of Corpus Christi 147 Secrets of the Philosophers 82 n.114 Sodein Fal of Princes 147 Stans puer ad mensam 57, 72, 73, 78 Troy Book 147 ‘Make Amands’ 55 n.44 Magnificat 43, 44, 50 Malory, Thomas 13, 24, 32, 37–8, 89 n.9, 149–97 Le Morte Darthur 10, 25, 37–8, 149–97 ‘Book of Sir Tristram’ 152, 173 ‘Tale of the Sankgreal’ 149–50, 154, 156 n.22, 164, 166, 167–8, 170, 172–3, 175–8, 181, 184–5, 189, 199 ‘Book of Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinever’ 150, 152, 182 ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ 150, 152 n.13, 154, 174, 176, 182, 184–5, 186, 188, 189, 190 ‘Morte Darthur’ (Tale VIII) 150, 190 manicula see under marginalia Mankind 22

234 INDEX manuals (penitential) 122, 182 manuscripts Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS Peniarth 50 103 n.49 Cambridge Corpus Christi College MS 61 96 n.37 Corpus Christi College MS 80 37, 87, 90, 92, 95–6, 97, 98, 104–5, 114, 116–17, 123, 124–5, 127, 136, 139, 145 Gonville and Caius College MS 174 34, 47 n.22, 52, 53, 54 n.42, 55 Gonville and Caius College MS 175 35 Trinity College R.3.20 51 n.31, 146 University Library MS Ff.2.38 (formerly More 690) 21, 28, 33 n.108, 34, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55–6, 86 University Library MS Ii.4.9 17, 34, 47, 51, 52, 53 n.37, 179 n.63 Cambridge, MA, Harvard University, Houghton MS Eng. 530 96 n.36 Chicago University MS 224 8 n.22 Dublin, Trinity College MS 432 C 33, 47, 49, 51, 52 Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.2.1 (Auchinleck MS) 88 Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS Advocates’ 19.3.1 (Heege MS) 28, 31, 35, 36, 56–7, 61, 64–5, 70, 72–9, 86 Le Mans MM MS 354 87 n.2 Lincoln, Dean and Chapter Library MS 91 (Lincoln Thornton MS) 35–6, 70, 74–5, 84 n.119 London British Library MS Additional 10293 87 n.2 British Library MS Additional 34801 33 British Library MS Additional 48031A 108 n.65 British Library MS Additional 22283 (Simeon MS) 33, 45, 73 n.88 British Library MS Additional 59678 (Winchester MS) 37, 149 n.1, 151 British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii 28, 36, 67, 74, 83 n.117 British Library MS Egerton 1995 22–3, 102 n.46, 124, 145 n.162 British Library MS Harley 525 34, 47, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55–6

British Library MS Harley 1701 33, 55–6 British Library MS Harley 1766 7 n.18 British Library MS Harley 7353 49 British Library MS Lansdowne 285 82 n.114 British Library MS Royal 15 E.VI 23 59 n.56 British Library MS Royal 17.B.XLIII 35, 65, 73 British Library MS Royal 17 D.XV 20 n.68 British Library MS Sloane 4031 21 n.73 City of London Archives, Lynne MS 131 n.117 College of Arms MS Arundel 58 103 Gray’s Inn MS 20 35 Guildhall Library MSS 31302/135, 189, 194, 198 93 n.23, 102 n.47, 125 n.101, 140 n.143 Guildhall Library MS 31692 125 n.101 Guildhall Library, Commissary Wills, MS 9171/2 124 Lambeth Palace Library MS 84 104 n.55 Lincoln’s Inn MS 150 89, 145 National Archives, Hustings Roll 139 93 n.23 Society of Antiquaries MS 93 104 n.56 Manchester, Chetham Library MS 8009 72 Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale MS XIII B.29 36, 82 New Haven, CT, Yale University, Beinecke Library MS 494 104 n.56 New York, Columbia University MS Plimpton 261 103 Norfolk, Holkham Hall MS 669 13, 103 Oxford Bodleian Library MS 48 42 n.6 Bodleian Library MS 358 115 n.74 Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 61 (Rate MS) 28, 29 n.97, 36, 69, 70, 74, 75, 78–9 Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 791 103 Bodleian Library MS Bodley 264 145 n.162 Bodleian Library MS Bodley 686 22 n.75 Bodleian Library MS Douce 178 95 n.35, 105 n.58

INDEX 235

Bodleian Library MS Douce 261 (Bannister MS) 36 Bodleian Library MS Douce 322 21 n.70 Bodleian Library MS Eng. Poet A.1 (Vernon MS) 33 Bodleian Library MS Hatton 50 12 n.37, 45, 46, 73n88, 103, 110 Bodleian Library MS Rawlinson C 398 103 Trinity College MS D.57 33, 46, 53 n.37, 54 University College MS 142 36 Paris Bibliothèque Nationale de France MS fr. 105 114 n.72, 123 n.94 Bibliothèque Nationale de France MS fr. 9123 114 n.72, 116 n.77, 123 n.94 Bibliothèque Nationale de France MS fr. 19162 126 n.102 Rennes, Bibliothèque Municipale MS 255 114 n.72, 123 n.94 Margaret of Anjou 15, 23, 58–61, 64, 65, 70, 77, 80–2 marginalia 104, 151, 153, 155, 156–9, 161, 168, 172, 173, 175, 177, 187 manicula 114, 121, 155, 157, 159, 160, 161, 163, 172 marginal notes 29, 38, 90, 92, 110, 116, 131 Marian lyrics 72 Marriage of St Katherine (The maryage of Seynt Kateryne) 75 martyrdom 10, 18–19, 75–6, 192 masses 20, 139, 140 n.143, 142, 195 Mass for the Dead or Dirige 20, 55 n.44 see also under Pety Job The Layfolks Mass Book 77 Mathegrans 131–2 Melleagant 190 Melyas 177 memorialisation 159 memory 113, 141 merchants 108 n.65 mercy 46, 55, 114, 141, 142, 187, 189, 193 Merfeld, John and William (yeomen), of Brightling in Sussex 16 Merlin 56, 88, 145, 156, 162, 163, 165 Merlin see L’Estoire de Merlin (Vulgate Cycle) see also under Lovelich, Henry metre 90, 111 middle classes 15, 16, 24, 25, 26, 31, 46, 67, 72, 77, 82 miniatures 23, 38, 92, 95, 96, 105 n.58, 113, 116, 122–3, 125, 127

miracles 45, 57, 65–6, 133–4, 140 n.144, 143, 163, 166, 174, 178, 179, 183, 184–5, 188 Mirk, John 179 mirrors for princes 7, 9, 17, 24, 41, 52, 85, 97, 109, 110, 116, 135, 145, 194 miscellanies 27n92, 30, 34 n.111, 42, 50, 72, 83 n.115, 86, 124 n.98 missions 13, 14, 92, 94, 98, 134, 138 n.140, 141, 142–3, 144, 166, 168, 170, 174, 175, 177, 181, 182, 191, 196–7 misogyny 84 Monkton, William 192 n.101 moral verse 28, 82 Mordrain / Mordreins see Evalac / Evalach La mort le roi Artu (Vulgate Cycle) 191 n.95 Mortimer’s Cross, Battle of 48 Moses 183 Mum and the Sothsegger 7 mutability 194 Narracio de Sancto Edwardo 17, 52 Nasby, Robert 104 n.56 Nasby, William 104 Nebuchadnezzar 30, 40, 43, 47, 51–2, 53 n.37, 55 n.44 Neptanebus 58 Neville, Richard, Earl of Warwick 4, 194 Nine Worthies 5, 170, 175, 193–4 Northumberland 158, 161 Octavian 42 Of Arth(o)ur and of Merlin 88, 144 Of Saint Alex of Rome 82 Office of the Dead 21 see also under Mass for the Dead Olympias, Queen 58–9 ‘On the Recovery of the Throne by Edward IV’ 19–21 Orcaus 107, 108 n.64, 118 Orcaws, King 98 n.39 Origo Mundi 183 Page, John, Siege of Rouen 145 pageants 95, 130, 144–5, 146 Pageant for Corpus Christi 145 Panicharolla, Giovanni Pietro 63 parliaments 5, 32 n.107, 94, 98 Parliament of the Three Ages 7 Paston letters 66 n.77, 82 Paston, Sir John 82 ‘Grete Boke’ 82 n.114 Paston, Margaret 81 n.109 paternity 11, 16, 56, 58–60, 63, 85 patronage 92, 93 n.24, 191 peasantry (upper) 3, 31, 79

236 INDEX Pellam / Pellehan (King) 154, 155, 161, 162–3, 164, 168 Pelles (King) 169 Pellinor (King) 161 penance 17, 20, 49, 57, 64, 67–9, 195 Pentecost 184, 185, 188 Perceval 150, 173, 177–8 performance 50–1, 137, 144–6, 147 Perlesvaus 149 n.2, 153 n.16 Peryne 160, 161 Pety Job 20–1, 52 n.36 pilgrimage 71 plagues 2, 65 political propaganda see propaganda ‘A political retrospect’ 81 n.108 Polton, Thomas 14 Pompey 131 pope (in Gowther) 57, 63, 64 pope (in Robert) 86 popular politics 8–9 Post-Vulgate Cycle see under each branch poverty 56, 68, 157 prayers 17, 21, 43, 57, 64, 84, 100, 117, 131, 141, 142, 147, 184, 186–7, 195, 196 preaching 5, 55–6, 131, 132, 138 n.140, 142–3 pride 17, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 49, 55, 56, 61, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 79, 177, 182–3 propaganda in chronicles 23 Lancastrian 15, 18, 50, 66, 70, 172 Yorkist 18–19, 48, 50, 66, 172 prophecy 11–12, 25, 114, 120, 166, 165 Prose Lancelot (Vulgate Cycle) 88 n.3, 138 n.140, 169, 172 n.49, 176, 183 n.74 prowess in arms 18, 45, 62, 72, 74, 79, 158 Psalms 45 La Queste del Saint Graal (Vulgate Cycle) 89, 134, 138n138, 138 n.140, 149–50, 153–4, 164–5, 166–7, 168–71, 176, 178 n.61, 179 n.65, 180–1, 182, 184, 188 Rate manuscript see under manuscripts, Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Ashmole 61 readership 5, 7 n.18, 26, 27, 29, 39, 46, 56–7, 76–8, 82, 84 n.119, 86, 90, 124, 151, 153, 155, 157, 170, 173, 195, 196 rebellion 5, 11, 50 against God 44 Jack Cade’s Rebellion 4 against Henry IV 11 reception studies 31 red cross of St George 136

red-cross shield 89 n.9, 133, 135, 136 n.134, 169 n.46 Reformation 103 Rehoboam (King of Judah) 5 reparation 10, 154, 190, 191, 193, 194 reputation 49, 61, 65, 74, 157–8, 185, 188, 189 rex inutilis 18 Richard, Duke of York 4, 8 n.22, 19, 25, 59, 70, 170, 192 Richard II deposition of 1, 4, 5–8, 10, 22, 45, 147, 192 image of 17, 23, 27 n.91, 97 reburial of 10, 111, 192 suffering of 6–7, 17, 97, 111 Richard III 4, 22, 78 Richard Coeur de Lion 104 Richard the Redeless 7 Robert of Avesbury’s Historiae Edwardi III 102 Robert of Borron 120–1 Robert of Gloucester’s Chronicle 103 Robert the Devil 37, 86 n.122 Roman D’Alexandre 58 Rome 54, 151 n.8, 194 roundels 23, 104 Round Table 151, 155, 174, 178, 180, 184, 187, 188, 189, 192, 193, 194 Rules for Purchasing Land, The 78 sacrament 155n18, 179, 180 saints St Andrew 134 St Blaise 131 St Bridget of Sweden 192 St David 14, 135 St Denis 23, 138 St Edmund 17, 97 St Edward the Confessor 17, 52 St Eustace 30, 40, 42, 66, 67, 75 St George 83 n.116, 135, 136, 147, 170 St Guthlac 65, 66 St Joseph of Arimathea / Glastonbury 91, 138 St Katherine 18–19 St Stephen 130 St Thomas Becket 135 saints’ lives 26, 43, 70, 75, 77, 197 salvation 18, 42, 69, 71, 85, 146, 185, 188, 196–7 Sankgreal see Malory, ‘Tale of the Sankgreal’ Sank Ryal / sank ryal 109, 120, 134, 136, 137, 139

INDEX 237

Saracens 64, 65, 74, 79, 80, 85, 131–2, 172 n.49 Sarracynte/Sarracinte 90n13, 112, 113, 121–3, 125–8 Scotland 88, 91, 94, 130, 132–3, 134, 170 scribes 35 n.119, 36 n.121, 38, 45, 46, 49, 50, 51, 56, 66, 75, 83, 95, 96 n.36, 104 n.56, 125, 139, 146 n.165, 151, 152 n.12, 155, 159–60, 172–3, 177 see also John Cok, William Ebesham, John Vale scripture 81, 136, 137, 143 Scrope, Richard (Archbishop of York) 10, 11, 192 Seege of Troy 52 n.36 Sege Perelous / Sege Perilous / Siege Perilous 166, 172, 177 Seraphe (baptised Nascien/s) 87, 90 n.13, 95, 97–101, 104–6, 107, 109, 110, 111–13, 118–20, 121–2, 126–7, 132, 136, 139, 140, 144, 155, 164, 169 n.46, 171, 187 service 108, 112–13, 121, 135, 158, 193, 196 Seth 183 Shakespeare, William 49 n.26 Henry VI 49 n.26 King Lear 86 Richard II 86 Sherbrooke family 73 ships 113, 116, 117, 118–19, 121 see also Solomon’s ship Shirley, John 6 n.16, 93, 95, 96 n.36, 146–7 Shrewsbury book see under manuscripts, London, British Library MS Royal 15 E.VI Simeon manuscript see under manuscripts, London, British Library MS Additional 22283 Sir Amadace 72 Sir Degaré 129 n.111 Sir Degrevant 70 n.81 Sir Eglamour 70 n.81 Sir Gowther 2, 16, 26, 30–1, 32, 33, 35, 37, 40–1, 56–66, 71, 72–4, 75, 76, 77, 85 Sir Isumbras 2, 6, 16, 26, 30–1, 32, 33, 35–7, 40–2, 56, 66–85, 198 Sir Orfeo 72 skinners 26, 38, 87, 92, 93, 101–2, 104, 125 n.101, 143 n.157, 147 London Company of Skinners 12, 93, 96, 125 n.101, 139, 145, 179 smiths 71–2 Solomon (King of Israel) 5, 137–9, 173, 176, 184 Solomon’s ship 125, 165, 168, 173, 184 Solomon’s wife 121, 125, 128, 184 souls 114, 139, 191, 193, 195, 196

South English Legendary 46, 54 Speculum Vitae 42 speeches 107, 112, 154, 185, 190, 191, 192, 193–4 spirituality 17, 135 St Albans, battles of 63, 65, 191–2, 195 n.105 St Bartholomew’s Hospital (Smithfield, London) 93 n.25, 95, 115 n.74 St Stephen’s Walbrook (church) 130 storytelling 121, 137 suicide 160, 163 Suite de Merlin (Post-Vulgate Cycle) 150 n.2, 152, 153 n.16, 154, 156, 157, 158, 159, 161, 162–3, 165 sword damsel 162 sword in the stone 94 n.29, 165–7, 168, 172, 177, 178, 184, 185–6 sword with strange girdles 156 n.22, 164, 168 swords see under weapons Syria 131 Talbot, John (Earl of Shrewsbury) 23, 59 n.56 ‘þat pese may stond’ 78 teaching 45, 72–3, 123–4 Temple of Solomon 176, 183 n.78 temptation 116–17, 119, 146 Tennyson, Alfred (Lord) 153 n.15 Tholomer / Tholomes 90 n.13, 98, 105, 107, 111, 112, 128 Thomas of Lancaster 10 Thornton, Robert 31, 70 n.81, 84 n.119 towns 94, 108 see also cities Towton, Battle of 61 trance 187 translatio 88 treachery 126, 138, 159, 160 treason 8, 15, 47 n.22, 54, 73, 78 Tree of Jesse 137 n.137, 138 Tree of Life 125, 126 n.102 trials 2, 6, 11, 17, 19, 20, 21, 41, 42, 68, 110–11, 113, 117, 118, 119, 121, 126, 146, 150, 155, 156, 164, 174, 177, 181, 182 see also penance Tristan 149 n.2 tyranny 5, 48, 63 Tyrell family 7 n.18 unicorn 71 universal histories see under genealogical literature Urban VI (Roman Pope) 14 Uriah the Hittite 170 Urry see ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ usurpation 10–12, 22, 23, 48, 70, 111

238 INDEX Uther Pendragon 88, 120 n.89, 145 Vale, John 108 n.65 Vegetius’s De Re Militari 82 n.114 vengeance 164, 193 Vergil, Polydore 82 Vernon manuscript see under manuscripts, Oxford, Bodleian Library Eng. Poet A.1 ‘Verses on the Kings of England’ 22 vespers 43, 44 Virgin Mary 61, 129 n.111, 137, 142 virtue 17, 75, 83 n.116, 114 n.73, 141, 157, 158, 166, 185–6 Vision of Tundale 57 n.50, 73, 74 visions 58, 110, 113, 115, 118, 119, 136, 172–3, 176, 177, 181 Vulgate Cycle 87 see under each branch Wakefield, Battle of 64 n.71, 66 n.77 Wales 14, 88, 106 n.59, 129–30, 131 see also Welsh Triads war 2, 38, 63, 64, 107–8, 176, 190–1, 193, 196 Wars of the Roses 4, 10, 11, 18, 21, 34, 50, 55, 65, 75, 81–2, 108 n.65, 193, 194 weapons 61–2, 63, 64, 99, 118, 162–3, 165, 167 axes 99, 100 lances 63, 162–3

swords 18, 38, 61–2, 63, 94 n.29, 125, 128, 153–4, 156, 158, 163–8, 169, 184, 186, 188–90 see also sword in the stone see also wounding Welsh Triads 102 n.49, 136 Westminster 10, 11, 111 Wheel of Fortune 7, 164, 193, 194 Whethampstead, John of (Abbot of St Albans) 65 White Knight 89 n.9, 101 n.44, 107, 178 Whitelock, John 8 n.19 Wimbledon, Thomas 5 Winchester manuscript see under manuscripts, London, British Library MS Additional 59678 wounding 154, 155, 156, 161, 162, 164–5, 168, 178 n.60, 189 see also healing of wounds writs 12–13, 138–9 yeomen 16, 73, 82, 94 Yorkists 11, 15, 16, 19, 21, 23, 32, 48–50, 55, 59, 63–4, 65–6, 70, 81–2, 189, 191–2 see also propaganda Ypokrephum see Ypotis Ypotis 73 n.88 Yvain 14, 88 n.3, 89, 138 n.140, 143

A

lthough the anonymous pious Middle English romances and Sir Thomas Malory’s Morte Darthur have rarely been studied in relation to each other, they in fact share at least two thematic concerns, vocabularies of suffering and genealogical concerns, as this book demonstrates. By examining a broad cultural and political framework stretching from Richard II’s deposition to the end of the Wars of the Roses through the prism of piety, politics and penitence, the author draws attention to the specific circumstances in which Sir Isumbras, Sir Gowther, Roberd of Cisely, Henry Lovelich’s History of the Holy Grail and Malory’s Morte were read in fifteenth-century England. In the case of the pious romances this implies a study of their reception long after their original composition or translation centuries earlier; in Lovelich’s case, an examination of metropolitan culture leads to an opening of the discussion to French romance models as well as English chronicle writing. Overall romance reception is investigated through analysis of the manuscript transmission and circulation of these texts alongside contemporary devotional and political texts and chronicles. Dr Raluca Radulescu is Senior Lecturer in Medieval Literature and Director of the Centre for Medieval Studies at Bangor University

Cover illustration: Paris, BNF fr. 9123, fol. 41 v – King Mordrain speaking with ‘Tout-en-Tout’ (All-in-All or God)

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