14, SYDNEY STREET, BROMPTON,
_Nov. 1855_.
_INTRODUCTION._
The History of the Middle Ages in England, as in other countries,
represents to us a series of great consecutive political movements,
coexistent with a similar series of intellectual revolutions in the mass of
the people. The vast mental development caused by the universities in the
twelfth century led the way for the struggle to obtain religious and
political liberty in the thirteenth. The numerous political songs of that
period which have escaped the hand of time, and above all the mass of
satirical ballads against the Church of Rome, which commonly go under the
name of Walter Mapes, are remarkable monuments of the intellectual history
of our forefathers. Those ballads are written in Latin; for it was the most
learned class of the community which made the first great stand against the
encroachments and corruptions of the papacy and the increasing influence of
the monks. We know that the struggle alluded to was historically
unsuccessful. The baronial wars ended in the entire destruction of the
popular leaders; but their cause did not expire at Evesham; they had laid
foundations which no storm could overthrow, not placed hastily on the
uncertain surface of popular favour, but fixed deeply in the public mind.
The barons, who had fought so often and so staunchly for the great charter,
had lost their power; even the learning of the universities had faded under
the withering grasp of monachism; but the remembrance of the old contest
remained, and what was more, its literature was left, the songs which had
spread abroad the principles for which, or against which, Englishmen had
fought, carried them down (a precious legacy) to their posterity. Society
itself had undergone an important change; it was no longer a feudal
aristocracy which held the destinies of the country in its iron hand. The
plant which had been cut off took root again in another (a healthier) soil;
and the intelligence which had lost its force in the higher ranks of
society began to spread itself among the commons. Even in the thirteenth
century, before the close of the baronial wars, the complaints so
vigorously expressed in the Latin songs, had begun, both in England and
France, to appear in the language of the people. Many of the satirical
poems of Rutebeuf and other contemporary writers against the monks, are
little more than translations of the Latin poems which go under the name of
Walter Mapes.
During the successive reigns of the first three Edwards, the public mind in
England was in a state of constant fermentation. On the one hand, the
monks, supported by the popish church, had become an incubus upon the
country. Their corruptness and immorality were notorious: the description
of their vices given in the satirical writings of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries exceeds even the bitterest calumnies of the age of
Rabelais or the reports of the commissioners of Henry the Eighth.[1] The
populace, held in awe by the imposing appearance of the popish church, and
by the religious belief which had been instilled into them from their
infancy, were opposed to the monks and clergy by a multitude of personal
griefs and jealousies: these frequently led to open hostility, and in the
chronicles of those days we read of the slaughter of monks, and the burning
of abbeys, by the insurgent towns-people or peasantry. At the same time,
while the monks in revenge treated the commons with contempt, there were
numerous people who, under the name of Lollards and other such
appellations,--led sometimes by the love of mischief and disorder, but more
frequently by religious enthusiasm,--whose doctrines were simple and
reasonable (although the church would fain have branded them all with the
title of heretics),--went abroad among the people preaching not only
against the corruptions of the monks, but against the most vital doctrines
of the church of Rome, and, as might be expected, they found abundance of
listeners. On the other hand, a new political system, and the
embarrassments of a continued series of foreign wars, were adding to the
general ferment. Instead of merely calling together the great feudal barons
to lead their retainers to battle, the king was now obliged to appeal more
directly to the people; and at the same time the latter began to feel the
weight of taxation, and consequently they began to talk of the defects and
the corruptions of the government, and to raise the cries, which have since
so often been heard, against the king's "evil advisers." These cries were
justified by many real and great oppressions under which the commons, and
more particularly the peasantry, suffered; and (as the king and aristocracy
were too much interested in the continuance of the abuses complained of to
be easily induced to agree to an effective remedy), the commons began to
feel that their own interests were equally opposed to those of the church,
of the aristocracy, and of the crown, and amidst the other popular
doctrines none were more loudly or more violently espoused than those of
levellers and democrats. These, though comparatively few, aggravated the
evil, by affording a pretence for persecution. The history of England
during the fourteenth century is a stirring picture; its dark side is the
increasing corruption of the popish church; its bright side, the general
spread of popular intelligence, and the firm stand made by the commons in
the defence of their liberties, and in the determination to obtain a
redress of grievances.
Under these circumstances appeared PIERS PLOUGHMAN. It is not to be
supposed that all the other classes of society were hostile to the commons.
The people, with the characteristic attachment of the Anglo-Saxons to the
family of their princes, wished to believe that their king was always their
friend, when not actuated by the counsels of his "evil advisers;"[2]
several of the most powerful barons stood forward as the champions of
popular liberty; and many of the monks quitted their monasteries to
advocate the cause of the reformation. It appears to be generally agreed
that a monk was the author of the poem of Piers Ploughman; but the
question, one perhaps but of secondary importance, as to its true writer,
is involved in much obscurity.[3] Several local allusions and other
circumstances seem to prove that it was composed on the borders of Wales,
where had originated most of the great political struggles, and we can
hardly doubt that its author resided in the neighbourhood of "Malverne
hilles." We have less difficulty in ascertaining its date. At ll.
1735-1782, we have, without doubt, an allusion to the treaty of Bretigny,
in 1360, and to the events which preceded it: in the earlier part of this
passage there is an allusion to the sufferings of the English army in the
previous winter campaign, to the retreat which followed, and the want of
provisions which accompanied it, and to the tempest which they encountered
near Chartres (the "dym cloude" of the poem). The "pestilences" mentioned
at l. 2497 were the great plague which happened in 1348-9 (and which had
previously been alluded to in the opening of the poem, l. 168), and that of
1361-2,--the first two of the three great pestilences which devastated our
island in the fourteenth century. The south-western wind, mentioned in l.
2500, occurred on the fifteenth day of January 1362. It is probable that
the poem of Piers Ploughman was composed in the latter part of this year,
when the effects of the great wind were fresh in people's memory, and when
the treaty of Bretigny had become a subject of popular discontent.[4]
The poem was given to the world under a name which could not fail to draw
the attention of the people. Amid the oppressive injustice of the great and
the vices of their idle retainers, the corruptions of the clergy, and the
dishonesty which too frequently characterised the dealings of merchants and
traders, the simple unsophisticated heart of the ploughman is held forth as
the dwelling of virtue and truth. It was the ploughman, and not the pope
with his proud hierarchy, who represented on earth the Saviour who had
descended into this world as the son of the carpenter, who had lived a life
of humility, who had wandered on foot or ridden on an ass. "While God
wandered on earth," says one of the political songs of the beginning of the
fourteenth century,[5] "what was the reason that he would not ride?" The
answer expresses the whole force of the popular sentiment of the age:
"because he would not have a retinue of greedy attendants by his side, in
the shape of grooms and servants, to insult and oppress the peasantry."
At the period when this poem was first published, England, in common with
the rest of Europe, had been struck with a succession of calamities. Little
more than twelve years had passed since a terrible pestilence had swept
away perhaps not less than one-half of the population.[6] The lower
classes, ill fed and neglected, perished by thousands, while the higher
ranks--the proud and pampered nobility--escaped; "he who was ill nourished
with unsubstantial food," says a contemporary writer, "fell before the
slightest breath of the destroyer; to the poor, death was welcome, for life
is to them more cruel than death. But death respected princes, nobles,
knights, judges, gentlemen; of these few die, because their life is one of
enjoyment."[7] It was the general belief that this fearful visitation had
been sent by God as a punishment for the sins which had more particularly
characterised the higher orders of society; yet instead of profiting by the
warning, they became, during the years which followed, prouder, more cruel
and oppressive, and more licentious, than before. Another pestilence came,
which visited the classes that had before escaped, and at the same time a
tempest such as had seldom been witnessed seemed to announce the vengeance
of heaven. The streets and roads were filled with zealots who preached and
prophesied of other misfortunes, to people who had scarcely recovered from
the terror of those which were past. At this moment the satirist stepped
forth, and laid open with unsparing knife the sins and corruptions which
provoked them.
From what has been said, it will be seen that the Latin poems attributed to
Walter Mapes, and the Collection of Political Songs, form an introduction
to the Vision of Piers Ploughman. It seems clear that the writer was well
acquainted with the former, and that he not unfrequently imitates them. The
Poem on the Evil Times of Edward II. already alluded to (in the Political
Songs) contains within a small compass all his chief points of accusation
against the different orders of society. But a new mode of composition had
been brought into fashion since the appearance of the famous "Roman de la
Rose," and the author makes his attacks less directly, under an allegorical
clothing. The condition of society is revealed to the writer in a dream, as
in the singular poem just mentioned, and as in the still older satire, the
_Apocalypsis Goliæ_; but in Piers Ploughman the allegory follows no
systematic plot, it is rather a succession of pictures in which the
allegorical painting sometimes disappears altogether, than a whole like the
Roman de la Rose, and it is on that account less tedious to the modern
reader, while the vigorous descriptions, the picturesque ideas, and
numerous other beauties of different kinds, cause us to lose sight of the
general defects of this class of writings.
Piers Ploughman is, in fact, rather a succession of dreams, than one simple
vision. The dreamer, weary of the world, falls asleep beside a stream amid
the beautiful scenery of Malvern Hills. In his vision, the people of the
world are represented to him by a vast multitude assembled in a fair
meadow; on one side stands the tower of Truth, elevated on a mountain, the
right aim of man's pilgrimage, while on the other side is the dungeon of
Care, the dwelling place of Wrong. In the first sections (_passus_) of the
poem are pictured the origin of society, the foundation and dignity of
kingly power, and the separation into different classes and orders. In the
midst of his astonishment at what he sees, a fair lady, the personification
of "holy church," approaches, to instruct the dreamer. She explains to him
the meaning of the different objects which had presented themselves to his
view, and shows by exhortations and examples the merit of content and
moderation, the danger of disobedience (exemplified in the story of
Lucifer's fall), and the efficacy of love and charity. In the midst of his
conversation with his instructor, a lady makes her appearance on the scene.
This is lady Mede, the personification of that mistaken object at which so
large a portion of mankind direct their aim--the origin of most of the
corruptions and evil deeds in the world--not the just remuneration of our
actions which we look forward to in a future life, but the reward which is
sought by those who set all their hopes on the present. Holy Church now
quits the dreamer, who is left to observe what is taking place amid the
crowd in the field. (_Passus II._) They all pay their court to lady Mede,
who, by the intermediation of Cyvyle, or the law, is betrothed in marriage
to Falsehood. The marriage is forbidden by Theology, and Cyvyle agrees to
carry the cause to London for judgment, contrary to the desire of Simony.
Falsehood and Flattery bribe the lawyers to aid the former in his suit, but
their designs are baffled by Conscience, at whose suggestion the king takes
the lady into his own custody, and drives away Falsehood and his greedy
followers. Mede soon finds favour at court (_Passus III._), and especially
with the friars, who are ready to absolve her of all her sins for a proper
consideration. The king proposes to marry her to Conscience; who, however,
declines the match, and as a reason for his refusal gives a very
unfavourable picture of the lady's previous life and private character.
Mede defends herself, and accuses Conscience of thwarting and opposing the
will and designs of kings and great people. The dispute becoming hot, the
king interferes and orders Mede and Conscience to be reconciled and kiss
each other. (_Passus IV._) This Conscience refuses to do, unless by the
advice of Reason; on whose arrival, Peace comes into the parliament to make
his complaint against the cruel oppressions of Wrong. Wrong is condemned,
but Mede and the lawyers attempt to get him off with the payment of a sum
of money. The king, however, allows himself to be guided by Reason and
Conscience, expresses his dissatisfaction that law is influenced by Mede,
and his determination to govern his realm by the counsel of Reason.
In a second vision (_Passus V._), the dreamer is again carried to the
"field full of folk," where Reason has taken upon himself the character of
a preacher, and, fortified with the king's authority, induces the various
classes of sinners to confess and repent. The personification of the
different sins forms perhaps the most remarkable part of the whole poem.
The multitude being thus converted from their evil courses, are persuaded
by Repentance and Hope to set out on a pilgrimage in search of Truth. In
their ignorance of the path which they must follow in this search, they
apply to a palmer who had wandered over a large portion of the world in
search of different saints; but they find him as little acquainted with the
way as themselves. They are helped out of this dilemma by Piers the
Ploughman, who, seeing them terrified by the difficulties of the road,
offers to be their guide, if they will wait till he has sown his half acre.
(_Passus VI._) In the mean time all the pilgrims who have strength and
skill, are employed on some useful works, except the knight, who
undertakes, in return for the support which he is to derive from the
ploughman's labours, to watch and protect him against plunderers and
foreign enemies. The peace of the labourers is first disturbed by Waster,
who refuses to perform the conditions by which the others are bound: the
aid of the knight being found inefficient against this turbulent gentleman,
the Ploughman is obliged to send for Hunger, who effectually humbles him.
This section of the poem is a continued allusion to the effects of the
famine and pestilence, and a satire upon the luxurious and extravagant life
of our forefathers in the fourteenth century. (_Passus VII._) Truth,
hearing of the intentions of Piers the Ploughman to leave his labours in
order to serve as a guide to the pilgrims in their journey, sends him a
messenger, exhorting him to remain at home and continue his labours, and
giving him a "pardon" which was to embrace all those who aided him
honestly, by their works, and who should carry on their various avocations
in purity of heart. The writer here takes occasion to sneer at the
"pardons" of the pope, then so much in vogue; a priest questions the
legitimacy of Piers' bull of pardon, and the altercation between them
becomes so loud that the dreamer awakes. The pardon of Piers Ploughman is
granted to those who do good works: the dreamer is lost in the speculation
on the question as to what the good works are, and he becomes engaged in a
new pilgrimage, in search of a person who has not appeared
before,--Do-well.
(_Passus VIII._) All his inquiries after Do-well are fruitless: even the
friars, to whom he addresses himself, give but a confused account; and,
weary with wandering about, the dreamer is again overtaken by slumber.
Thought now appears to him, and recommends him to Wit, who describes to him
the residence of Do-well, Do-better, and Do-best, and enumerates their
companions and attendants. (_Passus IX._) The Castle of Do-well is an
allegorical representation of man (the individual), in which lady Anima
(the soul) is placed for safety, and guarded by a keeper named Kynde
(nature). With Do-well, the representative of those who live according to
truth in honest wedlock, are contrasted the people who live in lust and
wickedness, the descendants of the murderer Cain, who was begotten by Adam
in an evil hour. (_Passus X._) Wit has a wife named lady Study, who is
angry that her spouse should lay open his high truths to those who are
uninitiated--it is no better than "throwing pearls to swine, which would
rather have hawes." Wit is daunted by his wife's long lecture, and leaves
the dreamer to pursue his own suit. This he does with so much meekness and
humility, that the wrath of dame Study is appeased, and she sends him to
Clergy, with a token of recommendation from herself. Clergy receives the
pilgrim, and entertains him with a long declamation on the character of
Do-well, Do-better, and Do-best, and on the corruptions of the church and
the monkish orders, in the course of which is uttered the remarkable
prophecy of the king who was to "confess and beat" the monks, and give them
an "incurable knock," which was after less than two centuries so exactly
fulfilled in the dissolution of the monasteries. The wanderer confesses
himself "little the wiser" for Clergy's lecture, and by his pertness of
reply merits a reproof from Scripture. (_Passus XI._) In another vision the
dreamer is exposed to the seductions of Fortune, whose two fair damsels,
Concupiscentia-carnis and Covetousness-of-the-Eyes, persuade him to enjoy
the present moment, and lead him entirely from his previous pursuit. He is
only recalled from his error by the approach of Old Age, and then he falls
into the contemplation of a series of subjects, the covetousness of the
friars who gave absolution from motives of personal interest,
predestination, &c. Then Kynde, or Nature, came and carried him to a
mountain, which represented the world, and there showed him how all other
animals but man followed Reason; and Imaginative came after, and told him
that all his present doubt and anxiety had been brought upon him for
contending with Reason and suffering himself to be led astray by Fortune.
(_Passus XII._) The whole of the next section of the poem is occupied with
a long exhortation by Imaginative, concerning God's chastisements, the
merits of Charity and Mercy, the greater responsibility before God of those
who are learned and cannot sin ignorantly, the difficulty for the rich man
to enter heaven.
(_Passus XIII._) In another vision, Conscience meets with the dreamer, and
takes him to dine with Clergy. Patience comes to the feast in beggar's
weeds, but is seated in the most honourable place at the table. A doctor of
the church is of the party, and distinguishes himself by his gluttony; and
by discussing theological questions after dinner. At length Conscience and
Patience go on a pilgrimage. In their way they meet with a minstrel, named
Activa Vita, or Haukyn the Active-man, with a coat covered with spots of
dirt, whom they question on his mode of life. (_Passus XIV._) Haukyn the
Active-man, the representative of that class of people who neglect their
souls for their worldly affairs, excuses the dirtiness of his apparel on
the ground that he has none to change, and that he has too many occupations
to allow him time to have it cleaned. Conscience and Patience teach him a
method to clean his coat, inform him where charity is to be found, and
recommend patient poverty to him, showing him the advantage of poverty over
riches. Haukyn's repentance and lamentation for the neglect of his duties
awake the dreamer.
(_Passus XV._) Amid his anxiety to know something more certain of Do-well,
the dreamer has another vision, in which Soul appears to him, and enters
into a long relation of the corruptions and negligence of the clergy.
(_Passus XVI._) Soul finally sends him to Piers the Ploughman, who
possesses the garden in which the tree of Charity grows, and which is
rented under him by Free-will. Piers explains to him the nature of the
tree, and of the props which support it; and shakes down some of the fruit
for him. The allegory then changes, and we are introduced to the birth and
passion of the Saviour, as arising out of the fruit of Charity. At this
moment the dreamer awakes, and therewith loses sight of Piers the
Ploughman; in his anxiety to find Piers, he meets with Faith, in the garb
of Abraham, who was in search of God, now incarnate, and who waited for his
passion in order to be delivered from hell. (_Passus XVII._) Then comes
Spes, or Hope, who also was in search of the knight that was to vanquish
the evil one. As they go along the way towards Jerusalem to the "justes,"
discoursing on the obligations of the old and new law and the abrogation of
the former, they meet with a man who had been left helpless by thieves,
wounded and naked: Faith and Hope passed by without helping him, but the
Samaritan, who was also riding to the "justes," descended from his horse,
bound his wounds, and deposited him in an inn at the grange named _Lex
Christi_. The Samaritan gives the dreamer a singular explanation of the
mysteries of the Trinity; and, after having represented to him the
heinousness of sins against the different persons, and the necessity of
making reparation, he pursues his way to Jerusalem.
(_Passus XVIII._) The vision which forms the eighteenth section or
_passus_, and in which the character of Piers the Ploughman is identified
with that of the Saviour, is entirely occupied with an allegorical
description of Christ's Passion, and his descent into Hell. (_Passus XIX._)
In the next section the history of Christ's passion and victory, and his
figurative representative Piers the Ploughman, is continued. Grace, through
Piers the Ploughman, descends upon the people, and lays the foundation of
the Church, which is cultivated by Piers with his four oxen (the four
Evangelists). Piers is attacked by Pride, who gathers a great host to
assail the Church. Conscience advises the people who follow Piers (the
Church), to take shelter in the stronghold of Unity, and make preparations
for their defence. By the counsel of Kind-wit and Conscience they dig a
great ditch around Unity. The measures of Surety are embarrassed by the
unreasonable opposition of some members or parts of the community, who
oppose Pier's doctrine of restitution--the brewer will not repent of the
tricks which he puts on his customers, the vicar adheres to his simony, the
lord will continue to oppress his tenants, and the king will not be
restrained by his laws. (__Passus XX.__) In the last section of the poem,
the dreamer, after having been accosted by Need, who preaches on the
virtues of temperance, has a vision of Antichrist, who comes to attack the
Castle of Unity. It must be remembered that at this period many people
supposed that Antichrist was already on the earth, and that he was the
cause of all the evils with which mankind was then visited, so that this
last notion brought the allegory home to people's feelings. The
standard-bearer of Antichrist was Pride. Conscience called Kynde, or
Nature, to his aid, who brought an army of diseases and pestilences. Death,
one of his chief soldiers, made terrible havoc. At length Kynde ceased his
ravages; and a horde of enemies immediately arose against Conscience, such
as Fortune, Lechery, Covetousness, Simony. Life, with his mistress Fortune,
indulged in all kinds of excess, until he was visited by Age and Despair,
who treated him very roughly. The dreamer, forsaken by Fortune, and
participating in the misfortunes of Life, by the advice of Kynde takes
shelter with Conscience in the castle of Unity, which is threatened by an
army of priests and monks. At length this stronghold is endangered by the
entrance of Flattery, who is admitted in the disguise of a Physician.
Conscience, unable to retain possession, embarks upon another pilgrimage in
search of Piers the Ploughman, and the dreamer awakes. This is the
conclusion of the poem. Whitaker thought that it should have had a more
consoling end; but it must be remembered that the writer of Piers Ploughman
designed to paint the world as it was, and to describe the numerous
obstacles which lay in the way of the improvement and amelioration of
mankind when he wrote.
While one member of the monastic order was thus contributing by his
satirical pen towards producing a reform among his countrymen, another monk
was beginning to preach in a still bolder manner against the popish system.
This was John Wycliffe, under whom the despised lollards became an
important sect. This attempt at religious reformation only formed part of
the great movement of the fourteenth century, which soon afterwards broke
out in the popular commotions of the reign of Richard II. The writer of
Piers Ploughman was neither a sower of sedition, nor one who would be
characterised by his contemporaries as a heretic. The doctrines inculcated
throughout the book are so far from democratic, that he constantly preaches
the Christian doctrine of obedience to rulers. Yet its tendency to debase
the great, and to raise the commons in public consideration, must have
rendered it popular among the latter: and, although no single important
doctrine of the popish religion is attacked, yet the unsparing manner in
which the vices and corruptions of the church are laid open, must have
helped in no small degree the cause of the Reformation. Of the ancient
popularity of Piers Ploughman we have a proof in the great number of copies
which still exist, most of them written in the latter part of the
fourteenth century; and the circumstance that the manuscripts are seldom
executed in a superior style of writing, and scarcely ever ornamented with
painted initial letters, may perhaps be taken as a proof that they were not
written for the higher classes of society. From the time when it was
published, the name of Piers Ploughman became a favourite among the popular
reformers.[8] The earliest instance of the adoption of that name for
another satirical work is found in the Creed of Piers Ploughman, printed
also in the present volume, and in which even the form of verse of the
Vision is imitated.
In this latter poem, which was undoubtedly written by a Wycliffite, Piers
Ploughman is no longer an allegorical personage--he is the simple
representative of the peasant rising up to judge and act for himself--the
English _sans-culotte_ of the fourteenth century, if we may be allowed the
comparison. When it was written, a period of great excitement had passed
since the age of Langlande, the reputed author of the Vision--a period
characterised by the turbulence of the peasantry--which had witnessed in
France the fearful insurrection of the _Jacquerie_, and in England the
rebellion of Wat Tyler and Jack Straw.[9]
In Piers Ploughman's Creed it is the church simply, and not the state,
which is the object of attack. The clergy--and more particularly the
monks--are accused of having falsified religion, and of being actuated
solely by worldly passions--pride, covetousness, self-love. The writer,
placing himself in the position of one who has just learnt the first
grounds of religious knowledge, is anxious to find a person capable of
instructing him in his creed, and with this object he addresses himself to
the different orders of friars. He applies first to the Minorites, who
abuse the Carmelites, and pride themselves in their own holiness. Disgusted
with their jealousies and self-sufficiency, the inquirer seeks the
Preachers, or Dominicans; amid their stately buildings, and under their
sleek and well filled skins, he finds the same want of Christian charity:
their pride drives him to the order of St. Austin. The Austin Friars, as
well as the Carmelites, will only instruct him for money, and, shocked at
their covetousness, he continues his wanderings, until at last he meets
with a poor Ploughman, in whom he finds the charity and knowledge after
which he has been seeking. The Ploughman enters into a bitter attack on the
vices of all the four orders of friars: he describes their spirit of
persecution, exemplified in the case of Wycliffe and others, and their
simony; speaks of Wycliffe and Walter Brute as preachers of the truth; and
finishes by teaching the inquirer his simple creed.
The Creed of Piers Ploughman was written by one who approved the opinions
of Wycliffe, and it seems to have been carefully proscribed. There does not
appear to exist any manuscript older than the first printed edition.
The great popularity of the Vision of Piers Ploughman in the fourteenth
century, and its political influence, are proved by another close
imitation, which was composed immediately after the capture, and previous
to the deposition, of king Richard II. This poem also appears to have been
proscribed, and we have only a fragment left, which was printed from an
unique manuscript for the Camden Society. It also is composed in
alliterative verse, and its meaning is rendered obscure by a confused
allegorical style. It was evidently written towards the Welsh Border,
perhaps at Bristol, which is mentioned in the opening lines; and it appears
to have been intended as a continuation of, or as a sequel to, Piers
Ploughman, which it immediately follows in the only manuscript in which it
is preserved.
Another early poem, of which the Ploughman is the hero, was inserted in the
works of Chaucer under the title of the Ploughman's Tale. This, like the
Creed, is free from allegory; and it differs from the others also in being
written in rhyme, and not in alliterative verse. The Ploughman's Tale was
probably written in the earlier half of the fifteenth century.[10] It is a
coarse attack on the different orders of the clergy, for their pride,
covetousness, and other vices. Its versification has little merit; and
there appears to be no good reason for inserting it among the Canterbury
Tales.
The vision of Piers Ploughman appears to have continued to enjoy a wide
popularity down to the middle of the fifteenth century. We hear nothing of
it from that period to the middle of the sixteenth, when it was printed by
the reformers, and received with so much favour, that no less than three
editions, or rather three impressions, are said to have been sold in the
course of one year. Another edition was printed at the beginning of the
reign of Queen Elizabeth; and it appears to have been much read in the
latter part of the sixteenth century, and even at the beginning of the
seventeenth. The name of Piers Ploughman is not uncommon in the political
tracts of that period.[11]
The Poem of Piers Ploughman is peculiarly a national work. It is the most
remarkable monument of the public spirit of our forefathers in the middle,
or, as they are often termed, dark ages. It is a pure specimen of the
English language at a period when it had sustained few of the corruptions
which have disfigured it since we have had writers of "Grammars;" and in it
we may study with advantage many of the difficulties of the language which
these writers have misunderstood. It is, moreover, the finest example left
of the kind of versification which was purely English, inasmuch as it had
been the only one in use among our Anglo-Saxon progenitors, in common with
the other people of the North. To many readers it will be perhaps necessary
to explain that rhyming verse was not in use among the Anglo-Saxons. In
place of rhyme, they had a system of verse of which the characteristic was
a very regular _alliteration_, so arranged that, in every couplet, there
should be two principal words in the first line beginning with the same
letter, which letter must also be the initial of the first word on which
the stress of the voice falls in the second line. There has, as yet, been
discovered no system of foot-measure in Anglo-Saxon verse, but the common
metre consists apparently in having two rises and two falls of the voice in
each line. These characteristics are accurately preserved in the verse of
Piers Ploughman; and the measure appears to be the same, if we make
allowance for the change of the slow and impressive pronunciation of the
Anglo-Saxon for the quicker pronunciation of Middle English, which
therefore required a greater number of syllables to fill up the same space
of time.
We can trace the history of alliterative verse in England with tolerable
certainty. The Anglo-Normans first brought in rhymes, which they employed
in their own poetry. The adoption of this new system into the English
language was gradual, but it appears to have commenced in the first half of
the twelfth century. It was, at first, mixed with alliterative couplets:
that is, in the same poem were used sometimes rhyming couplets, which were
suddenly changed for alliterative couplets, and then, after awhile, rhyme
was again brought in, and so on. Of this kind of poetry we have four very
remarkable examples, the _Proverbs of King Alfred_, a poem which was
certainly in existence in the first half of the twelfth century;[12] the
_Early English Bestiary_;[13] the Poem on the _Debate between the Body and
the Soul_;[14] and the grand work of Layamon.[15] The following lines from
the Bestiary may serve as a specimen of the manner in which the two systems
are intermixed; they form part of the account of the spider:--
"ðanne _r_enneð ge _r_apelike,
for ge is ai _r_edi,
_n_imeð anon to ðe _n_et,
and _n_imeð hem ðere,
_b_itterlike ge hem _b_it
and here _b_ane wurðeð,
_d_repeð and _d_rinkeð hire _blod_,
_d_oð ge hire non oðer _god_,
bute fret hire _fille_,
and dareð siðen _stille_."
. . . . . .
"Cethegrande is a _fis_
ðe moste ðat in water _is_;
ðat tu wuldes seien _get_,
gef ðu it soge wan it _flet_," etc.
This kind of poetry appears to have been common until the middle of the
thirteenth century; after which period we only find alliteration in songs,
not used in simple alliterative couplets, but mixed up in the same lines
with rhyme in an irregular and playful manner.[16] But there appears little
room for doubting that during the whole of this time the pure alliterative
poetry was in use among the lower classes of society; and its revival
towards the middle of the fourteenth century appears to have been a part of
the political movement which then took place. In this point of view, the
poem of Piers Ploughman becomes still more worthy of attention as a
document of contemporary literary history. The old alliterative verse came
so much into fashion at this period that it was adopted for the composition
of long romances, of which several still remain.[17] The use of this kind
of verse was continued in the fifteenth century, and was imitated in
Scotland as late as the time of Dunbar, but the later writers were
evidently unacquainted with the strict rules of this species of
composition.
The Anglo-Saxons, who used this kind of verse only, wrote their poetry
invariably as prose. But the scribe was in the habit of indicating the
division of the lines by a dot. Among modern scholars a question has arisen
as to the propriety of printing the alliterative couplet in two short
lines, or in one long one. It appears to me that the mode in which the dot
is used in the manuscripts decides the question in favour of the short
lines. The manner in which the alliterative couplet is intermixed with the
rhyming couplet in the poems of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (which
also are written in the manuscripts in the same form as prose), seems to me
a strong confirmation of this opinion; at least in these last-mentioned
cases, the verse must have been considered as written in short lines. As
the scribes quitted the custom of writing poetry in their manuscripts as
prose, with the divisions of lines indicated by dots, to adopt that of
arranging them in lines as we do at present, these short lines were found
very inconvenient because they were obliged either to waste a great deal of
parchment, or to write in several narrow columns. To remedy this, they fell
perhaps gradually into the custom of writing the two parts of the
alliterative couplet in one line, always, however, marking the division by
a dot. They followed the same method with the shorter rhyming lines, as is
the case with the old English Metrical Romance of Horn in a manuscript in
the Harleian Collection.[18] All the alliterative poetry of the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries is found written in these long lines, with the dot
of division in the middle. In the fifteenth century the meaning of this dot
appears to have been forgotten, and the system of alliteration so far
misunderstood, that the writers thought it only necessary to have _at
least_ three alliterative words in a long line, without any consideration
of their position in the line. I say _at least_, because they not
unfrequently inserted four or five alliterative words in the same line,
which would certainly have been considered a defect in the earlier writers.
It is my opinion, that a modern editor is wrong in printing the verses of
Piers Ploughman in long lines, as they stand in the manuscripts, unless he
profess to give them as a fac-simile of the manuscripts themselves, or he
plead the same excuse of convenience from the shape of his book. In either
case, he must carefully preserve the dots of separation in the middle of
the lines, which are more inconvenient than the length of the lines,
because they interfere with the punctuation of the modern editor. If, as
appears to be the case, these dots are merely marks to indicate the
division of the couplet, their purpose is much better served by printing
the lines in couplets. The construction of the earlier Anglo-Saxon verse,
the analogy of the mixed rhyming and alliterative verses of the semi-Saxon
poems, and the use of these dots in the middle of the lines in the
manuscripts of Piers Ploughman, appear to me convincing proofs that it
ought to be printed so. I think moreover that the alliterative verse reads
much more harmoniously in the short couplets than in the long lines.
The manuscripts of the Vision of Piers Ploughman are extremely numerous
both in public and in private collections. There are at least eight in the
British Museum: there are ten or twelve in the Cambridge Libraries; and
they are not less numerous at Oxford. As might be expected in a popular
work like this, the manuscripts are in general full of variations; but
there are two classes of manuscripts which give two texts that are widely
different from each other, those variations commencing even with the first
lines of the poem. One of these texts, which was adopted in the early
printed editions, is given in the present volumes; the other text was
selected for publication by Dr. Whitaker. The following extract, comprising
the first lines of the poem,[19] will show how each text begins, and will
enable those who possess manuscripts of Piers Ploughman to ascertain at
once to which text they belong:--