that work was undertaken, owing in part at least to a suggestion
from the king himself, who, meeting Gower upon the river, made him
come into his own barge and conversed with him familiarly on his
literary projects, urging him apparently to the composition of a poem
in English, and perhaps suggesting Love as the subject. We gather
also that in the year 1390 the author considered himself already an
old man, and that he had then suffered for some time from ill-health
(Prol. 79*, viii. 3042*), and from the Epistle to Archbishop Arundel
prefixed later to the _Vox Clamantis_, as well as from the Latin lines
beginning ‘Henrici Regis’ (or ‘Henrici quarti’) we learn that he was
blind during the last years of his life, probably from the year 1400.
We may reasonably suppose that he was born about the year 1330, or
possibly somewhat later. From the Latin statement about his books we
learn, what is tolerably obvious from their tenour, that his chief
aim in writing was edification, while at the same time we gather from
the opening of the first book of the _Confessio Amantis_ that he then
despaired of effecting anything by direct admonition, and preferred
finally to mingle amusement with instruction. The Latin lines at the
end of this volume, beginning ‘Dicunt scripture,’ express a principle
which he seems to have followed himself, namely that a man should give
away money for good purposes during his own life, rather than leave
such business to be attended to by his executors.
The literary side of his activity is sufficiently dealt with in the
introductions to his several works, and there also it is noted what
were the books with which he was acquainted. It is enough to say here
that he was a man of fairly wide general reading, and thoroughly
familiar with certain particular books, especially the Bible, all the
works of Ovid, and the _Aurora_ of Peter de Riga.
THE LATIN WORKS.
Of the works which are included in the present volume the _Vox
Clamantis_ is the most important. It is written in elegiac verse, more
or less after the model of Ovid, and consists of 10,265 lines, arranged
in seven books, of which the first, second and third have separate
prologues, and each is divided into a series of chapters with prose
headings. As to the date of composition, all that we can say is that
the work in its present form is later than the Peasants’ rising in the
summer of 1381, and yet it was evidently composed while the memory of
that event was fresh, and also before the young king had grown beyond
boyhood. The advice to the king with regard to fidelity in marriage
need not be taken to have special reference to the king’s actual
marriage at the end of the year 1382, but perhaps it is more natural to
suppose that it was written after that event than before.
The general plan of the author is to describe the condition of society
and of the various degrees of men, much as in the latter portion of
the _Speculum Meditantis_. This, however, is made subordinate to the
detailed account, given at the beginning, of the Peasants’ rising, and
that is in fact set down as the main subject of the work in the Latin
account of it given by the author: ‘Secundus enim liber sermone Latino
versibus exametri et pentametri compositus tractat super illo mirabili
euentu, qui in Anglia tempore domini Regis Ricardi secundi anno regni
sui quarto contigit, quando seruiles rustici impetuose contra nobiles
et ingenuos regni insurrexerunt. Innocenciam tamen dicti domini Regis
tunc minoris etatis causa inde excusabilem pronuncians, culpas aliunde,
ex quibus et non a fortuna talia inter homines contingunt enormia,
euidencius declarat. Titulusque voluminis huius, cuius ordo septem
continet paginas, Vox Clamantis nominatur.’
So the statement of contents ran in its earlier form. Afterwards the
excuses made for the king on the ground of his youth were withdrawn,
and in the final form of the statement the events of the _Cronica
Tripertita_ are brought into the reckoning, and the fall of Richard
seems to be represented as a moral consequence of the earlier
misfortunes of his reign.
Evidently what is quoted above is a very insufficient summary of the
_Vox Clamantis_, which in fact deals with the Peasants’ rising only
in its first book; and notwithstanding the fact that this event so
much overshadows the other subjects of the poem that the author in
describing his work afterwards treated it as the only theme, there is
some reason to question whether what we have is really the original
form of the poem, and even to conclude that the work may have been
originally composed altogether without this detailed narrative of the
insurrection. For this idea there is some manuscript authority. It
has not hitherto been noted that in one copy (MS. Laud 719) the _Vox
Clamantis_ appears with the omission of the whole of the first book
after the Prologue and first chapter[66]. At the same time the text
of this manuscript seems to be complete in itself, and the books are
numbered in accordance with the omission, so that there are six books
only, our second book being numbered as the first[67]. There is really
something to be said for this arrangement, apart from the fact that
it occurs in a single manuscript. The first book, with its detailed
account of the Peasants’ revolt, though in itself the most interesting
part of the work, has certainly something of the character of an
insertion. The plan of the remainder seems to be independent of it,
though the date, June, 1381, which is found also in the Laud MS.,
‘Contigit vt quarto Ricardi regis in anno,
Dum clamat mensem Iunius esse suum,’
was doubtless intended to suggest that portentous event as the occasion
of the review of society which the work contains. The prologue of the
second book, which introduces the teachings of the vision with an
invocation of God’s assistance, an apology for the deficiencies of the
work, and an appeal to the goodwill of the reader, and concludes with a
first announcement of the name of the succeeding poem, _Vox Clamantis_,
would certainly be much more in place at the beginning of the whole
work than here, after more than two thousand lines, and there is no
difficulty in supposing that the author may have introduced his account
of the Peasants’ revolt as an afterthought. The chief reason for
hesitating to accept the Laud MS. as representing an authentic form of
the poem, lies in the fact that the text of this MS. is rather closely
related to that of another copy, MS. Digby 138, which contains the
first book in its usual place; and it is perhaps more likely that the
original archetype of these two MSS. was one which included the first
book, and that this was omitted for some reason by the scribe of the
Laud MS., than that the copyist of the Digby MS. perceived the absence
of this book and supplied it from some other quarter.
One other matter affecting our estimate of the style of the composition
generally has perhaps been sufficiently illustrated in the Notes of
this edition, that is to say, the extent to which the author borrows in
the _Vox Clamantis_ from other writers. It is sufficiently obvious to
a casual reader that he has appropriated a good many lines from Ovid,
though the extent of this schoolboy plagiarism is hardly to be realised
without careful examination; but his very extensive obligations to
other writers have not hitherto been pointed out. He repeatedly takes
not lines or couplets only, but passages of eight, ten or even twenty
lines from the _Aurora_ of Peter Riga, from the poem of Alexander
Neckam _De Vita Monachorum_, from the _Speculum Stultorum_, or from the
_Pantheon_, so that in many places the composition is entirely made
up of such borrowed matter variously arranged and combined. This is
evidently a thing to be noted, because if the author, when describing
(for example) the vices of monasteries, is found to be merely quoting
from Alexander Neckam, we cannot attach much value to his account
as a picture of the manners of his own time. His knowledge of Ovid
seems to have been pretty complete, for he borrows from almost every
section of his works with the air of one who knows perfectly well
where to turn for what he wants; quite a large portion of Neckam’s
poem is appropriated without the smallest acknowledgement, and many
long passages are taken from the _Aurora_, with only one slight
mention of this source (iii. 1853). Most of the good Latin lines
for which Gower has got credit with critics are plagiarisms of this
kind, and if Professor Morley had realized to what extent the _Vox
Clamantis_ is a compilation, he would hardly have estimated the work
so highly as he has done. The extracts from medieval authors are to
some extent tolerable, because they are usually given in a connected
and intelligible shape, but the perpetual borrowing of isolated lines
or couplets from Ovid, often without regard to their appropriateness
or their original meaning, often makes the style, of the first book
especially, nearly as bad as it can be. I have taken the pains to point
out a considerable number of plagiarisms, but it is certain that there
must be many instances which have escaped my notice. In his later Latin
verse the author is very much less dependent upon others, and the
_Cronica Tripertita_, from the nature of the subject, is necessarily
original.
Gower’s own style of versification in Latin is somewhat less elegant
than that of Alexander Neckam or Peter Riga, but it stands upon much
the same level of correctness. If we take into account the fact that
the Latin is not classical but medieval, and that certain licences of
prosody were regularly admitted by medieval writers of Latin verse,
we shall not find the performance very bad. Such licences are, for
example, the lengthening of a short syllable at the caesura, the
position of final short vowels before ‘st,’ ‘sp,’ ‘sc’ at the beginning
of the succeeding word, and the use of polysyllabic words, or of two
dissyllables, at the end of the hexameter, so that lines such as these
are not to be taken as irregular:
‘Omnis et inde gradus a presule sanctificatus;’
‘Quo minor est culpa, si cadat inde rea;’
‘Et quia preuisa sic vota facit, puto culpa;’
‘Si bene conseruet ordinis ipse statum.’
In any case it is certain that Gower expressed himself in Latin with
great facility and with tolerable correctness. He may have imitated
the style of Ovid ‘studiosius quam felicius,’ as Leland observes, but
the comparison with other Latin verse-writers of his time sets his
performance in a fairly favourable light.
VOX CLAMANTIS. ANALYSIS.
PROLOGUS LIBRI PRIMI.
From the records of the past we derive examples; and though credit be
not commonly given to dreams, yet the writers of past time instruct
us otherwise. Daniel and Joseph were taught by visions, and a man’s
guardian angel often warns him in his sleep. Hence, as it seems to me,
my dreams should be recorded as signs of the times; and what my vision
was and at what time it came, ye may learn from this book.
If ye desire to know the writer’s name, add to _John_ the beginning of
_Godfrey_, the first letter of _Wales_ and the word _ter_ without its
head. But give no praise to the author, for I write not with a view to
fame. I shall write of strange things which my country has experienced,
and as my matter is woful, so also shall be my song. My pen is wet with
tears, and both my heart and my hand tremble; nor am I sufficient to
write all the troubles that belong to the time. I ask for indulgence
rather than praise: my will is good, though my powers fall short. I
pray that while I sing of those true visions which disturb my heart
with terror, he whose name I bear, to whom visions were revealed in
Patmos, may control my work.
LIBER PRIMUS.
CAP. I. It was in the fourth year of king Richard, when the month was
June: the moon had set and the morning-star had risen, when from the
West a strange light sprang, the dawn came from the region of the
setting sun and brought forth the day. The sun shone and all the earth
was bright; Phebus went forth in his glorious car, attended by the
four Seasons, Summer being nearest to him then and honoured by all
creatures. The meadows were bright with flowers and the flocks sported
in the fields, a perfect paradise of flowers and fruits was there, with
the songs of multitudinous birds. Such was the day on which I wandered
forth for my pleasure.
All things have an end, and at length that calm day had completed its
appointed hours; evening came and I lay down to rest. The night came
on, dark and gloomy as the day had been bright, and sleep did not visit
my eyes. My hair stood on end, my flesh and my heart trembled and my
senses were disturbed like water. I reflected what the cause might be
of my sudden terror, and my mind wandered by various paths. The night
went on, yet no sleep came, and terror of a coming evil oppressed me.
Thus I spent the hours of darkness, not knowing what was approaching,
seeing the past and fearing for the future; but at length, towards
dawn, sleep came upon my weary eyes, and I began to dream.
CAP. II. Methought I went out upon a Tuesday to gather flowers, and I
saw people in bands going abroad over the fields. Suddenly the curse of
God fell like lightning upon them, and they were changed into the forms
of beasts, various bands into various forms.
One band was changed into asses rebellious against the halter and the
burden, careering over the fields and demanding to be as horses; and
these had also horns in the middle of their foreheads, which were
stained with blood; they were swift as leopards in their leap, and had
tails like that of a lion, yet the stolid asinine mind was in them
still. I stood in terror and could advance no further.
CAP. III. With them came oxen, who refused any longer to be subject
to the yoke and who would no longer eat straw. These too were in
monstrous shape with feet like those of a bear and with the tails of
dragons; they breathed forth fire and smoke like the bulls of Colchos.
They devastated the fields and slew men: the plough, the rake and the
mattock lay idle. ‘Ah me!’ I said, ‘the cultivation of the fields will
cease and famine will come upon us.’
CAP. IV. A third band I saw transformed into swine, furious and
possessed by the devil. They followed one another, hog and hogling,
boar and little pig, the sow and her companion, and there was no
swine-herd to keep them away from the corn-fields. They wandered where
they would, and the pig ravaged like a wolf.
One boar there was, whom Kent produced, such as the whole earth might
not match. Flame came from his mouth and eyes, his tusks were like
those of an elephant; foam mixed with human blood flowed over his
flanks. He strikes down all those whom he meets and none can prevail
against him: no place except heaven is safe from his rage. From the
North comes another boar to meet him and to plan destruction.
These boars were greater and more furious than that of Tegea or that
which Meleager hunted. They are not content with acorns for their food
or water for their drink; they devour rich food in the city and drink
good wine, so that they lie in drunkenness as dead. They despise the
pig-stye and defile kings’ palaces with their filth: their grunting is
like the roaring of a lion.
CAP. V. A fourth band was turned into dogs, who are not content with
the food from their master’s table, but range in search of better, who
do not hunt hares or stags, but bark at the heels of men. Here are Cut
and Cur from their wretched kennels, the sheep-dog and the watch-dog,
the baker’s, the butcher’s, and the miller’s dog. The one-eyed is there
and the three-legged dog limps behind barking. These cannot be soothed
by stroking, but bare their teeth in anger against you. They tear all
whom they meet, and the more they devour the less they are satisfied.
Cerberus in hell hears their howl, and breaking away from his chains he
joins himself to their company and becomes their leader. More savage
were these than the hounds which tore Acteon or the beast which Diana
sent to destroy the Athenians. All trembled before them.
CAP. VI. Another band took the form of foxes and cats. They ran about
and searched every cavern and every hiding-place, and made their way
into secret chambers. There was venom in their bite. The caves of the
wood send forth the foxes, who rob by day without fear, and have a
treaty of peace with the dogs. The cats leave the barns and cease to
catch mice, and these do damage more than ever did the mice of Ekron.
CAP. VII. A sixth took the form of domestic fowls, but they claimed to
be birds of prey. The cock had the beak and claws of a falcon, and the
goose soared up to the heaven. Suddenly the cock becomes a carrion-crow
and the goose a kite, and they prey upon the carcasses of men. The cock
crows horribly and the hen follows him and moves him to evil. The goose
which formerly frightened only children with its hissing, now terrifies
grown men and threatens to tear them to pieces.
Owls join themselves to these and do by day the deeds of darkness,
sharpening their feathers with iron, in order that they may slay men.
CAP. VIII. The dream continued, and I saw another band in the form of
flies and of frogs. These were like those that plagued Egypt: the frogs
came into houses and shed their poison everywhere; the flies pursued
with their stings all those of gentle blood, and nothing could keep
them out. Their prince Belzebub was the leader of the host. The heat of
the summer produced them suddenly in swarms: the fly was more rapacious
than the hawk and prouder than the peacock; he contended with the lark,
the crane and the eagle in flight.
This was a day on which horses were overcome by asses, and lions by
oxen, a day in which the dog was stronger than the bear and the cat
than the leopard, a day in which the weak confounded the strong, a day
in which slaves were raised on high and nobles brought to the ground, a
day in which the terror of God’s wrath came upon all, such a day as no
chronicle records in time past. May such a day never come again in our
age!
CAP. IX. When all this multitude was gathered together like the sand
of the sea, one, a Jay skilled in speech, took the first place among
them and addressed them thus: ‘O wretched slaves, now comes the day in
which the peasant shall drive out the lord; let honour, law and virtue
perish, and let our court rule.’ They listen and approve, and though
they know not what ‘our court’ means, what he says has for them the
force of law: if he says ‘strike,’ they strike, if he says ‘kill,’ they
kill. Their sound was as the sound of the sea, and from terror I could
scarcely move my feet. They strike a mutual compact and declare that
all those of gentle blood who remain in the world shall be overthrown.
Then they advance all together; a dark cloud mingled with the furies of
hell rains down evil into their hearts; the earth is wetted with the
dew of the pit, so that no virtue can grow, but every vice increases.
Satan is loose and among them, the princes of Erebus draw the world
after them, and the more I gaze, the more I am terrified, not knowing
what the end will be.
CAP. X. Furious rage there was, they were greedy for slaughter like
hungry wolves. The seven races derived from Cain were added to them.
The prophets spoke of them, Gog and Magog is their name, they neither
fear man nor worship God. Moreover those companions of Ulysses, whom
Circe transformed, are associated with them: some have the heads of men
and others of brute beasts.
CAP. XI. There is Wat, Tom and Sim, Bet and Gib followed by Hick; Coll,
Geff and Will, Grigge, Dawe, Hobbe and Lorkin, Hudd, Judd, Tebb and
Jack, such are their names;[68] and Ball teaches them as a prophet,
himself having been taught by the devil.
Some bray like asses, others bellow like bulls, they grunt, they bark,
they howl, the geese cackle, the wasps buzz; the earth is terrified
with their sound and trembles at the name of the Jay.
CAP. XII. They appoint heralds and leaders, and they order that all who
do not favour them shall suffer death. They are armed with stakes and
poles, old bows and arrows, rusty sickles, mattocks and forks; some
have only clods and stones and branches of trees. They wet the earth
with the blood of their betters.
CAP. XIII. These come in their fury to the city of new Troy, which
opens its gates to them, and they surge in and invade the streets and
houses. It was Thursday, the festival of Corpus Christi, when this
fury attacked the city on all sides; they burnt the houses and slew
the citizens. The Savoy burns, and the house of the Baptist falls to
ruin in the flames. They rob and carry away the spoil, and that day is
closed with drunkenness everywhere.
The next day, Friday, is yet worse; no wisdom or courage avails against
them, they rage like a lioness robbed of her young. O, how degenerate
is the city which allows this, how disgraceful that armed knights
should give place to an unarmed mob! There is no Capaneus or Tydeus, no
Ajax or Agamemnon, no Hector or Achilles, to make defence or attack.
Ilion with its towers cannot keep men safe from the furies.
CAP. XIV. Helenus the chief priest, who kept the palladium of Troy, was
slain in spite of his exhortations. These were deeds worthy rather of
demons than of men. Piety and virtue perished and vice ran riot. They
said ‘Let his blood be upon our heads,’ and slew him without pity: the
curse of Christ shall fall upon them for this deed.
Simon had the same death as Thomas, but at the hands of greater numbers
and for a different cause. Vengeance came for the death of Thomas; for
Simon it daily threatens. It was midday when this blood was shed, the
shepherd was slain by his flock, the father by his children. He died
untimely; but though taken away from us, he lives in heaven. This is
the foulest of all the deeds done: these men are worse than Cain, who
only slew his brother. O cursed hand that struck the severed head! Wail
for this, all ye old and young, the evils prophesied by Cassandra come
down on this city. The king could not rescue Helenus, but he mourned
for him in his heart.
CAP. XV. The chief citizens also perished, there was death and sorrow
everywhere. If a son pleaded for his father, both were slain. No place
of safety can be found by those of gentle condition; they flee to the
forests in vain, and move vaguely hither and thither, neither city nor
field affords them protection. Death is everywhere, and spares not even
the women and the children. There is no remedy, and neither lamentation
nor prayers are of any avail.
CAP. XVI. When I saw all this, horror seized me and I fled. I left my
own house and wandered over the fields, I went from place to place in
search of safety; the enemy pressed after me; I hid in caves of the
woods, and was without hope at evening of what the morrow might bring.
My dreams terrified me and my heart melted like wax in the fire. I lay
hid during the day and trembled at every sound, the tears that I shed
were my sole subsistence. I was alone and in terror of the wrath of
God, my mind was sick and my body was wasted. Hardly ever did I meet a
companion, and those friends whom I had trusted in prosperity failed
me now. I dared scarcely speak a word, lest I should betray myself to
an enemy.
Then, when I saw nothing but death about me, I desired to die, and yet
I was unwilling to perish in so desolate a state. While I wept, lo,
Wisdom came to me and bade me stop my tears, for grief would at some
time cease. I stood amazed and in doubt; death was life to me and life
was death, and wondrous visions passed before me.
CAP. XVII. I saw not far off a Ship, and I ran towards it and climbed
up its side. In it were almost all those of gentle birth, crowded
together and terrified, seeking refuge from the furies. I prayed that
we might have a favourable voyage. The ship left the shore, but my
hopes were vain: the sky grew dark and the winds lashed the waves into
storm, the ship was driven before them amid thunder and rain. There was
confusion among the sailors, and the captain in vain endeavoured to
direct the ship’s course.
CAP. XVIII. At length the storm so increased that all were in despair
of safety. A huge monster of the sea, Scylla and Charybdis both in one,
appeared as if to destroy the ship and all who were in it. We prayed to
heaven for help.
(The Tower of London was like this ship, shaken by the storm, its walls
giving way to the fury of the mob. In vain it offered hopes of safety;
it was stained with foul parricide, and the den of the leopard was
captured by assault.)
When I saw these things I was terrified in my sleep, and I prayed to
God for help. ‘Thou Creator and Redeemer of the human race, thou who
didst save Paul from the sea, Peter from prison and Jonah from the
whale’s belly, hear my prayer, I entreat thee. Help me and grant that I
may be cast up on a favourable shore!’
As I prayed, the monster struck the ship, and it was almost swallowed
up by the fury of Scylla.
CAP. XIX. Yet our cries and tears were not unheard. When the storm
raged most furiously, there was one William, a Mayor, who was moved to
high deeds: he struck down that proud Jay, and with his death the storm
abated, Scylla restored its prey, and the ship once more rode upright
upon the water. The sailors regained their courage and hoisted a little
sail, peace returned and the sky became clear. I then with all the rest
gave thanks to Christ.