In Inglond an heighe lording,
A stalworth man and hardi bo,[65]
Large and curteys, he was al so;
His fader was comen of king Pluto,
And his moder of king Juno,
That sum time were as godes y hold,
For aventours that thai dede and told.
This king sojurned in Traciens,
That was a cite of noble defens,
For Winchester was cleped[66] tho
Traciens, with outen no.
The king hadde a quen of priis,
That was y cleped dame Heurodis.
The fairest levedi[67] for the nones[68]
That might gon on bodi and bones,
Ful of love and godenisse
Ac no man may telle hir fairnise.
Bifel so in the comessing of May,
When miri and hot is the day,
And oway beth winter schours,
And everi feld is ful of flours,
And blosme breme[69] on everi bough,
Over al wexeth miri anough,
This ich[70] quen dame Heurodis,
Tok to maidens of priis,
And went in an undren tide[71]
To play bi an orchard side
To se the floures sprede and spring,
And to here the foules sing:
Thai sett hem doun al thre,
Under a fair ympe[72] tre,
And wel sone this fair quene,
Fel on slepe opon the grene.
The maidens durst hir nought awake,
Bot let hir ligge and rest take,
So sche slepe til after none,
That under tide was al y done;
Ac as sone as sche gan awake,
Sche crid and lothli bere gan make;
Sche froted[73] hir honden and hir fet,
And crached her visage, it blede wete,
Hir riche robe hye al to rett,[74]
And was reneyd[75] out of hir witt.
The two maidens hir biside
No durst with hir no leng abide,
But ourn[76] to the palays ful right,
And told bothe squier and knight,
That her quen awede[77] wold,
And bad hem go and hir at hold.
Knightes urn[76], and levedis al so,
Damisels sexti and mo,
In the orchard to the quen hye come,
And her up in her armes nome,[78]
And brought hir to bed attelast,
And held hir there fine fast;
Ac ever sche held in o cri
And wold up and owy.
When Orfeo herd that tiding
Never him nas wers for no thing;
He come with knightes tene
To chaumber right bifor the quene,
And biheld and seyd with grete pite:
O lef[79] liif, what is te,[80]
That ever yete hast ben so stille,
And now gredest[81] wonder schille[82];
Thi bodi, that was so white y core,[83]
With thine nailes is al to tore,
Allas! thi rode,[84] that was so red,
Is al wan as thou were ded;
And also thine fingres smale,
Beth al blodi and al pale;
Allas! thi lovesum eyghen[85] to
Loketh so man doth on his fo;
A dame, Ich biseche merci,
Let ben al this reweful cri,
And tel me what the is, and hou,
And what thing may the help now?
Tho lay sche stille attelast,
And gan to wepe swithe[86] fast,
And seyd thus the king to:
Allas! mi lord, sir Orfeo,
Seththen[87] we first to gider were,
Ones wroth never we nere,
Bot ever Ich have y loved the
As mi liif, and so thou me,
Ac now we mot[88] delen ato,
Do thi best, for y mot go.
Allas! quath he, forlorn Ich am,
Whider wiltow go and to wham?
Whider thou gost Ichil with the,
And whider Y go thou schalt with me.
Nay, nay, sir, that nought nis,
Ichil the telle al how it is:
As Ich lay this under tide,
And slepe under our orchard side,
Ther come to me to fair knightes
Wele y armed al to rightes,
And bad me comen an heighing,[89]
And speke with her lord the king;
And Ich answerd at wordes bold,
Y durst nought, no y nold.
Thai priked oghain[90] as thai might drive,
Tho com her king also blive,
With an hundred knightes and mo,
And damissels an hundred al so;
Al on snowe white stedes,
As white as milke were her wedes,
Y no seighe never yete bifore
So fair creatours y core!
The king hadde a croun on hed,
It nas of silver, no of gold red,
Ac it was of a precious ston;
As bright as the sonne it schon:
And as son as he to me cam,
Wold Ich, nold Ich, he me nam,
And made me with him ride,
Opon a palfray bi his side,
And brought me to his pallays,
Wele atird in ich ways;
And schewed me castels and tours,
Rivers, forestes, frith[91] with flours;
And his riche stedes[92] ichon,
And seththen me brought oghain hom,
In to our owhen orchard,
And said to me after ward:
Loke dame, to morwe thatow be
Right here under this ympe tre;
And than thou schalt with ous go
And live with ous ever mo,
And yif thou makest ous y let,
Where thou be, thou worst y fet[93]
And to tore thine limes al,
That nothing help the no schal,
And thei thou best so to torn
Yete thou worst with ous y born.
When king Orfeo herd this cas,
O we![94] quath he, allas! allas!
Lever me were to lete[95] mi liif,
Than thus to lese the quen mi wiif,
He asked conseyl at ich man,
Ac no man him help no can.
A morwe the under tide is come
And Orfeo hath his armes y nome,
And wele ten hundred knightes with him,
Ich y armed stout and grim;
And with the quen wenten he,
Right unto that ympe tre.
Thai made scheltrom[96] in ich aside,
And sayd thai wold ther abide,
And dye ther everichon,
Er the quen schuld fram hem gon:
Ac yete amiddes hem ful right,
The quen was oway y twight,[97]
With fairi forth y nome,
Men wist never wher sche was bicome.
Tho was ther criing, wepe and wo,
The king into his chamber is go,
And oft swoned opon the ston
And made swiche diol[98] and swiche mon,
That neighe his liif was y spent;
Ther was non amendement.
He cleped to gider his barouns,
Erls, lordes of renouns,
And when thai al y comen were:
Lordinges, he said, bifor you here
Ich ordainy min heigh steward
To wite[99] mi kingdom after ward,
In mi stede ben he schal,
To kepe mi londes over al,
For now Ichave mi quen y lore,[100]
The fairest levedi that ever was bore;
Never eft y nil no woman se,
Into wildernes Ichil te,[101]
And live ther ever more,
With wilde bestes in holtes[102] hore;
And when ye under stond that y be spent,
Make you than a parlement,
And chese you a newe king:
Now doth your best with al mi thing.
Tho was ther wepeing in the halle,
And grete cri among hem alle;
Unnethe[103] might old or yong
For wepeing speke a word with tong.
Thai kneled adoun al y fere,[104]
And praid him yif his wille were,
That he no schuld nought from hem go.
Do way! quath he, it schal be so:
All his kingdom he forsoke,
But a sclavin[105] on him he toke;
He no hadde kirtel, no hode,
Schert, no nother gode,
Bot his harp he toke algate,[106]
And dede him barfot out atte gate:
No man most with him go.
O way! what ther was wepe and wo,
When he that hadde ben king with croun,
Went so poverlich out of toun.
Thurch wode, and over heth,
Into the wildernes he geth,
Nothing he fint that him is ays,[107]
Bot ever he liveth in gret malais[108];
He that hadde y werd the fowe[109] and griis,[110]
And on bed the purper biis,[111]
Now on hard hethe he lith,
With leves and gresse he him writh[112]:
He that hadde castels, and tours,
River, forest, frith with flours;
Now, thei it commenci to snewe and frese,
This king mot make his bed in mese[113]:
He that had y had knightes of priis.
Bifor him kneland, and levedis,
Now seth he no thing that him liketh,
Bot wild wormes by him striketh:
He that had y had plente
Of mete and drink, of ich deynte,
Now may he al day digge and wrote,[114]
Er he finde his fille of rote;
In somer he liveth bi wild frut,
And berren, bot gode lite;
In winter may he no thing finde,
Bot rote, grases, and the rinde;
Al his bodi was oway dwine
For missays, and al to chine,[115]
Lord! who may telle the sore
This king sufferd ten yere and more:
His here of his berd, blac and rowe,[116]
To his girdel stede was growe;
His harp, where on was al his gle,
He hidde in an holwe tre;
And, when the weder was clere and bright,
He toke his harp to him wel right,
And harped at his owhen wille,
Into alle the wode the soun gan schille,
That alle the wilde bestes that ther beth,
For joie abouten him thai teth[117];
And all the foules that ther were,
Come and sete on ich a brere;
To here his harping a fine,[118]
So miche melody was ther in.
And when he his harping lete wold,
No best bi him abide nold.
He might se besides
Oft in hot under tides,
The king o fairy, with his rout,
Com to hunt him al about:
With dim cri and bloweing,
And houndes also with him berking;
Ac no best thai no nome,
No never he nist whider thai bi come.
And other while he might him se
As a gret ost bi him te,
Wele atourned[119] ten hundred knightes,
Ich y armed to his rightes;
Of cuntenaunce stout and fers,
With mani displaid baners;
And ich his swerd y drawe hold:
Ac never he nist whider thai wold.
And other while he seighe other thing:
Knightes and levedis com daunceing,
In queynt atire gisely,
Queyitt pas, and softly:
Tabours and trimpes yede him bi,
And al maner menstraci.
And on a day he seighe him biside
Sexti levdis on hors ride,
Gentil and jolif, as brid on ris[120];
Nought o man amonges hem ther nis;
And ich a faucoun on hond bere,
And riden on haukin bi o rivere,
Of game thai founde wel gode haunt,
Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt;
The foules of the water ariseth,
The faucouns hem wele deviseth,
Ich faucoun his pray slough:
That seighe Orfeo, and lough.
Par fay, quath he, ther is fair game!
Thider Ichil bi Godes name,
Ich was y won[121] swiche werk to se.
He aros, and thider gan te;
To a levedi he was y come,
Biheld, and hath wele under nome,
And seth, bi al thing, that it is
His owhen quen dam Heurodis.
Yern he biheld hir, and sche him eke,
Ac noither to other a word no speke:
For messais that sche on him seighe,
That had ben so riche and so heighe,
The teres fel out of her eighe;
The other levedis this y seighe,
And maked hir oway to ride,
Sche most with him no lenger abide.
Allas! quath he, now me is wo!
Whi nil deth now me slo,
Allas! wroche, that Y no might
Dye now, after this sight!
Allas! to long last mi liif
When Y no dar nought with mi wiif,
No hye to me, o word speke,
Allas! whi nil min hert breke!
Parfay, quath he, tide what bitide,
Whider so this levedis ride,
The selve way Ichil streche,
Of liif, no deth, me no reche.
His sclavin he dede on, all so spac,[122]
And henge his harp upon his bac,
And had wel gode will to gon;
He no spard noither stub no ston.
In at a roche the levedis rideth,
And he after, and nought abideth;
When he was in the roche y go,
Wele thre mile, other mo,
He com in to a fair cuntray,
As bright so sonne on somers day,
Smothe, and plain, and al grene;
Hille, no dale nas ther non y sene;
Amidde the lond a castel he sighe,
Riche, and real,[123] and wonder heighe;
Al the ut mast wal,
Was cler and schine as cristal;
And hundred tours ther were about,
Degiselich[124] and bataild stout;
The butras com out of the diche,
Of rede gold y arched riche,
The bonsour[125] was avowed[126] al,
Of ich maner divers animal;
With in ther wer wide wones,[127]
Al of precious stones,
The werst piler on to biholde,
Was al of burnist gold;
Al that lond was ever light,
For when it schuld be therk[128] and night,
The riche stones[129] light gonne,
As bright as doth at none the sonne,
No man may telle, no thenche in thought,
The riche werk that ther was wrought,
Bi al thing, him think that it is
The proude court of paradis.
In this castel the levedis alight,
He wold in after, yif he might.
Orfeo knokketh atte gate,
The porter was redi ther ate,
And asked, what he wold have y do.
Parfay, quath he, Icham a minstrel lo,
To solas thi lord with my gle,
Yif his swete wille be.
The porter undede the gate anon,
And lete him in to the castel gon.
Than he gan bihold about al,
And seighe full liggeand[130] with in the wal,
Of folk that were thider y brought,
And thought dede and nare nought:
Sum stode with outen hade[131];
And sum on armes nade;[132]
And sum thurch the bodi hadde wounde;
And sum lay wode[133] y bounde;
And sum armed on hors sete;
And sum astrangled as thai ete;
And sum were in water adreynt[134];
And sum with fire al for schreynt[135];
Wives ther lay on child bedde;
Sum ded, and sum awedde[136];
And wonder fele ther lay bisides,
Right as thai slepe her under tides;
Eche was thus in this warld y nome,
With fairi thider y come.
Ther he seighe his owhen wiif,
Dame Heurodis his liif liif
Slepe under an ympe tre;
Bi her clothes he knewe that it was he.
And when he hadde bihold this mervails alle,
He went in to the kinges halle;
Then seighe he ther a semly sight,
A tabernacle blisseful and bright
Ther in her maister king sete,
And her quen fair and swete;
Her crounes, her clothes, schine so bright,
That unnethe bihold he hem might.
When he hadde biholden al that thing,
He kneled adoun bifor the king;
O Lord, he seyd, yif it thi wille were,
Mi menstraci thou schust y here.
The king answerd, what man artow,
That art hider y comen now?
Ich, no non that is with me,
No sent never after the.
Seththen that ich here regni gan,
Y no fond never so fole hardi man
That hider to ous durst wende,
Bot that Ichim walde of sende.
Lord, quath he, trowe ful wel,
Y nam bot a pover menstrel,
And, sir, it is the maner of us,
To seche mani a lordes hous,
Thei we nought welcom no be,
Yete we mot proferi forth our gle.
Bifor the king he sat adoun
And tok his harp so miri of soun,
And tempreth his harp as he wel can,
And blisseful notes he ther gan,
That al that in the paleys were,
Com to him for to here,
And liggeth adoun to his fete,
Hem thenketh his melody so swete.
The king herkneth, and sitt ful stille,
To here his gle he hath gode wille.
Gode bourde[137] he hadde of his gle,
The riche quen al so hadde he.
When he hadde stint[138] his harping,
Than seyd to him the king,
Menstrel, me liketh wele thi gle,
Now aske of me what it be,
Largelich Ichil the pay,
Now speke, and tow might asay.
Sir, he seyd, Ich beseche the,
Thatow woldest give me,
That ich levedi bright on ble,[139]
That slepeth under the ympe tre.
Nay, quath the king, that nought nere,
A sori couple of you it were,
For thou art lene, rowe, and blac,
And sche is lovesome with outen lac;
A lothlich thing it were forthi,[140]
To sen hir in thi compayni.
O sir, he seyd, gentil king,
Yete were it a wele fouler thing
To here a lesing[141] of thy mouthe,
So, sir, as ye seyd nouthe,[142]
What Ich wold aski have Y schold;
And nedes thou most thi word hold.
The king seyd, seththen it is so,
Take hir bi the hand, and go;
Of hir Ichil thatow be blithe.
He kneled adoun, and thonked him swithe.[143]
His wiif he tok bi the hond
And dede him swithe[144] out of that lond;
And went him out of that thede,[145]
Right as he came the way he yede.[146]
So long he hath the way y nome,
To Winchester he is y come,
That was his owhen cite,
Ac no man knewe that it was he,
No forther than the tounes ende,
For knoweleche no durst wende,
Bot with a begger y bilt ful narwe,
Ther he tok his herbarwe,[147]
To him, and to his owhen wiif,
As a minstrel of pover liif,
And asked tidings of that lond,
And who the kingdom held in hond.
The pover begger, in his cote,[148]
Told him everich a grot[149]
How her quen was stole owy,
Ten yer gon with fairy,
And how her king en exile yede,
Bot no man niste in wiche thede,
And how the steward the lond gan hold,
And other mani thinges him told.
A morwe ogain none tide
He maked his wiif ther abide,
The beggers clothes he borwed anon,
And heng his harp his rigg[150] opon,
And went him in to that cite,
That men might him bi hold and se.
Erls, and barouns bold,
Burjays, and levedis, him gun bi hold;
Lo! thai seyd, swiche a man,
Hou long the here hongeth him opan!
Lo! hou his berd hongeth to his kne,
He is y clongen[151] al so a tre.
And as he yede in the strete,
With his steward he gan mete,
And loude he sett on him a crie,
Sir steward, he seyd, merci,
Icham an harpour of hethenisse,
Helpe me now in this distresse!
The steward seyd, com with me, come,
Of that Ichave thou schalt have some;
Everich gode harpour is welcom me to,
For mi lordes love, sir Orfeo.
In the castel the steward sat atte mete,
And mani lording was bi him sete;
There were trompour and tabourers,
Harpours fele, and crouders,[152]
Miche melody thai maked alle,
And Orfeo sat stille in the halle,
And herkneth when thai ben al stille,
He toke his harp and tempred schille,
The blifulest notes he herped there,
That ever ani man y herd with ere,
Ich man liked wel his gle.
The steward biheld and gan y se,
And knewe the harp als blive;
Menstrel, he seyd, so mot thou thrive,
Where hadestow this harp, and hou?
Ypray that thou me telle now.
Lord, quath he, in uncouthe thede,
Thurch a wildernes as Y yede;
Ther Y founde in a dale,
With lyouns a man to torn smale,
And wolves him frete[153] with teth so scharp;
Bi him Y found this ich harp,
Wele ten yere it is y go.
O! quath the steward, now me is wo!
That was mi lord, sir Orfeo!
Allas! wreche what schall Y do,
That have swiche a lord y lore,[154]
A way, that Ich was y bore,
That him was so hard grace y yarked,[155]
And so vile deth y marked!
Adoun he fel aswon to grounde,
His barouns him tok up in that stounde,[156]
And telleth him hou it geth,
It is no bot[157] of mannes deth.
King Orfeo knewe wel bi than,
His steward was a trewe man,
And loved him as he aught to do,
And stont up, and seyt thus lo,
Steward, herkne now this thing,
Yif Ich were Orfeo the king,
And hadde y suffred ful yore,
In wildernisse miche sore;
And hadde y won mi quen owy,
Out of the lond of fairy;
And hadde y brought the levedi hende,[158]
Right here to the tounes ende,
And with a begger her in[159] y nome,
And were mi self hider y come,
Poverlich to the thus stille,
For to asay thi gode wille;
And Ich founde the thus trewe,
Thou no schust it never rewe,
Sikerlich for love, or ay,[160]
Thou schust be king after mi day,
And yif thou of my deth hadest ben blithe,
Thou schust have voided al so swithe.
Tho al tho that ther in sete,
That it was king Orfeo under gete,[161]
And the steward him wele knewe,
Over and over the bord[162] he threwe,
And fel adoun to his fet;
So dede everich lord that ther sete,
And al thai sayd at o criing,
Ye beth our lord, sir, and our king.
Glad thai were of his live,
To chaumber thai ladde him als bilive,[163]
And bathed him and schaved his berd,
And tired him as a king apert[164];
And seththen with gret processioun,
Thai brought the quen in to the toun,
With al maner menstraci;
Lord, ther was grete melody!
For joie thai wepe with her eighe;
That hem so sounde y comen seighe.
Now king Orfeo newe coround is,
And his quen dame Heurodis;
And lived long afterward;
And seththen was king the steward.
Harpours in Bretaine after than
Herd hou this mervaile bigan,
And made her of a lay of gode likeing,
And nempned[165] it after the king.
That lay Orfeo is y hote[166];
Gode is the lay, swete is the note.
Thus com sir Orfeo out of his care;
God graunt ous alle wele to fare! Amen.
NOTES
Frontispiece. "The Last Judgment" is an early work by Fra Angelico
(1387-1455), who was a member of the Dominican order, and who spent his
monastic leisure in painting visionary scenes. The picture represents
Christ on the judgment seat, encircled by cherubim and seraphim, with
saints and apostles seated on either side. Below are open graves. On
His left devils are driving sinners into hideous torments; on His
right angels are conducting the blessed across the flowery meadows of
the earthly paradise toward the gleaming gates of the celestial city.
The detail given here is sometimes called "The Dance of the Angels."
The robes of the angelic beings who go singing and caroling are in
the colors characteristic of Fra Angelico,—azure, green, and rose,
irradiated by countless golden stars.
PROEM
Of Man's Body. Of Man's Soul
This introductory bit of mediæval lore is translated from "Cursor
Mundi" (Over-runner of the World), a long poem, probably written in the
early fourteenth century. The author says plainly at the beginning of
his work that he is vying with romances and other secular tales which
draw the thoughts of men away from spiritual matters. The poem, written
in 24,000 verses in the short couplet, tells the history of the seven
ages of the world, from the Creation to Doomsday, covering very much
the same matter as that presented in the miracle plays. The "Cursor
Mundi" has been edited by R. Morris for the Early English Text Society.
Lines 511-584 are here translated.
DEBATE
The Amorous Contention of Phillis and Flora
"De Phillide et Flora," a Latin poem of the twelfth century, perhaps,
was translated about 1595 by George Chapman. In 1598 a certain "R.
S." republished this translation with a few minor changes, but the
work is essentially Chapman's. The present reprint follows the text
in Thomas Wright's "Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes."
Camden Society, Vol. XVI. London, 1841. The translation reproduces
the stanza and rime form of the original. Although the Elizabethan
language may present some difficulties, they are not very serious to
any one who will read slowly enough to enjoy "the proud full sail of
his great verse" who may have been the rival of Shakespeare, and who
was certainly one of the inspirers of John Keats.
The poem itself is of significance because, as forerunner of poems of
the order of "The Romance of the Rose," it illustrates significant
mediæval traits. The attitude towards nature, classicism, love, war,
and learning is of great interest, and so, too, is the position of
women in that sophisticated world. The disputation gives a pretty
picture of the seriousness of feminine thought. The account of the
court of the god of love and the power ascribed to him are a good
introduction to the conventions of love poetry.
Readers of Theocritus will recall how his shepherds contend in song
over the charms of their beloved maidens, in Idyll V and elsewhere.
(See Lang's translation, The Macmillan Company, New York, 1889.) A
study of the evolution of the debate, or disputation, will prove a good
introduction to the world of late classical and of mediæval literature.
There are many examples of debate, such as those between "The Heart and
the Eye," "The Body and the Soul," "The Water and the Wine," "The Owl
and the Nightingale," "The Thrush and the Nightingale," "The Debate of
the Carpenter's Tools," "The Dispute between Mary and the Cross," and
many others. Birds, flowers, animals, inanimate objects, human beings,
and even virtuous abstractions were turned into mediæval disputants.
For information regarding debates, and for bibliographies of edited
debates, see
MERRILL, E. The Dialogue in English Literature. Henry Holt and
Company, New York, 1911.
WELLS, J. E., Editor. The Owl and the Nightingale, p. liii. D. C.
Heath & Co., Boston, 1907.
SCHOFIELD, W. H. English Literature from the Norman Conquest to
Chaucer, p. 485. The Macmillan Company, New York, 1906.
The Pleading of the Rose and of the Violet
Jean Froissart (1338-1410) was a distinguished French author who is
best known for the famous "Chronicles of England, France, and Spain,"
which picture with extraordinary vividness scenes which Froissart
actually witnessed.
In 1392, probably, Froissart wrote his "Plaidorie de la Rose et de
la Violette," which is here translated from his "Poésies," edited in
three volumes, with an excellent introduction, by A. Scheler, Brussels,
1872. The value of his poetical works lies in their revelation of the
literary taste of the court and of the fashionable world of the day,
for he employed the artificial sentiment and the conventional forms
of dream and allegory very pleasantly. The Plaidorie is not a famous
poem, but it is chosen because it serves to illustrate a combination
of various important traits. It is one of the many mediæval poems in
which the flower _motif_ is preëminent. Here Froissart introduces
rather charming personifications, especially significant in the case
of the fleur-de-lys, the national flower of France. In spite of
the trivial and sentimental attitude towards nature there are many
passages of genuine feeling. The poem should be compared with Chaucer's
"Prologue to the Legend of Good Women," where the cult of the daisy is
represented. Valuable aids to this study will be found in the following
articles:
LOWES, J. L. The Prologue to the Legend of Good Women as related to
the French Marguerite Poems. _Publications of the Modern Language
Association_, XIX, 593-683.
MARSH, G. P. The Sources of the Flower and the Leaf. _Modern
Philology_, IV, 121-167, 281-327.
Furthermore, the jesting mockery of legal procedure should be noted.
Chaucer's "Fortune" employs legal phraseology, and although Froissart's
poem may never have been known to Chaucer, the use of the terms and the
associations of law was frequent among poets. Readers of Shakespeare's
"Sonnets" will recall his use of legal imagery, but of course he was
uninfluenced by this poem.
VISION
The Purgatory of Saint Patrick
This translation is a free rendering of a poem found in the famous
Auchinleck manuscript, a collection of popular poetry copied in the
fourteenth century. A description of this manuscript will be found
in Scott's edition of "Sir Tristem." The poem is in the six-line,
tail-rime stanza which was much used in romances of the day. There are
other versions of this legend in Latin, in French, and in English.
Because of its detail, this version, of the late thirteenth century,
edited by E. Koelbing in _Englische Studien_, I, 98, has been chosen,
although in some respects it is inferior in style to the other English
versions. Especially interesting is the picture of the earthly
paradise, which is nowhere else described so fully as it is here by
catalogues and other means. As an introduction to mediæval religious
beliefs the poem is almost unequaled. Pilgrimages, even to this day,
are made, by the faithful, to Lough Derg, in Ireland, where Saint
Patrick's Purgatory is still continuing its saving grace.
Students of comparative literature recognize in the story a body
of tradition reaching back into remote times and forward to the
Renaissance, finding its most perfect expression in Dante's "Divine
Comedy" (1321). Mediæval descriptions of hell and heaven were made more
vivid by adopting the literary form known as the _vision_. The most
familiar sort of vision is that which describes things seen in a dream,
after the author has fallen asleep. "The Pilgrim's Progress" is an
example of this type. Another sort of vision is that which relates what
has been perceived by some one in a state of mystical exaltation, as in
the Apocalypse of Saint John. The most realistic form of vision is that
of "Saint Patrick's Purgatory," where the experiences are described
as if actually undergone, and yet they so transcend human probability
that the reader recognizes the apocalyptic element. The term "vision"
is usually applied to poems describing mysteries of religious or moral
truth, and "dream" is applied to secular works such as "The Romance
of the Rose," and many other popular poems. Examples of visions from
various epochs should be read in order to trace the history. Easily
accessible texts in translation are
ST. JOHN. Revelation. (King James Version.)
HOMER. Odyssey, Book XI (translated by G. H. Palmer). Houghton Mifflin
Company, Boston, 1891.
VIRGIL. Æneid, Book VI (translated by J. Conington). The Macmillan
Company, New York, 1910.
CICERO. Scipio's Dream (translated by C. R. Edmonds in the Bohn
Library Cicero). The Macmillan Company, New York.
BEDE. The Vision of Dryhthelm (in Cook and Tinker's "Old English
Prose," p. 58). Ginn and Company, Boston, 1908.
DANTE. The Divine Comedy (translated by C. E. Norton). Houghton
Mifflin Company, Boston, 1893.
The Pearl (translated by S. Jewett). Thomas Y. Crowell Company, New
York, 1908.
For critical studies of the vision and for exhaustive bibliographies of
the subject, see
Apocalypse. Encyclopædia Britannica.
WRIGHT, T. Saint Patrick's Purgatory. London, 1844.
KRAPP, G. P. The Legend of Saint Patrick's Purgatory. John Murphy
Company, Baltimore, 1900.
BECKER, E. Mediæval Visions of Heaven and Hell. John Murphy Company,
Baltimore, 1899.
LANGLOIS, E. Origines et sources du Roman de la Rose, chap. v. Paris,
1890.
For information regarding the dream _motif_ in mediæval poems, see
OWEN, D. Piers Plowman, A Comparison with some Earlier and
Contemporary French Allegories, pp. 134-167. Hodder and Stoughton,
London, 1912.
NEILSON, W. A. The Origins and Sources of the Court of Love. (See
"Dream-setting" in the index.) Ginn and Company, Boston, 1899.
Accounts of purgatory and of the terrestrial paradise will be found in
"The Catholic Encyclopaedia." Further details regarding the earthly
paradise are in Genesis ii, 8-17; Ezekiel xxviii, 13; "Phœnix," in Cook
and Tinker's "Old English Poetry"; "Mandeville's Travels," XXXIII, and
in Milton's "Paradise Lost," IV. Two critical studies of importance are
GOULD, S. B. Curious Myths of the Middle Ages. London, 1874.
COLI, E. Il Paradiso Terrestre. Florence, 1897
SAINTS' LIVES
The Life of Saint Brandon
Brandon, Brendon, or Brandan, was an Irish Odysseus whose journeyings
in search of the Land of Behest have a lasting fascination for all
lovers of romantic adventure. The atmosphere of sanctity which made
this legend approved reading for the mediæval Christian gives a quaint
irony to the accounts of fairies, demons, enchanted birds, and other
marvels which betray a frankly superstitious spirit. Travelers' records
have a distinct place in literature, as the names Ohthere, Marco Polo,
Mandeville, Hakluyt, Robinson Crusoe, Stevenson, Hearn and many others
prove, and when the voyage is undertaken because of mingled love of
excitement, passion for the sea, zeal for discovery, and deep longing
to find the ideal land, it has potent appeal to those who stay at home.
In almost every language there are tales which picture an earthly
paradise. The Fortunate Isles, the Garden of the Hesperides, Calypso's
Isle, Avalon, Hy Brasail, Tir-na'n-Og, are names given in Greek and in
Celtic story to the abode of those who have won release from earthly
cares and hardship, and have entered the realm of perfect terrestrial
peace and beauty.
The translation is William Caxton's version of the life of Brandon
based upon some source not yet satisfactorily determined. Caxton's
rather rambling but most charming rendering was included in "The Golden
Legend," mentioned below.
An exhaustive study of the Irish story upon which this legend is based,
and much other material relating to this theme, will be found in Meyer
and Nutt's "The Voyage of Bran. Edited and translated by K. Meyer. With
an Essay upon the Irish Version of the Happy Other-world and the Celtic
Doctrine of Rebirth, by A. Nutt." 2 vols., David Nutt, London, 1895.
Interesting also in connection with Brandon is the story of Sindbad, in
"The Arabian Nights."
The Life of Saint Margaret
Jacobus de Voragine (1230-1298), Archbishop of Genoa, was the author
of "Historia Lombardica seu Legenda Sanctorum," popularly known as
"Legenda Aurea." When William Caxton set up his printing press and
began to multiply copies of the English classics, he included among
his publications an English rendering of the Latin text, "The Golden
Legend," (1483), which he based upon a French translation. The present
version is from Caxton's text, as printed in the Temple Classics.
The great popularity of lives of the saints is due partly to that
trait, inherent in human nature, of genuine devotion to any one of
proved courage, especially when that courage is of the spirit, an
invincible religious faith and fortitude. Weak and unstable Christians
found inspiration in these saintly lives, and by continued meditation
learned many lessons of deep meaning. But, in addition to the ethical
interest, there was sympathy for the human experiences and the strange
and fearful adventures of these elect of the Lord. As the metrical
romances ministered to popular delight in knightly deeds, so, too,
these legends of the saints satisfied the world-old love of struggle
and of victory. Saint Margaret, Saint Katherine, Saint Juliana, were
the women saints whose lives were best known to the Middle Ages, but
the many legendaries of the day gave ample record of scores of other
saints.
For versions of the life of Saint Margaret, see Early English Text
Society, No. 13. "The Golden Legend" in seven volumes (Temple Classics,
E. P. Dutton and Company, New York) contains the fullest collection
of lives of the saints. Middle English collections have been edited by
Carl Horstmann. Fox's "Book of Martyrs" should be remembered, also.
PIOUS TALES
The superstitions of the Middle Ages reveal themselves very fully
in the various accounts of miracles performed by God, Christ, the
Virgin, the saints, or by the relics treasured in churches and
religious houses. The study of mediæval religious life must include
an examination of some of these fervent and naïve records of the
supernatural power of holy objects and holy folk. The intense reverence
accorded to sanctified things created, among mediæval Christians, a
passionate disregard for the dictates of human reason. At first this
blind faith and total abasement before sacred relics was a triumph
of the spirit, but before long it became a triumph of the body, for
physical well-being and material prosperity were sought rather than
spiritual enlightenment. In Chaucer's Pardoner's "Prologue" and in
Erasmus's account of his journeys to Walsingham and to Canterbury one
finds pictured the credulous and wholly unlovely side of the subject.
When idealism declines and becomes sheer bigotry, without the charm of
imaginative power, it must have its Wiclif and its Luther.
A Miracle of God's Body