Fresche Fontanis : Studies in the Culture of Medieval and Early Modern Scotland [1 ed.] 9781443867146, 9781443844819

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FRESCHE FONTANIS

FRESCHE FONTANIS: STUDIES IN THE CULTURE OF MEDIEVAL AND EARLY MODERN SCOTLAND

EDITED BY

JANET HADLEY WILLIAMS AND J. DERRICK MCCLURE

FRESCHE FONTANIS: STUDIES IN THE CULTURE OF MEDIEVAL AND EARLY MODERN SCOTLAND, EDITED BY JANET HADLEY WILLIAMS AND J. DERRICK MCCLURE This book first published 2013 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Copyright © 2013 by Janet Hadley Williams and J. Derrick McClure and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4481-0, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4481-9

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements ..................................................................................... ix Illustrations ................................................................................................ xi Abbreviations and Short Titles ................................................................. xiii Contributors .............................................................................................. xv Introduction Janet Hadley Williams and J. Derrick McClure...................................... xvii PART I: LATE FOURTEENTH AND FIFTEENTH CENTURIES “This is myn awin ymagynacioun”: The Judgment of Paris and the Influence of Medieval Faculty Psychology on The Kingis Quair Elizabeth Elliott. .......................................................................................... 3 “The Stock that I am a Branch of”: Patrons and Kin of Gilbert Hay Michael Brown .......................................................................................... 17 The Influence of Lydgate and his Isopes Fabules on Henryson’s Morall Fabillis W. H. E. Sweet ........................................................................................... 31 Literality and Aurality in the Texts of Henryson’s Fables and Caxton’s The History of Reynard the Fox: Audience Construction of Meaning related to Reception of the Texts Julian Good ............................................................................................... 47 Orpheus and Eurydice Disenchanted?: Henryson’s Hellish Fairy Romance Sarah Dunnigan......................................................................................... 59 Reading Fabliaux: Le Povre Clerc and The Freiris of Berwik William Calin ............................................................................................ 75 The Thewis off Gudwomen: Female Advice in Lancelot of the Laik and The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour Emily Wingfield ......................................................................................... 85

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“Methink It Grete Skill”: Conciliatory Chivalry in Three FifteenthCentury Scottish Romances Anna Caughey ........................................................................................... 97 PART II: SIXTEENTH CENTURY Editing William Dunbar: Some Afterthoughts on the Decade 1998–2008 Priscilla Bawcutt ..................................................................................... 115 The Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo: Final Fling of the Heroic Line J. Derrick McClure.................................................................................. 127 From Chronicle to Liturgy: Scottish Sources of the Legend of St Margaret, Queen of Scotland Melissa Coll-Smith .................................................................................. 143 “Gely wyth tharmys of Scotland England”: Word, Image and Performance at the Marriage of James IV and Margaret Tudor Sarah Carpenter ...................................................................................... 165 The Book of the Dean of Lismore: The Literary Perspective William Gillies......................................................................................... 179 Kingship and Imperial Ideas in the Chronicles of Scotland Ryoko Harikae ......................................................................................... 217 Sovereignty, Scottishness and Royal Authority in Caimbeul Poetry of the Sixteenth Century Wilson McLeod........................................................................................ 231 Experience and the Courteour: Reading Epistemological Revolution in a Sixteenth-Century Text Juanita Feros Ruys .................................................................................. 249 “His guidis and geir”: The Inventory of Estate of Sir David Lyndsay Janet Hadley Williams............................................................................. 271

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PART III: LATER SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES Spectatorship in Scotland John J. McGavin...................................................................................... 287 Medical Advice for the Masses? Scotland’s First Printed Vernacular Medical Work Karen Jillings .......................................................................................... 307 The Presentation of the Family in Maitland Writings Joanna M. Martin.................................................................................... 317 John Stewart’s Roland Furiovs Kate McClune.......................................................................................... 329 Machiavelli at the Court of James VI Morna R. Fleming ................................................................................... 345 Montgomerie’s Solsequium and The Mindes Melodie Jamie Reid Baxter.................................................................................... 361 Found in the Forest: The Missing Leaves of Alexander Craig’s The Pilgrime and Heremite Michael R. J. Spiller ................................................................................ 377 “Quasi Sibyllae folia dispersa”: The Anatomy of the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum (1637) Steven J. Reid........................................................................................... 395 Works Cited ............................................................................................. 413 Index of Manuscripts ............................................................................... 469 General Index .......................................................................................... 473

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We warmly thank our contributors for their fine essays and for the good will with which they entered into the editing processes. Equally, we are most grateful to our many reviewers, dedicated scholars all, who generously gave their time and expertise. By their efforts the book is much enhanced. We acknowledge with pleasure the encouragement and advice of many friends and colleagues. We particularly thank Sarah Carpenter and Sarah Dunnigan, Edinburgh conference convenors, who were the source of much helpful information, and Nicola Royan and Kevin McGinley, who as coeditors of the recent Cambridge Scholars Publishing volume, The Apparelling of Truth, provided a high quality example to follow. The team at Cambridge Scholars Publishing, especially Soucin Yip-Sou and Carol Koulikourdi, have been helpful at every stage. The National Library of Scotland’s Senior Curator of Maps, Dr Christopher Fleet, and Map Services Managers Mrs Larragh Quinney and Mrs Elaine Brown responded most efficiently to our inquiries about the use of Pont map 21. They were also sympathetic towards the scholarly community in their recognition of the limited budget available. Dr Ian S. Williams, Research School of Earth Sciences, Australian National University, made skilful use of Pont’s record of headwaters and springs, designing a most fitting cover for Fresche fontanis. We appreciate the help of all four. To our families, who, despite their own work and busy lives, have found time to offer their support in ways practical and inspirational, we cannot possibly express adequate thanks.

ILLUSTRATIONS

BROWN, PATRONS AND KIN OF GILBERT HAY ........................................... 22 Fig. 1. Bond between William Lord Hay and Gilbert Hay, June 1450. Edinburgh, National Records of Scotland, RH1/6/5. Reproduced by kind permission of the National Records of Scotland. CARPENTER, “GELY WYTH THARMYS OF SCOTLAND ENGLAND” ............. 169 Fig. 1. Detail from London, National Archives, E39/81. Reproduced by kind permission of the National Archives. Fig. 2. Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek Codex 1897, fol. 189v. Reproduced, from Unterkircher and Wilkie 1987, by kind permission of Adeva (Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt). FEROS RUYS, EXPERIENCE AND THE COURTEOUR.................................... 250 Fig. 1. Cambridge, Cambridge University Library, Syn.7.56.40, Lyndsay, 1566, fol. 4v. Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library.

ABBREVIATIONS AND SHORT TITLES

APS

Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland, ed. T. Thomson and C. Innes. Edinburgh, 1814–75. ASLS Association for Scottish Literary Studies. CAF Catalogue des Actes de François Ier. 10 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1887–1910. CSD The Concise Scots Dictionary. Ed. Mairi Robinson. Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1985. DOST A Dictionary of the Older Scottish Tongue, ed. W. A. Craigie, A. J. Aitken et al. Chicago, Aberdeen and Oxford, 1937–2002. Edin. Recs. 1869–92. Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh. Ed. J. D. Marwick. Edinburgh: SBRS. EEBO Early English Books Online. EETS Early English Text Society. ES Extra Series OS Original Series ER The Exchequer Rolls of Scotland, ed. J. Stuart et al. Edinburgh: H. M. General Register House, 1878–1908. FMLS Forum for Modern Language Studies L&P Henry VIII Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII, 1509–1547, ed. J. S. Brewer et al. 21 vols in 34 parts. London: HMSO, 1862–1932. HMC Reports of the Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts (London, 1870– ). IR Innes Review MÆ Medium Ævum. NLS National Library of Scotland. NRS National Records of Scotland (formerly NAS). ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. PMLA Publications of the Modern Language Association. RMS Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum: Register of the Great Seal of Scotland, ed. J. M. Thomson et al. Edinburgh: H. M General Register House, 1882–1914. RPS Records of the Parliaments of Scotland to 1707. Ed. K. M. Brown et al. St Andrews: University of St Andrews.

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RSCHS RSS

SBRS SGS SHR SHS SP SSL STC

STS TA

TEBS TGSI

ABBREVIATIONS AND SHORT TITLES

Records of the Scottish Church History Society. Registrum Secreti Sigilli Regum Scotorum: Register of the Privy Seal of Scotland, ed. M. Livingstone et al. 8 vols. Edinburgh: H. M. General Register House, 1908–. Scottish Burgh Records Society. Scottish Gaelic Studies. Scottish Historical Review. Scottish History Society. Studies in Philology. Studies in Scottish Literature. A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, and Ireland and of English Books Printed Abroad 1475–1640, 2nd edn, ed. W. A. Jackson, F. S. Ferguson and K. F. Panzer. London: Bibliographical Society, 1976–91. Scottish Text Society. Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, ed. T. Dickson and J. Balfour Paul. 11 vols. Edinburgh: H. M. General Register House, 1877–1916. Transactions of the Edinburgh Bibliographical Society. Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness. .

CONTRIBUTORS

Priscilla Bawcutt, Honorary Professor, School of English, University of Liverpool. Michael Brown, Reader, School of History, University of St Andrews. William Calin, Graduate Research Professor of French Literature, Department of Romance Languages and Literatures, University of Florida Sarah Carpenter, Senior Lecturer, English Literature, School of Literatures, Languages and Cultures, University of Edinburgh. Anna Caughey, Lecturer in Old and Middle English, Keble College, University of Oxford. Melissa Coll-Smith completed her D.Phil. at Jesus College, Oxford, and now teaches at Aquinas College, Grand Rapids, Michigan. Sarah Dunnigan, Senior Lecturer, English Literature, School of Literatures, Languages and Cultures, University of Edinburgh. Elizabeth Elliott, Leverhulme Research Fellow, English Literature, School of Literatures, Languages and Cultures, University of Edinburgh. Morna Fleming took early retirement from secondary school management in 2010, and now works as an independent scholar. William Gillies, Honorary Professorial Fellow, Celtic and Scottish Studies, School of Literatures, Languages and Cultures, University of Edinburgh. Julian Good, Senior Lecturer, Department of Language and Linguistics, University of Essex. Janet Hadley Williams, Honorary Visiting Fellow, English, School of Cultural Inquiry, Australian National University.

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Ryoko Harikae, Part-time Lecturer in English, University of Tokyo and elsewhere. Karen Jillings, Senior Lecturer in History, Massey University. Wilson McLeod, Senior Lecturer in Celtic, School of Literatures, Languages and Cultures, University of Edinburgh. Kate McClune, Teaching Fellow in English, University of Bristol. J. Derrick McClure, Senior Lecturer Emeritus, School of Language and Literature, Department of English, University of Aberdeen. John J. McGavin, Professor of Medieval Literature and Culture, English, University of Southampton. Joanna M. Martin, Lecturer in Middle English, School of English, University of Nottingham. Steven J. Reid, Lecturer in Scottish History, School of Humanities, University of Glasgow. Jamie Reid Baxter, Honorary Research Fellow, Scottish History, University of Glasgow. Juanita Feros Ruys, Director, Sydney Node, ARC Centre of Excellence for the Emotions, University of Sydney. Michael R. J. Spiller, Honorary Senior Lecturer in English and Cultural History, University of Aberdeen. W. H. E. Sweet, completed his D.Phil. at St John’s College, Oxford, and now works in London. Emily Wingfield, Fellow in English, Churchill College, University of Oxford.

INTRODUCTION

Fresche fontanis has its origins in the very successful Twelfth International Conference on Medieval and Renaissance Scottish Language and Literature. This was jointly hosted by the Department of Celtic and Scottish Studies and the Department of English Literature in the School of Literatures, Languages and Cultures, and held at New College, Edinburgh University, 30 June–4 July 2008. That year’s five-hundredth anniversary of Scotland’s first printing press, marked by a wreath-laying ceremony in the Chepman aisle of St Giles Cathedral and an exhibition at the National Library, “Imprentit: 500 Years of the Scottish Printed Word”, inspired the conference proceedings: principal themes were “Early Scottish Printing” and “Celebration and Commemoration”; with an emphasis on the variety of Scotland’s written and spoken languages. The title of the present volume, Fresche fontanis (“New springs”), is taken from Sir David Lyndsay’s description of the riches of the landscape of Scotland, both the natural beauties and the associated commodities (The Dreme, ll. 824, 813–33). The cover illustration, a detail from National Library of Scotland, Adv. MS. 70.2.9, Pont map 21, depicts the Lower Glen Almond region and drainage basin of the River Earn. Poem and map each call attention to the well-springs of the land, the first in literary and idealized terms, the second in visual and practical ones. The contributions within Fresche fontanis, as reports of fresh developments in the study of the culture of medieval and early modern Scotland, further embody these ideas and images of the unstagnant, the invigorating, and the recently discovered. Many essays, re-examining known material, shift or invert long-held opinion; others either consider material previously unknown or unstudied, or use different approaches to a particular theme or topic to obtain a fresh perspective. The essays have benefited from the stimulating discussions throughout the conference, the rigorous review process, and by the incorporation of research appearing since 2008. They are arranged in three loosely chronological parts (“Late Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries”, “Sixteenth Century”, and “Later Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries”), the better to display the particular concerns of each era, and thus also the many shifts in cultural emphases from one era to another.

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Across these three parts, the diversity of the cultural documents brought into play, and the skill with which they are studied, is striking. Michael Brown’s contribution, for example, brings to life the person of Sir Gilbert Hay in brief, record-based allusion to Hay’s literary activities, autobiographical comments, appearance in university roll, military record, and position as recipient of Sinclair and Erskine patronage, then in a more detailed inquiry into some major Hay puzzles (of chronology, identity shifting and lineal connections). These expose the difficulties of achieving certainty about Hay the writer / translator. It is through this carefully inclusive assessment that Brown discovers an important connection between the Hay who annotated Bower’s Scotichronicon, and the Hay of a bond of 1450. Melissa Coll-Smith also examines a life, and its associated legend, in her study of Margaret of Scotland, long depicted as a holy figure. Coll-Smith looks at secular chronicle, “unsacred” biography, and the hagiographical representation in the Breviarum Aberdonense. She questions the legend as it was redacted in the Aberdeen liturgy, in doing so adding to current knowledge of this important early example of Scottish printing. Her detailed study of these diverse documents demonstrates how chronicle sources (thus also political and dynastic interests) were more closely involved in writing Margaret’s legend than has been assumed previously. Sarah Carpenter consults a multiplicity of cultural record—preserved or ephemeral, painted or performed—for her study of the celebrations for the marriage of Margaret Tudor and James IV. By teasing out what all types of evidence can reveal, Carpenter is able to offer a most perceptive reading of the ways heraldic images were used to achieve, for specific ends, the “imaginative conceptualization” of this occasion. John McGavin also gathers together artefacts of very different character—memoirs, letters, chronicles, didactic texts and administrative records—for his ongoing exploration of the many forms of spectatorship in early-modern Scotland. McGavin’s study is informed by theoretical knowledge of performance and reception, yet is also fully alive to the importance of understanding the purposes, directly stated and implied, of the particular artefact, and of the need to take into account the non-neutrality (and its specific political or religious forms) of the spectators concerned. Karen Jilling considers another type of document, the earliest printed medical work in Scots. Jillings gives close attention to pertinent detail of all kinds, like Coll-Smith and Spiller further delineating Scottish printing history, but she also advances knowledge of sixteenth-century attitudes to the plague and other diseases, and to assessment of the changing use of Scots. Writing on Alexander Craig’s The Pilgrime and Heremite, Michael

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Spiller studies yet other kinds of document with equal acuity, drawing on Craig’s life records, the incomplete Raban-printed text of the poem of 1631, the newly-found differing version that was hand-copied in the same year, and the manuscript commonplace book in which this was written. Spiller shows how such different types of record can be mutually illuminating and at the same time refresh and add to the larger literaryhistorical picture. The skilled engagement with material of contrasting character and quality in all of these essays ensures that findings are of exceptional value across a number of fields of study, including the literary, textual and linguistic, political, religious and social. All three parts of Fresche fontanis include contributions on major authors. In her deep and thought-provoking study of The Kingis Quair, Elizabeth Elliot argues, via analysis of the way in which the Judgment of Paris myth is enacted within the poem as an “allegory of mind”, that the narrator as James I is presented as a man who has achieved the “correct government of his mental faculties”, and is both model prince and philosopher. Elliott’s is a valuable addition to previous Quair scholarship, bringing together and thus refining questions of authorship and kingship. For Robert Henryson, two contributions on the Fabillis look south of Scotland in complementary ways. William Sweet’s closely enquires into the nature of the link between Henryson’s Aesopic fables and Lydgate’s versions, finding a case for stylistic rather than verbal allusion, and for a consciously differentiated moral position. Julian Good compares Henryson’s and Caxton’s Aesopic re-tellings (The Trial of the Fox, History of Reynard the Fox), looking from the points of view of the private reader and the public listener. In suggesting that significant differences in interpretation might result from such a distinction, Good stimulates further thinking about the often-pedagogical setting associated with Aesopic material. Sarah Dunnigan’s major study of the darker aspects of Henryson’s Orpheus and Eurydice—the negative in the portrayal of Eurydice, the recurring images of death and decay, love, loss and moral fragility, and in the explicit association of fairyland with the Hell of Christian tradition— offers many insights into the poet’s individuality in thought and technique. Both Priscilla Bawcutt’s and J. Derrick McClure’s contributions present new material on William Dunbar’s poetry. Bawcutt first takes stock of editorial and textual studies published in the ten years since the publication of The Poems of William Dunbar. She does more, adding for example the latest from her research on Alexander Traill, a name appearing in “I that in heill wes and gladnes” (B 21, l. 69). In the second part of her contribution, Bawcutt takes up an onerous, yet important task, critical examination of an edition of Dunbar that has been published since

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her own. Bawcutt supports her position on each matter raised with convincing evidence, her brief commentary becoming a valuable demonstration of editorial standards of the highest kind. McClure focuses on Dunbar’s technical skill in a single, but major poem, The Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo. After a discussion of the language features exploited in specific ways in the Old Germanic alliterative line (stress, pitch-prominence and alliteration), McClure shows how Dunbar made maximal use of the decorative possibilities of this verse form without ever departing from its defining feature, the four-stress line. Two contributions on David Lyndsay take new bearings on this writer’s life and work. Juanita Feros Ruys links the multiple presentations of experience in Ane Dialog betuix Experience and Ane Courteour with the thinking, gathering momentum at this time, about the concept of experience and its epistemological applications. Her essay draws attention to the scientific revolutions of the early modern era, usefully placing Lyndsay’s work in a different, far from static or wholly medieval context. Janet Hadley Williams examines an inventory of Lyndsay’s heirship goods in an allusive study that helps to re-create the domestic setting of a man whose public profile has received greater attention. This essay suggests how the legal document can have value to the literary work, and the literary reference to legal and cultural history. Aspects of the work of six prominent later sixteenth-century writers, John Stewart of Baldynneis, William Fowler, Alexander Montgomerie, James and Andrew Melville and Alexander Craig are considered by Kate McClune, Morna Fleming, Jamie Reid Baxter and Michael Spiller (mentioned above). These contributions focus on the interrelated issues of translation and authorship at a time of development in political and literary thought in Scotland, England and the Continent; on the current forms of publication and how those forms affected transmission, and on the degree of involvement by the monarch in both matters. The essays redefine previous scholarship. McClune’s, for example, takes the example of Stewart’s Roland Furiovs to make a detailed and persuasive case for the re-evaluation, called for by Bawcutt (2001), to the often unthinkingly assumed belief that all writings of this era were written at the demand of the king, and thus were illustrative of a literary nationalism centred at court. Fleming’s contribution on Fowler’s little-studied translation of Machiavelli’s Il Principe points afresh to the growing interest in Italian poetry and provides Fowler’s work with useful context. Reid Baxter’s discusses the French influences (Ronsard, Clément Marot, Théodore de Bèze, and Desportes among others) upon Montgomerie, but it is psalmody (as paraphrase, metrical version, song text, meaningful sequence, or

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politico-religious commentary), that is the focus of this rich and enlightening contribution. Observing that the fabliau adventure, where a clerk’s tale might imitate in a lower register the feats of a Lancelot or Gawain, parodies all adventures in courtly romance, William Calin examines the French fabliau Le Povre Clerc and the Scottish example The Freiris of Berwik. His contribution thus has its helpfully contrasting place beside the romance studies by Emily Wingfield (Lancelot of the Laik, The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour), and Anna Caughey (The Buik of King Alexander, Golagros and Gawane, and Rauf Coilвear). Caughey investigates the theme of negotiation and reconciliation in the three very different fifteenth-century romances just listed, finding that courteous behaviour, showing humility and respect for others (qualities conspicuously inverted in the fabliau), is integral to the presentation of knighthood and kingship. She relates the emphasis on this type of behaviour very plausibly to the political power struggle between magnates and crown during the era in which these works were written. Wingfield also pursues a theme of correct behaviour, studying the advice concerning amorous women found in Lancelot and The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour. She draws on the advisory Thewis off Gudwomen, and calls attention to the fact that a version of this work occurs within the BKAC as a guide in matters of love. Wingfield’s attentive readings lead her to a valuable conclusion, that the authors of these works distort or deliberately misuse female advisory literature for their own purposes (a finding that might also be extrapolated to cover the fabliaux). Three contributions in Fresche fontanis bring new prominence to literary activity in which more than one author or compiler is involved. The “musty little book” with content “hard of access”, the Book of the Dean of Lismore (NLS, MS 72.1.37), examined by William Gillies is a complex example, preserving some texts not found elsewhere, with a few contributions highlighting the activity of compilation itself. Its contributors, in the main, are contemporaries, of mixed status and skill. Its many genres and themes can be expressed in unusual metres, or as highly skilled and strict examples. What divides the Book of the Dean from the Asloan or the Bannatyne, Gillies has shown, is the interaction on many levels—genealogical, literary, skills-competitive—between contributors. Yet near-contemporary Scots anthologies, the Maitland manuscripts, Quarto and Folio, are also “collaborative literary activity”, as Joanna Martin notes. Although they are true household books, with texts related to the family of owner-compilers, when placed in the company of the Book of the Dean the differences in emphasis are usefully made plain. Martin

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looks in detail, for the first time, at the Maitland Quarto, showing in what ways this volume was a commemorative family book, carefully compiled to display the family’s identity and values. A third, equally valuable contribution in the anthology category is Steven Reid’s. His study of the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum and its compilers, Sir John Scot of Scotstarvit and Arthur Johnson, offers new research on Scoto-Latin culture. Reid sets out the dynamic process of the Delitiae’s compilation, noting how many of the poets whose works were included were in communication with Scot and Johnston, and he looks more closely than previous scholars at the inclusions, both well known and uniquely preserved, in the Delitiae. These three essays each make a substantial contribution to scholarship on a particular anthology, and they are also of importance as a group, pointing to common ground (and clear distinctions) not previously directly noted. There are many other instances in Fresche fontanis where one contribution introduces, annotates, or enlarges the field of reference of another, building up the picture of continuities and shifts in Scottish cultural emphases during the medieval and early modern periods. Elizabeth Elliott’s consideration of kingship in the Kingis Quair is relevant, for instance, to Ryoko Harikae’s finely-detailed essay on kingship and imperial ideas in Bellenden’s translation of Boece’s Chronicles of Scotland. Elliott’s and Harikae’s contributions in turn may be linked to Wilson McLeod’s, in which sovereignty and royal authority are again prominent, here as they are displayed in sixteenth-century Gaelic poetry concerning the Campbell family. There is useful cross-fertilization in discussions on non-royal literary patronage within both Harikae’s and McLeod’s essays (also within Brown’s contribution mentioned earlier), and the notable reference to William Wallace (rather than to an Irish warrior king) in the Cailean version of “An Duanag Ullamh”, alluded to by McLeod, could be pertinent to the chronicle discussion of Harikae’s. In these, indeed in many of the essays presented here, the springs become tributaries, rivers flowing into others, to make a significant contribution to the development of a coherent cultural overview of Scotland at this time. JANET HADLEY WILLIAMS J. DERRICK MCCLURE

PART I: LATE FOURTEENTH AND FIFTEENTH CENTURIES

“THIS IS MYN AWIN YMAGYNACIOUN”: THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS AND THE INFLUENCE OF MEDIEVAL FACULTY PSYCHOLOGY ON THE KINGIS QUAIR ELIZABETH ELLIOTT

At the heart of The Kingis Quair (c.1424) stands a dream vision that turns upon the narrator’s successive encounters with three goddesses: Venus, Minerva, and Fortune. As critics such as Fradenburg (1991) argue, the conjunction of these three deities is suggestive, recalling the mythical Judgment of Paris.1 In the version most familiar to the later Middle Ages, the Trojan Prince Paris is appointed to resolve the bitter conflict between Venus, Minerva, and Juno over the rightful ownership of a golden apple dedicated to the fairest. His choice of Venus sets in train a series of events culminating in the fall of Troy. In this essay I analyse the influence of this myth and its medieval interpretations upon the Quair, exploring the poem as a work that draws on the moralizing tradition of mythography in order to represent a subjective learning process. Against this background, the poem’s central dream vision may be read as an inward journey, a voyage through the narrator’s mind. In its structure and content, the vision recalls the most popular model of brain function current in the Middle Ages, that of medieval faculty psychology, which associated a particular faculty with each of the three chambers thought to exist within the brain. The effect of this psychological allegory is to identify the author and narrator of the Quair as an exemplary moral subject. A popular theme in late medieval literature, the Judgment of Paris also plays a part in the medieval reception history of a text explicitly evoked at the beginning of the Quair, Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy (ll. 15–21).2 Within the Quair, allusion to Boethius’s philosophical response to personal misfortune serves to authorize an autobiographical narrative with its roots in the historical imprisonment of James I of Scotland, to whom the poem is very plausibly attributed in the only surviving manuscript.3 This remarkable confluence of Boethian narrative and self-construction is also manifested in a distinctive body of late-

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medieval writing that includes texts such as Guillaume de Machaut’s Confort d’ami (1357) and Fonteinne amoureuse (c.1360–61), and Jean Froissart’s Espinette amoureuse (1369). Summoning up the memory of Boethius as a means to engage with and represent recent experiences of personal crisis, these works are the closest analogues for the Quair’s autobiographical technique. Several incorporate notable references to the Judgment of Paris, or narrative episodes recounting or reimagining the myth, and a precedent for this activity exists in the rich tradition of Boethian translation and commentary.4 Although Boethius does not allude to the Judgment of Paris within the Consolation, the myth became associated with this text through the authority of one of the most important and widely circulated commentaries, that produced by William of Conches in the early twelfth century. William of Conches uses the myth of the Judgment in expounding the significance of the punishment of Ixion, which Boethius mentions briefly in 3 m. 12.5 The influence of his commentary, and the extent to which the myth of the Judgment subsequently became identified with the Consolation, are illustrated by the case of a fourteenth-century Picard verse translation surviving in two manuscripts. Here, the Judgment is treated as if it were part of the philosophical text, as the anonymous translator interpolates the myth as a narrative episode within the Consolation.6 In the context of the broad tradition of Boethian commentary, translation, and adaptation that informs the Kingis Quair, the Judgment of Paris thus emerges as a familiar motif. The presence of Fortune, rather than Juno, within the poem does not invalidate claims for the influence of the Judgment upon the Quair. Medieval versions of the legend perpetuate the traditional identification of Juno as the goddess of riches and kingdoms, which are offered to Paris as an inducement to decide in her favour. Such temporal goods were typically conceived as the gifts of Fortune, and the intersection between these two allegorical figures is explicitly acknowledged in a medieval redaction of the Judgment within the influential fourteenth-century French poem, the Echecs amoureux. Of the two known manuscripts of the poem, the most complete, and the only one to contain the Judgment, was severely damaged during World War II; however, a nineteenth-century synopsis prepared by Sieper (1898) evidences the description of Fortune as the blind goddess who distributes worldly goods on Juno’s behalf.7 In his treatise on free will, De fato et fortuna (c.1396–98), the humanist scholar Coluccio Salutati (1985, 144–45) links the goddesses even more closely, citing the Judgment of Paris in claiming that Juno and Fortune are indubitably one and the same, as interchangeable terms that poets use to

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denote the divine government of realms and worldly wealth. The logic of the association of Juno and Fortune in these French and Italian texts is evident, so there is no need to presuppose knowledge of a particular version of the Judgment on the part of the Quair-poet. Yet, it is worth noting that Salutati’s treatise, at least, was potentially accessible to James I of Scotland: a manuscript of Salutati’s work, including De fato et fortuna, is known to have been in England during the time of his captivity, and is later recorded in the ownership of Humfrey, Duke of Gloucester.8 In more general terms, such evidence of an association between Juno and Fortune indicates the currency of a conceptual link between the two, and thus offers support for the identification of the Judgment as an influence on the Quair. The Quair itself seems to frustrate the parallel between poem and myth, however: while the Judgment turns upon the rivalry of the three goddesses, the deities of the Quair collaborate with one another to help the narrator. In her discussion, Fradenburg (1991, 133) concludes that the Judgment “is not fully present in the Quair precisely for this reason”. Yet, closer examination of the mythographic tradition suggests that such concord is not necessarily at odds with the influence of the Judgment, and provides valuable support for Fradenburg’s claim that “the Quair shares with other love allegories that treat the Judgment of Paris more fully a concern with the reparation of the will, with the perils as well as the opportunities of those critical moments in which desire awakens” (1991, 131). Originating with Fulgentius, the most familiar interpretation of the Judgment in the Middle Ages reads the myth as an allegory of the human subject’s exercise of free will, at liberty to choose between the active life, represented by Juno; the contemplative life (Pallas); or the voluptuous life, signified by Venus. In the highly influential vernacular moralization of the Metamorphoses, the Ovide moralisé (c.1316–25), the Judgment is allegorized in explicitly Christian terms, and the apple of Discord is identified with the forbidden fruit of Eden. This interpretation reflects the Augustinian conception of the Fall as an event that marks a rupture between body and spirit, originating in the will’s perverse rebellion against divine authority. After the Fall, the will is tainted, divided against itself; in consequence, individual subjects and human society are troubled by the proliferation of self-destructive appetites whose regulation requires the exercise of coercive discipline (Augustine 1998, 14, 23, 623–25; Brown 1988, 404–05). As Ehrhart (1987, 92) argues, in the Ovide moralisé, the Judgment comes to represent “not the fall of Adam and Eve but the fall of Everyman, the individual re-enactment of our first parents’ sin”: the choice of Paris symbolizes the misdirected will of the subject who ignores reason

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to pursue contingent goods, in place of the ultimate good which alone can provide the satisfaction he desires. The function of Venus within this allegorical interpretation reflects the continuing influence of a persistent trend within Christian thought, characterized by Brown (1990, 481) as “a muted but tenacious tendency to treat sexuality as a privileged ideogram of all that was most irreducible in the human will”. Pierre Bersuire’s widely disseminated compilation, the Ovidius moralizatus (c.1340), adds a further interpretation, identifying the goddesses of the Judgment with the faculties of the soul: Pallas with ratio or reason, Juno with memoria, and Venus with the will (voluntas). The apple is glossed as the human heart, which folly offers up to appetite, in defiance of memory and reason.9 As Ehrhart argues, Bersuire’s allegory most probably reflects an adaptation of the Augustinian conception of the intellectual soul, which images the Trinity in its tripartite nature, comprising memory, intelligence, and will.10 In the later Paris redaction of the Ovidius moralizatus (c.1342), this allegorical reading is located against the background of salvation history: in homine qui dicitur minor indus tres dee id est tres anime potentie primo fueresse[n]t concordes et quia spiritualis rationi obediebat nulla erat discordia inter partes. Homo cum deo concors erat et inter se talis erat concordia quod nequaquam caro spiritum repugnabat. Denique dea vel deus discordie id est dyabolus vel cum superbia vel concupiscentia pomum vetitum sibi pericat…ideo pacem et concordiam enervauit et regum anime dissipavit. in man, who is called India Minor, the three goddesses, or three powers of the soul, were first in agreement, and because the spirit obeyed reason there was no discord among the parts. Man was in harmony with God, and between them there was such concord that not at all did the flesh oppose the spirit. Finally the goddess or god of discord, that is, the devil, with pride or concupiscence, threw him the forbidden apple; he weakened peace and concord and destroyed the rule…of the soul.11

The divine rivalry of the Judgment becomes an image of spiritual discord within the individual soul: the effect of original sin upon the psyche is the disturbance of the concord that once sustained the rule of reason. Although the original state of concord cannot be regained in a postlapsarian world, the didactic purpose of Bersuire’s allegory endorses the idea that the proper exercise of reason can moderate the effects of the Fall, restoring order within the soul. Against the background of Bersuire’s interpretation, the image of the goddesses of the Judgment working in harmony would function as an allegory of the well-regulated soul, in

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which the three powers exist in a state of concord that recalls the prelapsarian condition. Bersuire’s interpretation of the Judgment thus supplies a context in which the absence of rivalry amongst the goddesses of the Quair acquires new significance, underlining the poem’s concern with the reparation of the appetitive will. Bersuire’s text was also potentially accessible to James I of Scotland: a copy of the Ovidius moralizatus was later recorded amongst the manuscripts donated to the University of Oxford by Duke Humfrey in 1444 (Sammut 1980, 83). As Mapstone (1997, 60) observes, the genre of advice to princes literature to which the Quair is affiliated commonly uses devices such as allegory in order to imply that “the prime advisory context was the king’s own mental realm, and that in this sense the regulatory principles of selfgovernment came essentially from within himself”. Taking the form of a dream vision, the narrator locates his divine encounters in a space that is potentially internal, opening up the possibility that he is describing a journey through imagined territories, the places of his mind. Against this background, the three goddesses of the Quair may be understood as attributes of the narrator himself, as the three powers of the soul. Read as an allegory of the well-ordered soul, in which the appetitive will has been subordinated to the powers of reason and memory, the dream vision serves to identify the narrator as an example of the spiritual concord produced by successful self-government. The positioning of the dream within the Quair offers sanction for its interpretation as an allegory of mental activity, since it evokes the characteristic methods associated with the medieval arts of memory. Opening with the image of a man alone at night reading, the Quair arouses the expectation that a vision will follow, in accordance with the literary convention whereby dreaming serves as a means to represent the meditative process of invention involved in the act of composition. Solitude, the silence of the night hours, and the reclining posture adopted by the narrator were all recognized as being especially conducive to memory work (Carruthers 1998, 171–20). Yet, within the Quair, reading is succeeded not by dreaming, but by writing, exposing the function of the literary device as it renders the process of textual composition explicit. The dream the resulting poem will describe is firmly located in the past, prior to the reading of the Consolation, but the process of composition is nonetheless mediated by “fantasye”, as the narrator hears the command of the Matins bell: “tell on, man, quhat thee befell” (ll. 75, 77). His response astutely indicates the ambiguous powers of imagination, its potential as an instrument of creative invention, and its capacity to delude:

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ELIZABETH ELLIOTT “This is myn awin ymagynacioun, It is no lyf that spekis vnto me, It is a bell—or that impressioun Of my thoght causith this illusioun That dooth me think so nycely in this wise.” (ll. 79–84)

The bell’s voice bears interpretation as a mental construct, an illustration of the creative role of the imagination in generating the vivid images employed in memory work, either to process received textual matter or to create new work. Indicating the narrator’s proficiency in the arts of memory, the fantasy of the bell also offers a justification for writing about personal experience. In this respect, it complements the role of Boethius in authorizing the Quair as poetic enterprise. As Dante argues (1998, 1.2), the solipsistic act of writing about the self is permissible only “in cases of necessity”, to vindicate oneself in the absence of any other advocate, or “when by speaking of oneself very great benefit comes to another by way of instruction”. For Dante, Boethius serves as an example of the former kind, since “under the pretext of consolation he might defend himself against the perpetual infamy of his exile, by showing it to be unjust”. In identifying the experience of reading the Consolation as the catalyst for his composition, the narrator of the Quair suggests another dimension to the Boethian text, and a compelling rationale for his own poem. The Quair’s evocation of memory work finds a precedent in the Consolation: Boethius’s dialogue with Philosophy has itself been interpreted as the literary representation of a process of therapeutic meditation, dependent on the creative exercise of the faculty of memory.12 Within a culture that identified memory as the indispensable foundation of ethics, such therapeutic meditation functioned as a means of reconciling oneself to adversity, facilitating moral action. In this context, Boethius’s Consolation offers an instructive model, to be emulated by those suffering the effects of misfortune. The therapeutic aspect of the Consolation is emphasized in the Quair’s decription of Boethius, who “in himself the full recouer wan / Of his infortune, pouert and distresse” (ll. 33–34). In positioning Boethius as the inspiration for a parallel act of self-writing, the narrator of the Quair plants the idea that his own life will offer a similarly instructive example. Although the dream precedes the reading of the Consolation, the juxtaposition of the lives of Boethius and the narrator within the proem serves to underline significant points of resemblance in the nature of their experience. Like the Consolation, the dream invites interpretation as the image of a process of therapeutic meditation, and as a mnemonic composition. Precipitated by tears and passionate emotion, the dream is

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framed as the effect of frustrated desire, and begins at nightfall as the narrator lays his head “to the cold[e] stone… / … / Half sleping and half suoun” (ll. 508, 510). Profound emotional distress as the precursor to a trance, together with prostration in a nocturnal setting, is a characteristic feature of medieval accounts of memory work: emotion functions as a stimulus to recollection, while the removal of potential distractions facilitates mental visualization (Carruthers 2008, 75–76, 246–49). The topography of the dream also evokes some of the most familiar methods adopted by practitioners of the arts of memory to facilitate the organization of information within the spaces of the mind. Opening with the narrator’s ascent “fro spere to spere / … / …vnto the circle clere / Of Signifer”, the vision accords well with the use of celestial phenomena in memory work (ll. 526, 528–29). Astronomical objects were employed as a source of schemes for information storage and inventive meditation, and the Zodiac enjoyed special recognition as the basis of the system employed by the celebrated classical authority on memory, Metrodorus of Scepsis.13 In its celestial location, the dream also recalls the opening of the Quair, “Heigh in the hevynnis figure circulere”, a line with a cyclical echo in the poem’s penultimate verse, as the poem itself assumes a form associated with mnemonic praxis (ll. 1, 1372). The goddesses at the heart of the dream are themselves in keeping with the methodologies of memory work, because arts of memory emphasized the generation and manipulation of versatile mental images, capable of sustaining complex meanings. Pagan gods were good to think with, since the pantheon provided a ready source of figures capable of signifying abstract concepts, and evoking a network of cultural associations and narratives (Minnis 2005, 262). The particular use that might be made of the pagan gods in the construction of a memory system may be most clearly illustrated with reference to a later example, the memory theatre built by Giulio Camillo in the sixteenth century. Envisioned as a model of the human mind, Camillo’s theatre was designed as a system able to encompass the totality of knowledge; it was a tangible version of the organization of memory on spatial principles. Within Camillo’s memory system, the pagan gods function explicitly as headings or locations for the storage and retrieval of information. In this setting, Venus is used as a heading for storing matter relating to appetite and the government of human affections by the will (Yates 1992, 77, 135–74). The function and organization of Camillo’s material memory theatre illuminates the mnemonic principles that shape the Quair, where Venus fulfils a similar function, her court operating as a mental heading or memory place.

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In the context of a dream that strongly resembles a mnemonic state, Venus’s palace recalls the architectural backgrounds that are a recurrent feature of artificial memory systems. With its diverse inhabitants, the court represents a gathering of exempla, embodying particular experiences and conceptions of love, and its encyclopaedic function as a memory place is indicated in a significant omission: …present in that place Me thoght I sawe of euery nacioun Loueris that endit thair lyfis space In lovis seruice, mony a mylioun. Of quhois chancis maid is mencioun In diuerse bukis (quho thame list to se), And therfore here thair namys lat I be.

(ll. 540–46)

Rather than supplying a catalogue of lovers, the narrator identifies the missing information as data that also exists in other archives, in the shared spaces of cultural memory. In this respect, the narrator’s vision suggests the exercise of memory, as he reviews his knowledge of love in order to resolve his present amatory problem. If pagan gods have a recognized value for mnemonic practice, the particular association of Venus, Minerva, and Fortune within a dream that functions as an allegory of mind carries a significance of its own. The interpretation of the Judgment of Paris that finds expression in Bersuire’s Ovidius moralizatus identifies the goddesses with the powers of the soul; yet, in replacing the Augustinian term intelligentia with ratio, Bersuire perpetuates a common confusion between the faculties of the intellectual and animal soul.14 Medieval faculty psychology locates the powers of the sensible soul within the brain, and the operation of these internal senses illuminates the adaptation of the Judgment of Paris reflected in the Quair. In his translation of Bartholomaeus Anglicus’s De proprietatibus rerum, John Trevisa offers an influential formulation of the threefold model of the brain as it was theorized in medieval faculty psychology: The innere witte is departed aþre by þre regiouns of þe brayn, for in þe brayn beþ þre smalle celles. Þe formest hatte ymaginatiua, þerin þingis þat þe vttir witte apprehendiþ withoute beþ i-ordeyned and iput togedres withinne… Þe middil chambre hatte logica þerin þe vertu estimatiue is maister. Þe þridde and þe laste is memoratiua, þe vertu of mynde. Þat vertu holdiþ and kepiþ in þe tresour þingis þat beþ apprehendid and iknowe by þe ymaginatif and racio. (Anglicus 1975–88, 1:98)15

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As Trevisa explains, the faculties located in the anterior, middle, and posterior ventricles work in concert: what þe vertu ymaginatif shapiþ and ymagineþ he sendiþ hit to the doom of resoun. What resoun fongiþ of þe ymaginatiue, resoun demeþ hit as a iuge and sendiþ hit to the vertu of mynde. þe vertu of mynde fongiþ what is [demed in] vndirstondinge and kepeþ it and saueþ it stedefastliche forto he bringe it forþ in acte and in dede. (1:107)

The first of these faculties, ymaginatiua, also known as phantasia, is associated with the assimilation of information derived from the senses, in the form of images or phantasms; it also facilitates the combination of data to generate unfamiliar forms. Conceived as the foundation of insight and knowledge, imagination was also regarded as being perilous because it responds to corporeal matter, but differs from it in substance, a disjunction that holds potential for error (Lynch 1988, 31–33). In the middle cell, the faculty whose various names include logica, ratio, and estimative virtue assesses the phantasms produced by imagination, judging their intentiones, or capacity to benefit or harm the spirit. Conflation of the powers associated with the intellectual and sensible soul obscured the distinction between this faculty and the ratio intellectiva, the power of judgment facilitating spiritual progress. As a result, reason was often conceived as a power of discrimination that transcends the physical, serving a divine purpose Lynch 1988, 30–32). The posterior chamber houses memorativa, the faculty that preserves the judgments of reason until they are to be realized in action, and this cell was sometimes also considered to be responsible for motion (Kolve 1984, 22). In conventional representations of the Judgment of Paris, the three goddesses are gathered in the same location, while the deities of the Quair occupy separate places, although they collaborate with one another. The ordering and distribution of goddesses within the Quair supports the hypothesis that the dream offers a specific illustration of mental activity as it was understood in medieval faculty psychology, tracing the process of apprehension. As a reaction to the experience of falling in love with a woman glimpsed from his prison window, the dream is a direct response to sensory data, and the narrator’s spiritual migration to the sphere of Venus operates as a counterpart to the transmission of impressions derived from the senses to the imagination as images. Through her traditional association with the flesh, Venus is a suitable figure for imagination, with its dependency on sensory data. As an emblem of desire or will, which can guide the soul towards its true object in the ultimate good or lead it into error, Venus reflects the multivalent

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nature of imagination, at once an aid to learning and a potential source of harm. Admitting that she alone cannot determine the narrator’s fate, Venus’s action in sending him to Minerva corresponds to the function of imagination, as it transmits phantasms to the seat of reason. The correlation between Minerva and the faculty of ratio is underscored by the nature of her response to the narrator’s request for aid. Rather than simply offering the instruction expected of the goddess of wisdom, Minerva’s primary concern is with the evaluation of the narrator’s affection. Of one hundred and sixty-eight lines of dialogue, the greater part is devoted to her enquiry and the narrator’s response to it, while the promised instruction occupies only a quarter of the total.16 Minerva warns that a heart “sett all-uterly / Of nyce lust” will ultimately yield “payne and repentance” (ll. 898–99, 901). She can only assist the narrator if his desire is “set in Cristin wise” (l. 989). Minerva’s function thus corresponds to that of ratio within the animal soul, as the judge who deems whether or not phantasms will harm the soul. In her concern with Christian orthodoxy, Minerva also evokes the ratio intellectiva, as a power of discrimination that facilitates spiritual development, and the significance of her harmonious relationship with Venus is underlined in her injunction: “gif thou will be wele fortunyt / Lat wisedom ay [vn] to thy will be iunyt” (ll. 930–31). The capricious nature of the appetitive will should be subordinated to the rule of reason. Fortune’s terrestrial location is a fitting reflection of her association with worldly mutability, and of the anatomical position assigned to memorativa within the brain. The vivid scene that concludes the narrator’s vision offers an illustration of the characteristic methods of the art of memory, in presenting a striking visual image conventionally used to fix the Boethian lesson of Fortune’s instability in the minds of a contemporary audience. As Fortune argues, the sight of her wheel has an exemplary function, pointing a moral: “For the nature of it is euermore, / After ane hicht, to vale and geue a fall” (ll. 1200–01). A concise demonstration of the techniques used to treasure up the products of rational thought in the storehouse of memory, the encounter with Fortune also indicates the success of the learning process the narrator has undergone. Climbing on Fortune’s wheel in full awareness of her mutability, the narrator testifies to his own ability to act despite the threat of worldly loss that is an inexorable part of mortal existence. According to the narrator, Fortune assists him not through direct intervention in his material circumstances, but “To quikin…my lore” (l. 1265), and the emphasis is especially apt if the goddess is understood to form part of an allegory of the process of apprehension. Insofar as the narrator’s own progress traces the operation

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of the inward wit, Fortune’s role in setting him in motion further reflects the role of memorativa in bringing the judgments of reason forth in action. A significant precedent for this interpretation of the Quair’s central allegory is associated with the reception history of its principal source, Boethius’s Consolation. The twelfth-century commentary on the Aeneid attributed to Bernardus Silvestris maintains that Aeneas’ education follows a pattern similar to that traced within the Consolation, and it interprets the Aeneid as a journey through the faculties (Lynch 1988, 62–63, 215 n.55). Within the commentary, the interpretation of the sixth book of the Aeneid provides the nearest parallel to the reading I propose for the Quair, in associating the underworld with the cellular model of the brain: Atque fornice: this is the vault of the human brain. Portas: the three chambers. We come to heavenly contemplation through these (as was said before) by exercising wit, reason, and memory… Hec ubi: at the gates, since Aeneas and the Sibyl are presently in the cells of memory… Foribus propinquant: “they approach the gates” when with wit they discover something, with reason they discern it and they commit it to memory. Occupat: Aeneas occupies the entrance (aditum) when he exercises wit… since committing to memory follows discovery by wit, Aeneas places the branch (ramum)—philosophy—across the threshold (adverso limine), the rear chamber. (Silvestris 1979, 106–07)

As the commentator conceives it, the Aeneid here describes the process by which Aeneas commits philosophy to memory, housed in the posterior chamber of the brain. In doing so, he opens the way to Elysium, where he will encounter his father, and this aspect of his journey is interpreted as the spiritual exercise which will prepare the subject for a more metaphysical encounter, with the Creator.17 The idea of the text as an allegorical journey through the mechanisms of apprehension is endorsed by the conception of the body and its faculties, not as a prison for the soul, but as instruments enabling humanity to bridge the gap between the material world, where the soul is in exile, and the divine realm which is its proper home. As Lynch argues, according to the logic of this conception, “[p]roper subordination of mental faculties in the hierarchy would ultimately stimulate the proper functioning of the will and promote the total harmony of the individual” (1988, 29). If, as I have argued, the adaptation of the Judgment of Paris enacted within the Quair is to be interpreted as an allegory of mind, the absence of the myth’s characteristic rivalry suggests that the discord amongst the powers of the soul associated with the Fall has been overcome. Bearing witness to the harmonious function of a mind whose state recalls the

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equilibrium enjoyed by prelapsarian humanity, the allegory identifies the Quair’s narrator as a man who has achieved the correct government of his mental faculties. Within a poem that invites the identification of its narrator’s experience with that of James I of Scotland, the effect of this allegorical vision is to present its subject as a model prince who possesses the skills of a philosopher. The “larges” achieved in the final stanzas of the Quair is not merely physical liberty: more significantly, as its association with increased “lore” suggests, it is the mental freedom of a man no longer at the mercy of his appetitive will (ll. 1264–65).18

Notes 1

Lewis (2000, 260–62) also argues for the influence of the Judgment on the Quair. All quotations are taken from Norton-Smith’s edition (James I 1971). On the medieval influence of the Judgment, see Ehrhart 1987. 3 Bodleian Library, Oxford, MS Arch. Selden. B. 24, fols 192–211; Boffey and Edwards 1997. For an analysis of the limitations of the controversy surrounding the Quair’s authorship, see Elliott 2007. 4 On the Judgment in Machaut and Froissart, see Ehrhart 1987, 130–41 (Fonteinne), 141–51 (Espinette), 192–93 (Confort). 5 William 1999, 211. For an analysis of William of Conches’ treatment of the Judgment and its impact on this translation, see Ehrhart 1987, 79–82. For a concise overview of his commentary and its influence, see Nauta 2009, 259–63. 6 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MSS fr. 576, fols 1r–82r; and fr. 1543, fols 1r–76r (incomplete). The version of the Judgment surviving in MS B.N. fr. 576, fols. 51v–52v, together with major deletions and revisions in MS B. N. fr. 1543, is printed in Dwyer 1976, 103–08. Sometimes referred to as “Anonymous of Meun”, the translator’s work is most fully discussed by Atkinson 1987. 7 Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek Oc 66 (D), fols. 1–54, summarized in Sieper 1898, fol. 6v, discussed in Ehrhart 1987, 154–55. 8 Now Manchester, Chetham’s Library, MS Mun. A. 3.131 (27929). I am indebted to R. J. Lyall for the identification of the reference to the Judgment within De fato et fortuna as a potential influence on the Quair, and of this manuscript as a possible source. On the composition of Duke Humfrey’s library, see Sammut 1980; Petrina 2004; Rundle 1996, 2002, and 2004. 9 Pierre Bersuire, Ovidius Moralizatus, Avignon version, book 12, fable 2, discussed in Ehrhart 1987, 98. 10 Ehrhart 1987, 99; Augustine 1968, 10, 11, 18, 330. 11 MS Paris, B.N. Lat. 16787, fol. 58r, published and translated in Ehrhart 1987, 100, 257 n.87. 12 Carruthers 2008, 173–74. On the Stoic and Boethian tradition of therapeutic internal dialogue, see Panizza 2008. 2

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15

On astronomical memory schemes, see Carruthers and Ziolkowski 2002, 15–16. On Metrodorus, see Yates 1992, 38–39, 53. 14 On this confusion, see Lynch 1988, 95. 15 See also Kolve 1984, 22–23. 16 Of lines 88–1052, 124 deal with Minerva’s enquiry (884–1008), with 43 remaining (1009–52). 17 See Lynch 1988, 63, and Rockwell 1995, 142–45. 18 I am most grateful to Ashgate for permission to reproduce this essay, an extended version of which appears in Chapter 6 of my book, Remembering Boethius: Writing Aristocratic Identity in Late Medieval French and English Literatures (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012).

“THE STOCK THAT I AM A BRANCH OF”: PATRONS AND KIN OF GILBERT HAY MICHAEL BROWN

It is perhaps typical that the most extensive roll call of literary worthies from late Medieval Scotland comes in a list of dead men. In the early sixteenth century poem, The Lament for the Makaris, William Dunbar names twenty-four poets already taken by Death. Most of those named were Scots. While many of these are known as literary figures only from this poem, one who can be linked with specific texts is “Schir Gilbert Hay” (Gray 1988, 316–18). A manuscript which survives from the 1480s contains three prose works which were said to have been “translatit be me Gilbert of the Haye knycht” in the year 1456. The prose works were all from French sources and were rendered into Scots by Hay with extensive additions. The original sources were all popular texts for noblemen. Gilbert Hay was also identified with a version of the Alexander romance which survives in two sixteenth century copies. Though the association of Hay with this precise text remains a matter of debate, he was clearly identified with the production of a Scots Alexander in the 1490s (Hay 1986–90; Cartwright 1986; Martin 2006; McDiarmid 1993).1 Sally Mapstone (1986, 74; 1994) has also linked Hay to a number of lost works, amongst them a “buke of curtasy and nortur”, “the Regiment of kingis with the buke of phisnomy” and a collection of legal materials “by the hand of the venerable man G. H.” Finally Gilbert Hay also borrowed and annotated the principal text of the great national history of Scotland, Scotichronicon, after 1458 and probably before 1460. In his own hand Hay added and corrected information which related to his own experience (Bower 1987–98, IX:50–53; Mapstone 1999). Our knowledge of Gilbert Hay is not restricted to a list of surviving or lost literary activities. The manuscript of Hay’s three prose translations has in its prologue a brief biographical statement. This presents Hay as a man with a varied career as a university-trained clerk “maister in arte and bachilere in decreis”, a knight who served in the household of “the maist worthy king Charles of ffraunce”, Charles VII, as his “Chaumerlayn” and

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who produced his manuscript “at the request of ane hye and mychty prince” William Sinclair earl of Orkney (Hay 2005, 2). At the end of the manuscript of The Buik of King Alexander the Conqueror a similar passage relates that the work was translated “At þe instance of Lord Erskein, be schir Gilbert þe Hay”. Hay was said to have lived in France for twenty-four years and to have been in the French king’s service (Hay 1986–90, III:256). This biographical material has provided the basis for wider attempts to identify Gilbert Hay and trace his career, such as Mapstone 1986 (48–53) and McDiarmid 1993 (30–33). The statement that Hay was “maister in arte” has led to his identification with the Gilbert Hay who attended the new University of St Andrews in 1418–19 (Anderson 1926, 5–6). The twenty-four years which he reportedly spent in France have encouraged a search amongst the thousands of Scots who entered the service of the Dauphin Charles (later Charles VII) between 1419 and 1429. As early as 1422 a captain called Gilbert Hay was in charge of a small company of soldiers, while two men of that name attended King Charles’ coronation later the same year (Forbes-Leith 1882, I:155; Ditcham 1978, 55). Gilbert Hay the translator was probably one of these men. His alteration of a passage about the knighting of Scots in Scotichronicon to stress that “dominum Gilbertum de Haya” was knighted by the French king in person strongly indicate Hay’s personal involvement in France at this time (Bower 1987–98, VIII:297). His claim to have been the king’s “Chaumerlayn” may indicate that he was enrolled in the royal household as one of Charles VII’s Scottish bodyguard. Gilbert Hay’s career in France probably provided him with access to the texts he translated, all of which were from French sources. Perhaps like the English translator, John Shirley, he brought back a book from France which provided the material for his translations (Connolly 1998, 104, 120). If, as was stated in the epilogue to King Alexander the Conquerour, Hay spent twenty-four years in France, it has been plausibly suggested that he was in France between the early 1420s and mid-1440s. This date for his return has been linked to the death of the Scottish Dauphiness in 1445. However, a more likely cause for Hay’s return to Scotland was the reorganization of the French king’s bodyguard which was part of the wider military reforms following the truce of Tours with England in 1444 (Contamine 1972, 278–90, 294–95). Gilbert Hay may have been one of the many soldiers released from Charles VII’s service at this point. Hay’s return to Scotland marked a major shift in his life and provided the context for his literary activities. As has been stated, his prose translations were reportedly produced in 1456 at the “request” of William Sinclair earl of Orkney and Caithness at the earl’s castle of Roslin about eight miles south

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of Edinburgh. This evidence is supported by the appearance of “Sir Gilbert the Haye, knycht” as a witness to the will of Earl William’s father-in-law, Alexander Sutherland of Dunbeath, made at Roslin in November 1456. In the will, Sutherland bequeathed “Sir Gilbert the Haye” a “sylvar collar” in return for Hay saying ten psalters for Sutherland’s soul (Thomson 1855, III:93–101). It seems highly likely that the witness to the will and the translator are the same person and that Hay can be identified with Sinclair’s household circle. It is tempting to presume that the statement linking Gilbert Hay’s translation of his Alexander poem with the influence of “Lord Erskein” represents a similar relationship. This second translation is generally dated to the later 1450s or early 1460s and the “Lord Erskein” mentioned was almost certainly Thomas second lord Erskine (Mapstone 1986, 105; Martin 2006, 86). The connection of Gilbert Hay with these two nobles has excited considerable comment. Both patrons were lords of influence especially during the political upheavals of the early 1450s. William Sinclair earl of Orkney was a well-connected magnate. A second cousin of James II, he had acted as a royal councillor during the king’s minority and had served James I as pantelar (Crawford 1985; Bower 1987, VIII:249; RMS II, nos 243–44, 246–47, 251–52, 254; Brown 1998, 247, 255, 260, 262–63). Sinclair was also closely connected to the powerful Black Douglas family. His mother and first wife came from the family, while the two earls of Douglas who confronted James II after 1450 were Sinclair’s nephews. His sister, Beatrice, had married James Douglas of Abercorn, later seventh earl of Douglas (Brown 1998, 98, 234–35). She gave active support to her sons in their conflicts with James II and in June 1455 was condemned for treason alongside them (RPS 1455/6/6). In 1455 Sinclair clearly stood in the king’s camp. By April 1454 he was chancellor of the realm (NRS B59/28/5; Innes 1837, II: no. 571). Later that year Sinclair was created earl of Caithness. In return, William resigned his inheritance of lands, rents and offices in the south-west which he had received from his Douglas mother (Fraser 1885, III: no. 85).2 His loss of the chancellorship in late 1456 suggests that Sinclair was being sidelined by the king, having served his purpose.3 A look at William Sinclair’s long career from the 1420s to the 1470s suggests that he was an easy lord to treat in this fashion. On several occasions, in the years after James I’s murder in 1437, in the early 1450s and again following the death of James II in 1460 Sinclair had stood in important positions. In each case, though, he rapidly lost influence and ended leaving a divided inheritance (Crawford 1985, 236; Boardman 2006, 174–80). William Sinclair’s reputation rests instead on his cultural

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activities, the remarkable architecture of his chapel at Rosslyn and the patronage of Hay’s translations. Thomas Lord Erskine was another intriguing patron whose career in the decade prior to his contact with Hay shares similarities with that of Sinclair. Erskine’s political actions were directed towards his family’s pursuit of the earldom of Mar in north-eastern Scotland (Brown 1994, 155–60; McGladdery 1990, 19–22, 40–41). He acted for his father in this matter and, after the crown took back control of the earldom in 1448, Thomas raised his claims at parliaments in 1449, 1450 and 1453 ([Robertson] 1869, IV:188–89; NRS GD124/1/137, 155–56, 159; RPS [1449/1], [A1450/1/1], [1453/1]). After his father’s death in 1451, Thomas worked hard to secure royal support. At the crisis of James II’s reign in mid-March 1452, Thomas Erskine attended the embattled king. During the next few years Erskine was a regular witness to royal charters and a degree of royal sympathy for his claims was hinted by the promise in 1453 that the king would visit the north and hear his case (Fraser 1878, II: no. 49; RMS II, nos 533, 537, 539, 544–47, 549, 551, 553–55, 575, 583; RPS [1453/1]). Although James did go north in that year there is no sign of any resolution of the dispute over Mar until 1457. In November 1457 Erskine’s claim was rejected and royal possession of Mar was confirmed ([Robertson] 1869, IV:205–12; NRS GD124/1/162). Like Sinclair, Erskine had supported the king against the Douglas earls but afterwards found James’s gratitude to be limited. Thomas Erskine and William Sinclair frequently sat together on the royal council but their contacts extended back into the 1440s.4 The relationships between these lords and their recent experiences have been examined as part of the background to their requests to Gilbert Hay for translations of French texts. Hay’s extensive alterations and the stress he placed on particular themes have been argued as evidence of the concerns of his patrons in both upholding and directing royal behaviour towards the community (Mapstone 1986, 57–105; Stevenson 2006b, 142– 46). However, while this is possible, there are major questions to be answered about the career of Gilbert Hay and his relations with the lords who sought his literary services. The evidence of Hay’s manuscripts and attempts to follow it up still leave major gaps in our understanding of Gilbert and his activities. Though gaps are something which medieval Scottish historians have to accept, this article is intended to suggest ways of closing them. The first gaps are chronological ones. If Gilbert Hay returned from France in about 1445, there is a gap of over a decade before his appearances in Roslin castle in 1456. In addition if the Alexander poem was translated in around 1460 there remains another gap after that

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year. A second issue concerns Hay’s shifting identity. Starting as a university-trained clerk, Hay became a knight in French royal service and, after his return to Scotland, while he continued to be styled Sir Gilbert Hay, knight, his writings and the Sutherland will suggest a resumed ecclesiastical status (Mapstone 1986, 51 and n.19). This reversion to a clerical career would not have been unique. One of Gilbert’s contemporaries, Hugh Kennedy, trained for the church before serving as a soldier in France during the 1420s and 1430s. By 1440 he was back in Scotland as Provost of St Mary’s at St Andrews, an important ecclesiastical benefice.5 Can Hay’s own changing status be placed in a clearer framework? A further issue is one of identification. The nobility of late medieval Scotland formed a kin-based society. The connections of a nobleman, like Gilbert Hay, would typically have been influenced by his membership of a kindred. His name identifies him clearly with a well-established and extremely extensive lineage, whose heads were the hereditary constables of Scotland and lords of Errol near Perth. By 1450 the head of the family held the new title of Lord Hay, emphasizing his leadership of a surname, a kindred with many junior branches scattered across Scotland.6 The number of these branches and the popularity of the name Gilbert creates major difficulties of identification.7 In the period between the 1420s and the 1480s at least nine Gilbert Hays can be distinguished in contemporary records. The information we possess about the translator makes it possible to dismiss many of these as our man. The Gilbert who was briefly lord of Errol died in 1436 while the Gilbert Hays who were lords of Cassingray in Fife and Menzean in Peeblesshire were present in Scotland during the 1430s when the translator was in France (RMS II, no. 210; HMC VII:624– 25, nos 13, 14; Harvey and Macleod 1930, nos 97, 103–04, 111).8 More plausible is the master Gilbert Hay who was active from the 1450s to the 1480s. He was the brother of William Lord Hay and went on to receive the lands of Urie in Kincardineshire (Fraser 1924, 99–105: nos 3–6; Robertson 1843, 456; Robertson 1846–69, II:328–32; III:10–11, 122; NRS RH1/6/73). This master Gilbert Hay is, however, clearly too young to have spent two decades in France and was probably the man of the name who matriculated at St Andrews in the early 1450s (Anderson 1926, 27, 29). Another possibility is Gilbert Hay of Dronlaw, the younger brother of William Hay of Errol (d.1436). He was probably the man of this name who went to the continent with Alexander Stewart Earl of Mar in 1408 and was knighted there. He may have been the Sir Gilbert Hay who was at the siege of Orléans with an unknighted kinsman of the same name in 1429 (Wyntoun 1903–14, VI:432; Michel 1862, 173–74). If so he was back in

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Scotland by 1436 at the latest and was still alive in 1441. However the absence of later records and the prominence of his heir, Alexander, from 1446 makes it likely that this Gilbert was dead well before the date of the prose manuscript and Sutherland’s will (NRS RH1/6/51, 55). He did have both a younger son and a grandson named Gilbert who, without much certain information, could be considered for the translator. What this demonstrates is that confident identification is near impossible on the basis of a name alone. However there is another way of seeking for Gilbert Hay the translator. The manuscript of the Scotichronicon which Professor Watt identified as the text compiled by its writer, Walter Bower, was annotated by one “Gilbert ye Haye”.

Fig. 1. Edinburgh, NRS RH1/6/5, Bond between William Lord Hay and Gilbert Hay, June 1450. Reproduced by kind permission of The National Records of Scotland.

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It is probable that this was the same man as the translator and that his additions were in his own hand (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 171, fol. 9r, 19r, 19v, 347v, 369v, 370r; Bower 1987–98, IX:50–53). This “large, untidy” hand is quite distinctive and bears similarity to the hand on another document. This second document is a bond dated to June 1450 by “Gilbert the Hay” (NRS RH1/6/5; [Robertson] 1847–69, II:343–44).9 In it Hay says he is “lelely and truly oblist of love and kyndnes that I haf to do honour to the stock that I am a branch of” and agrees that, when he received possession of the benefice of Turriff, he would pay £40 Scots or “three-score of golden crownis of French gold” annually to his “Cheiff and Lord”, William Lord Hay. This money was to pay for the education of William’s brothers as priests or men of law. As well as the hand, the specification of either French or Scots currency is unusual enough to suggest that this Gilbert Hay had strong French connections and a store of French currency, such as might have been accumulated in two decades of service to King Charles. The similarity in the hand and the reference to French gold make it realistic to argue that the author of the bond was Gilbert Hay the translator. If so, it tells us more about his career and connections. It reveals that by 1450 Hay was intent on an ecclesiastical career and did not already enjoy a benefice. Though he clearly regarded William Lord Hay as the head of his “stock”, he would seem not to be a close kinsman as he makes no more specific statement of kinship and is paying to support the lord’s “bretheren” in “scule”. Two of these brothers, Gilbert and John, attended St Andrews in the early 1450s (Anderson 1926, 27, 29, 31, 32). The maker of the bond was himself a younger brother. He states in the bond that “myne eldest brotheris sele quhilk is the sele of myne armes hereto set in absence of myne awne sele”. The possession of his own arms would fit with Gilbert the translator who had been knighted by the French king. Frustratingly, the seal is missing from the document making any identification of the individual no easier. The only possible clue to this identity is the fact that the bond is witnessed by an “Edmund ye Hay yonger”. The same man is also named on another document which may involve this Gilbert Hay. Edmund Hay was the son of Edmund Hay lord of Leys (Easson 1947, I:95, 96, 98). Leys was adjacent to Errol and the family was a long-established cadet branch of the Hays of Errol. It is possible, though nowhere stated, that Edmund was the eldest brother of the man in the bond. The bond makes a plausible connection between Gilbert Hay the translator and William Lord Hay (from 1452, the earl of Errol). That Gilbert Hay looked to his “Chieff and Lord” and expressed a desire “to do

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honour to the stock” were entirely natural actions and sentiments. The Hays functioned as an extended kindred and since the thirteenth century had provided kinsmen to church livings in their gift (Milne 1893, no. 13; Easson 1947, I:139, 180–81). For an individual, a younger son from a cadet branch who was returning to his homeland after a long absence, an approach to a powerful kinsman would have been an obvious and understood path to employment and reward. Within the Errol Charters the bond exists alongside an earlier document which may relate to its context. This document is an instrument issued by William Lord Hay on 15 August 1446. It constitutes his “dearest kinsman lord Gilbert Hay knight” as his procurator with powers to “pursue and recover…his right of patronage to the church of Errol, unjustly alienated and detained from him”. The instrument stated that these rights had been resigned by William’s grandfather “under compulsion and through fear” of the old king of Scots, James I, in about 1430. The king then assigned the rights to his newlyfounded Carthusian Priory at Perth. As Lord Hay’s procurator, this knight was to seek recovery of these rights before the young king, James II, the three estates and the bishop of St Andrews, but also to plead the case at the curia before Pope Eugenius IV, at the Church Council of Basle and the head of the Carthusian Order (NRS RH1/6/54, printed in [Robertson] 1847–69, II:340–1). It is tempting to think that a man of Gilbert Hay the translator’s experience on the continent and legal training would be an ideal representative for William Lord Hay, though the title of “lord” is only found in association with the translator on one possible occasion.10 However, it is not inconceivable that William was keen to exploit the skills and connections of a kinsman who, in turn, would appreciate a commission from his lord which held out prospects of future employment and reward. If this was our Gilbert Hay, the reward may have come in the form of the benefice he was promised in 1450. It is even possible that Gilbert’s readiness to act for Lord Hay in pursuit of his rights of patronage points to an understanding that Gilbert would receive the benefice should it be recovered. In the event, the efforts of the Hay family did not secure a recovery of Errol kirk. Instead in May 1450, James II promised to issue a charter granting William Lord Hay the right of patronage to the church of Turriff in Aberdeenshire as compensation for his family’s similar right at Errol ([Robertson] 1847–69, II:342–43). Just over a month later, the bond was produced between Gilbert Hay and Lord Hay agreeing to provide the former to the promised benefice. The speed of this response points to a prior arrangement. However securing the benefice would prove a much slower business. It was only in April 1456 that King James made a formal

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grant of the right of patronage over Turriff to William Hay, now the earl of Errol, and only in 1459 that the benefice became vacant through the death of its possessor ([Robertson] 1847–69, II:343). In January 1460 the bishop of Aberdeen acceded to the presentation of William earl of Errol and installed “the venerable man, master Gilbert de Hay” to Turriff church and to the canonry in the church of Aberdeen which went with it ([Robertson] 1847–69, II:344). This act would seem to fulfil the bond of 1450 between Gilbert and his lord. It would not be surprising if the man who still proclaimed himself a knight in 1456, was now terming himself magister, a rank he was given in the prologue to his prose translations. Sally Mapstone (1986, 74) has identified a manuscript dated from the later 1450s as being the work of Gilbert Hay the translator on the basis of a later inscription “in the hand of a venerable man G. H.”, suggesting a switch to clerical title. This material would allow us to fill in some of the gaps in Gilbert Hay’s career. The years after his return from France in the mid-1440s may have been spent in the pursuit of Lord Hay’s rights in Scotland and on the continent. After 1460 Gilbert was presumably enjoying possession of his long-awaited living in the north-east.11 Moreover, the acquisition of Turriff has significance beyond Gilbert’s own career and provides a means of gauging his personal standing. In 1437 Turriff was a lucrative living (though significantly poorer than Errol kirk).12 The search for compensation for the loss of rights over a valuable living was clearly a matter of importance for William Lord Hay. The timing of King James’s concessions on this matter confirms this significance. The king obliged himself to grant powers of patronage to Turriff at a general council at Perth in early May 1450 (NRS RH6/377; RMS II, no. 347; RPS [1450/5/56]). The issue had clearly been raised before the estates as was previously agreed between William Hay and his procurator. The readiness of the king to make concessions was a reflection of his own position and of William Hay’s growing importance. By March 1450 Hay had married Beatrice Douglas the sister of William Earl of Douglas and in that month had part of his estates bestowed jointly on his wife by the king in the presence of Douglas and his brothers the earls of Moray and Ormond (RMS II, no. 328). Douglas and Moray were also at the May general council and may have assisted Hay’s suit. A complaint which involved a charge of coercion against the king’s father may have generated some sympathy amongst the estates. The Hays of Errol were not the only people to suffer from James I’s efforts to endow his foundation of a Carthusian Priory at Perth (Beckett 1988, 14–25). James II’s refusal to restore Errol itself and his confirmation of some of the Carthusian priory’s estates on the same day points to a degree of conflict on the issue (RMS II, no. 347).

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The link between William Lord Hay and his Douglas in-laws was further suggested by an agreement in September 1450 in which Hugh earl of Ormond leased his lordship of Crimond to Hay for five years (NRS RH1/6/58). Such contacts hardly suggest that Lord Hay would have been a supporter of the king’s attack on the Douglases in late 1450 (Brown 1998, 287–91). Hay’s appearance at the parliaments of June and October 1451 designed to patch up relations was not likely to have been as an ally of James (RPS [1451/6/4]; [1451/10/20]). It was only in the summer of 1452 that Hay can be seen as siding with the king against the Black Douglases, a choice which can be linked to the creation of William as earl of Errol on 31 July (NRS RH1/6/58C, 59, 60). The second royal act concerning Turriff kirk equally fitted into a wider political context and centred on the king’s relations with his constable. The charter giving William Hay earl of Errol full legal rights as patron of Turriff was granted on 2 April 1456 ([Robertson] 1847–60, II:343). This was a few weeks after the king had returned from a progress through the north-east of his realm. On this, Errol had attended James at Inverness. The earl had also been in the burgh in the previous August and seems to have been in the north in May 1455 too (NRS RH1/6/67; Fraser 1892, III: nos 32–33). His support in this disturbed region may have been valuable to the king. In this light the charter of Turriff represents a reward for service after James had taken personal stock of the situation in the north. Gilbert Hay would seem to have been the beneficiary of events in Scotland between 1450 and 1456 and, in particular, the transactions between William Hay earl of Errol and King James. However, how Gilbert’s connection to Errol related to the literary works with which he was later associated requires examination. An obvious opening might be that Gilbert’s links of kinship and financial obligation to Errol, perhaps including his services as the latter’s procurator, provided a point of contact with the patron of his prose translations, William Sinclair earl of Orkney, and of his Alexander romance, Thomas lord Erskine. Like Sinclair and Erskine, William Hay of Errol emerged as a strong supporter of James II in the period following the king’s killing of Earl William Douglas in February 1452. Though Errol does not appear on royal witness lists with the frequency of Sinclair or Erskine, he did sit alongside these lords. In November 1454 all three witnessed a royal charter in Edinburgh, while Erskine and Errol both witnessed documents issued by James II at Inverness in February 1456 and Erskine was present when the king granted the patronage of Turriff kirk to Errol in early April the same year (Fraser 1892, III: nos 32–33; [Robertson] 1847–69, II:343; Marwick 1871, no. 32). Contact between Hay and Erskine is further suggested by the

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latter’s appearance as a witness to a charter issued by the former in July 1454 (Harvey and Macleod 1930, no. 112). Another link with Sinclair may have been provided by the person of Beatrice Douglas, Errol’s wife and Sinclair’s niece, which identified both lords as part of a group which had aided in, and survived, the fall of their Black Douglas kinsmen.13 The above is, however, evidence of contact rather than any political alignment. In November 1457, when Erskine’s claim to the earldom of Mar was rejected in a court at Aberdeen, Errol was one of those on the assize which upheld the rights of the king to the province ([Robertson] 1847–69, IV:205–12). It was their membership of royal council and circle which brought these lords together, and Errol felt no need to back Erskine against the king. There was, however, a second element to possible connections between the three nobles, that of geographical proximity. All held significant family interests in north-eastern Aberdeenshire, with estates which bordered each other. Errol’s major lordship of Slaines, Sinclair’s barony of Newburgh and Lord Erskine’s barony of Kellie all met along the lower valley of the river Ythan near Ellon.14 Dealings between the three families can be shown through arrangements over fishing the river from the 1470s and through the appearance of William Hay of Errol’s bailie of Slaines, Gilbert Hay of Dronlaw, as a witness to Erskine’s charters as lord of Kellie in the 1430s (Robertson 1843, 392–93; [Robertson] 1847–69, III:97–101, 142). The interaction of these lords and their servants in districts which lay close to William Hay’s major residence at Slaines on the Buchan coast and not far from the church of Turriff may have been another route by which Gilbert Hay came into contact with noble patrons. If Gilbert Hay the translator entered into a bond with his lord in 1450 to secure an ecclesiastical benefice but only finally secured the living in early 1460, this would provide a further context for his literary actvities. The prose works, the Alexander romance and the legal manuscript by “G. H.” have all been dated to the period 1455 to 1460. This would have been the period during which Gilbert Hay was seeking employment and reward while he waited for his lord to provide him with a lucrative stipend. In these years the contacts of his “Cheiff and lord” may have enabled Hay to find places and payments for the production of manuscripts for a number of noble employers. His access to French material, possibly even in the form of a collection of texts brought back from France, and skills as linguist and writer allowed Hay to produce Scots versions of the type of works which were popular with, and useful to, a noble audience (Mapstone 1986, 55–56).15

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The series of documents leading to the installation of Gilbert Hay as priest may allow us to confirm a number of things about the translator. The evidence strongly indicates that Gilbert Hay was from a large but hard to assess group. The bond of 1450 may indicate that he was from a cadet branch of a noble lineage and was a younger son. The biographical evidence from the manuscripts of his works reveals that he chose to follow many of the openings possible for men of his status. Hay trained for the church and for the law. He travelled abroad and made a career in the service of the French king. On his return to Scotland, Gilbert sought patronage and place in the household of greater lords. Hundreds of other, less identifiable, Scots from similar lesser noble backgrounds followed similar pathways in the fifteenth century. The identification of Gilbert Hay, knight and translator, with the man who sought and then received the living of Turriff emphasizes both the attractions of an ecclesiastical career and the importance of ties of kinship to Hay. The bond of 1450 is a legal and financial transaction but within it is a statement of the values attached to kinship which does credit to Gilbert’s reputation as a man of letters. For Gilbert Hay, the prospect of securing a benefice was also a stimulus for him to resume his clerical career. It was in a valuable church living and the cathedral chapter of Aberdeen that a security of status and resources could be found. Gilbert Hay’s literary activity fitted into the framework provided by these documents. If his principal connections were with the earl of Errol, the translations he produced for William Sinclair and Thomas Erskine, which perhaps derived from his “chief’s” own contacts, represented other links of service. The character of Hay’s service was atypical and reflected his special talents but the idea of a lesser nobleman serving in, and moving between, the households of greater lords was probably less unusual.16 In both the prose manuscript and the Alexander romance, Hay is said to have acted “at the request” of the greater lords, a phrase which suggests an informal link rather than employment as an official. Furthermore, in the will of Alexander Sutherland, Hay appears as a knight and is listed as the second witness after William Sinclair earl of Orkney (Thomson 1855, III:93–101). Gilbert probably appeared alongside Sinclair and produced a manuscript for the earl as a knightly friend rather than a servant. Overall, it is probably fair to conclude that Hay was an exceptional member of a vital but under examined social group. As both a knight and cleric and as a literary makar, Gilbert Hay was well worthy of remembrance.

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Notes 1

The sources were Honoré Bonet’s L’Arbre des Batailles (translated as The Buke of the Law of Armys), Ramon Lull’s Libre de Caballeria (The Buke of the Ordre of Knychthede) and the Secreta Secretorum (The Buke of the Governaunce of Princis). 2 This grant is dated April 1456 but a note exists of an earlier version from August 1455. 3 Sinclair was chancellor on 27 October 1456 but had lost the office by 20 November ([Robertson] 1857, III:8; Fraser 1885, III, no. 87). 4 For example during the summer and autumn of 1454 (RMS II, nos 599–600; Innes 1845, I:261, 265; Marwick 1871, nos 32, 33; NRS RH6/339). Sinclair also had claims on Mar and the associated lordship of Garioch through his first wife, Elizabeth Douglas. However he proved less dogged in pursuit of his rights than the Erskines and in 1444 signed over his claim to Robert Erskine in return for an annuity of 110 marks (NRS GD124/1/155–56). 5 For Hugh Kennedy’s career see Barbé 1919, 61–67. 6 In the preliminaries to the Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS of Scotichronicon, which was produced by 1449, a list (at fol. 14) of “Domini de parliamento preter duces et comites [Lords of Parliament except dukes and earls]”, numbering nineteen peers, is headed by “Haye constabularius Scocie” (Bower 1987–98, IX:31). 7 The popularity of Gilbert as a forename may have related to it being the name of the lord who received the constableship from Robert I. 8 Gilbert Hay of Menzean was probably also the Gilbert Hay who witnessed a number of charters of the Hays of Yester (Harvey and Macleod 1930, nos 79, 84– 86, 112, 114). 9 I am extremely grateful to Professor Linne Mooney, University of York, for her identification of the hand in the bond and its correspondence to the annotations by Gilbert Hay in Scotichronicon. 10 Gilbert Hay amended the passage in Bower (1987–98, VIII:297) recording the knighting of Scottish soldiers by Patrick Ogilvy. Unfortunately the marginal note in Hay’s hand is damaged and, while he referred to his comrades by the terms dominus, it is not clear whether he used this title for himself. However, Professor Watt has suggested that he did on the evidence of later manuscripts of Scotichronicon (1987–98, IX:52. 11 It seems likely that the master Gilbert Hay parson of Turriff who witnessed an agreement between the earl of Errol (William’s son Nicholas) and George lord Gordon in 1466 at Aberdeen was the former knight and translator, now ensconced in his role as priest and still connected to his “stock” (NRS RH1/6/83). Like Errol, Turriff was used by the Earls of Errol to reward their kinsmen. By 1484 John Hay was parson of Turriff probably in succession to Gilbert ([Robertson] 1847–69, II:345). 12 Turriff was valued at £50 per annum. It had previously been held by wellconnected clerics like Robert Stewart, the son of Alexander earl of Mar, and Hugh

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Kennedy, the bishop of St Andrews’ uncle (Dunlop and MacLauchlan 1983, IV: nos 149, 376, 385, 393, 623). 13 Errol was also one of those who condemned the Douglas brothers and their mother at parliament in June 1455 (RPS [1455/6/6]). 14 See Grant 1975, 347–51. 15 The will of James Douglas lord of Dalkeith from 1390 indicates that a lord might possess books of law, grammar and dialectic as well as romances (Thomson, Macdonald and Innes 1853, 171). 16 As Sally Mapstone (1991) has observed, the limited evidence available points to noble households rather than the royal court as the primary centres of literary production in fifteenth-century Scotland. See also Fox 1983.

THE INFLUENCE OF LYDGATE AND HIS ISOPES FABULES ON HENRYSON’S MORALL FABILLIS W. H. E. SWEET

Unlike Dunbar, Douglas, Lyndsay and Rolland, Henryson nowhere mentions Lydgate or his poems by name. Nevertheless, his poetry should be seen in part as a thoughtful response to Lydgatean poetics, motivated by thorough reading of a number of Lydgate’s works. This paper considers Lydgate’s influence on Henryson’s Morall Fabillis. Although the Morall Fabillis includes four fables which are also rendered by Lydgate in his Isopes Fabules (the Prologue and “Cock and Jasp”; “Sheep and Dog”; “Wolf and Lamb”, “Paddock and Mouse”), there is no critical consensus on whether Henryson had read Lydgate’s Isope. The Isope survives fragmentarily in just three manuscripts, none of which circulated in Scotland, and there appears to have been no print of Lydgate’s poem. This need not exclude the possibility that Henryson had access to it, but it reduces the likelihood. Diebler (1985, 58), von Plessow (1906, xlvii) and Elliott (Henryson 1963, 130) list borrowings and argue that Henryson had probably read Lydgate’s Isope. Smith (Henryson 1906– 14, I:xxxix), whilst dismissing parts of Diebler’s list, is nevertheless certain: “we may conclude that Henryson was familiar with Lydgate’s Aesop; but we must qualify this by saying that his use of it was in the main by literary reminiscence, and never, except perhaps in a single instance, a direct adoption”. (The exception, a link between Lydgate’s “Frog and Mouse” and Henryson’s “Two Mice”, will be examined later.) Pearsall (1970, 194) claims that Henryson’s collection “is at points quite closely related to Lydgate’s”. Crowne (1962, 588) argues that “the traces of Lydgate are clear and unmistakable”, but only in the fables derived from Gualterus Anglicus. Powell (1983, 86) writes: “That Henryson should be acquainted with Lydgate’s fables is by no means unlikely in view of the respect in which his poetry was held in Scotland”. Fox refined the earlier lists, tentatively concluding that “[t]here is some evidence that Henryson knew Lydgate’s versions, but his borrowings (if they are borrowings)

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seem to be only verbal, and not to extend to any details of plot” (Henryson 1981, xlviii–xlix). The table that follows aims to be an authoritative list of borrowings.1 The most direct resemblances are underlined. HENRYSON

Prologue (ll. 30–33) Submitting me to ‫܌‬our correctioun In mother toung, of Latyng, I wald preif To make ane maner of translatioun— Nocht of my self, for vane presumptioun

LYDGATE

Prologue (l. 46) I me submyt to þeyr correccion [Fall of Princes, Prol. ll. 436–39)]: Vnder the wyngis off his correccioun, Thouh that I haue lak off eloquence, I shal procede in this translacioun, Fro me auoidyng al presumpcioun

Ref. to Aesop as “Poete Lawriate” (l. 58)2

Ref. to Aesop as “poete laureate” (l. 8)

And to begin, first of ane cok he wrate (l. 61)

And, as myn auctor doþe at þe cok begyn (l. 50)

“Cock and Jasp” View that jewels belong to “grit lordis” (l. 89); preference for “draf or corne” (l. 91).

“Cock and Jewel” View that jewels belong to “princes” (l. 170); preference for “corn or good greyn” (l. 172).

It makis ane man stark and victorious (l. 123)

Makeþ men strong and hardy (l. 158)

Quhilk makis men in honour ay to ring, Happie, and stark to haif the victorie … Quha may be hardie, riche, and gratious? (ll. 131–32, 134) General description of Cock; Lapidary (ll. 120–33)

General description of Cock; Lapidary (ll. 148–61)3

“Two Mice”4 Gib Hunter, our iolie cat (l. 326)

“Frog and Mouse” Gyb, þe catte (l. 406)5

Quhat plesans is in feistis delicate, The quhilkis ar geuin with ane glowmand brow? Ane gentill hart is better recreate

Salomon wryteþ, howe hit ys bet by halfe A lompe of brede with reioysyng, Then at festis to haue a rostyd calfe

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With blyith visage, than seith to him ane kow. Ane modicum is mair for till allow (ll. 232–36)

With heuy chere, frownyng or grogyng. Nature ys content with full lytell þyng. As men seyen and reporte, at þe leste, Nat many deyntees, but good chere makeþ a feste. (ll. 428–34)

Till eik thair cheir ane subcharge furth scho brocht, Ane plait off grottis and ane disch full off meill (ll. 281–82)

The second course he brought in mele and floure (l. 399)

Moralitas (ll. 365–96), especially references to happiness through “small possessioun”

Then glad pouert with small possession (l. 427)6

And Solomon sayis, gif that thow will reid (l. 391)

[“Consulo Quisquis Eris” (ll. 65–69)]

“Trial of the Fox” Richt as the mynour in his minorall Fair gold with fyre may fra the leid weill wyn, Richt so vnder ane fabill figurall Sad sentence men may seik, and efter fyne (ll. 1097–1100)

“Prologue” And, who þat myneþ downe lowe in þe grounde, Of gold and syluer groweþ þe mynerall … And out of fables gret wisdom men may take (ll. 24–25, 28)

“Sheep and Dog” Thocht it wes fals, thay had na conscience (l. 1180)

“Dog and Sheep” To be forsworn on a boke for mede, Of conscience þey take so lytell hede (ll. 536–37)

He bad the parties cheis, with ane assent (l. 1203) The scheip… / …abasitlie couth stand (ll. 1230–31)

The sely sheepe… / Stoode abasshed (ll. 565–66)

This cursit court, corruptit all for meid, Aganis gude faith, gude law, and conscience, For this fals doig pronuncit the sentence (ll. 1241–43)

Thus al thre were false by oon assent, The hound, the wolf, and the cursid kyte (ll. 617–18)

“Lion and Mouse” (ll. 1371–73, 1377) My natall land is Rome, withoutin nay, And in that towne first to the sculis I ‫܌‬ude,

“Prologue” (ll. 8–10) Vnto purpos þe poete laureate Callyd Isopus dyd hym occupy Whylom in Rome to plese þe senate

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In ciuile law studyit full mony ane day, … O maister Esope, poet lawriate7 “Fox and Wolf” With emptie hand na man suld halkis lure (l. 2335)

“Wolf and Lamb” “With empty hande men may no hawkis lewre (l. 330)8

“Wolf and Lamb” Syne drank his blude and off his flesche can eit (l. 2702)

“Wolf and Lamb” Deuouryd þe lambe and aftyr soke hys blood (l. 294)

Moralitas (ll. 2707–76), especially:

Moralitas (ll. 337–57), especially:

The wolf betakinnis fals extortioneris And oppressouris of pure men (ll. 2711–12)

The wolfe ys lykenyd to folkys rauenous The sely lambe resembleþ þe porayle; The wolfe ys gredy, fell, cruell, dyspituous (ll. 337–39)

Ane vther kynd of wolfis rauenous Ar mychtie men, haifand aneuch plenty, Quhilkis ar sa gredie and sa couetous (ll. 2728–30) Lamb’s offer to appear in Lion’s court (ll. 2686–87).

[“Wolf and Crane” moralitas, especially 808–10 and “The poure hathe lytell, the extorssionar hathe all” (l. 831)] [“As a Mydsomer Rose”, ll. 33–40].

“Paddock and Mouse” It passis far all kynd of pestilence (l. 2912)

“Frog and Mouse” hit ys worse þen pestylence or poison (l. 508)

The most conclusive item is Henryson’s claim of Aesop as a Roman rather than a Greek in the “Lion and Mouse”, a description elsewhere attested only in Lydgate’s Isope. In addition to these phrasal allusions, the spring scenes of the “Lion and Mouse” (ll. 1321–41) and “Preaching of the Swallow” (ll. 1680–1720), with references to Flora, Ceres, Bacchus, Eolus and Ver, resemble many Lydgatean aureate descriptions, especially the “Frog and Mouse” (ll. 454, 467) and the Testament of Dan John Lydgate (ll. 283–332), which was circulating in Scotland in extracted form.9 Overall, most of the echoes from Lydgate’s Isope come in Henryson’s moralitates, confirming that when they looked to Lydgate, Scottish writers were most interested in his didactic poetics.10 Lydgate’s Isope circulated in fragmentary forms.11 Even if Henryson did have access to a version, we cannot assume that it contained all of the

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extant fables. Indeed, if these cited allusions are all accepted, Henryson used every extant fable from Lydgate’s Isope except the “Sun’s Marriage”, “Dog and Cheese” and possibly the “Wolf and Crane”. These three fables were not part of the version transmitted in Cambridge, Trinity College MS R.3.19 (before Stow’s sixteenth-century intervention). This could indicate that an early Isope was circulating in Scotland and was read by Henryson. As Henryson was born c.1450 and died in the early sixteenth century, it is probable that he had access to Lydgate’s poetry through prints as well as manuscripts.12 Whereas it is possible to point to fables from the elegiac Romulus, from the Roman de Renart, from Chaucer, from Steinhöwel, from Caxton as specific sources for Henryson’s versions of certain fables, there is no fable of which it could be said that Lydgate is the main source. We can conclude no more than that it is possible, but not provable beyond doubt, that Henryson had read parts of Lydgate’s Isope. There is, however, an undoubtable borrowing from Lydgate’s Churl and Bird in Henryson’s “Wolf and Wether”: HENRYSON

LYDGATE

“Wolf and Wether” (ll. 2588–94) Esope, that poet, first father of this fabill, Wrait this parabole, quhilk is conuenient, Because the sentence wes fructuous and agreabill, In moralitie exemplatiue prudent; Quhais problemes bene verray excellent, Throw similitude of figuris, to this day, Geuis doctrine to the redaris of it ay. (ll. 2588–94)

Churl and Bird (ll. 1–7, 15–16) Problemys, liknessis and ffigures Which previd been fructuous of sentence, And han auctoritees groundid on scriptures Bi resemblaunces of notable apparence, With moralites concluding in prudence,— Lik as the Bible reherseth bi writing, How trees somtyme ches hem-silf a kyng; … And semblably poetes laureate, Bi dirk parables ful convenyent

Additional links between the Churl and Bird and Henryson’s “Against Hasty Credence” are noted by Fox. As Henryson probably read Caxton’s Reynard the Fox and Fables of Esope, he could have read Caxton’s print of the Churl and Bird too.13 Lydgate’s prolixity means that there will be some apparent verbal parallels between him and any fifteenth-century poet. He introduced and popularized so many words that some words that are Lydgatean in origin

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were available to poets who had not read any Lydgate directly.14 Furthermore, even if Henryson did not intend an allusion to Lydgate in certain instances, his readers may well have noted one.15 Whilst acknowledging that such interpretation almost certainly went on, this paper concerns Henryson’s deliberate liaisons with Lydgatean poetics. There can be no doubt that a poet of Henryson’s intellect and learning had read some of Lydgate’s poetry, whether or not it included the Isope, and this encourages a less restricted reading of his debt than critics have hitherto offered. The analysis which follows is not dependent on verbal reminiscences between the two poets, but rather on a conviction that Henryson was responding to Lydgateanism in general rather than particular.16

Lydgatean brinkmanship in the first half of the Morall Fabillis The Morall Fabillis engages with the Lydgatean dialectic over didactic poetics.17 It contains a tension between the optimistic stance that literature can teach people prudence, which helps avoid suffering; and the pessimistic stance that such teaching is impossible and reliance on prudence is futile. Although the same tension permeates Lydgate’s oeuvre, Lydgate rarely allows the optimism to stand unquestioned. He teases readers with the optimistic point of view, before concluding with a final pessimism. The animals of his Isope, no matter how moral their behaviour, cannot resist tyrannical rulers; the Trojans, no matter how virtuous, cannot win the Trojan War; the Thebans, no matter how prudent, cannot overcome their genealogy. This tension so imbues Lydgate’s poetry that it is no exaggeration to call it a Lydgatean dialectic. In the Morall Fabillis, Henryson repeatedly shows the error of Lydgate’s pessimistic dialectic by offering an optimistic escape route. Henryson’s animals, like Lydgate’s, follow the rules of suffisaunce, but in opposition to Lydgate’s pessimistic text, this is usually enough to overcome tyrannous rulers. Henryson’s Morall Fabillis begins with a conventional Prologue. Regardless of whether Lydgate’s Prologue was an influence, Henryson has a conventional faith in the nut and kernel metaphor (ll. 15–16). A faith that truth can be found in unexpected places if readers only seek it is the central tenet of Henryson’s collection but is exactly contrary to Lydgate’s doctrine of suffisaunce. Henryson encourages readers to learn; Lydgate encourages readers to learn to make do. Yet despite this divergence on the purpose of their fables, Henryson does express a Lydgatean ideal in his quotation from Gualterus Anglicus:

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“Dulcius arrident seria picta iocis” (l. 28). Although a common fabular sentiment, this is reminiscent of the Prologue of the Siege of Thebes, in which the Host asks Lydgate to “preche not” but rather “Gynne some tale of myrth” (Prol., ll. 167–68). Like Lydgate, Henryson is testing the common conceit that morality is best conveyed through (humorous) fiction. In another metaphor, Henryson sees the flowers and the corn together as “Hailsum and gude to mannis sustenance” (l. 11), according importance to both the moral and the entertaining aspects of fiction. Lydgate, however, maintains a contrast between these two things: “Ryall dentees” versus “pewter dyssh” (ll. 17–18); “precious stones” versus “blak erþe” (l. 22); “Perlys whyte” versus “muscle shellys blake” (ll. 26–27); “moralytees” versus “fables rude” (l. 21). Lydgate is troubled by efforts to moralize fiction; Henryson is not. When Henryson writes that “ane man be lyke ane beist” (l. 50), he is warning readers that they can learn directly from the actions and mistakes of the protagonists of his fables. The ways in which Henryson and Lydgate treat the “Cock and Jasp” / “Cock and Jewel”, which immediately follows the Prologue in all extant witnesses of the fable in both authors’ texts, is indicative of their divergent views on the function of moral fiction. This fable has a common opening position in the Aesopic tradition precisely because it tests the principal metaphor of the Prologue. Lydgate uses the metaphor of mining (l. 22), thereby placing the emphasis on the acquisition of the jewel rather than on the jewel itself. Henryson makes a different link, discussing the “corne” (l. 10) hidden in the “bustious eird” (l. 9). This is provocative, since the Cock later rejects the stone because he would prefer “draf or corne” (l. 94) to “of iaspis ane mekill multitude” (l. 96). Another link is between Henryson’s intention to write “In hamelie language and in termes rude” (l. 36) in the Prologue, and his use of the same formula to preface the moralitas to the “Cock and Jasp” (l. 119). Both Lydgate and Henryson use the first fable to clarify the moral poetics of the Prologue and collection. Whether or not Henryson saw Lydgate’s version of this fable, his completely contrary moralization illustrates their opposing poetics. In the “Cock and Jewel”, Lydgate, who inverts Marie de France’s traditional moralization, commends the Cock for suffisaunce; for rejecting the jewel because it is above his station. Henryson, however, condemns the Cock precisely for his lack of aspiration; the jewel “Betakinnis perfite prudence” (l. 128), and the Cock’s failure to see its importance is condemned. The jewel’s properties are precisely those that Lydgate futilely wishes were provided by literature: “stark to haif the victorie / Of all vices” (ll. 132– 33). As Lyall (2006, 94) puts it, “the narrator’s concluding injunction to ‘Ga seik the iasp’ relates, in part at least, to the reading process”.

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Henryson tells many of the same stories as Lydgate, but he retains optimism about their didactic function. Henryson often comes teasingly close to a Lydgatean position only to retreat dismissively at the last minute. This game of poetic brinkmanship is pervasive enough to imply a deliberate refutation of Lydgatean poetics. The “Two Mice” is informed by the relentlessly pessimistic emphasis on Fortune and the fall of the powerful in the Troy Book, Siege of Thebes or Fall of Princes, with its warning that “efter joy oftymes cummis cair, / And troubill efter grit prosperitie” (ll. 290–91). The description of the Cat’s pawing of the country mouse in the “Two Mice”—“Quhylis vp, quhylis doun” (l. 331)—shares something with the conventional depiction of Fortune so ubiquitous in Lydgate’s poetry. Henryson almost accepts Lydgate’s conception of the arbitrariness of divine justice, but finally provides an actionable lesson: Swa intermellit is aduersitie With eirdlie ioy, swa that na state is frie Without trubill or sum vexatioun, And namelie thay quhilk clymmis vp maist hie, And not content with small possessioun.

(ll. 368–72).

It would be extraordinary if a poet as intellectual as Henryson had written these lines without some knowledge of their resonance of Boccaccio or, as is more likely, Lydgate’s Fall of Princes. The moralitas is the single instance where Smith (1906–14, I:xxxix) believes that Henryson was directly adapting Lydgate’s Isope. If this is the case, then the “Two Mice” is provocative in the extreme, since Henryson travels very close to the ethical code of Lydgate’s own collection only to correct it. Henryson’s Country Mouse comes perilously near to death, but because she ultimately chooses the doctrine of suffisaunce, she survives against Fortune. In the “Fox and Wolf”, Henryson continues this by sympathizing with Lowrence’s attempt to spite his destiny. The description of him as an astrologer at the beginning of the fable is original to Henryson, indicating how deliberately he sought to engage with the question of “destenie” (ll. 649ff.). The narrator implies that Lowrence’s fate is inevitable, but Lowrence sees no reason why he should not attempt to avert his death (l. 653). His eventual death is because of avoidable errors; as Denton Fox notes, “the Fox’s death is not to be taken as the inevitable result of the malign heavens” (Henryson 1981, 224). Lowrence is “in no doubt that he is in control of his own fate—that by his actions, even by his speech, he can modify the world around him to his own material advantage” (Lyall 2005a, 91). The reason for Lowrence’s subsequent death is not that

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Fortune is unfair, but rather that there has been a reparable procedural error. Henryson does not doubt the ability of confession to help avoid torment; he rather doubts that the Wolf’s administration was correct and that the Fox took confession in the right state of mind (Lyall 2005a, 91). This is not to say that Henryson’s creatures do not continue to see the world in a Lydgatean manner. In the “Sheep and Dog”, Henryson’s Sheep makes a moving, Lydgatean protest against divine injustice: Quaikand for cauld, sair murnand ay amang, Kest vp his ee vnto the heuinnis hicht, And said, “O lord, quhy sleipis thow sa lang?

(ll. 1293–95).

However, Henryson’s narrator never associates himself with such pessimism. Whether discussing the church courts or the sheriff courts, the onus is on the need for human rather than divine reform. Pope (1980, 208) calls this fable “a severe indictment of…current legal procedure”. There is the possibility of change; proper human behaviour can combat apparently arbitrary divine justice. In these fables, Fortune initially appears to be in control, but the apparent injustice of the world is finally attributed to other, human errors. Free will overcomes predestination in Henryson’s unLydgatean world.

The qualified Lydgatean pessimism in the second half of the Morall Fabillis In the first half of the Morall Fabillis, as is evident, Henryson repeatedly verges on a Lydgatean account of the world dependent on predestination, before withdrawing by counselling that learnable moral actions can overcome Fortune. This becomes explicit again in the “Lion and Mouse”, the crucial central fable in the Bassandyne order. As discussed above, this portrait of Aesop contains Henryson’s repetition of Lydgate’s mistaken claim that Aesop was Roman (l. 1371). If Henryson was reading Lydgate’s Isope attentively at this point, then perhaps it is responsible for Henryson’s Aesop’s pessimism; he is provocatively cynical about the utility of fables. His initial refusal of Henryson’s request to narrate a fable is flawlessly Lydgatean: “For quhat is it worth to tell ane fen‫܌‬eit taill, / Quhen haly preiching may na thing auaill?” (ll. 1389–90). Yet this portrait of a dissenting Aesop is really part of Henryson’s dream, ready to be dismissed by Aesop’s subsequent fable, which, observes Fox, “shows that such persuasion was once successful” (Henryson 1981, lxxviii). Henryson raises the possibility of fiction not functioning morally, only to reassert its

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proper potential. The “Lion and Mouse” is set up as confirmation of Henryson’s narrator’s poetics: “‫܋‬it, gentill schir,” said I, “for my requeist, Not to displeis ‫܌‬our fatherheid, I pray, Vnder the figure off ane brutall beist, Ane morall fabill ‫܌‬e wald den‫܌‬e to say. Quha wait nor I may leir and beir away Sum thing thairby heirefter may auaill?” “I grant,” quod he, and thus begouth ane taill.

(ll. 1398–404).

The ensuing tale is explicitly set out as the fulfilment of the narrator’s own view of fables: unsurprisingly, considering that it is his own dream. He provides his own summary of Aesop: Ar ‫܌‬e not he that all thir fabillis wrate, Quhilk in effect, suppois thay fen‫܌‬eit be, Ar full off prudence and moralitie?

(ll. 1379–81).

This optimistic theory of fable is identical to Henryson’s own: “prudence” recalls the jasp of the “Cock and Jasp” (l. 128), whilst the discussion of what is “fen‫܌‬eit” revisits the debate of the Prologue. There is a further discussion of “moralitie exemplatiue prudent” (l. 2591) in the “Wolf and Wether” in the lines alluding to Lydgate’s Churl and Bird, discussed later. These terms are fundamental to Lydgatean poetics, suggesting that Henryson is specifically engaging with Lydgate’s theory of narrative ethics. The tale part of the “Lion and Mouse” denies Lydgate’s pessimism about these tenets by showing that personal governance can be a force for good. It promises that poetry can teach people to use moral behaviour to improve their lot. The Lion is initially an unjust ruler, like the Sun in Lydgate’s “Sun’s Marriage”. However, the Mouse succeeds in persuading the Lion to mend his ways: “In euerie iuge mercy and reuth suld be / As assessouris and collaterall” (ll. 1468–69). This gives the impression that the Lion’s subsequent change into a better monarch is due to his greater consideration of his subjects. These lines come from the central stanza of the 424 in the whole collection (in the Bassandyne order), suggesting their importance. However, Henryson is not entirely optimistic, creating a degree of ambiguity in the Lion’s decision. It is unclear whether he changes his mind because of the Mouse’s plea for better kingship, or because of the reason given afterwards: that his blood “to ‫܌‬our stomok is contagious” (l. 1492).

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Nevertheless, it is easy to see why the Lion’s clear reform would leave the reader in optimistic mood.18 When the Mouse is freed, she sees no contradiction in praying to God immediately (ll. 1507–09), and nor does Aesop in his Christian prayer that “iustice regne” (l. 1618) in Scotland. God and Fortune serve morality rather than work against it by punishing arbitrarily. Reinforcing the role of the “Lion and Mouse” as the pivot of the collection, the stanza that concludes the fable ties up many of the issues which the preceding fables have tackled: religious prayer, treason, justice, tyranny (ll. 1615–19). Henryson strongly objects to Lydgate’s arbitrary Fortune, commending his “Lion and Mouse” as successful advice to princes (“‫܋‬e lordis”, l. 1594). The “Preaching of the Swallow” qualifies the optimism of the first half of the collection. The Swallow’s decision to preach a sermon responds to Henryson’s Aesop’s view that “haly preiching may na thing auaill” (l. 1390): “the preiching of the swallow” (l. 1950) is the fable’s final phrase as well as its title. The Swallow warns the birds that they are “full off negligence, / Vnmindfull off ‫܌‬our awin prosperitie” (ll. 1790–91), using the same vocabulary of fall of princes that imbues earlier fables. We have seen that this is good advice; yet on this occasion the lesson is not taken. This is a difference from earlier fables: whereas Henryson’s earlier moralitates provided a lesson and assumed that it would be learnt, the “Preaching of the Swallow” questions not the lesson but the ability of an audience to learn that lesson, like the Churl and Bird (discussed later). The Swallow and the narrator are thus united in their belief that prudence and virtue are a means to success. The Swallow laments “thame that will not tak counsall nor reid / Off prudent men or clerkis that ar wyis” (ll. 1883– 84). However, as in the “Lion and Mouse”, Henryson allows the opposite (Lydgatean) argument to be made—by the “small birdis, haueand bot lytill thocht / Off perrell” (ll. 1818–19)—in order to dismiss it. The explicitly Christian aspect of the Swallow’s sermon implies that God provides the means to combat Fortune. Whereas Lydgate does not allow Christian faith as a remedy in either his pagan epics or fables, Henryson does allow Christianity to operate. However, the protagonists will not hear this lesson. Lydgate is pessimistic about the theory of prudence (its ability to help people given the unpredictability of Fortune), whereas the “Preaching of the Swallow” laments the willingness of people to apply it. The birds provide various objections to the doctrine of prudence, but ultimately this is to their own destruction; “prudence is both necessary and possible” (Burrow 1975, 33). Henryson maintains his unLydgatean faith in prudence as a theory, but begins to express a Lydgatean hesitancy that its lessons can be learnt in practice.

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The Morall Fabillis becomes increasingly bleak, to a qualified extent, from this point onwards. This could be because Henryson intended his collection to hold optimistic and pessimistic extremes in tension, as reflected in the Bassandyne order. Equally, Lyall (2002) argues that the three pessimistic fables that survive only in the Bassandyne and Charteris witnesses, the “Fox, Wolf and Cadger”, “Fox, Wolf and Husbandman” and “Wolf and Wether”, might be subsequent additions, the composition of which was prompted by Henryson’s late exposure to a Dutch translation of Steinhöwel’s diverse collection of fables. If these fables were written at a later date, an exposure to Lydgate might be another factor in their pessimism, since the recasting of lines from the Churl and Bird in the “Wolf and Wether” is, as mentioned previously, Henryson’s most irrefutable allusion to Lydgate. Even if Henryson saw Lydgate’s Isope earlier, the more destructive interrogation of didactic poetics in the Churl and Bird could have contributed, with Steinhöwel, to the change of tone in these three fables. This pessimistic non-Romuline trio stands in Lydgatean opposition to the optimistic non-Romuline trio of the first half of the collection. However, whereas Lydgate does not allow for combative lessons or Christianity to counteract this bleakness, Henryson provides a scheme for moral improvement that will allow redemption through recourse to “Halie Scripture” (l. 2665). The “Wolf and Wether” advertises its debt to Lydgate explicitly, to an extent beyond the verbal allusions and general Lydgatean tone of the other fables. The first stanza of Henryson’s moralitas references the first stanza of the Churl and Bird, in which Lydgate sets out a simple vision of didactic poetics before he undermines it. This could be central to correct interpretation of Henryson’s fable. Lydgate suggests that parables perfectly transmit “moralites concluding in prudence” (l. 5), yet, as Simpson (2006, 142) shows, proceeds to provide examples which reject this poetics. This contradiction sets the tone for Lydgate’s whole poem, which effectively proves wrong the assumptions of his narrator in its ironic narrative. Conversely, the Morall Fabillis has a fundamental faith in the didactic potential of literature: where irony occurs, it supports rather than destabilizes the didactic message. However, critics have been troubled by the moralitas of the “Wolf and Wether”: readers side with the Wether during the tale and are surprised when he is finally condemned for pretending to be a dog. Newlyn (1982, 49–50) suggests that Henryson encourages readers to sympathize with the Wether and uses the conflicting moralitas to teach why this sympathy was mistaken. With similar ramifications, Khinoy (1982, 110) argues that the death of the Wether “serves to remind us that poverty and the espousal of

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virtue do not preserve us”. If these critics are right that the poem’s moralitas is somewhat in opposition to the text, then Henryson’s citation of the most problematic part of Lydgate’s most problematic fable could be part of his strategy to incite readers; a strategy used repeatedly in the Chaucerian verbal echoes of the Testament of Cresseid. In the light of its Lydgatean citation, Henryson’s fable counsels that the Wether’s death is not necessarily because of any moral shortcomings. The “Paddock and Mouse” concludes Henryson’s collection in the Bassandyne order. The Morall Fabillis ends as it began: with a fable that substantially alters the thrust of Lydgate’s rendition. In Lydgate’s “Frog and Mouse”, which follows the traditional plot of Marie de France, the Kite kills only the Frog, whereas in Henryson’s version the Kite kills both Paddock and Mouse. Henryson’s Paddock recalls the terms of the Prologue once again, with reference to “corne” (l. 2791), “quheit” (l. 2792) and “nuttis” (l. 2796). The Mouse’s response to his proverbs, “Let be thy preiching” (l. 2851), recalls the “Lion and Mouse” and “Preaching of the Swallow”. The struggle between the Paddock and Mouse—“Quhyle to, quhyle fra” (l. 2892), “Now hie, now law, quhylis plungit vp, quhylis doun” (l. 2939)—recalls the Cat in the “Two Mice” (l. 331). These several allusions indicate the importance of this fable in interpretations of the collection and support its position as the final fable. The moralitas initially ignores the intervention of the Kite, warning “Be war thairfore with quhome thow fallowis the” (l. 2914). As Fox (Henryson 1981, 325) sees it, the first half of the moralitas applies only to the first half of the tale. The second, allegorical half of the moralitas casts the Paddock as “mannis bodie” (l. 2937), “Now on the quheill, now wappit to the ground” (l. 2947). This highlights that both the tyrannous and the virtuous parties in the tale suffer at the hands of the Kite, which represents death (l. 2962). So far, so Lydgatean; but the moralitas concludes with an entirely un-Lydgatean optimism: “mak the ane strang castell / Of gud deidis” (ll. 2966–67). Comfortable that moral conduct will help readers cope with death, Henryson concludes his collection in an unproblematically Christian manner: Now Christ for vs that deit on the rude, Of saull and lyfe as thow art Saluiour, Grant vs till pas in till ane blissit hour.

(ll. 2973–75).

This Christian commendation ends the Morall Fabillis in an insistently unLydgatean manner: “it is not too late to bring about the personal and social reform the world so urgently requires” (Lyall 2006, 104).

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The influence of Lydgate on the Morall Fabillis is plainly more stylistic than verbal. It is impossible to conclude with certainty that Henryson had specifically read Lydgate’s Isopes Fabules, but the poetic evidence attests to Henryson’s thorough grounding in Lydgatean poetics. Henryson is familiar with Lydgate’s characteristic pessimism, but never permits readers wholly to lose faith that there is a Christian moral solution to the problem of apparently arbitrary divine justice. Where Lydgate’s poem is ironic and subversive of didactic poetics, Henryson’s is dominantly supportive. Henryson’s engagement with Lydgate is not characterized by anxiety or awe; his is a confident interrogation and refutation of Lydgatean poetics.

Notes 1

This reinstates parts of earlier lists that were bafflingly excluded by Fox. Lydgate’s text is quoted from Lydgate 1911–34, II, and Henryson’s from Henryson 1981. Other liaisons between Henryson’s and Lydgate’s poetry are listed in Sweet 2009 (Chapter VI). 2 Of the primary witnesses, only Bassandyne includes this, but see 1377. 3 See Powell 1983, 104. 4 Smith (Henryson 1906–14, I:xxxviii–xxxix) suggests that Henryson noted Lydgate’s omission of this fable. 5 However, Powell (1983, 119) notes that Gyb was a common name for a cat. 6 MED and DOST record no other occurrences of “small possession”. 7 Gray (1979, 40 n.20) notes that Norton-Smith suggests Henryson was thinking of the Roman tragic actor Aesop, friend of Cicero. MacQueen (2006, 157) proposes “a common source, as yet unidentified”. 8 Note, however, that this is proverbial; see, for instance, Canterbury Tales, III.1340. 9 On this aureate vocabulary, see Nichols 1932; Ebin 1988, 19–48; Sweet 2012a. 10 See Sweet 2009 and Sweet 2010. 11 On the witnesses: Sweet 2009 (Chapter III). Lydgate’s text is more amenable to fables being read individually than Henryson’s holistic collection. This is a measure of the poets’ different views on the practice of reading. 12 On Lydgate manuscripts and prints circulating in medieval Scotland: Sweet 2012b. 13 On Caxton’s influence: Fox 1968 and Lyall 2002. 14 See examples in Henryson 1981, 392 and 460. 15 This occurred, for example, in the attribution to “bochas” of the stanzas of the Testament of Cresseid in the Book of the Dean of Lismore. 16 For the only extensive critical interpretations of Lydgate’s Isope: Wheatley 2000 and Sweet 2009 (Chapter III). 17 Whilst the order of Henryson’s Morall Fabillis is not a crucial part of his interaction with Lydgatean poetics, the Bassandyne order is adopted in this article.

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Although Aesop offers a positive lesson, there is a limited sense that, as the Mouse says, “this is the samin lyoun” (l. 1542): that the Lion has not reformed. This is part of the fable’s role as the pivot of the collection: it looks back to the optimism of the first half and forward to the pessimism of the second half. The “Lion and Mouse” is genuinely up for debate, as Henryson invites readers to choose between Aesop’s (Lydgate’s, even) and his own views of didactic poetry.

LITERALITY AND AURALITY IN THE TEXTS OF HENRYSON’S FABLES AND CAXTON’S THE HISTORY OF REYNARD THE FOX: AUDIENCE CONSTRUCTION OF MEANING RELATED TO RECEPTION OF THE TEXTS JULIAN GOOD

Building on the thesis of Joyce Coleman (1996) that aurality (the reading aloud of written texts to an audience, as a social event) survived as a mode of reception of texts until the end of the fifteenth century and beyond, this paper will provide a short examination of Henryson’s “The Trial of the Fox” (c.1490) and Caxton’s translation of The History of Reynard the Fox (1481),1 in order to determine to what extent elements of the text may be seen as contributing to either aural reception or literal, or both, and what this may mean for the understanding of the texts.

Aurality and Literality Here I shall use Coleman’s term “aurality” to refer to the reading aloud of a written text to an audience, which is different from “orality”, which I define as the quality of being oral or orally communicated, exemplified by the non-literate text composed in speech or song, recited from memory to an audience. “Literality”, as redefined for present purposes, refers to a text that is both composed and read privately, usually silently. Literality and aurality are concerned with both the composition and the possible reception of the written narrative. Briefly, the properties of literality are: composed in writing; in private; read in private; possibly silently (the words may be mouthed, murmured, or spoken aloud to oneself); usually with an identified author and/or sources (cf. Minnis 1984), interiorized by the reader as written, separate words. The properties of aurality are: composed in writing; read aloud by the author/scribe or another, to at least one other person; a social event or

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reception; may be interiorized as separate words by a literate audience, or as a series of pictures or images of a larger narrative by a non-literate audience. Such visual communication of narrative images has been called “visuality”, the ability to see the narrative, or visual literacy, for example the appreciation of the narrative contained in the stained glass windows of a church, paintings and statues (Fox 2000, 34–35). Aurality as a mode of reception of texts did not die out with the introduction of printing or the spread of literacy, but survived to the twentieth century, and later, in the form of family and wider social recitals of religious texts, social readings of newspaper stories, reading stories to children, and in what has been termed the “secondary orality” (Ong 2002, 3) of listening to radio broadcasting, much of which relies on a written text of one kind or another.

Modes of Reception Since any written text is clearly available for either reading (silently or aloud) in private, or for being read by a prelector (one who reads the text aloud to another/others) as part of a shared, social event, then all written texts are capable of being received in either mode. A text may therefore contain elements of both literality, towards a private reading, and aurality, towards a public reading. Properties of texts that may suggest aurality or literality include evidence concerning transmission or reception of the texts, visual elements, a stated author or source which gives authority to the text and to any moral elements within it. There are other properties including those of sound, episodic or linear narrative, and interior or exterior characterization; but in this article they will not be touched on due to constraints of space. The presence of one or more of these qualities in a text does not of itself imply a solely aural or a literal reception of the text, but the balance of such qualities may point towards aurality or literality.

Transmission and Reception Statements or elements concerning transmission and reception of the text include the use of words such as “read” or “study”; “hear” or “herken”; vernacular style, summing up statements, and some points of potential flexibility of interpretation in aural performance. In Henryson’s “Prologue” aurality is implied in the statement that fables “Richt plesand ar vnto the eir of man” (l. 4).2 However, literality is a stronger presence, in “the subtell dyte of poetry” (l. 13), “dyte” is glossed by Fox (Henryson 1981, 530) as “writing, a written work, style”. Other

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implications of literality may be found in “ane doctrine” (l. 17); “clerkis sayis” (l. 19); “In ernistfull thochtis and in studying” (l. 25), and in “ane maner of translatioun” (l. 32), all implying private study, thought, consideration of the written page, as does the request that the reader “[c]orrect” (l. 42) any perceived error in the text. Additionally, the use of Latin (l. 28) and more formal language suggest a literal reception rather than an aural. Such elements as “ernistfull thochtis…studying” and “doctrine” are more likely to exclude the possibility of aurality than to include it. Caxton’s prologue section3 at one point refers to both the “redynge or heeryng” (Caxton 1970, 6, l. 8) of the text, but apart from this there are multiple references to private reading in “dyuerse poyntes to be merkyd” (6, l. 2); “he muste ofte and many tymes rede” (6, l. 13); and “ernestly and diligently marke wel that he redeth” (6, l. 14); “in redyng of it / and not ones to rede it” (6, ll. 15–16); “not wyth ones ouer redyng” (6, l. 16), and “oftymes to rede it” (6, l. 17). This would appear to strongly imply a literal reception, yet Coleman (1996, 218) suggests that this passage is in fact ridiculing the contemporary fashion of studious and scholarly reading and understanding of vernacular literature. She comments “Reynard is a narrative meant to amuse its audience…to pique them with its easy to follow political overtones”. If this is so, then this passage clearly possesses a potential for flexibility of interpretation in aural performance since, spoken with irony, it would imply the opposite of what all those multiple “redes” seem to be saying. As Coleman says, this is an entertaining story about a fox and a lion, and as such an ironic reading suggests a strong element of aurality. In the two prologues then, Henryson’s appears much more weighted towards literality, whereas Caxton’s is more suggestive of aurality if we accept Coleman’s ironical reading. In Henryson’s “The Trial of the Fox” there are no direct statements of reception or transmission, although the narrator does give advice in the form of “Luke to this tod, how he wes in effray / And fle the filth of falset, I the reid,” (ll. 982–83), which gives the feeling of a direct verbal warning to a listening audience. Similarly, the last line of the Moralitas “And thus endis the talking of the tod” (l. 1145) coming directly after the supplication to “Mary myld” (l. 1139), has a sound of verbal finality, with the “talking” carrying a double meaning, either of the clever arguments of the fox, now ended by his death, or the aural recitation of his adventures.4 As writing on the page, it is weaker. In Caxton’s account of the fox’s first trial, there are two listening reception statements: “now herkene how the foxe shal flatre the kynge and quene” (34, ll. 22–23), and “Now herkene how the foxe began” (35, l. 16),

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giving a sense of aurality to the text. It could be argued that this is a residual aurality, simply left over or surviving from an earlier version when prelection of the text was more common, yet at the date of publication of Caxton’s translation, 1481, it is likely that aural reception of such texts was still common; such a mode of reception did not end coincidentally with the advent of print and print culture. As has been observed (Cavallo and Chartier 1999, 4), “the sort of reading implicit in many texts was oralized (as was their actual reading)” until at least the seventeenth century. Additionally the narrator, in giving an account of the trial and the arguments of the court, states “I shal shorte the mater and telle yow forthe of the foxe” (30, ll. 28–29). Here the sense is of the prelector hurrying on with the story to get to what actually happens, to satisfy the impatience with details of a listening audience. From the reception statements in the texts then, there are elements of literality, especially in Henryson’s “Prologue”, but otherwise aurality seems a stronger presence.

Authority and Morality Other elements that may distinguish literality and aurality are those of an identified author and authority, and a moral purpose in a text. In Henryson’s “Prologue” there are three references to “Esope” as the author (ll. 27–28, 43, 57), and two to the age of the fables, giving authority to the text. In “The Trial of the Fox”, however, there are two references that place the narrative in Henryson’s contemporary present or near present. The fable begins “This foirsaid foxe that deit for his misdeid” (l. 796), referring to the father of the fox in this fable, the father being the same fox that takes Chantecleir in “The Cock and the Fox”, and is slain by the goatherd in “The Fox and the Wolf”. The action of the tale of Chantecleir and the fox, the narrator tells us “fell this ather ‫܌‬eir” (l. 409), or a year or two ago. Additionally, when the narrator is describing the procession of animals on their way to the king’s court in “The Trial of the Fox”, it is the fox of the fable himself who has told the narrator about the marvellous animals who took part “to me as Lowrence leird” (l. 884), again placing the narrative in the present time of the narrator. In the Moralitas, however, the tale is described as “ane fabill figurall” (l. 1099), there is a reference to Solomon in “Salomonis saying” (l. 1130), and such parallels as “The lyoun is the warld be liklynace” (l. 1104), all of which may place the narrative as a fable or moral tale set at a distance from the present time, although it could be argued that allegorical time could be immanent if the audience saw the allegory as particularly relevant to themselves or their situation. The Moralitas gives a strong moral purpose to the tale, lending

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an element of literality; by itself the fable could stand as an entertaining narrative, although one with a somewhat shocking end, the death of the fox, who usually escapes punishment of any kind in the surviving fox literature. In “The Trial of the Fox” there is no reference to an author or authority, other than the fact that it is the fox himself who has instructed the narrator in the details of the parade of the animals. There are moral statements in the narrative of the fable, such as “Fy, couetice, vnkynd and venemous!” (l. 817), and the whole of stanza six, beginning “O fulische man! Plungit in wardlynes” (l. 831). Both exclamations refer to the fox’s actions concerning his father’s death. Such in-narrative moralizing may suggest literality, although read aloud it would suggest a narrator (or even a prelector) no longer able to contain his anger at the fox’s immoral actions. Such moralizing then is effective both as aurality and literality. There are no moral outbursts, however, following the fox’s slaying of the lamb, surely a worse offence than his covetousness and disrespect for his father’s corpse. The moral strength of the narrative part of the fable is not in the moral statements so much as in the action and visual elements of the story. The fox kills and eats the lamb almost in an aside to the main tale. It is as he is fetching water for the wolf that he happens upon the troop of lambs and quickly “The fattest off this flock he fellit hais, / And eit his fill; syne to the volff he gais” (ll. 1046–47). The enormity of the fox’s deed is only brought home to the reader three stanzas later, however, when after some game at court at the expense of the wolf, the laughter stops when suddenly “Swa come the ‫܌‬ow, the mother off the lam.” (l. 1068). The vital lamb, which so quickly was slain and eaten to become part of the fox’s vitals, is brought back suddenly to the reader or audience. Subsequently, as quickly as the fox despatched the lamb, the fox is despatched by the lion’s justice and the legal procedures of his court. The evidence is given and the lion finds the fox guilty and “hangit him, and thus he maid his end” (l. 1096). The fox has broken the King’s Peace, and he is rapidly hanged for it. This strong moral in the narrative, that the weak should be protected or avenged by the strong, is followed by the Moralitas of seven stanzas. This Moralitas is what has been called the “dark” kind (Gray 1979), one in which the moral point in relation to the narrative of the poem only becomes clear after some thought or exegesis. For example, both “The lyoun is the warld be liklynace” (l. 1104) and “This tod I likkin to temptationis” (l. 1132) need some thought in order to see their relevance to the narrative part of the fable. This would suggest literality rather than aurality. A silent private reader would be able to go back and forth between the Moralitas and the narrative in order to relate the two to each other. This could not be done by an audience at a social reading, although

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they would be able to discuss the Moralitas among themselves and perhaps come to a conclusion through social interaction, which a private reader would not be able to do. However the moral points in the narrative and the following “dark” Moralitas, including mention of the afterlife such as the appeal to Mary to “help vs vp vnto that heuinlie hall” (l. 1143), would appear more suggestive of literality than aurality. In The History of Reynard the Fox, both in the prologue section and in the trial section, there is no mention of an author or authority, nor of older sources. Caxton does mention at the very end of the narrative that he has translated it as closely as he could, from the Dutch, but gives no further source, except to say that if anyone finds anything displeasing then “blame not me / but the foxe / for they be his wordes and not myne” (112, ll. 15– 16). This recalls Chaucer’s comment in “The Nun’s Priest’s Tale”, that if his words displease, “Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat mine” (Chaucer 2005, 614, l. 3265). Is it being suggested that the final authority, or perhaps the narrator, of The History of Reynard the Fox is the fox himself? This would certainly place it a long way from the traditional authority of more literal texts. Is there a moral element in The History of Reynard the Fox? There are the multiple urgings of the prologue section to read the tale for worldly benefits, that may be making fun of that practice, and a very short passage at the end telling of the wisdom and virtue to be found in the narrative (112, ll. 6–9), but there is no sense of any moral guidance in the whole of the narrative, suggesting aurality rather than literality.

Visuality, text as images of a larger narrative An aural/oral text may have very visual elements, providing a series of setpieces or tableaux that together provide a linear collection of images of the larger narrative (Kolve 1984). The pictures suggested by the text are vivid and concrete, and may be interiorized by a listening audience. Such interiorizing of narrative images is what has called the visuality of the text. By far the most common strongly visual elements of Reynard are those of violence, mostly that instigated by the fox, and images of the fox’s cunning and deviousness. In “The Trial of the Fox” there are images of violence brought about by the fox, but there are also images of violence against the fox, leading most unusually to his death. Images of the fox’s cunning are seen as we are told that Reynard was planning to “lye and by flaterye and fayr wordes” (34, l. 25) to deceive the king. Yet we see that the fox adopts a “sorouful contenance” (34, l. 27) and “Tho trembled the foxe by dyssymylyng as he had ben a ferde” (35, l. 4). Another visual

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element is the fact that this fraudulent confession takes place as the fox is himself standing at the top of the gallows ladder, on the verge of execution, looking down on the king and his court. Reynard is again placed visually above his accusers when the king, standing “vpon an hygh stage of stone” (42, l. 7) proclaims his forgiveness of and renewed friendship with the fox, as the fox stands with him, next to the queen. The rest of the court is sitting on the ground around and below the high stone. The fox’s cunning has taken him from the gallows’ height to the high stage with the king himself. At the conclusion of the fox’s first trial in Reynard is a powerful image, both comic and macabre, of the fox setting off on his (fraudulent) pilgrimage to Rome. As the narrator (who may be the fox himself) comments: “yf ye had seen reynart how personably he wente wyth hys male and palster on his sholder and the shoes on his feet / ye shold haue laughed” (45, ll. 22–24). This creates a rather jaunty, comic image of the fox starting his journey, perhaps inclining one to laugh until it is remembered that the shoes on Reynard’s feet and the bag he carries are made out of the skin torn off the feet of the wolf and his wife, and the back of the bear respectively. Some of the most vivid visual elements of “The Trial of the Fox” are not of the fox’s cunning, nor of his instigation of violence against others. They are of his lack of cunning and of the ultimate violence carried out against the fox himself at his hanging. For example, after the panther has fenced in those attending the king’s court, the fox realizes he is caught, in circumstances most unpropitious for him: Than Tod Lowrie luikit quhair he couth lour, And start on fute, all stonist and all steird, Ryifand his hair, he cryit with ane reird, Quaikand for dreid and sichand couth he say, “Allace, this hour, allace, this dulefull day!” (ll. 952–56)

Not only is this a strong comic image of the fox tugging his hair and trembling, it is memorable also in that there are very few instances in any of the extant fox literature of the period where the fox succumbs to such weakness. Virtually always he is the strong, the cunning victor, who creates fear and despair in others rather than experiencing it himself. In “The Trial of the Fox” we see images of the result of the fox’s cunning against another, although this occurs in the story within a story, the episode of the mare’s kick, not in the main narrative. The mare, summoned to the court by the king, claims to have a year’s respite from such attendance written on the bottom of her hoof. She invites the fox, as

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one of the king’s emissaries, to read the respite, but the fox declines, claiming that he cannot read and that the wolf is “ane nobill clerk at all” (l. 1011), so better qualified to read what is on the mare’s hoof. The wolf attempts to do so, and as a result the mare “straik the hattrell off his heid away” (l. 1023), leaving him with “brokin skap and bludie cheikis reid” (l. 1034). Subsequently the lion and the court make fun of the wolf’s “reid bonat” (l. 1061) and “reid cap” (l. 1062). The injury done to the wolf, which the fox has avoided for himself, is vividly seen. Ultimately the fox cannot avoid his hanging, however: an event so rare in the surviving literature of the period that the fact itself would have left an impression of shock with the audience. There is a brutal brevity and vividness of detail, in few short lines “Thay band him fast… / …tak off all his clais / … / …furth him led…to the gallous… / … / …bad him sone ascend, / And hangit him” (ll. 1090–96). Here we have a picture of swift justice for the fox’s crime, in a genre where much of the pleasure for an audience or reader would have been in anticipating and verifying how the fox escaped from such retribution. The visual details and shock of the hanging, which conclude the narrative, would be perhaps the major impression of the fable taken away by the reader/audience, in some cases eclipsing any impression or effect created by the following Moralitas.

The function of aurality and literality in the reader’s construction of meaning How then does the balance of aurality and literality in the reception of the texts contribute to the reader’s construction of the meaning? Overall, Henryson’s “Prologue” has more reception/transmission statements towards literality than does Caxton’s prologue section, where the many “redes” may be seen as satirical or ironic enforcing the reader’s perception that what is to follow may not be a serious moral statement so much as an entertaining comment on society. The reader’s expectation of a moral dimension in Henryson’s text may be reinforced by the fact that these are fables, a form that traditionally carried a moral statement following the narrative element. Henryson’s exhortation to the reader towards earnest thought and study of his translation, in order to gain the kernel or inner meaning of the enjoyable narrative, further implies a literality in the potential for a deeper meaning that needs to be extracted, worked at. This is more possible with a written text in front of one than with the more transitory form of the spoken word. Although Caxton’s prologue section appears to suggest close study of the text, it may be an ironic comment by the narrator on the contemporary fashion for seeking moral meaning in

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texts that may have been intended as no more than entertainment or satirical comment. It is possible to see an irony in the over-use of exhortation to read and study in Caxton that would be difficult point to in Henryson’s “Prologue”, leaving Caxton’s reader less inclined to construct a moral meaning from the text. In Henryson’s “The Trial of the Fox” there are no direct statements of transmission or reception, yet other elements that may guide the reader’s understanding include the narrator’s moral exclamations that occur throughout the narrative, and of course the presence of the Moralitas itself with its address to the Virgin Mary, which would keep the moral element of the text in the reader’s mind. An identifiable moral purpose is associated with literality, in which meaning may need to be worked at through study and reflection, rather than with aurality, in which texts may be engaging and entertaining, not needing multiple readings to extract meaning. In Caxton’s first trial section, there are no moral interjections from the narrator, nor any clearly labelled Moralitas to guide the reader’s response. Indeed, in Caxton there is no clear narrator presence, unless it is the fox himself, who would hardly be suggesting negative moral interpretations of his own actions. In the lack of an identifiable author or narrator presence who guides the moral response of the reader, and with the implication that the narrator is Reynard himself, how would the fox as narrator affect the reader’s construction of meaning in the aural and the literal modes? The voice of the lector in the aural may give a stronger, more immediate impression of the fox’s view of things than the readers’ imagination may be able to provide in a silent reading. In such a way aurality may suggest a meaning that is anti-moral, or amoral, rather than moral. Looking at the visual elements of the texts, which of course are present in both literal and aural reception, the question is: what is the difference made to the construction of meaning by the mode of reception? Many, if not most, of the listeners in an assumed aural mode5 in the fifteenth century would have been non-literate, so that their reception would have been as transitory sound-images, not as units interiorized in a graphic, written form. Their whole experience of language would have been as a stream of sound-pictures and phonetic shades of meaning rather than the written form of individual semantic specifics in a framework of grammatical structure. In our contemporary literate society it is almost impossible to conceive meanings through language in such a way, and no experimental possibilities to compare a literate with a non-literate mode of reception.

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Here what we are looking for is not so much the parallels or comparisons between the opposites of private, silent reading and the social, aural listening, but the difference between them, the relation between the opposites. By looking at the elements which suggest that a text is suitable for aural transmission, we may balance their presence against those which suggest private reading, and perhaps make a decision that a specific text may have worked more powerfully or effectively in aural transmission than in literal, or vice-versa. It is in the elements of aural transmission that the audience may have constructed a different meaning from the text than from a silent private reading. What needs to be kept in mind is the difference in the physical, social, spoken aspects of aural transmission that serve to emphasize the aural reception of the text. The question here is, what may a listener, in a social situation, take from the spoken text that a silent reader, in private, would not? I will first look at the listening, social audience and then at the silent, private reader.

The listening, social audience In the transmission and reception statements of Reynard, the advice to study the text many times with diligence would be simply humorous and satirical to listeners, in its inappropriateness to aural transmission. A listening audience, even a literate one, may be more inclined to retain visual images of the spoken text, which with Reynard would predominantly be of the fox’s consistent cunning and violence leading to success in all he does. In the Fables, such images of the fox’s success would be followed by images of his death, or by images from the Moralitas which might lead to further thought or consideration of the fox’s immorality. Such visual images would not linger during the telling, for each image would quickly be succeeded by the next, but the stronger ones might be retained in the audience’s memory of the text, perhaps constituting the main memory. Sources or authority are virtually absent in Reynard except in the prologue or epilogue sections, which may not be included in any possible aural transmissions of the text, as they are not part of the actual narrative or tale. Listeners may recognize some of the episodes as being from diverse other sources, but sources may not be of as much consideration during an aural presentation as the entertainment or social elements of the event. In “The Trial of the Fox”, the source of the story is linked with the former fable, “The Fox and the Wolf”, and through that with “The Cock and the Fox”, the events of which the narrator states “quhilk fell this ather ‫܌‬eir” (l. 409). Additionally we are told that it was the fox of the narrative

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himself who taught the author-narrator about the animals in the procession to the king’s court. There is no traditional source of authority or author in this fable, something that may be more expected in the aural mode rather than in the literal. In both texts, the lack of stated sources or author/authority (as well as the likely familiarity of some elements of the narrative such as the mare’s kick from other,6 some possibly oral, tellings) may give the aural text an immediacy and sense of engagement with the narrative that would be lost in a reading with more formal statements of author and source that might distance the tale from the audience.

The silent, private reader The advice in Reynard to read and study the text diligently many times may not result in the reader actually doing so, although it would suggest a value to the text of more than a simple, entertaining narrative, so that it may be read with more attention to possible moral implications, where it is not dismissed as satirizing such practices. The lack of overt morality in Reynard may initially surprise the private reader, but how would such readers react to this? Would they re-read the text, looking for something perhaps missed in a first reading? Or would they accept it as entertainment and not seek for more? Similarly, readers of the Fables may range from those who embark on a careful exegesis of the Moralitas to match its pronouncements to the narrative, to those who read the Moralitas over quickly, or not at all, eager to get on to the next engaging tale. Perhaps the common factor here is that the private reader has the choice of how to respond to the presence, or absence, of the overt morality. The response is ultimately a purely individual one, whereas that of the listener as part of a social event must be tempered to some extent by group reactions or subsequent discussion. The visual elements of the texts are of course present for the silent, private reader, but in literal reception they may have a less powerful effect on the reader, since they would be accessible with other parts of the text including moral statements in the Fables and dialogue concerning the events of the visual narrative in Reynard. The visual elements would contribute to the reader’s construction of meaning, but in a less isolated way than in the aural mode, tempered by reflection on the events portrayed by the author/narrator in the Fables or members of the court in Reynard.

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Conclusion I have presented some, but not all, of the elements of aurality and literality that may be found in texts, with examples from extracts of Caxton’s Reynard and Henryson’s The Fables. The suggestions of how these may aid reader construction of meaning may be extended, with other elements of aurality and literality, to look at the potential reception or reader construction of meaning of further texts.

Notes 1

I look specifically at Caxton’s prologue section (1970, 6), and that dealing with the fox’s first trial at the court of the lion (1970, 29–46). 2 Quotations are from Denton Fox’s edition, Henryson 1981. 3 Quotations, by page and line number, are from N. F. Blake’s edition, Caxton 1970. 4 This comment concerning the end of the fox’s “talking” may be ironic, in the light of the fox’s return in two more narratives in the second half of the Fables. A private reader with the whole written text would be more aware of Henryson’s possible irony here than a listening audience. 5 There is no direct evidence of any aural transmission or reception of The History of Reynard the Fox at this time. For a discussion of such transmission in relation to the Roman de Renart, see Varty 2005. 6 This is found in Caxton’s Reynard, the Ysengrimus, the Roman de Renard, and Caxton’s Aesop.

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE DISENCHANTED?: HENRYSON’S HELLISH FAIRY ROMANCE SARAH DUNNIGAN

Scho said, “Allace, Erudices ‫܌‬our quene, Is with the fary tane befor myne ene!”

(ll. 118–19)

“…with that the quene of fary Claucht hir wp sone and furth with hir can cary.”

(ll. 125–26)1

As John Block Friedman (1970, 12) observed almost four decades ago, Robert Henryson’s late fifteenth-century “traitie of Orpheus kyng and how he yeid to hewyn [and] to hel to seik his queen” and the earlier Middle English romance, Sir Orfeo (c.1325), “represent the flowering of the Orpheus legend in the Middle Ages”. Like many later medieval Orphic reimaginings, Henryson’s poem is bound up in the different narrative, mythic, and philosophical traditions which the figure of Orpheus mourning lover, poet-musician, shamanic figure, to cite his most prominent incarnationshad accrued through the myth’s various diffusions from its ancient origins. The heavy earthly chains which signify his love for Eurydice in Boethius’s version of Orpheus’s quest seemingly return with force in Henryson’s tale; indeed, the morally injurious nature of their love appears so strongly emphasized that it seems far removed from the popular magical and erotic traditions which, as the example of the English Sir Orfeo attests, convert the classical mythic sources into the story of Orpheus in fairyland. By the late medieval period, the Breton lai tradition had rendered it, in essence, a tale about fairies—a fairy tale of a kind—as the story’s romantic and folkloric contours acquired more defined form, and so re-imagined the moral and spiritual implications of its mythic origins.2 Vitally, Orpheus is permitted to save Eurydice rather than condemn her to perpetual confinement in the underworld “bot for a luke”, in Henryson’s phrase (l. 412).3 Eurydice’s violent abduction by “the quene of fary” (l. 125) is mentioned only briefly in the “traite” but it heralds a tale about irrevocable loss and extreme moral fragility and, as frequently observed, transposes

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the motif of the otherworld romance into a different ethical and philosophical frame from which redemptive love and magic are exiled. So different appear its spiritual ethos and aesthetic world that the most persuasive readings are arguably those which perceive it as a fable of political import.4 However, the apparent elision or diminishing of the realm of “fary”—its “downgrading [of] the ‘fary’ notion” (Mills 1977, 55)—may not be so absolute as interpretation has suggested. This essay will suggest that the brief invocation of the fairy narrative may be neatly eloquent of the poem’s larger preoccupations, mirroring and intensifying its attitudes towards the myth’s core twin themes of love and death, and towards the nature of fictionality itself, an abiding Henrysonian concern. In that respect, the poem’s apparent refusal to accept or embrace the “enchantment” of some of its sources may itself be suggestive. In apparently exiling wonder, it makes us contemplate with renewed attention the very nature of what that “wonder” might constitute; and in renewing the darkness of the fairy element which elsewhere redeems it, the poem pursues a different aesthetic and conceptual path into fairylandone that foregrounds the fear and anxiety which characterized aspects of both popular and elite fairy beliefand, in so doing, arguably explores and renews the nature of the emotional and moral associations between the realms of fairy and classical myth. Since this process constitutes yet another metamorphosis within an already metamorphic tale, it is perhaps helpful to begin by briefly revisiting the different narrative threads which inform Henryson’s Orphic tale. Henryson’s “traitie”, one of the earliest prints issued from the Chepman and Myllar press in Edinburgh in 1508,5 is evidently in avowed pursuit of the moral and philosophical “suthfastnes” or truth espoused by the poem’s principal sources, Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae (Book III, Metre 12) and its greatest medieval Latin commentary, the early fourteenth-century glosses of the English Dominican, Nicholas Trivet.6 In that respect, the placing of the poem within the category of “fabillis” by the compiler of the mid-sixteenth century Bannatyne Manuscript is apposite,7 for the extended moralitas testifies the extent to which Henryson is preoccupied by the “doctryne and gude instruction” (l. 418) unveiled by Boethius and Trivet from “vnder the cloke of poesie” (l. 420). Bot quhen we flee out throu the medow grene, Fra vertu to this warldis wayn plesance, Myngit wyth care and full of variance, The serpent stangis: that is dedely syn That poysons the saule wyth-out and in; And than is dede and eke oppressit doun To warldly lust all oure affection.

(ll. 438–44)

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Henryson’s fidelity to the medieval exegetical and mythographical traditions is revealed in the symbolic and moral identities ultimately imposed on each protagonist: Orpheus is glossed as the intellect, Eurydice as the affect, the impulse of bodily desire or “fulich appetyte” (l. 612), which fatally looks down, away from the heavenly good above. The spectres of death and moral damnation haunt the poem’s closure by the threatened inevitability of their return: Eurydice, the feminine emblem of “lust” and the Eve of the anonymous Ovide moralisé, “makis reson wedow for to be” (l. 627). Henryson’s Orpheus is widowed twice: both in the lonely “hamewart” journey of the narrative, and in the allegorical exegesis where he comes to represent humanity’s fragile intellect. The poem’s moral glossing may be orthodox but its emotional and moral distance from the tale’s bare contours is emphasized more jarringly by the overt division between narrative and moralitas. Yet romance itself is a form which by no means excludes didacticism or allegorization, that Henryson’s “traite” should in the first instance be a generic fusion of romance and allegory mirrors the dual status of Orpheus in the Middle Ages as both allegorical protagonist and romance hero. Although in Henryson’s text the juxtaposition of the fairy otherworld and the Christian moral universe seems dissonant, the féerique romances of the French tradition, for example (such as Graelent, Lanval, Guingamor, Désiré), fuse magical wonder and Christian moralities, not wholly to the exclusion or reduction of the former.8 Characteristically, in its melding together of different aspects of the cultural lineage of the Orpheus tradition, Henryson’s poem exemplifies that fascination for the reshaping and reinvention of narrative traditions which can be seen in his other major works, the Moral Fables and The Testament of Cresseid; indeed, it is perhaps the ways in which classical, medieval, and traditional elements are stitched together that makes it in the end a work of considerable strangeness.9 Henryson’s debt to the Virgilian imagining of the story, for example, is arguably evident in the use of the figure of Aristaeus, the “bustuos herd” (l. 97) who, “[p]rikkit with lust” (l. 101) in attempting to rape Eurydice, causes her to tread on the serpent. The foregrounding not only of Orpheus’s noble inheritance but his mythical “generation” from the Muses which so occupies the poem’s opening, imaginatively enables the reader to engage with the Greek inheritance of the Orphic story and, moreover, to accept Orpheus’s poetic creativity as singular and distinctive. Culminating in the union of Calliope, “that maidyn meruailus” (l. 43) and Phoebus from which Orpheus springs, this elaborate, collective hymn of praise to the Muses is also a paean to the virtues of “creacion” (l. 49), the illuminating capacities of music, and its “armony celestiall” (l. 59). It is perhaps worth stressing the “meruailus”

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import of this section which points not only to the Neoplatonic significance of the philosophical harmonies of Orpheus’s song but encourages contemplation of the wonder of Henryson’s Orpheus himself: he is “fair and wyse, / Gentill and full of liberalite” (ll. 64–65), having suckled “the sweit licour of all musike parfyte” (l. 70) at his mother’s breasts. Such a description invokes the Orpheus-musician of legend and folktale whose harmonies command wondrous, indeed magical, powers.10 Although the text’s narrative and emotional pulse clearly lies in the eventual chastisement of “worldly lust”, there remain elements and motifs drawn from conventional romance, which provide a more sympathetic context for the allusion to fairy abduction. As Carol Mills has demonstrated, the opening in its extensive preoccupation with the genealogy, descent, and lineage of Orpheus suggests a romance-like concern with the origins and growth into maturity of the protagonist or “hero”.11 Already the appeal to Orpheus’s “gentill” origins betrays a fascination with “the lawis of nature” (the idea of order binds many of the poem’s thematic strands together—music; morality; the proper hierarchy of love—which may be indebted to the Boethian hymn of order in Book 2, Metre 8). When Orpheus’s harping enchants creatures, he resembles a wild man of the woods, evoking the traditions of wilderness found in the English Sir Orfeo.12 Having sought his beloved amongst the planetary gods (in that aspect, Henryson’s Orpheus recalls the shamanic Orphic figure of myth able to transcend the boundaries of the earthly world), he enters through the gates of hell: he crosses a river and then a bridge, the latter a romance and folk motif which often signifies the threshold of the other world.13 Here, Orpheus is the resourceful knight of romance, embarking on a quest of recovery (l. 178); as Johnson (2002, 415) notes, the “reuth” he evinces for the “nakit full thristy” (l. 277) Tantalus stems not from “any compassionate desire” to palliate pain but from “the pity befitting a chivalrous king in the romance tradition of Sir Orfeo”. Moreover, the medieval refinement of the Roman fascination with the Orphic story as a tale of love is still perceptible: “The lowe of luf couth kendill and encres, / With myrth, blythnes, gret plesans, and gret play” (ll. 87–88). Whilst this kindled “lowe” will later be shunned as concupiscence, the language here is that of erotic lyric, evoking the medieval paradigm of Orpheus and Eurydice as “model courtly lovers” (Friedman 1970, 168). Desiring agency clearly rests with Eurydice herself: enjoining him with “wordis sweit and blenkis amorus” (l. 81), she grants him sovereignty over her without “schame” (l. 80). It is also interesting that “this wooing scene”, in which the lovers kiss and therefore enter into an erotic symbiosis or “accord” (l. 84) has no known source.14 It is worth

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observing that after Eurydice has been poisoned by the serpent, her “dedly swoun” is preceded by the crumbling of her heart into “pecis small” (l. 108); Henryson’s tale does not ignore the preoccupation of the mythic narrative with the breaking and restoration of love’s bonds. Orpheus’s threnody (with the echoic refrain of “ ‘Quhar art thow gane, my luf Erudices?’ ”, l. 143) is an evocation of loss in various ways: the harp, his instrument of grief, is enjoined to “ces of all thi subtell sangis sweit!”, l. 136), and be tuned only to sorrow. As he sheds bloody tears (l. 150), his music might animate nature but it fails to comfort him. Famed for the healing powers of his music, he here fails to heal his own wounds of love. This darker impulse, a counterpoint to the collective emotional sympathy of the above romance aspects, is suggestive of what might be seen as the poem’s broader and distinctive reshaping of the fairy material. In both the romantic and the traditional sources of the French and English Orphic narratives, a fairy world is manifest where malevolence and mischief are more or less conquered by the restorative powers embodied in music which are at the same time expressive of love and beauty. The popular medieval Orphic lai is woven out of traditional and legendary material which has parallels in other Celtic traditions.15 In its narrative of fairy abduction, and of a lover’s quest to rescue a stolen beloved, the medieval Orphic romance of English tradition assumes the pattern and motifs of the “Lanval” type of folktale which lies at the root of Chrétien de Troyes’s Yvain, for example (where a knight falls in love with a fairy only to violate the taboo which she imposes; he loses her, mourns that loss, but ultimately regains her). The disparities between Henryson’s “traitie” and the surviving romance traditions are eloquent of the ways in which Henryson’s philosophical reshaping of the fairy narrative is also a reshaping of affect or emotional impulse. The nature of his re-imagining— the “undoing”, whether deliberately or otherwise, of the romance otherworld—is most sharply grasped in its divergences from the English tale.16 In this, Heurodis, the wife of Orfeo, is abducted by the fairy king, stolen by “fairi forss” (l. 194); Orfeo, racked by grief at his loss, wanders out into the wilderness, barefoot but with his harp; over his ten years of self-imposed exile in the wilderness he is transformed into a wild man, his body cracked and scarred, but the beauty of his harp-playing is the one constant, enchanting the animals and the birds of the wilderness who gather round to hear his playing. On glimpsing “sixty leuedis” hunting waterfowl, amongst whom is Heurodis, he pursues them through a tunnel in a rock (the spatial topography is significant here; he travels horizontally to the otherworld rather than descending into an inferno)17 until he discovers himself in fairyland. Characterized by a stark and terrible

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beauty, the tale’s “lond of fairy” (l. 562) is at once a courtly Paradise and a place of terrible suffering. Disguising himself as a minstrel (the romance’s self-conscious artifice18 is mirrored in the metafictional layering of Henryson’s work), he uses his musical powers to enchant the fairy king and claims the return of his wife as a reward. The optimistic romance principles of beauty, harmony, and restoration therefore triumph; the love of Heurodis and Orfeo ensures her return from the Fairy court, a rare and surprising event given the fate of most mortals who are taken there. It is not the case that fairies in Sir Orfeo are any less malign than in Henryson: they are still capricious and utterly unknowable, and fairyland itself is in part an unambiguous vision of horror.19 In the English Orfeo, the vision of those mortals who were snatched by the fairies is a reminder of the latter’s disregard for life (the narrator points out that though they seem dead they are not so, but rather suspended in various states of semi-mutilation, drowning, and madness; the sight of Heurodis, asleep “under an ympe-tre” is contrastingly gentle). Yet in adhering to the spirit of romance, the English Orfeo invests a characteristic faith in the capacity of humanity to love, endure, and overcome. Henryson therefore appears to construct his story in the shadow of the romance and oral traditions which were in established circulation by the late 1480s, the likely period of the poem’s composition. Although it is difficult to assert categorically whether Henryson knew the English Sir Orfeo,20 there is evidence to point to the existence of a popular Orphic tradition in Scotland: there is the fragmentary Scots romance, King Orphius (c.1582– 83), first discovered by Marion Stewart and analysed most recently by Emily Lyle; the allusion to an “Opheus Kyng of Portingal” within the list of popular narratives and songs found in the allegorical prose work, The Complaynt of Scotland (c.1550); and the survival of the popular ballad, “Sir Orfeo” in Shetlandic oral tradition which attests far earlier roots.21 The apparent survival of this Orphic tradition into the sixteenth century, as Cooper (1999, 693) observes, contrasts with the disappearance of Sir Orfeo “at the end of the fifteenth century from English knowledge”. The surviving romance text, although fragmentary, suggests that it is far more strongly indebted to the popular romance Orphic traditions than to its moralizing and philosophical counterpart: Lyle (2009, 64) considers that the King Orphius fragment has “a folktale quality, evidenced in part by its preference for direct speech”, and the naming of its queen (“Issabell”, as in the Shetlandic ballad); there is also an intimacy derived from the gestural simplicity of the lovers, and the reunion between the Orphic figure and the king is tenderly drawn; and, most intriguingly, the interwoven episodes of the fairy abduction and the subsequent journey to the fairy otherworld have clearly

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been removed from the sole surviving manuscript.22 Whilst this may be the excision of an especially zealous reader, Henryson’s omission of the sustained fairy narrative—with all its implications of renewal and redemption—may return us to the perception of an Orpheus which deliberately eschews the consolations of the romantic and folkloric traditions. On the other hand, the very brevity and sharpness of those allusions to that moment of fairy abduction suggest a different aesthetic and emotional configuration of fairyland: engaging, explicitly or implicitly, with Sir Orfeo’s inverse mythographical transformation of Pluto and Proserpina into the king and queen of fairy (though they are unnamed in the English narrative), Henryson’s poem becomes an allusive and delicate weave which reinstates the primacy and vitality of the more horrifying aspects of fairy belief and communion which Sir Orfeo had portrayed visually through the suffering inhabitants of its fairy underworld. In Henryson’s poem, that fairy underworld is paradoxically both centrally placed and yet displaced from the poem’s centre; the realm of “fary”, and the fairy queen, are explicitly alluded to twice (ll. 118–19 and 125–26, as cited in the epigraph to this essay). In a re-enactment of the fairy abduction motif which echoes the precarious nature of mortal-otherworld relationships in romance and folktale, Eurydice is snatched away to the hellish realm of Proserpina: “Seand this cais, Proserpyne maid her bovne, / Quhilk clepit is the goddis infernall, / And till hir court this gentill quene couth call” (ll. 110–12). Eurydice’s disappearance is told to Orpheus by Eurydice’s distraught maid (ll. 123–25), her foregrounding of her own act of uncomprehending perception mirroring the poem’s broader preoccupations with the visual and perceptual throughout. It is for this reason perhaps that in Henryson’s tale Eurydice so strikingly loses her beauty: Till at the last Erudices he knewe, Lene and dedelike, pitouse and pale of hewe, Rycht warsch and wan and walowit as the wede, Hir lily lyre was lyke vnto the lede.

(ll. 348–51)

The grieving Orpheus is dismayed to witness his transformed beloved, while Pluto’s response is to offer a qualified form of consolation: Quod Pluto, “Sir, thouch scho be like ane elf, Thare is na cause to plenye, and for quhy?23 Scho fure als wele dayly as did my self, Or king Herode, for all his cheualry. It is langour that puttis hir in sik ply; Were scho at hame in hir contree of Trace, Scho wald refete full sone in fax and face.”

(ll. 359–65)

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The restitution of Eurydice’s beauty never occurs, of course, for Orpheus’s desire ensures the interruption of that homeward journey. Yet the term of comparison or resemblance which Pluto uses to describe her physical metamorphosis—“ane elf”—is interesting. As Vicari (1982, 76) observes: “These would be strange words, indeed, if they were spoken either by the classical Pluto or the Christian Satan. We note that hell has become ‘fairyland’ ”. In late fifteenth and early sixteenth-century Scots usage, it refers most simply to a particular category of supernatural creature, as Henderson and Cowan observe (2001, 152): “[t]he words ‘fairy’ and ‘elf’ have been used interchangeably in Scotland”. (This is seen, for example, in Gavin Douglas’s use of it as a synonym for one of the “fairfolkis”, Eneados, VIII.vi.7) Yet it is also imbued with negative connotations of the corrupt, the devilish, and the ugly. Indeed, it is a term most frequently used in other literary contexts as a term of insult: in the late medieval and early modern genre of flyting, or the ritualized exchange of abuse, as the exchange between Dunbar and Kennedy attests, the accusation of “Ignorant elf, aip, owll irregular” (The Flyting of Dumbar and Kennedie, 36) carries the particular stigma, even if comically inflected in the flyting’s anarchic context, of a monstrous kind of otherness. Writing of the figure of Melusine in Jean d’Arras’s late fourteenth-century Roman de Mèlusine, Sturm-Maddox (1996, 130) observes that she “comes to embody both of the two categoriesthe fairy other and the monstrous other—in which medieval literature and folklore frequently touched on the question of alterity”.24 Henryson’s Eurydice may not quite replicate the fairy Melusine’s serpentine metamorphosis but her absorption within, and physical distortion by, the poem’s otherworld marks out the beginning of her literal and spiritual exile from Orpheus. This apparent stigmatizing of Eurydice, with its implications of both bodily and moral desecration, evokes the figure of the “loathly lady” or “hag” but more particularly mirrors the scarring famously imposed upon the female protagonist of his “tragedie”, Cresseid.25 In Henryson’s Orphic world, ugliness is everywhere (from which only the beautiful Orpheus seems exempt):26 for example, the opening implication of social or noble degeneracy—“A ryall renk for to be rusticate / Is bot a monster in comparison” (ll. 12–13)—is articulated through the idea of an aberrant monstrosity which, though abstract in import, has obvious visual power.27 The hellish realm to which “the fary” take Eurydice ensures the conflation of fairyland and the classical underworld; there is clearly no wonder here, that vital, animating quality of the fairy world of conventional romance as a whole; indeed, classical and religious visions (ll. 275–344), which bear a close resemblance to Boethian descriptions of hell, replace the simultaneously

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marvellous and disquieting fairy visions witnessed by the English Orfeo.28 Ugliness, then, is a spiritual and moral, as well as descriptive, trope, aptly so for a text which concludes with the allegorical exegesis of the eternally hellish Christian warfare between body and soul. Aesthetically and in terms of the narrative’s emotional and psychological powers, fairyland, and enchantment in general, cannot belong to the realm of the redemptive, as in the romance tradition. In this respect, the moralitas explicitly condemns “unnatural” enchantment to the realm of damnation: This perfyte wisdome with his melody Fleyis the spreit of fen‫܌‬eid profecy, And drawis vpwart our affectioun Fra wichcraft, spaying, and sorsery, And superstitioun of astrolegy—

(ll. 585–89)

Belief only in “trew and certane causis” (l. 591) is sanctioned; divine, rather than unnatural, magic should command faith. This, of course, is a reflection of orthodox church tenet in this period, and the kind of condemnation of conjuration, possession, and prophecy found in the penitentials.29 Yet it neatly embodies the “demagicalization” of the Orpheus myth which clearly had life as a wonder tale, as exemplified by its most common medieval incarnations. This suggests that for Henryson fairies are allegorically useful rather than, as in other medieval romances, agents of otherworld redemption or manifestations of an “otherness” which still cathartically embodies desire and beauty. Sir Orfeo’s fairy universe may remain, in Vicari’s words (1982, 76), “strange, fascinating, and incomprehensible in human, ethical terms” but Henryson’s reworking may seek to achieve precisely that: a rational or intellectual comprehension of such mystery. The poem’s overall “demonization” of the supernatural which is not divine therefore makes its moral and spiritual compass absolutely clear; but that should not obscure or diminish the ways in which the poem’s symbolic assimilation between the realm of “fary” and the classical underworld remain suggestive in other conceptual and aesthetic ways. Though the allusions to the fairy abduction may be brief, they arguably draw out and rework the associations between the two otherworlds in ways which are found both in Sir Orfeo and Chaucer’s famous portrayal of the king and queen of fairy as Pluto and Proserpina in “The Merchant’s Tale”: Pluto, that is kyng of Fayerye, And many a lady in his compaignye, Folwynge his wyf, the queene Proserpyna, Which that he ravysshed out of [Ethna]

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(ll. 2227–33)

As Friedman (1970, 190) suggests, “[t]he idea that Proserpina is the queen of the fairies seems to have come directly from Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale, while the intervention of fairies in the legend at all is of course pure romance—possibly coming to Henryson by way of Sir Orfeo”. Although probable that this is a deliberate Chaucerian allusion, the evocative association between the realms of fairyland and hell could already be found in traditional belief: for example, both are obviously spatially located beneath the ground, and the nature of the tiend also binds both together. Moreover, the alliance between the fairy otherworld, or rather underworld, and the hell to which Eurydice is taken is also forged through their shared deathly associations. Though the notion that there might be affinities between the fairies and the dead might seem strange to a contemporary perspective, in their study of its pervasiveness in Scottish belief Henderson and Cowan (2001, 19) argue that it was a characteristic of both “folk and learned ideas” about the provenance of fairies: “folk customs, such as the offering of meal and milk to appease the fairies, were carried out to placate the dead” whilst later sixteenth-century first-hand accounts of fairy encounters (for which the consequence came to be persecution for witchcraft) were often initiated by the witness’s visitation by the spirit of a dead person. The popular belief that fairies might represent, or incarnate, the souls of the deceased therefore renders them liminal creatures who traverse the threshold between the realms of the living and the dead: as Diane Purkiss crisply puts it, “[f]airies are the dead, and a category of the dead who are still active, still alive”.31 In different ways, then, both Sir Orfeo and Henryson’s poem deftly reimagine Eurydice as part of the fairy trafficking between the realms of the living and the dead. Yet it is only in Henryson’s “traite” that Eurydice is significantly abducted not by the fairy king but by his queen, which interestingly changes the conventional emotional, indeed erotic, dynamics of the fairy abduction motif. Henryson’s authoritative and rapacious fairy queen may echo the strong folk belief in the governing sovereigns of the fairy world; Henryson’s Orpheus, together with the anonymous poem “King Berdok” and Dunbar’s poetry, provide “the earliest documented evidence” of their presence in “elite” literary tradition (Henderson and Cowan 2001, 66). The mythic and symbolic identification of, and allusion to, Proserpina as the fairy queen (echoed in the later sixteenth-century Scottish romance, Clariodus)32 work richly within Henryson’s poem; her prescriptive agency—“Quod Proserpyne, ‘Sen I hir hidir broucht, / We sall

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noucht part bot wyth condicion’ ” (ll. 377–78)—evokes the nature of the prohibition often issued by the fairy queen of folk narrative. The association between the two female sovereigns—Proserpina, “the goddes infernall” (l. 111) and the fairy queen—enables Henryson to intensify the latter’s link with the realm of the dead. Death is what binds together the fairy queen and the mythical Proserpina with whom she is identified: she is Persephone, with whom Proserpina was identified in Roman religion, the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, snatched by Hades to be Queen of the Underworld whilst gathering flowers in Enna.33 Given the allusive and intertextual nature of Henryson’s Orpheus, it is tempting to suggest that the mythic narrative evoked by the fairy queen’s identity as Proserpina contains echoes of Eurydice’s own in its deathly otherworld abduction. Yet Henryson does not draw out the regenerative potential of the Proserpinean allusion (in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, she is released from Hades for a given part of the year to be restored to her grieving mother) for his own depiction of the fairy queen: as an embodiment of death, Henryson’s queen has a particular cruel alacrity which, in turn, renders his “sentens” regarding the importance of moral and spiritual purification more urgent. The acquisition of “reson” remains vital because human desire “[i]s alway prompt and redy to fall doun” (l. 629). And yet it is perhaps suggestive that in the moralitas only the Proserpinean fairy queen, and her king—of all the poem’s figures—are not “explained away”. Instead, the narrator of the moralitas comments: “Than Pluto god, and quene of hellis fyre, / Mone grant to ressoun on fors the desyre” (ll. 614–15). In their role as the rulers of hell (both in the narrative and the allegorization), they are charged with the power to release desire or appetite to reason which, in the Orphic fable, fails to govern or control its excess. Alternatively, the apparent failure to “allegorize” the figures of Proserpina and Pluto may suggest their resistance to reason’s powers. When combined with the demonstrable power and agency of Henryson’s otherworld queen, it perhaps mirrors the gendered nature of the moralitas which, as McGinley (2004) has demonstrated, differentiates masculine intellect from ungovernable feminine affect.34 The apparent singularity of Henryson’s fairy queen may serve no other purpose than to endorse the way in which the figure of woman and the notion of the feminine in this Orpheus are morally and spiritually exiled. Yet the means by which the fairy tale—the story of Eurydice’s abduction by the fairy queen—is itself conveyed provides an interesting twist in the poem’s interweaving of the feminine and the otherworldly. That the tale survives only on the maid’s lips, making her the sole witness of Eurydice’s disappearance, is perhaps Henryson’s way of echoing the traditional maxim that stories about fairies

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are women’s tales; after all, she is Proserpina in the core narrative and moralitas, and the fairy queen according to the maid. As Mills (1977, 55) argues: “The notion that Eurydice was taken by fairies is thus implied to be not entirely trustworthy, indeed naïve—and this may well reflect Henryson’s own attitude to the narrative of the romance tradition with its stewards, fairies, and happy endings”. The charge of morally inferior “feminization” was commonly levelled at vernacular romances through clerical and intellectual disparagement of their incredulous fictions.35 (The “feminization” of the fairy realm itself was relatively commonplace: the genre of romance in particular significantly portrays both the beauty and danger of the féerique world through fées such as Morgan le Fay, La Dame du Lac, and Niniane).36 The maid’s fairy narrative, an embodiment of morally dubious “untruth”, may indeed be seen as another instance of Henryson’s preoccupation with fictitious narratives in general, an exploration of the limitation as much as the “potential of poetic fable”.37 The inclusion of such fictional or textual self-consciousness would also accord with the use or adoption of the Orpheus myth as a means of reflection on the nature of creativity (in Petrarch’s Rime sparse, for example) already implicit in the poetic and musical powers of the Orphic figure.38 Even if the fairy allusions are thus further enmeshed in the ethical and spiritual world which the poem ultimately rejects, and excluded from the poem’s “defence of poetic fictions” (McKim 2006, 111) which are morally justifiable, they are ultimately difficult to elide or ignore. The symbolic, mythic, and interpretative weave in which they are caught up suggest that Henryson’s realm of “fary” survives by the wealth of implication and resonance which it generates beyond the poem’s defined moral frame. With all its evocations of, and allusions to, the different types of Orphic narrative, Henryson’s poem dramatizes the deathliness of the otherworld that is also, implicitly, the fairy realm. The symbiosis between classical and fairy worlds may, however, be fitting; for only death can prompt recognition of what Henryson’s poem calls “perfyte luve” at the end: that is, the divine or spiritual love which is overarching and allsubsuming. One might argue that this is a poem made up of pagan, mythic, and spiritual patterns which ultimately harmonize, rather than constitute the oddly discordant poem which it is sometimes perceived to be. Ultimately, though, unlike the Orphic texts in the lai tradition, individual moral, rather than magical, agency determines fate and actions; its antiromantic spirit ensures that human, mortal error and vulnerability even in the face of abiding love prevail. This is not to reduce Henryson to the level of the “stern moralist” as criticism has so frequently done in ignoring the

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emotional subtlety and complexity of this and other work. In Henryson’s Orpheus, a strange and harrowing poem which has obvious kinship with the Testament, fairies may serve an allegorically useful purpose rather than function as agents of an “otherness” expressive of interlocking ideas about desire, beauty, and wonder. In so doing, it seems to adhere more faithfully to contemporary elite beliefs, and moral anxieties, about the demonic powers of fairies than to their incarnations in popular and literary romance traditions. Even if the corrupt fictionality of the fairy tale enclosed within the spiritual tale, as it were, is to be morally discarded, Henryson’s text remains imaginatively compelling as a tale of sadness where reason’s vulnerability in the face of desire is also an expression of inconsolable loss. Orpheus is left “chydand on with lufe” (l. 413). The motif of fairy abduction and the portrayal of an underworld fairy queen, with their allusive and intertextual power, enable the idea of “fary” to bear many meanings. The poem’s suggestive portrayal of enchantment is perhaps another reason why, in Gavin Douglas’s famous term, it constitutes a “New Orpheus” (Comment, Eneados I.i.13).

Notes 1

All references to Henryson’s Orpheus and Eurydice are from Fox’s edition, Henryson 1981. 2 For comprehensive accounts of the evolution of the Orphic myth see, for example, Friedman 1970; Warden 1982; Vicari 1982 (especially 63–83), which interestingly includes a discussion of Sir Orfeo and Henryson’s Orpheus; Segal 1989; Detienne 2003. For a concise overview of Henryson’s poem in relation to Orpheus traditions, see Gros Louis 1966. 3 The “happy ending” to the Orphic tale does not originate with Sir Orfeo, though it is one of its most beautiful realizations, but can be found, for example, in eleventh-century Latin poetry from France. 4 For a thorough exposition of this aspect, see Martin 2008; cf. Friedman 1970, 206, on its de casibus theme. 5 This undated print appeared before 4 April 1508, bound with the anonymous lyric, “The Want of Wise Men”; cf. Mapstone 2008. For a full account of textual sources, see Henryson 1981, cx–cxiv. 6 On Henryson’s moralization and the poem’s ethical implications, see most recently, for example, Marlin 2000; Strauss 2001; Johnson 2002; Rutledge 2002; Martin 2008, 79–102. On the philosophical context, see MacQueen 1976 and most recently MacQueen 2006. On the source traditions on which the poem draws, see most recently Petrina 2008, and Fox in Henryson 1981, cv–cvii. See McKim 2006 for a helpful overview of recent critical views. 7 See Ritchie 1928–34, IV:116–316; cf. Lyall 1980. 8 See Sara Sturm-Maddox’s (1996) richly suggestive essay, especially 126–27.

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Kindrick (1997, 187) calls it an “experimental work”. Warden 1982, 3; cf. Newby 1987, especially 62–128. The beauty of “harping” is strongly portrayed in Sir Orfeo, and in the Scottish Orphic ballad tradition. On the music’s consolatory power in Scottish tradition, see further Ralls-MacLeod 2000. In Henryson’s text, however, it is significantly music’s intellectual, rather than affective, powers which are praised, grasped only by “profund wit and grete agilitee / To vnderstand and haue capacitee” (ll. 55–56). 11 Mills (1977, 56, 59) ultimately concludes that the resemblances to Sir Orfeo “have minimal impact on the shape of the narrative”, and that Henryson’s poem is “post-romance in outlook and personality”; cf. Friedman 1970, 197; Giaccherini 2002. 12 Cf. Bliss 1954, xxxvii, for a discussion of the resemblance between Orfeo and the description of Merlin Silvestris in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Vita Merlini. 13 Fox (Henryson 1981, 250) remarks on the relatively unusual nature of the identification of a bridge over the river where the Furies guard Hell’s entrance. 14 Fox (Henryson 1981, 396) considers this apposite: “Eurydice, as the passional part of the soul, should be…the active wooer”; cf. Mills 1977, 54. 15 For a discussion of the poem’s sources in the lai tradition, and in folkloric and legendary material see Bliss 1954, xxvii–xxx; Brouland 1990, 13–43 especially. In addition see, for example, Liuzza 1991; Miyares 1993; Grimaldi 1981; Donovan 1969. 16 Sir Orfeo is extant in three manuscripts, one of which is the Auchinleck MS (NLS Adv. 19.2.1), fols. 299r–303r. It was deposited by Alexander Boswell, Lord Auchinleck, in the eighteenth century. This may explain its inclusion in Laing 1822 and Laing and Hazlitt 1895. It held a particular fascination for late Romantic and nineteenth-century antiquarians; it was included in Halliwell 1845. All quotations from the text are taken from Bliss 1954. 17 On Orpheus’s passage through the rock and its analogues, see Bliss 1954, xxxviii–xxxix; Friedman, 1970, 191–4; Brouland 1990, 46–49; Lyle 2007, 67. On the medieval otherworld in general, see the classic study, Patch 1950. 18 On this aspect, see Lerer 1985; cf. Wright 1971. 19 The most arresting passage in this respect is ll. 387–400 (Auchinleck MS) in which Orfeo witnesses the various states in which mortals have been snatched to Fairyland: “…sum astrangled as thai ete; & sum were in water adreynt, / & sum with fire al for-schreynt. / Wives ther lay on childe-bedde, / Sum ded & sum awedde…”: Bliss 1954, 34. 20 Fox (Henryson 1981, cv) briefly assesses the evidence for whether Henryson may have known Sir Orfeo, discussing Carol Mills’s examination (1977) of the poem’s indebtedness to both it and romance tradition. 21 Cf. Rutledge 2002, 398. Extensive and detailed discussion of the provenance, dating, and textual history of the “King Orphius” manuscript are found in Stewart 1973; Shire and Stewart 1973; Lyle 2007, 2009. See also Wright 1980, and cf. Bawcutt 2001b, 2005. The ballad, “King Orfeo”, is Child 19. On the discovery of the ballad from an informant in Unst, Shetland, see Shuldham-Shaw 1976; Lyle 2007; Henderson and Cowan 2001, 79; Green 1997. 10

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE DISENCHANTED? 22

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The consensus is that the Orphius fragment (NRS MS RH13/35), called a “fabula”—an untrue tale—in the poem’s conclusion in the manuscript, has “a greater affinity with the ballad…than Sir Orfeo” (Lyle 2009, 51). Lyle’s article (2009, 62) provides an evaluation and overview of the relationship, and an acknowledgement of the difficulty of deciding “the matter of priority too precipitately”. I am concerned here with broader points of resemblance and affinity which decidedly place this fragment in a far clearer relationship with Sir Orfeo than Henryson’s text; the latter’s starker differences mean that it is never considered alongside these fragments from romance and tradition and yet, as suggested here, both the absence and transformation of aspects of the Orpheus romance tradition ironically draw out the compelling nature of enchantment which Henryson’s poem more fearfully resists. 23 In the Bannatyne manuscript version, there is an interesting variant here: Pluto asserts that Eurydice herself is not entitled to complain—“Scho hes no causs to plen‫܌‬e, and for quhy?”: Ritchie 1928–34, IV:193 (fol. 322r), l. 360. 24 On ideas of “the monstrous” in the medieval period see, for example, Williams 1996 and Bildhauer and Mills, 2003. 25 This is noted by Fox (Henryson 1981, 396). Giaccherini (2002, 7–8) observes the affinity betwee8n Henryson’s Orpheus and Testament of Cresseid in their use of “formalised ‘lament’ ” and planetary journeys. 26 Henryson emphasizes the beauty of Orpheus who is “[o]f statur large and farly fair of face” (l. 72). 27 The idea of rank and origin is also ascribed auditory and sensual power (cf. ll. 25–26). 28 Mills (1977, 56) interestingly notes the “obvious” similarity between Henryson’s vision of those suffering in hell, and the tormented inhabitants of Sir Orfeo’s fairy realm. 29 For an illuminating survey of attitudes towards magic and the occult in this period, see Kieckhefer 2000; see also Bartlett 2008; Searne and Callow 2001; Waite 2003; Bailey 2007. 30 Benson 1987, 166. See Loomis 1941, 24–29 for a discussion of Chaucer’s depiction of Pluto and Proserpina in “The Merchant’s Tale”, and its possible indebtedness to Sir Orfeo; also Wentersdorf 1965, 523. In discussing Chaucer’s portrayal of Pluto and Proserpina as the fairy king and queen and the “not uncommon mediaeval confusion between fairy-land and the districts of purgatory and hell”, Spencer (1927, 183–84) cites “Dunbar’s curious description of Pluto as ‘that elriche incubus’ ” [Goldyn Targe, 125]. 31 Purkiss 2007, 66; see also Henderson and Cowan 2001, 19; Allen 1964; Henryson 1981, 119. The belief that fairies represent, or are associated with, the dead has been ascribed to their links with the Roman household spirits of the lars or lares who presided over the burial of the dead within the domestic house; cf. Briggs 1970; 1978, ch. 2; 1989, 10–11, 38. Close association is also made in popular belief and folk legend between the processional fairy rade and the tradition of the riding of the dead; Briggs (1989, 51), citing the description of the fairy rade by James VI and Montgomerie, notes that it “belongs to All Hallowtide, when the fairies, the witches and the dead were all stirring”.

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Fox (Henryson 1981, 397) notes the Clariodus allusion; in other Scottish late medieval and early modern literary contexts, “the quene of fary” is conjured up parodically (for example, in the late sixteenth-century play Philotus). 33 For classical literary sources of the myth of the Proserpina myth, see Ovid’s Fasti and Metamorphoses, and the De raptu Proserpinae of Claudian (which Chaucer cites as the source of his Proserpinean allusion in “The Merchant’s Tale”); cf. Hinds 1987; Duc 1994; Tsai 2007. 34 Vicari (1982, 67) observes that in earlier medieval commentaries, such as that by Remigius of Auxerre, Eurydice represented thought while Orpheus signified the “sensuous or emotional vehicle of thought”. 35 For discussion of the equation between “fictional romance” and “untruth”, see Green 2002. 36 See Poirion 1982, 50–58; Harf-Lancner 1984; Gallais 1992. 37 Kratzmann (1988, 111), commenting on the collective power of the fabular narratives placed together in the Bannatyne manuscript of which Henryson’s Orpheus and some of the Fables are part. 38 For this use of the Orpheus myth in Petrarch see, for example, Migraine-George 1999.

READING FABLIAUX: LE POVRE CLERC AND THE FREIRIS OF BERWIK WILLIAM CALIN

Despite the presence of what we can call the fabliau mind-set, and the probable influence of French fabliaux on William Dunbar and David Lyndsay of the Mount, only one Scots fabliau is extant: The Freiris of Berwik.1 This gem of a poem, a masterpiece of wit in 566 lines, was once attributed to Dunbar. Rather like King Hart, once attributed to Gavin Douglas, it has suffered from relative neglect now that it has lost its author. Two Dominican friars, Allane and Robert, realize that they have dallied too long outside the walls of Berwick and that the city gates will soon be closed, forcing them to spend the night ex urbe. They seek hospitality from Alesoun, the inn-keeper’s wife. Although claiming to be afraid of her husband’s reaction to her having men in the house during his absence, she finally allows them to bunk down in the loft, keeping the guest room for other purposes. Arrives other purposes, Johine, also a friar, and Alesoun’s lover, who, in his affluence (he is, it would appear, the prior or superior of his convent: “He govirnit alhaill the abbacy,” l. 127), brings partridges, finest quality bread, and wine. Symon, the husband, returns unexpectedly, and Johine hides under an upside-down trough while the victuals are hidden in a cupboard. Meanwhile, Robert had carved out a spy hole in the attic floor and has observed the action. He and Allane make noise and descend to the main room where they are welcomed by Symon. Alesoun states that she has nothing worthwhile to eat. Robert claims that, having been to Paris, he learned magic and will use it to improve the fare. Moaning as if in a trance, he utters spells. Robert then points to the cupboard where Alesoun hid Johine’s gifts. Joy of Symon, consternation of Alesoun. When Symon queries how the young friar brought such elegant sustenance so quickly, Robert answers that he has control over a servant—a supernatural demon—who obeys his will. Robert can make him appear in the guise of a friar. Johine comes out from under the trough, conjured by Robert, and heads for the door where Symon, at Robert’s

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command, strikes him with a cudgel. Losing his footing, Symon trips and gashes his head while Johine falls out the door into slime. A number of French fabliaux develop some of the structural increments that we find in The Freiris of Berwik. However, scholars have recognized one fabliau in particular to be the Scottish poet’s source: Le Povre Clerc, 254 lines, contained in Volume VII of the Noomen-Van den Boogaard Nouveau recueil complet des fabliaux (Noomen and Van den Boogard 1983–98, VII:255–69).2 A clerk / student, reduced to poverty, is compelled to return home from Paris. Worn out and having eaten nothing all day, he seeks hospitality from a vilain’s (peasant farmer’s) wife. Claiming to be afraid of her husband’s reaction to her having a man in the house during his absence, she sends him away. While in the door he observed her and the servant preparing pork, wine, and cake. Upon leaving, the clerk crosses paths first with a priest walking toward and entering the house, and secondly with the husband returning home. As the clerk muses aloud about his poor and famished state, the husband invites him home for supper. Upon arriving, the priest hides in a manger (or trough), and the wife claims she has nothing at all to eat. She accepts only to bake bread from the flour her husband brought from the mill. To bide the time, the husband asks the clerk / student to sing a song or tell a story, for, he says, you people are good at that. The clerk states that he knows no stories but will tell the truth. In the woods, he says, a wolf seized a pig as nice and plump as the pork your servant just removed from the pot. Blood flowed from the wolf’s mouth like the wine the boy brought into the house. I then threw a stone at the wolf almost as big as the cake your servant made. Each time the husband asks his wife about the alleged food and is overjoyed that it is truly in the house. Lastly, says the clerk, the wolf stared at me like the priest in the manger. The husband seizes the priest, perhaps gives him a thrashing, and most definitely seizes his clothes, which he donates to the poor clerk. I shall endeavour to show, as I did in another context concerning “The Reeve’s Tale”, that although the Scottish poet adapts his material in a number of significant ways, the French fabliau is an excellent brief comic text in its own right, and that both works illustrate superbly what it is to be a fabliau (Calin 1994, 304–15). The Freiris of Berwik corrects some of the hard-to-believe features in Le Povre Clerc, so that the plot manifests greater credibility or even, if you will, greater realism. Instead of the husband overhearing the clerk’s lamentations and then bringing him home, Allane and Robert are invited in by the wife. Consequently, Robert has seen not only the preparations but

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precisely where the victuals and Johine are hidden. In addition, by having Robert perform his magic, Symon does not discover that his wife is a liar concerning the food and Friar Johine, therefore, it is appropriate that the husband takes no action against her. Finally, the Scottish poet deletes the student’s reward, receiving the clothes of the now naked priest, perfectly natural in a thirteenth-century context but less so at the end of the fifteenth. Other changes are of a more artistic inspiration. With two friars in place of one clerk, the Scottish poet can create interplay between the prudent older man and the devil-may-care younger one. The Freiris of Berwik amplifies the bond between food and sex, with the wife proclaiming that her vagina is famished yet will soon enjoy a feast: Scho pullit hir cunt and gaif hit buffettis tway Upoun the cheikis, syne till it cowd scho say: “Ye sowld be blyth and glaid at my requeist; Thir mullis of youris ar callit to ane feist”.

(ll. 139–42)

The Freiris begins with ironic praise of the town for its walls and gates, for being a walled fortress that cannot be taken, implicitly to be compared to Alesoun’s open door, bed, and body, and the herbrye, partly sexual, offered or refused by her lodging: And syne the castell is so strang and wicht, With strait towris and turattis he on hicht; The wallis wrocht craftely withall; The portcules most subtelly to fall Quhen that thame list to draw thame upoun hicht, That it micht be of na maner of micht To win that hous be craft or subteltie. (ll. 11–17) “…To luge owt of the toun bot gif that we In sume gud hous this nycht mot herbryt be.”

(ll. 49–50)

…Than the gudewyfe thay prayit for cheritie To grant thame herbrye that ane nicht.

(ll. 80–81)

“…And God it wait gif I durst be sa bald To herbry freiris in this hous with me.”

(ll. 84–85)

…“Go hens,” scho sayis, “for Symon is fra hame And I will herbry no geistis heir perfey.” (ll. 230–31)

78

WILLIAM CALIN …“Be thay come heir it wes so verry lait, Houris wes rung and closit wes thair yait And in yone loft I gaif thame harbrye.”

(ll. 273–75)

From another vantage point, however, Le Povre Clerc can be justified on its own terms. In an oral culture it is by no means outlandish for one to lament his fate out loud and to be overheard by another. The Scottish wife, by allowing the friars into her home even though she anticipates a discreet dalliance with her lover, acts less consequently than the French wife who refuses entry altogether: “Ye byd nocht heir, be Him that us all coft. Bot gif ye list to lig up in yone loft, Quhilk is weill wrocht in to the hallis end. Ye sall fynd stray, and clathis I sall yow send; And gif ye list, to pas bayth on in feir, For on no wayis will I repair haif heir.” “Danz clers, fait ele, mon seignor N'est mie ceianz orandroit, Et je cuit qu'il me blasmeroit Se je avoie herbergié Vos ne autrui san son congié. …Danz clers, ne vos voil herbergier: Alez vos aillors porchacier!”

(ll. 101–06)

(Clerc ll. 28–32, 51–52)

The “herbergié” and “herbergier”, in the French, are taken over directly in the Scots. Le Povre Clerc offers a stark simplicity of structure—one clerk, one priest, one wife, one husband—compared to the more diffuse Freiris of Berwik. The French clerk acts entirely on his own with no help or advice; he even determines where the priest had been hiding, either by actually seeing his eyes through an opening in the manger or by deducing that, in a one-room peasant house, the manger is the only place where he could have hidden. The French husband does not lash out at his wife perhaps because he is used to her lies and, therefore, is content to enjoy the food without histoires supplémentaires. Perhaps because he is so henpecked, he then takes out his frustrated, held-in choler by attacking the priest. The Scottish husband is shown to be almost too gullible in his acceptance of fake black magic. Finally, as R. James Goldstein (2001) observes insightfully, the French text has a metanarrative element in that the student-clerk tells a story reflecting the creative act of the trouvère writing the fabliau as a whole:

READING FABLIAUX “Dan clers, se Deus me beneïe, Mainte chose avez ja oïe: Car nos dites une escriture O de chançon o d'avanture En tant de tans comme l'an cuist Ce que mangier devons enuit.” Li clers li respondi briémant: “Sire, fait il, ne sai commant Fables deïsse, que ne sai: Mais une peor que eüe ai En mon errer vos diré bien, Car de fablel ne sai je rien: La peor, je la vos dirai.” —Et je quite vos clamerai, Fait li sires, por la peor, Car je sai bien que fableor N'estes vos mie par nature. Mais or nos dites l'avanture!”

79

(Clerc ll. 127–44)

In this case, I should argue, the encounter with the wolf functions as a mise en abyme, a structure which reflects and comments on the larger structure that contains it. The ravenous wolf symbolizes the no less ravenous priest, driven by sexual hunger in place of the animal’s need for food. The wolf and, by analogy, the lover embody an external, antisocial element which breaks into the home and the wife, thus undermining the social bonds of the community. The clerk, however, who may have succeeded in thwarting the wolf, succeeds totally in thwarting the priest, who is punished and driven out of the home naked. All this is presented in the ironic mode. In conclusion, both fabliaux are excellent narratives; both are first-rate comic texts. There is no need to prefer one to the other or to indulge in the fallacies of Whig literary history, the state of mind which assumes that the text I am working on always improves on its sources. Le Povre Clerc and The Freiris of Berwik adhere to the same literary kind, the fabliau, and their similarities hugely outweigh their differences. Although we do find evidence of the concrete material aspects of life, what Charles Muscatine calls hedonistic materialism—aspects of small-town or rural life in its humdrum detail, the everyday life of the third order— realism is not what these fabliaux are about (Muscatine 1986, 73, 124, 153). Theirs is a parody of fin’ amor and the thematics of courtly lyrics, courtly romance, and the dit amoureux. Did not the French husband bid his guest to tell an escriture of avanture? And did not the host, after the clerk had pleaded he can only tell the truth of a personal encounter on his travels, bid him to tell of this adventure? “Mais or nos dites l’avanture”?

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The adventure is, of course, a parody on all the adventures in courtly romance, with the clerk imitating on a lower register and in the comic mode, the feats of a Lancelot or a Gawain. Indeed, instead of chivalric exploits, which would be fictions (he doesn’t know anything about them), the clerk will tell the truth, about an event which recently took place. In it he acts as a clerk should, manifesting fear. He calls his adventure a peor and he will tell of it: “Mais une peor que eüe ai En mon errer vos diré bien… La peor, je la vos dirai.”

(Clerc ll. 136–37, 139)

Additional irony is generated from the fact that the clerk, claiming to tell the truth, does instead invent a fiction, making him a fableor, just like the author of the fabliau in which he is the protagonist. Both the French and the Scots fabliaux offer a parody and demystification of the institution of marriage. The coarse lechery of the wives and the lovers is set against noble, chaste fin’ amor, the kind practised by Lancelot and Guinevere or Tristan and Isolt; and the blind, loutish, henpecked husbands form a contrast to the yet noble and dignified King Arthur and, on occasion, King Mark. In this counter-genre expressing a counter-love, marriage is portrayed as a constraint at best, and a lie and a fraud at worst. The husband is blind to his surroundings and, to say the least, undersexed. Significantly, in both texts he enjoys the good food and wine with a young male friend, not including his wife in the feast and not aroused by it to assert his conjugal rights.3 Although the lover is sensual enough, we have no evidence that he feels genuine affection for his mistress. What he does manifest is cowardice, primeval fear at being caught by a member of the lowest order. And when he is caught, he loses his clothes or is bashed. The wife is hostile to her husband; she mocks and humiliates him. Otherwise, she is vain, sensual, fickle, unfaithful, and adulterous, and to achieve her ends will resort to all sorts of lies and trickery. On this one occasion, however, she is defeated by a young clerk or friar more intelligent than herself and with greater powers of lying and trickery, the powers of the imagination. Does this mean, as Evelyn S. Newlyn (1992) and, to a lesser extent, Goldstein (2001) maintain, that The Freiris of Berwik reinforces the male hierarchical and patriarchal order with the woman’s desire and her sexual self-determination frustrated? I do not believe so. This type of feminist reading is perhaps valid for Le Povre Clerc because the fabliau ends with the clerk and the husband enjoying each other’s company plus a gift from the husband to reward the clerk’s good service. However, even here the

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wife gets off scot free whereas the scapegoat proves to be another man, the priest, forced to run home to his presbytery naked, one who is, after all, the embodiment of another patriarchal order. In the Scots poem not only does the wife get off scot free; both the husband and the lover are degraded, the one with his head gashed open and the other running home to his convent beaten and covered with slime. The Scottish poet indulges in violence and insult for its own sake, that is, the expression of Robert’s supreme mastery and his joy in mastery. If women are punished for their sexuality, so are men. In any case the wives will soon revert to their old ways and, with no young clerks present to help, the husbands will offer no resistance. If anything, institutions such as patriarchy are held up to scrutiny and are undermined; they are shown to be artificial constructs that do not relate to the reality of everyday life, especially the reality of desire. They embody what ought to be, not what is; what higher genres claim to be but are not. In one of the most acute studies on the fabliau, Mary Jane Schenck lists the structural functions of the genre: arrival, departure, interrogation, communication, deception, misdeed, recognition, retaliation, and resolution (1987, 40). The French and the Scots texts adhere to this pattern. The clerk / friars arrive at the locus of action; so does the lover; so does the husband. The clerk / friars request lodging. The wife refuses or partially accepts, providing a false excuse. She deceives the clerk / friars as she deceives her husband. The misdeed is double: lack of hospitality to the guests and adultery to the husband. However, the clerk / friars recognize the wife’s subterfuge and the deception. He / they deceive in turn both the wife and the husband. The husband then recognizes the lover when he is forced out of his hiding place.4 Retaliation occurs, from the clerk / friars to the wife, and from the husband to the lover. The conflict is resolved, in Le Povre Clerc, by the husband granting the clerk a reward; and, in The Freiris of Berwik, by everyone except the friars thwarted in their endeavors. The usual fabliau plot is comprised of the eternal triangle—husband, wife, and lover—with the lover and wife triumphing over the husband. In our two comic texts, the triangle becomes a parallelogram with the addition of a fourth element: the clerk / friar. The plot thickens, so to speak, with the outside element choosing to side with the husband and, thus, to counter the usual fabliau ending. In this more complex structure, whereas the wife’s intelligence and ruse conquer the husband’s brute force and, at first, the intelligence and ruse of the outsider(s), in the end his / their intelligence and ruse conquer the wife’s in turn, allowing the husband’s brute force to exercise itself freely on the lover:

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WILLIAM CALIN “—Prestes? Li sires s'escria, A il donques preste ceianz?” Lors sailli en piez ne pot ainz: Tantost corut lo preste prandre. Li provoire se volt desfandre: De mout grant noiant s'antremist! Et li prodom tantost lo prist. Si li avoit la robe ostee… Et li prestes ot assez de honte!

(Clerc ll. 230–37, 241)

With that, Symone a felloun flap lait fle. With his burdoun, he hit him on the nek, He wes sa ferce… Be this, Freir Johine attour the stair is gane In sic wyis, that mist he hes the trap And in ane myr he fell – sic wes his hap – Wes fourty futis of breid undir the stair, Yeit, gat he up with cleithing nothing fair; Full drerelie upoun his feit he stude And, throw the myre, full smertly than he yude.

(ll. 528–30, 532–38)

Thus the fool is duped, and the knave, who made others to be fools, is rendered a fool in turn by a more intelligent, more resourceful knave. In Bergsonian terms, the central comic structure is repeated, the repetition underscoring the mechanical and artificial nature of the husband’s relation to his wife and her relation to husband, lover, and guest(s) (Bergson 1940, 55). The world of the fabliau, similar to that of the Roman de Renart cycle, is one of violence, greed, lechery, animal pleasure, and the contest of wills over who shall enjoy what. A degree of sadism surfaces at the beating and besmirching of the hated priest or friar and that the hated priest or friar is forced to return home fouled in his clothes. The one rendered naked, the other covered in slime—these are castration images, the stuff nightmares are made of. Bakhtin’s notion of the “material bodily lower stratum” can be invoked here as banquet and dalliance are fused, the lovers expecting to indulge their senses in both the digestive and procreative space (Bakhtin 1984, 368–436). However, carnival is disrupted or, rather, it takes place in the deprivation of the senses in the lovers and the indulgence of the digestive, at least, in the husbands and friends. For, standing in the lovers’ way we discover the higher, “spiritual” elements of wit and speech, the mind and the tongue employed to defeat the lower bodily functions. There is a joy in cleverness for its own sake, in one cleverness triumphing over another cleverness and in the knave triumphing over the fool(s). Stupidity

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is scorned and punished in an amoral world where wit makes right. Thus can be justified the denouement of The Freiris: yes, the husband is a perfectly nice man and a good host. However, he is stupid. Therefore, he gets a bit of thrashing in his own right. Note also that the contest of wills concerns wealth—the sumptuous victuals that the wife prepares for the lover and refuses to the husband or that the lover brings to the wife—and the reversal of fortune as the clerk / friars and the husband come to enjoy the victuals and the clerk comes to enjoy the priest’s clothes. Wit makes right, and wit leads to power, power which shifts in the course of the narrative from wife to husband to clerk / friars. In chanson de geste and courtly romance the hero most often attains the highest status through feats in arms. Such are Roland, Guillaume d’Orange, Lancelot, and Perceval, masters of fortitudo. In the fabliau counter-genre the heroes, if heroes they be, practise a debased form of sapientia, the ruse, wit, and cleverness that enable them to triumph. In our two fabliaux the debased sapientia is made manifest in speech, discourse which is the means for trickery and for establishing authority. In that sense we find a parallel between the fabliau hero master of oral discourse, and the fabliau writer master of written discourse. The French clerk’s story is a mise en abyme for the fabliau as a whole, for it validates the ironic truth claim made by a clerk for his fictional story in contrast to the obvious fictionality of the fabliau narrative written by another clerk. Although less explicit, the same occurs in The Freiris of Berwik where the riotous, carnivalesque imagination of friar Robert corresponds to the riotous, carnivalesque imagination of the author who conceived of Robert and his imagination. Both the clerk and Robert speak; their discourse gives rise to, seemingly creates, food where there was, seemingly, none before. When Robert says that he learned his arts in Paris—“For I haif mony sindry practikis seir, / Beyond the sey in Pareis did I leir” (ll. 305–06)—his author may be alluding to the land where the source-narrative takes place and where the previous author (source-author) composed his fabliau. These fabliaux are comic narratives in which the young triumph over the somewhat older, sons over surrogate parents, the educated over the uncultured, outsiders over insiders, freedom over authority, and flexibility over rigidity. In Frye's terminology, an eiron or dolosus servus triumph over alazons and agroikoi in texts powerful in their irony and sarcasm (Frye 1957, 172–76). Such is one element in medieval comedy.

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Notes 1

The Freiris of Berwik, in Jack and Rozendaal 1997, 152–65. See the important article by Jack (1982). 3 However, in Freiris, Symon, after having dined and, above all, imbibed with the two friars, bids his wife to join them: “Cum heir, fair dame, and sett yow doun me by / And tak pairte of sic gud as we haif heir” (ll. 396–97); Alesoun, in dread over what Symon will discover concerning her and her lover, does drink a bit with them, ll. 413–14: “(Bot scho drank with thame in to cumpany / With fenyeit cheir and hert full wo and hevy.)” 4 Note that this was not the case with Symon, who believes that he sees a demon covered with a friar’s habit. 2

THE THEWIS OFF GUDWOMEN: FEMALE ADVICE IN LANCELOT OF THE LAIK AND THE BUIK OF KING ALEXANDER THE CONQUEROUR EMILY WINGFIELD

Criticism of the two mid-fifteenth-century Older Scots romances, Lancelot of the Laik (hereafter Lancelot)1 and Sir Gilbert Hay’s Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour (hereafter BKA),2 has hitherto focused to a considerable extent on their advisory nature,3 particularly on their alignment with the advice to princes tradition which became increasingly prevalent in Scotland in the second half of the fifteenth century (Mapstone 1986). Joanna Martin has also recently extended this scholarly focus to argue that both romances’ strong thematic emphasis on royal rule is combined with a concomitant emphasis on royal amorousness (Martin 2008, 41–78); Lancelot and BKA “share a concern with the impact of sexual desire on the king’s governance of his realm and therefore establish a connection between the moral order of the self and good political rule” (Martin 2008, 1). In this paper, I move away from the critical focus on the advice to princes elements of Lancelot and BKA and demonstrate that advice concerning amorous women is another significant but hitherto neglected internal and intertextual element of both romances. I take as my starting point a text known as The Thewis off Gudwomen. This mid-fifteenthcentury octosyllabic Scottish advisory poem, in the tradition of female parental advice texts such as the early fourteenth-century Middle English The Good Wife Taught Her Daughter, is directly related to Lancelot and BKA. As I detail further below, it was compiled almost directly alongside Lancelot in Cambridge University Library MS Kk.1.5, and it was also interpolated in an abbreviated and metrically-adapted form within BKA. It provides the lens through which I move on to examine specific passages of female advice in the two romances themselves.

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The Thewis off Gudwomen The Thewis has been dated by its editor, Ritchie Girvan, to “c.1450 at the earliest”.4 It is in the tradition of Middle English parental advisory texts such as The Good Wife Taught Her Daughter, although, as Kathryn Saldanha notes (2001, 294, 298–99), it is often difficult to decide “how far The Thewis is a poem written about women, and how far it is a poem addressed to women themselves”. It is similarly difficult to tell how far this is a poem sympathetic to women’s plights (particularly their economic situation) and how far it ascribes to traditional misogynistic views of women. These uncertainties aside, The Thewis in essence enumerates how a middle class woman might conduct herself in the domestic and public spheres of her everyday life and it contrasts the virtuous behaviour of the honourable “gud” woman with the shameful behaviour of “ful women & schrewis” (ll. 2, 6). As we might expect, the honourable woman must be “lytill of langage” and “Nocht loud of lange na lauchtyr crous” (ll. 14–15), and she must remain mindful of her social standing (“contyrfyt nocht ourhie esstait”, l. 22) and “Nocht our-costlyk na sumptewous” (l. 31), thus avoiding overly fine clothes and makeup (“colouris na payntry”, l. 91). She should also avoid ill- or “defamyt cumpany” (l. 69, 117), as well as “metis and drinkis delycyus” (l. 73), “drunkyne folk”, taverns and plays (ll. 160, 86). She should always show “honore to hir husband / and be gracious to hir men‫܌‬he” (ll. 104–05) and similarly “Be euir of pur folk petousabile” (l. 99). Female sexuality is also to be tightly regulated. In both witnesses of the poem, women are first told to avoid illegitimate relationships, to neither “giftis gyf na drowreis craif, / Na billis of amouris to resaif” (ll. 75–76), and they are later reminded that when they are in a legitimate relationship, they should never “do wnlawte to hir lufee” (l. 158). In one witness of the poem (Cambridge, St John’s College, MS G. 23; Girvan 1939), rather explicit warning is also given about the dangers of unregulated sexuality (“nakit lying”, l. 90) for young girls: “for as men redis in ald storys, / Ten thousand tynt ar on this vis / Of sistir and breþir in sik-lik cas / That banyst syne fra frendis was /… / þat durst neuir eftir be seyne at hame” (ll. 105–10). This strikingly discordant reference to incest in what is an otherwise relatively innocent piece of conduct literature betrays a fear of illicit female sexuality that recurs in Lancelot and BKA. The Thewis survives in two late fifteenth-century Scottish manuscripts: St. John’s College Cambridge MS G. 23 (MS J) and Cambridge University Library MS Kk.1.5 (6) (MS C) (which also contains Lancelot of the Laik).

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A version of The Thewis also occurs at ll. 8473–596 of The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour as part of a series of demandes d’amour. At l. 8478 one of the participants, Dame Ydory, asks the “King of Lufe” “Quhilk [ar] the thewis of ane gud women”. His answer (to l. 8596) is a decasyllabic adaptation of selected material from The Thewis. In MS J, The Thewis is found on fols 164r–167v, after Barbour’s Bruce (fols 26r–163v) and before Lydgate’s Dietary (fols 167v–168v).5 The Dietary is here labelled “documentum notabile” and The Thewis is given the following Latin title: “documenta matris ad filiam”. All three texts were copied by one “J de R capellanus” in 1487 (fol. 163v). In MS C, The Thewis was copied between 1483 and 1489/90 without title onto fols 49r–53r of the manuscript’s sixth part by one “V de F”.6 A later hand heads the text, “The thewis off gudwomen”. This title has been adopted in the present discussion. MS C Part 6 contains a collection of Scots and English moral / advisory literature in prose and verse, and The Thewis belongs more specifically therein to a series of octosyllabic Scottish texts: Ratis Raving (fols 12r–36r), The Foly of Fulys and the Thewis of Vysmen (fols 36v–42v) and The Consail and Teiching at the Vys Man Gaif His Sone (fols 43r–48v).7 The latter two texts have been dated like The Thewis to c.1450 and were most likely composed by the same author. Ratis Raving in contrast was originally composed “not later than the opening decades of the fifteenth century” (Girvan 1939, lxxii), but it and the three texts with which it appears in MS C appear to have been revised by a later redactor and compiled together (Fox 1987, 99–103). Fox thus says of these moral poems: “people seem to have regarded them, fairly enough, as miscellaneous collections of good advice rather than poetic masterpieces, and writers seem to have felt completely free to made additions, deletions, and changes as they saw fit” (Fox 1987, 101). This is precisely how the BKA’s author, Sir Gilbert Hay, treated The Thewis (Mapstone 1994; Wingfield 2010, 70–5). The versions of The Thewis in MSS C and J differ from one another in a number of ways. The former runs to 316 lines, the latter to 306, and as Fox (1987, 102) writes: “[w]hile the two versions differ in length by only 10 lines, each contains about 70 lines not represented in the other, and in addition there are a large number of lines which correspond only roughly to their counterparts in the other manuscript…”. The version of The Thewis in BKA represents a selection and adaptation of the otherwise independent poem into 123 lines of decasyllabic couplets. It is not directly derived from the versions in either MS C or MS J, but it is closely related to them. It also appears that Hay worked from an exemplar, like MS C, in which The Thewis was compiled alongside the Consail and Teiching at the Vys Man Gaif his

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Sone, since his version of The Thewis contains a unique passage on how to choose a good wife (ll. 8573–75) which corresponds to a couplet in the Consail (ll. 251–52) (Saldanha 2001, 296–97). It is this close intertextual and codicological relationship between The Thewis, Lancelot and BKA that leads me to examine the role of female advice in the latter two romances.8 In the ensuing discussion, I analyse particularly pertinent episodes in both texts where advice is offered about women, or where women themselves receive and / or give advice. Female advice is shown to be susceptible to wilful misuse and ambivalent attitudes towards female sexuality, glimpsed in The Thewis, are also shown within the world of romance to have a profound and potentially devastating effect on the private and public rule of male monarchs.

Lancelot of the Laik The Older Scots romance Lancelot of the Laik is a translation into decasyllabic couplets of Phase IV of the Old French prose romance Lancelot do Lac (Kennedy 1980; Corley and Kennedy 1989). It survives uniquely in an incomplete state in Cambridge University Library MS Kk.1.5, a paper manuscript of Scottish and English provenance divided into nine now separate parts (Hardwick and Luard 1856–67, III:558–63, V:600; Guddat-Figge 1976, 103–05; Wingfield 2010, 131–70). This manuscript gradually evolved into its present form during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries before entering the library of Richard Holdsworth, Master of Emmanuel College Cambridge (1590–1649). It was then acquired by the University of Cambridge after his death. The advisory nature of Lancelot has long been known, with the majority of scholarship focusing on the lengthy passage in Book II where King Arthur is given political advice by the wise clerk, Amytans (ll. 1293– 2144). This considerable expansion of the original French source has been seen either as an unnecessary distraction from the poem’s central theme of love, or as an integral part of a romance which successfully combines love and politics as dual themes (Severs 1967, 50–51; Scheps 1968; Wurtele 1976; Martin 2008, 41–60). The passage has, furthermore, been interpreted either as a specific commentary on the reign of James III (Göller 1963, 137–43; Skeat 1865; Vogel 1943) or as belonging to the more generally applicable advice to princes tradition which became common in Scottish literature in the second half of the fifteenth century (Lyall 1976; Mapstone 1986; Mapstone 2001). Amytans’s advice to Arthur is, however, not the only advisory passage in Lancelot. The romance is in fact widely concerned with the nature of

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advice—the persons to whom and from whom it is directed and the rhetoric through which it is constructed. Passages of advice include the green bird’s advice to the Prologue-lover about how to appease Cupid and woo his lady (ll. 84–118, 127–56), the advice Arthur asks for and receives concerning his disturbing dream (ll. 379–523), Lancelot’s advising of himself when captivated by a sight of Guinevere on the battlefield (ll. 1019–28), and the rallying speeches offered by Gawain, Lancelot and Sir Kay as they fight Galiot’s army (ll. 795–805, 2507–20, 3095–104, 3445– 72). Such passages are distinguished from the surrounding narrative by their diction and rhetoric, suggesting that the poet intended to draw attention to them. The bird, for example, uses exclamatio, anaphora, direct and rhetorical questions, and proverbs to advise the prologue-lover. Elsewhere, phrases such as “My consell is” (for example at l. 2992) signal advisory discourse. There are, in addition, two significant but hitherto neglected passages where advice is offered to the poem’s main female characters, Guinevere and the Lady of Melyhalt. I examine these passages in turn before considering how they might relate to the poem’s prologue and inscribed female audience. In both the French and the Scots Lancelot, the Lady of Melyhalt has imprisoned Lancelot for slaying one of her knights. The Scots poet adapts the Lady’s role from the French source however and brings her into greater prominence. He adds details of her thoughts and feelings (ll. 1181– 83, 1225–32, 1271–72, 2397–98, 2433–38), and introduces her at consistent points throughout the poem. She appears, for instance, at the end of Books I and II, and the original design may have been for her to appear at the end of every book.9 At the end of Book I, the Lady of Melyhalt and her kinswoman, known as “cousin”, enter Lancelot’s cell after he has returned from battle and observe his wounded body as he sleeps. In the French this scene comes immediately after Amytans’ advice to Arthur (Corley and Kennedy 1989, 253–55); in the Scots it is transferred to a climactic point after Lancelot’s success in his first battle (ll. 1189–272). Johnston (1979, 28, 30) therefore suggests that the Lady’s reconstruction of Lancelot’s feats from the evidence of his horse, armour and wounds glorifies him; her admiration of Lancelot functions as a paradigm for the poem’s characters and readers. I instead view the Lady’s behaviour more cautiously. Her spying is voyeuristic and erotic (Spearing 1993, 46–47). It places her in a dominant position from which to intrude on the private space of Lancelot’s cell and observe his naked body almost too closely. Sexual and quasi-devotional forces appear to overlap as the Lady observes Lancelot’s wounds in the

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way Margery Kempe (1996, Bk I.i, ll. 1613–25) or Julian of Norwich (1994, “The Fourth Revelation”, ll. 473–80) meditate on the wounds of Christ.10 In a passage expanded from the original French, Lady is described as smitten with love: “In hire Remembrance loues fyre dart / With hot desyre hir smat one to the hart” (l. 1227–28). Yet, her request to be left alone to kiss the knight is met by her cousin’s stern rebuke, delivered in a series of rapid questions in morally charged language. The cousin forces the Lady to consider her “lychtnes” and “foly” (l. 1242), reminds her of Lancelot’s “fame”, “worschip” and “mycht” (l. 1248) and remarks that if Lancelot loves another “[h]is hart hyme sal not suffir to loue two” (l. 1256). She concludes, “My consell is, therefore, you to absten” (l. 1261). In Book I and during her first meetings with Lancelot in Book II, Lancelot is continually in the Lady’s thoughts (ll. 1268–72, 2282–84). Yet, by the end of Book II she tempers her desire and allows Lancelot his freedom. The narrator praises her for this, commending her “discreccioune”, “womanhed”, “gouernans”, “nurtur” and “farhed” (ll. 2439–40). He also comments “wysly sche abstenit hir dissir” (l. 2435). The linguistic echo here of the cousin’s words (“My consell is, therefore, you to absten”, l. 1261) demonstrates that the Lady is following her advice through. And yet, the narrator’s comment is arch. In revealing that the Lady lessened her desire because Lancelot loved another, he hints that she did so through pride rather than modesty. The Lady only ceases to be Lancelot’s gaoler when she fails to be his mistress in love. The Lady’s journey towards self-governance is juxtaposed with Guinevere’s. In addition, Guinevere’s initial reaction to Lancelot is the complete antithesis of the Lady’s. During the battle in Book III the Lady of Melyhalt suggests that Guinevere commend herself to Lancelot; he is so struck with love for her that he watches her rather than fight (ll. 2815–24; compare also ll. 1005–33). Guinevere “ansuerit as that hir lykit nocht” (l. 2905). She first adopts the moral high ground by recalling the danger threatening Arthur’s realm: For well ‫܌‬he se the perell how disio[i]nt, The adwentur now stondith one the point Boith of my lord his honore, and his lond, And of his men, in danger how thai stond

(ll. 2907–10).

She then sarcastically suggests that the Lady of Melyhalt “and ek thir vthere ladice may”, if they “lykith”, send Lancelot a message. Gawain, however, soon rebukes and advises her in a passage unique to the Scots translation:

THE THEWIS OF GUDWOMEN Tharfor my consell is, yhow to dewys, And ek ‫܌‬howre-self in yhowr trespas accus, And ask hyme mercy, and yhour gilt excus.

91

(ll. 2992–94)

Echoing Amytans’ advice to Arthur in Book II, Gawain here also equates Guinevere with her husband and reminds her of their dual regal responsibilities, that it is fitting for “o prince or o king / Til honore” a knight (ll. 2995–96). He then echoes the cousin’s advice to the Lady of Melyhalt (l. 1261) by concluding: “My consell is one to ‫܌‬hon knycht ‫܌‬e send” (l. 3016). Like the Lady, Guinevere yields to the advice she is given and sends Lancelot a message, but it is telling that she does so only after Gawain, a male knight, has publicly appealed to her to make the gesture from the point of view of her husband’s / the king’s welfare, in the process shaming her and making apparent her false reasoning and sexual jealously. The likely dramatic shift in Guinevere’s response towards Lancelot in the nowlost latter part of the narrative is equally telling. We know from the Prologue (ll. 299–313) that Venus would have “Reuardith” Lancelot for his prowess in battle and granted him “his ladice grace” (ll. 310–11). If, as Helen Cooper suggests (2003, 155), this reward was the famous kiss brokered by Galiot and the Lady of Melyhalt, then Guinevere would have moved from her initially cold reception of Lancelot towards a relationship that entered into the realms of adultery. Her support of Lancelot may encourage him in the short term to “serve the common profit and save Arthur's realm” (Martin 2008, 49), but in the long term, the adulterous affair between Queen and Knight brings about the downfall of the King and his realm and destroys Guinevere’s reputation. In Guinevere and the Lady of Melyhalt we thus have two contrasting and somewhat troubling examples of female behaviour in love. Alongside these female figures, sits the poem’s inscribed female audience—the unknown female with whom the poem’s narrator is in love and to whom the poem is addressed. The poem’s prologue and narrative proper are closely related. Several commentators have noted that the Lancelot-poet deliberately constructs a parallel between his narrator and Lancelot. Both are, for instance, unrequited lovers sharing the language of love-complaint and both eventually take action, fighting for their lady’s affections with the pen and sword respectively (Martin 2008, 44). This paralleling of Lancelot and the prologue-lover implies that Guinevere, Lancelot’s beloved, be read as a figure for the prologue-lover’s unknown lady. Thus, when Cupid’s messenger tells the prologue-lover that no lady of whatever “estat” or

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“empris” would hate or “dispis” a worthy lover (ll. 128–34), his words are designed not only to comfort the lover, but also to influence the response of the unknown lady. The poem proper then presents her with three exemplary figures—the Lady, Guinevere, and the Virgin Mary whose qualities Amytans enumerates at ll. 2087–130. Ultimately, I suggest, the unknown lady is to emulate Guinevere in switching from an initially cold reception of her lover to a much warmer one. As Roberta Krueger (1993, 182) comments when discussing the dedications made by male poets to female audiences in Old French romance: “[w]hen the lady and the poet in the frame are linked to the lady and the knight in the romance, the act of reading becomes a complex erotic interchange”. As the lady reads, she is seduced. Accordingly, Helen Cooper suggests (2003, 155) that the Scottish romance would not have presented the full development of Lancelot and Guinevere’s adulterous affair because this would not have suited the “author’s proclaimed purpose of winning his lady’s heart: continuing into the affair would have warned her rather to lock her door against him”.11 This observation is, I think, very true; the fully adulterous affair between Lancelot and Guinevere was most probably quite deliberately omitted from the remaining, now-lost section of the Scottish romance to better suit the narrator’s purposes. And yet, this to my mind makes the poem’s female advice all the more troubling. In hiding the full consequences of Lancelot and Guinevere’s affair from his beloved, the poem’s unrequited narrator-lover offers her advice that knowing readers might alternatively advise her not to take.

The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour is a romance of over nineteen thousand decasyllabic lines that offers a full biography of Alexander’s career, conquests and death. It supplements its main source, the second recension of the Latin Historia de Preliis, by drawing upon not only the Old French Roman d’Alexandre, and interpolations to it such as the Voeux du Paon and Voyage au Paradis, but also upon the pseudo-Aristotelian Secreta Secretorum and several pieces of otherwise-independent Older Scots conduct literature.12 The poem survives in two witnesses: London, British Library, MS Additional 40732 and Edinburgh, National Records of Scotland, MS GD 112/71/9. The former appears to have been read, or at least handled at some stage in its early history, by a woman; its final back flyleaf contains the signature of one unidentified Issobell MacKonoschie (Wingfield 2010, 94).

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As with Lancelot, the advisory nature of Sir Gilbert Hay’s BKA has attracted much critical attention and this is no surprise since the poem specifically orientates itself as such (Mapstone 1986; Martin 2006; Martin 2008, 61–78; Caughey 2010, 139–48). Hay states, for instance, that This buke is not compyillit allanerlie For kingis and princeis and lordis þat ar mychttie Bot till all men that richteouslie wald life, It suld thame g[u]id teitcheing and exampill gife, To governe thame with vertew and iustice

(ll. 19275–79)

Like Lancelot, however, BKA also contains not just advice to princes material—such as Aristotle’s formal Regiment and Physiognomy (ll. 9464–10555)—but also advice about, from, and directed to women, and it contains a number of strong female characters.13 For instance, Alexander’s mother, Olympias, successfully stands against a charge of adultery and her husband’s attempt to marry another woman. She frequently sends her son letters of advice, as does Radagone, the mother of Alexander’s tyrannical enemy Darius. Candace, Alexander’s lover, is “ane widow quene”, “richt fare of face”, “wourthy…war and wise” (ll. 7398–400). She fights to maintain her sovereignty and right to rule independently rather than as regent under her sons. Another notable female character is Alexander’s wife, Roxane. Before Alexander journeys into the Orient, “Till Roxanen his spous he powar gaif, / To be obeyit in his stede” (ll. 7367–68). She rules Persia effectively in her husband’s absence and comes to prominence at the end of the romance when, heavily pregnant, she intercedes with Alexander not to kill himself (ll. 18265–300) in a considerable expansion of the poem’s source texts. All of these women are queens; all have prominent political roles and all are skilled in performing them. Elsewhere, however, women in BKA are presented more ambivalently. One thinks, for instance, of the poisoned maiden sent to kill Alexander by “the auld queen, þe sister of Duke Melchis” (l. 9285), or of Alexander’s mistress and her Bridling of Aristotle (ll. 7163–247). As Joanna Martin (2008, 69) has noted, the former episode leads directly onto Aristotle’s “Regiment”; “the length and thoroughness of Aristotle’s advisory response is a mark of how serious the consequences of royal amorousness could have been…”. The Bridling of Aristotle episode may in turn have prompted Hay’s use of The Thewis. After Aristotle’s embarrassment, the narrator reports that he: …wrett how lufe ourcummys all thing; And thareof made a buke into þat place,

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EMILY WINGFIELD How mony kyndis of paramouris þare was, And of gude women and þare gude thewis, And how vise men ar dissauit with schrewis

(ll. 7230–34)

Aristotle’s “buke” neatly anticipates the inclusion of The Thewis at ll. 8473–596; indeed the final rhyming couplet in the foregoing quotation is echoed exactly in Ydory’s request that Betis explain “all ill maneris and ill thewis / That followis euer þir fule women and schrewis” (ll. 8481–82). There are a number of notable differences between the BKA-Thewis and the version of The Thewis in MSS C and J. As already stated, the BKA-Thewis forms part of a conversation—it is the King of Lufe’s response to Dame Ydory’s asking “Quhilk [ar] the thewis of ane gud women”—and no doubt because of this aristocratic inscribed audience, the BKA-Thewis omits the passages in MSS C and J which discuss the way in which a woman should conduct herself when running errands and taking messages (C, ll. 131–36, 187–89; MS J, ll. 173–79, 219–21). The BKAThewis also does not contain the discussion in both MSS C and J which connects plain, practical clothing to humility and pride (MSS C and J, ll. 11–40), or the connection in MS J between clothing and sexuality (MS J, ll. 55–69). Similarly, the BKA-Thewis does not contain the passage found only in MS J (ll. 90–110), which discusses the arousal of sexual feelings in young girls at puberty and records past instances of sibling incest. This may be because the Thewis text used by Hay did not contain this extract, like MS C. Alternatively, the passage may have been deliberately excised. Either way, the resultant emphasis on female chastity in the interpolated Thewis is entirely belied by the frank discussion of female sexuality elsewhere in the Court of Love, such as when the King of Lufe asks Dame Ydory “in quhat partis of ‫܌‬oure bodie / ...lufe ‫܌‬ow vexis maist excidantlie” (ll. 8078–79). Ydory responds: It trublis all the partis of my body: Than I desire to haue his mouth to myne, Syne breist to breist, and all the body syne, In armys plett, nakitt, with his gud will, And syne that war na velanly ws till

(ll. 8103–07)

The Thewis is also immediately followed by discussion of “þe thewis of a fare woman” (l. 8608); moral virtue thus yields place to physical beauty. Saldanha (2001, 296) has consequently suggested that the inclusion of the Thewis within the BKA “may not have had an entirely serious and moral intent”. I would instead suggest that the differing attitudes towards women, love and female sexuality presented in The Thewis and wider

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demandes d'amour were deliberately motivated by Hay to provoke consideration of amatory ethics and sexual conduct in anticipation of the over-passionate, adulterous affair between Alexander and Candace which instigated the posthumous destruction of his empire.14 In including an actual advisory text within the sexually-charged context of a Court of Love, Hay makes clear how such seemingly straightforward conduct literature can be open to interpretation and misuse.

Conclusion This essay has demonstrated that hitherto neglected episodes in Lancelot of the Laik and Hay’s BKA in which advice is offered about women, or where women themselves receive and / or give advice, reward further scrutiny. In Lancelot of the Laik, the poem’s prologue-lover manipulates Gawain’s advice to Guinevere and her resultant relationship with Lancelot to encourage his own beloved to respond more warmly to his amatory advances. In conveniently glossing over the full consequences of Lancelot and Guinevere’s affair, the narrator uses female advice to suit his own ends and asks his beloved to unwittingly equate herself with an ultimately tragic adulteress. In BKA, Hay includes an abbreviated and metrically adapted version of The Thewis within the sexually charged atmosphere of a Court of Love. Its emphasis on female chastity and moral virtue is entirely belied by frank discussions elsewhere of female sexuality and physical beauty and Hay consequently demonstrates that seemingly straightforward advisory literature is open to precisely the misuse witnessed in the prologue to Lancelot of the Laik. With no trustworthy or obvious answer provided by either text, readers are forced to consider for themselves “Quhilk [ar] the thewis of ane gud women”.

Notes 1

I quote from Skeat 1884. Further editions include Stevenson 1839; Gray 1912; Johnston 1979; Lupack 1994. I follow Mapstone (2001a, 138) in dating Lancelot of the Laik to the late 1460s. 2 I quote from Hay 1986–90. The Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour is generally dated c.1460; see Cartwright 1986, 229–38. Lines 19311 to the end of the romance indicate that the poem was revised in 1499 by an unknown redactor who nevertheless appears to attribute the original composition to Sir Gilbert Hay. On Hay’s authorship and the poem’s revision, see further Wingfield 2010, 61–83. 3 Pertinent articles are cited in the ensuing discussion of both texts. 4 Girvan 1939, lxxiv. I quote from this edition, using the text of CUL MS Kk.1.5, unless otherwise stated. See also Mustanoja 1948.

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For more information on Lydgate in Scotland, see Sweet 2009. Lyall [1984]. Lyall further refined his watermark list during private communication with Sally Mapstone and I am grateful to her for sharing this information with me. 7 For all of these texts, see Girvan 1939. 8 For further associations between Hay, the Lancelot author, and the manuscript witnesses of their works, see Wingfield 2010, 134–36. 9 The book division is unique to the Scots translation. Lancelot is now incomplete, ending during Book III, but it is thought that originally the poem may have run to five books. 10 The Craft of Deyng, ll. 98–102, compiled alongside Lancelot in Part 6 of Kk.1.5 (fols 1r–4r) also contains a miniature passage contemplating the wounded body of Christ; see Girvan 1939, 169. 11 See also Archibald 2005, 75. 12 For further details of the poem’s sources, see Lascelles 1936; Cartwright 1986; Cartwright 1991; van Duin 1996. 13 Compare Bunt 1992, 46–48; Gaullier-Bougassas 1991; Gosman 1980. 14 See further, Martin 2008, 70–76. 6

“METHINK IT GRETE SKILL”: CONCILIATORY CHIVALRY IN THREE FIFTEENTH-CENTURY SCOTTISH ROMANCES ANNA CAUGHEY

This paper deals with the themes of forgiveness and conciliation in three narrative poems produced in Scotland during the fifteenth century: the 1438 Buik of Alexander,1 the Scottish Arthurian romance Golagros and Gawane2 (late fifteenth century), and the comedic romance Rauf Coilвear3 (late fifteenth century). Although otherwise very different in terms of tone, structure, audience and relationship to their source materials, each of these poems presents an idealized vision of knighthood through one or more of its main characters. In each case, this ideal combines knightly strength and prowess with mercy, forgiveness and what Ralph Hanna terms, with reference to Golagros and Gawane, a “persistent interest in negotiated exchanges” (Hanna 2008a). In this analysis, I will identify some of the ways in which these poems privilege negotiation, compromise and courtesy alongside more traditional martial qualities, and will propose the phrase “conciliatory chivalry” as an umbrella term to encompass this combination. This concern with the conciliatory may appear surprising at first glance, given the all-too-stereotypical association of fifteenth-century Scotland with belligerence, political strife, the unnatural deaths of James I and III at the hands of their subjects, and the run of child monarchs produced by this and the early death of James II. However, it is possible that it is in fact these very circumstances that may have led to the promotion of the conciliatory in texts dating from this period. Despite periods of deep frustration with the Stewart monarchs, members of the aristocracy remained aware at all times that any serious challenge to the Stewart dynasty could weaken national unity in the face of the everpresent English threat, a contributing factor to the passionate literary and cultural interest in kingship and advice to princes documented by Mapstone (1986; 1997; 1998). Particularly during the periods of minority kingship that dominated the fifteenth century, Scottish society remained

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highly dependent on the co-operation and “reliability of the political community” (Mapstone 1998, 338). The clan system, the closely-knit and interrelated nature of late medieval Scottish nobility and “that supposedly dreadful and barbaric thing, the bloodfeud” (Wormald 2004, 183) also combined to necessitate tight cultural control of the circumstances under which violence could be enacted between members of aristocratic families.4 This necessitated the promotion of a culture of negotiation, forgiveness and understanding among physically and socially powerful men. Although of course this was not always carried through in social reality, the desire for a society in which both friends and enemies were respected and made, as both Golagros and Rauf suggest, “lords of their own” (while also functioning as members of a cohesive national whole) is clearly in evidence in these three texts.

The Buik of Alexander The Buik of Alexander is a 14,442-line octosyllabic poem based on two French Alexander romances, Li Fuerres de Gadres and Les Voeux du Paon.5 It chronicles the adventures of Alexander and his men during the siege of Tyre, the foundation of friendship between Alexander’s men and the people of Ephesoun, and the defence of that city against the loathly King Clarus, who seeks to marry the princess Fesonas against her will and wrest control of the city from her brothers Gaudifer and Betis. Through the young princes’ solicitation of Alexander’s support, and two extended scenes (the “Court of Love” and the “Vows of the Peacock”) in which the captive enemy captains fall in love with Ephesonian women, harmony is finally restored with a double wedding engineered by Alexander himself. The first enemy that we meet in the poem is Gaudifer of Larris, the father of the beleaguered princes and princess. Although his swift death means that it is difficult for the reader to gain a lasting impression of his character, he is lamented as “full douchty / Of hie worship and cheualry” (BA [Ritchie 1921–29], I:3171–72). As he is killed by Emenidus, his family—his brother Cassamus and his sons young Gaudifer and Betis— enter the text as Alexander’s enemies. However, this is quickly forgotten after Alexander apologizes handsomely to Cassamus for the death: Thy brotheris deid me lykit nocht, Thocht Sampsoun and Pyrrus deir it bocht. For thow resembillis ane man of wit, At thy lyking I sall mend it.

(BA, II:115–18)

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After joining forces with Alexander against Clarus, the Ephesonians eventually become so integrated with his men that by the second half of the Voeux-influenced section, Betis is seen riding beside Alexander’s man Perdicas so closely that “It semit togidder thay brether ware” (BA, IV:8757). Fradenburg (1991, 183), while discussing the tournament tradition, suggests that “confrontation with the similar” is frequently used to facilitate the creation and definition of “the honourable self”. A similar effect seems to be in place in the Buik of Alexander as the Macedonians and Ephesonians discover forgiveness, good companionship and loyal friendship in one another’s company throughout the poem. This conciliatory behaviour also conveys a tactical, as well as a moral, advantage, as it allows the princes to enlist the help of Alexander and his men in defeating Clarus. By recognizing Alexander’s superiority, and accepting his friendship and aid, they demonstrate both courtesy and practicality, as well as the ability to recognize legitimate overlordship that had recently been so spectacularly problematized by Robert Graham and Robert Stewart in 1437.6 Later in the poem we meet Porrus, the youngest son of Clarus who, although an enemy of Alexander and the Ephesonians, is presented as a worthy knight who “for honor ‫܌‬arnit” more “Than siluer or land or ocht that is” BA, II:4591–92). His companion, the Bactrian prince generally known as “the Bauderane” (BA, II:1387) is also an honourable figure: the poet takes care to establish his worth by emphasizing the fact that his people mourn for him when they mistakenly believe “that thare lord was slane” (BA, II:2600). When the two are taken captive by Alexander’s company, friendship is offered to them despite their position as prisoners of war. They are well-treated, and are even allowed to mingle with the Ephesonian ladies and participate in the courtly games (the “Court of Love” (II:2065–603 and 3563–925) and the “Vows of the Peacock” (III:5151–912)) through which friendship is established in Alexander’s court. However, the text does maintain a sense of tension around both men’s status as enemies of the king. This emerges particularly clearly during the “Vows of the Peacock” episode, when both create public scandal by making inappropriate vows. Porrus swears that in the coming battle, he will cut Emenidus’ horse out from beneath him (BA, III:5381–82). The Bauderane takes matters even further by boasting against Alexander himself, claiming that he will “haue the burnist brand / Out of the ryall Kingis hand” (BA, III:5447–48). Both of these vows scandalize the narrator and the company: Porrus’ “vow is outtragious and hardy! / Sa hie a vow made neuer nane!” (III:5394–95), while the Bauderane is “Full of

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wodnes and foly” (III:5455). However, when Porrus (through a series of surprising coincidences on the battlefield) actually manages to achieve his vow, he is shocked and humble, rather than overbearingly triumphant, as he thanks God for His favour: “Deir God!” said he, “be heuinnis King, Quhat thow honored hes me greatly … And with honour my great foly Is now encheiffit apertly!”

(BA, IV:8397–98; 8402–03)

Although Porrus’ family loyalties compel him to slay Cassamus after the older man kills his father in the final battle, there is a sense throughout this scene that this fight is predetermined, inevitable, and is being carried out at least to some extent against Porrus’ will: his reluctance is reflected in the fact that as soon as the older man is dead, Porrus announces “I the forgeue for euermare, / Thow sall be blamed neuer are” (BA, IV:10247–48). Equilibrium is restored in the double wedding that takes place after the final battle, which I shall discuss further below. The unity, friendliness and forgiveness that thus characterize Alexander’s warrior band are repeatedly contrasted with the catastrophic disunity of Clarus’ camp, which is beset by quarrels and afflicted by a leader whose men “him hates as the dede” (BA, II:1549). Even Clarus’ nephew Marciane, who is as loyal to him as humanly possible, recognizes the discord between him and his men and tells his uncle: “All hait thay ‫܌‬ow: quha may thame blame?” (III:6659). However, Clarus repeatedly refuses to attend to Marciane’s warnings, and continues to gain the opprobrium of his troops. The poem constructs Clarus’ army as a model of both bad leadership and the failure of group identity in order to underscore the extent to which Alexander’s policy of forgiveness, even-handedness and generosity has allowed him to construct a warrior band that is not only happy and functional, but also—quite literally—unbeatable. The final exemplar of conciliatory chivalry in the Buik of Alexander is Marciane himself. Although, unlike Porrus and the Bauderane, he spends more than 10,000 of the poem’s lines in the enemy camp, his consistently conciliatory behaviour towards both his enemies and the despotic Clarus makes him a strongly sympathetic figure. After capturing Betis on the battlefield, Marciane gives his enemy “watter that was freche and fyne” (BA, II:4886), and respectfully requests news of the captive Porrus (BA, II:4846–47). However, his most important role in the poem is as Clarus’ righteous, although seldom-heeded, counsellor. He continually warns

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Clarus that he is losing the affection of his men and that this will damage his ability to fight Alexander, finally exploding in rage: “Fare sueit eme, I wald ‫܌‬e were Richt sik as he [Alexander] is (sa God me blis!). Amend ‫܌‬our lyf and leif him his, For ‫܌‬e ar war than I dar say!” (BA, III:7858–61)

Tellingly, he is then admired and even blessed by Clarus’ other men, who “said amang thame commonly / ‘Marciane gais the suitfast gait!’ ” (BA, III:7864–65). This suggests that the whole of Clarus’ army can, via their support for the sympathetic Marciane, to some extent also be read as enemies with whom reconciliation, after Clarus’ death, will be entirely possible. Finally, Alexander’s ultimate role at the poem’s end is to secure lasting peace, not by military triumph, but by granting Porrus the hand of Fesonas and the Bauderane that of her lady-in-waiting Edeas, ensuring that war can never again break out between Clarus’ army and the Ephesonians. He concludes the story by gifting the happy couples with “Threttie Castellis and citeis thre, / And vther landis of great plente” (BA, IV:11063–64) before riding away on his doomed final mission to Babylon, an episode that takes place after the poem’s end. The poet’s brief final touch of shadow—“Allace! allace! quhy did he sa?” (IV:11134)—only serves to emphasize the rewards of peace and conciliatory behaviour that are now being enjoyed by the former combatants, even as Alexander rides away to what any reader who has previously encountered the Alexandrian tradition knows will be his death.

Golagros and Gawane Throughout Golagros and Gawane, the conciliatory Gawane is seen to succeed, in matters of both prowess and diplomacy, where his king, the flawed Arthur,7 fails. Although he is presented as a skilled fighter, as seen on the battlefield with Golagros (ll. 897–1053), his primary feature is not his ability as a warrior or a commander, but his good nature and perfect courtesy. The poem itself consists of translations of parts of the French First Continuation of Chrétien de Troyes’ Perceval (c.1181–90), primarily the episodes designated “Section IV Episode 3” and “Section IV Episode 14” by Roach (1949, liv–lvii).8 It is completed in the northern thirteen-line stanzaic metre also seen in Rauf Coilвear (see below). Golagros and Gawane’s status as a relatively freely adapted version of the source material demonstrates a strong drive to insert advisory elements wherever

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possible, as it reshapes the loose and rambling plot seen in the First Continuation in order to create a tightly repetitive structure that presses the poem’s conciliatory message home. This reshaping of the plot is seen most clearly in the two-part structure established by the elimination of many of the side-plots and details seen in the First Continuation in order to focus on two variations upon a single scenario. In the first part of the poem Kay, foraging for supplies, offends a castle-keeper by breaking into his kitchens and snatching a roast fowl from the dwarf who is his kitchen-servant. Thus antagonized, the castle-keeper denies food to Arthur’s company until Gawane apologizes for Kay’s actions and makes amends, telling him respectfully that “To mak you [maister] of your avne methink it grete skill” (Golagros, l. 147). This pattern, in which a selfish demand for goods or property falls on deaf ears while calm and polite negotiation is rewarded, is repeated and amplified in the poem’s longer second section, where a fiefdom, rather than a single roast dinner, is at stake. In the second iteration of the plot, Arthur sees a choice piece of land while on pilgrimage and attempts to seize it from its owner, the lord Golagros, who in turn puts up a magnificently stubborn resistance. Even when Golagros is defeated in battle by Gawane, he refuses to yield, insisting that “Methink farar to dee / Than schamyt be verralie” (Golagros, ll. 1038–39). Wishing to spare the man’s life, Gawane graciously agrees to pretend to be the loser in order to carry out a “trick” that will allow Golagros to retain the respect of his followers. When the trick is finally revealed to Golagros’ people, they protest that they love him regardless of whether he is defeated or not, and when the conquered lord finally makes his submission to Arthur, the king is so touched that he returns the land, leaving Golagros “Fre as I the first fand” (Golagros, l. 1364). Both repetitions establish an opposition between the role of the “Good Knight” (played by Gawane in both iterations) who is “gratious and gude” (Golagros, l. 118), listening, negotiating and respecting others, and the “Bad Knight/King” (played by Kay in the first episode and Arthur in the second), who shows disrespect to his social inferiors, makes unreasonable demands and refuses to compromise. Both Kay’s and Arthur’s arrogance leads them to commit the central error of failing to allow their opposite numbers to claim their own autonomy, as exemplified by Gawane’s phrase “[maister] of your avne” (Golagros, l. 147). While Kay’s “crabbit” (Golagros, l. 119) conduct is part of his characterization throughout the Arthurian tradition, it is much more unusual to see a display of selfishness and loss of temper in the figure of Arthur, whose mild-mannered behaviour—even in the face of the affair between Lancelot and Guinevere,

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which is absent in Golagros—is a striking feature of many Arthuriads; see Nitze (1953, 222). Attached to this kingly hubris is the second and most obvious element of the negative behaviour modelled by the “Bad Knight” figures: selfishness. Kay thinks only of his own hunger in grabbing the food from the dwarf, a behaviour that is repeatedly described by the castle-keeper as inappropriately “ladlike” (Golagros, ll. 95, 160). Although this word technically designates any kind of unknightly behaviour,9 it also contains overtones of childishness, particularly when it is combined with the statement that Kay is “light of his fere” (l. 160), lacking in knightly gravity. The unnecessary nature of the conflict is highlighted at the end of the section when the first lord reveals that he is in fact Arthur’s own “cousing of kyn” (l. 191) and vassal: as Purdie (2005, 98) points out, “he cannot sell to Arthur because Arthur already owns everything”. Certainly, Arthur’s later speech regarding Golagros’ land reveals him to be just as disconcertingly grasping as Kay, as he stubbornly declares that: “Bot gif I loissing my life or be laid law, Be the pilgramage compleit I pas for saull-prow, Bot dede be my destenyng, He sall at my aganecumyng Mak homage and oblissing — I mak myne avow!” (Golagros, ll. 268–73)

insisting that he will crush Golagros as soon as he has paid the barest minimum of service to his original pilgrimage. The poet also deliberately highlights Arthur’s failure to show consideration for the widows who will be made by this conflict: “Or ellis mony wedou / Ful wraithly sal weip” (Golagros, ll. 298–99), showing a lack of concern for the helpless that was troubling enough when seen in Kay’s bad behaviour at the beginning of the poem, but is actively chilling when displayed by a king. Gawane provides the solution to both crises. After Kay’s first failure, he intelligently and sensitively points out that a man “mekar of mude, / That will with fairnes fraist frendschip to fynd” (Golagros, ll. 120–21) is required to negotiate with the castle-keeper. His later negotiation of the truce with Golagros also underscores the importance of conciliation and humility. The poem in many ways intimates that Golagros and Gawane may have more in common than Gawane and Arthur: they share the same polite speech, as seen when Golagros “thank[s] your gracious grete lord and his gude wil” (l. 431) and the same emotional restraint, seen in Golagros’ quiet and dignified encouragement to his knight Rigal: “I [beseik] the for my saik that it [victory] be deir sald” (l. 592). Even the

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poem’s title places them side by side and, although Golagros is presented as the enemy leader, like Gawane he is not in fact a king. The poem’s difficulty in convincingly “othering” Golagros may stem from Scottish warrior culture’s innate sympathy with the character’s refusal to be physically or culturally assimilated into a conquering nation, a sympathy that was still strongly active in the 1470s and 80s, as the approximately contemporary composition of the Wallace (c.1480) indicates. The possibility of reading Golagros as representing an alternative Scottish presence in the text is further evidenced by his passionate belief that “If I for obeisance or boist to bondage me bynde, / I war wourthy to be / Hingit heigh on ane tre” (ll. 438–40); and although Golagros’ pride causes problems for Gawane, it is presented as an honourable and (relatively) positive stance. It should, however, be noted that the poem’s emphasis on negotiation is later mitigated by the fact that Gawane’s first speech to Golagros fails. Although Gawane speaks politely “With ane clene contenance cumly to knaw” (Golagros, l. 399), he is met with a refusal: “I will nogth bow me ane-bak for berne that is borne” (l. 451). Gawane’s subsequent success against Golagros in combat, followed by a final triumph of diplomacy, suggests that the poet still recognizes the importance of prowess; when negotiation fails, the good knight must be able to back up his words with action. The poem does present some character development on the part of Arthur, suggesting that it is possible for the bad king to reform. He begins the story as a selfish and troubling figure who demands Golagros’ land; however, by the narrative’s conclusion he has begun the process of reform, with the assistance of both Gawane and his advisor Spynagros,10 and is beginning to understand the importance of acknowledging the needs and wishes of those he governs. Part of this progress is seen in his developing ability to acknowledge the agency of individual members of his own and others’ warrior bands. His “breakthrough moment” occurs when he realizes how important it is that honour and safety be preserved for both Gawane and Golagros. When they first take the field to fight out his cause, Arthur selfishly prays that God “Grant me confort this day” (Golagros, l. 959, emphasis mine), but by the end of the fight, this has changed into a prayer to “ ‘grant the frekis on fold farar to fall, / Baith thair honouris to saif’ ” (Golagros 1010–11, emphasis mine), revealing the beginning of an understanding of Golagros’ right to dignity and independence. By the poem’s conclusion, Arthur has moved from his position at the beginning of the section when, like Kay snatching roast fowl, he demanded the defeat of Golagros, total possession of his land and subjugation of his people. By

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heeding the advice of his counsellor and the good example provided by Gawane, he has progressed to recognizing the importance of allowing dignity to both combatants, as reflected in his leaving Golagros “Fre” (l. 1364) after a token submission at the poem’s end. Although this change does not necessarily suggest a total redemption of Arthur, whose court may remain a problematic space on its return to Camelot, it does underline the importance of the king’s ability to listen to advice and to respect the autonomy of others, once again reflecting the centrality of advisory material to secular writing during the reigns of the Stewart kings.

Rauf Coilвear Rauf Coilвear is an unusual poem that has traditionally been read as a parody of French chanson de geste narratives concerning Charlemagne. In fact it combines elements of the “King in Disguise” folktale tradition with genuine appropriations from the chanson de geste. The poem opens when the Emperor Charlemagne finds himself alone and lost upon the “rude mure” (Rauf, l. 14) and “myrk montanis” (Rauf, l. 22) that the poem places (somewhat incongruously) just outside Paris. He seeks shelter from the humble collier Rauf. Although Rauf treats his guest rudely, Charlemagne is grateful for his hospitality and does not confess his true identity, instead inviting his host to appear at court on Christmas Day, whereupon all is revealed. The collier is rewarded with a knighthood, and promptly celebrates by setting off to duel with Charlemagne’s champion Roland over a minor slight. Arriving at the appointed place, the newly-made Sir Rauf instead meets Magog, a Saracen champion, and fights with him until the two are separated by Roland, who speaks to Magog of the Christian God’s goodness and teaches them both that a true knight is as ready to make peace as war. The poem’s concluding image, in which the trio is united in brotherhood, is striking for its suggestion that even complete outsiders (a peasant and a Saracen) can be successfully interpolated into the knightly world. As Glenn Wright (2002, 103) comments, it is entirely possible that the eponymous hero Rauf is “medieval literature’s only example of a true commoner (not a noble-blooded ‘fair unknown’) becoming a knight, and then visibly succeeding”. Although the plot of the poem up to line 777 is also used in many other similar texts including the English John the Reeve11 and its derivatives, the Scottish poem is unique due to the poet’s addition of the second part of the story. In Rauf Coilвear, it is not enough for Rauf to be rewarded by being created a knight; he must show that he is capable of acting in his new role. This allows for an unusually frank

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exploration of Scottish knightly values and the tensions that had entered into them by the last years of the fifteenth century. As Stevenson (2006a, 52) points out, “the fifteenth century saw knighthood being opened up to those of non-noble status”, however slow and problematic this process may have been; and the spectacle of a humble collier being admitted to the ranks exaggerates this process to comic effect. However, the opposition between Rauf’s and Roland’s personalities and styles is not merely a comic juxtaposition of “the glamorous with the ordinary” (Fradenburg 1991, 184). The plot also allows the poet to examine the extent to which the martial and practical elements of chivalry could co-exist with impulses towards both the conciliatory and the display-oriented and status-seeking sides of knighthood as “less emphasis [was] placed solely on the knight as a warrior” (Stevenson 2006a, 52) towards the conclusion of the fifteenth century. Despite the poem’s influences from the Charlemagne tradition and the English folktale, the types of knighthood modelled by Rauf and Roland are recognizably linked to the specifically Scottish knighthood presented in earlier texts such as the Bruce (c.1375) and the roughly contemporary Wallace, Golagros and Gawane and Eneados (1513). As a knight, Rauf is practical, physically courageous and ready to prove himself and face his enemies. Although his “crabitnes” (Rauf, l. 526) appears humorously incongruous when contrasted with the refined atmosphere of Charlemagne’s court, even Rauf’s initial behaviour is not truly incompatible with knightliness. Although he is extremely rude to his guest, this indirectly underscores the truth of his words at their first meeting: “Forsuith thow suld be welcum to pas hame with me / Or ony uther gude fallow that I heir fand” (Rauf, ll. 71–72, emphasis mine): any guest, no matter how noble or humble, would be received by the collier with equal gruffness and equal kindness. Rauf’s behaviour, both here and later in the poem, represents not only the aggressive and warlike, but also the practical, useful and honourable sides of knightly conduct. An alternative model of knighthood is offered by the figure of Roland, who presents a significant departure from the Charlemagne tradition’s portrayal of him as a more aggressive character (Smyser 1932, 147). Instead, he is an elegant, yet somewhat ostentatious figure whose elaborate dress is satirized by the poet in a parodic description of nearly thirty lines (Rauf, ll. 456–85) in which we see him “Glitterand full gaylie” (l. 456), decked out in “Greit graipis of gold” (l. 469). When Roland first meets Rauf, he treats the humble collier with patience and courtesy—although perhaps also with some condescension—but Rauf believes that Roland is making fun of him: “Schir knicht,” he says, “it is na courtasie commounis

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to scorne” (Rauf, l. 429). Rauf rudely refuses the knight’s command to accompany him to the king and offers instead to fight him: “Be the mother and the maydin that maid us remeid / … / Thow and I sall dyntis deill, quhill ane of us be deid” (Rauf, ll. 510, 512). It is possible to read Roland’s behaviour as somewhat patronizing when he tries to discourage Rauf from fighting upon realizing that the collier is armed only with “ane auld buklair, / And ane roustie brand” (Rauf, ll. 517–88). He attempts to convince Rauf that fighting would be futile: “Lat se how we may dissever with sobernes aneuch, / And catche crabitnes away” (Rauf, ll. 525–26), and eventually gets the collier to agree that their fight shall be deferred until after Rauf’s meeting with the king. However, this is also a demonstration of chivalrous restraint that contrasts neatly with Rauf’s frequent losses of temper, demonstrating the need for balance between the two extremes. Although Roland has managed only to postpone the fight, it still seems obvious that it is what Purdie (2006, 173) terms “the unglamorous art of compromise” that is being venerated here. The poem’s emphasis on conciliation does not end with the reconciliation between Rauf and Roland. When Rauf finds himself pitted against the “Sarasine” (Rauf, l. 847) Magog, who has mysteriously appeared outside Paris mounted on “ane cameill” (l. 804), it is Roland’s intervention that saves both men. The conciliatory knight defuses the situation between the combatants, and negotiates so that the duel—which would, after all, probably have resulted in the collier’s bloody death at the hands of the Tartar champion—is instead transformed into a happy ending for all three characters. Roland’s speech on “the mekle God, that maist of michtis may” (Rauf, l. 885) converts the foreign outsider into a fellowwarrior whose “foreign” status can, within the poem’s moral universe, be quickly and painlessly defused by his conversion to Christianity. Magog is, in surprisingly many respects, a very similar character to Rauf himself: although Wright’s suggestion (2001, 104) that they share a “subterranean kinship” and that Rauf is a “surrogate Saracen” in his initial encounter with Roland may overstate the connection, it is clear that both are powerful, independently-minded and quarrelsome individuals. When Magog’s outsider status is overcome by Roland’s demonstration of the conciliatory powers of the true knight, their oath of lifelong friendship is the swift and unproblematic result. The encounter also serves to resolve the problem of Rauf’s discord with Roland: the duel has previously been seen as problematic, not only because of the discrepancy between their abilities, but also because Charlemagne himself has already condemned the idea of killing a fellow Christian knight: “I hald the counsall full evill that Cristin man slais” (Rauf, l. 747).

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The reasons behind Magog’s conversion are somewhat unclear, and are often a subject of disagreement among critics. Lupack (1990, 163) argues that Magog’s conversion helps to prioritize true religious feeling over the professing of religion for personal gain, as he does not convert for fear of Rauf’s violence or because of the riches offered by Roland, but because he has been convinced that their God may be “sa gude as I heir the say” (Rauf, l. 937), while Shepherd (1991, 297) contends that the scene derives part of its humour from the fact that “Magog is ultimately bribed into converting”. Wright (2002, 109) and other critics take a third approach, stating that “faith in ‘Mahoun’, though all-important in terms of group identification, is not represented as constitutive of any inner sense of self”, and thus Magog’s conversion to Christianity mirrors Rauf’s “conversion” to the nobility with his knighting: both remain essentially the same people, with only their loyalties and affiliations altered. I suggest a fourth alternative: that this moment is actually an expression of great optimism on the part of the poet, conveying the fervent desire for the familiar to be recognized in the enemy / unfamiliar that also animates the peacemaking between Rauf and Roland: again, a return to Fradenburg’s concept of the recognition of positive aspects of the honourable self via staged conflict with an Other that closely resembles that self. This represents a final and sincere expression of the optimism of the literature of conciliatory chivalry, which perceives knighthood as a force that can smooth over interpersonal conflict and unify disparate groups: a vision that would soon become much more problematic after the events of 1513. Finally, the importance of conciliatory behaviour, particularly for a monarch, is also emphasized in the figure of Charlemagne himself. As the emperor meekly submits to Rauf’s abuse in the poem’s first half, he comes to realize that courtesy is “not simply…what nobility possesses and commonality lacks”, but a “system of equivalences and obligations” (Wright 2001, 648) that is as real in Rauf’s house as it is in his own court. This is emphasized in Rauf’s statement to the king that unless he “mak[es] me lord of my awin / … / Begin we to threip” (Rauf, ll. 128, 30). Echoing Gawane’s statement to Golagros, this appears to sum up one of the central principles of conciliatory chivalry: the necessity of respecting the sovereignty and independent pride of others, regardless of their social status. Charlemagne’s acceptance and internalization of this lesson means that when Rauf arrives at court, the monarch does not punish him for acting in a way that was, after all, appropriate for the social situation in which he believed himself to be: that is, that of a freeman commoner entertaining an equal. Rather, he models wise and just kingship by inverting the previous night’s social situation: he provides Rauf with a

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knighthood, a “reward” that both repays his generosity and forces the collier into a similar position to that previously occupied by the king. In his new capacity as “Schir Rauf” (Rauf, l. 777), the collier is required to learn new codes of behaviour and ways of addressing his fellow men, including learning to emulate Roland’s conciliatory peace-making, in order to function in the new social group in which he finds himself.

Conclusion Although dating from the reigns of at least two, and perhaps three, different Stewart kings, and encompassing a broad range of generic identities and attitudes to the practice of translation, the Buik of Alexander, Golagros and Gawane and Rauf Coilвear all show a clear concern with the conciliatory. All three texts present the ability to speak civilly with and understand one’s enemies, and to reconcile with them with the minimum of bloodshed, as one of the most important and valuable characteristics of both knighthood and kingship. The Buik of Alexander points out the ways in which knights may profit by laying aside their differences, building strong alliances and retaining the favour of their followers, while Golagros and Gawane and Rauf Coilвear stress the importance of negotiation, humility and respecting, within certain limits, others’ rights to selfdetermination and autonomy. Although space obviously does not permit a full discussion of the possible historical and social causes and ramifications of the idealization of conciliatory chivalry here, it can clearly be seen that each text places a deliberate and careful emphasis on the conciliatory. The appearance of these texts throughout the fifteenth century—a period characterized by complex power relations between Scottish kings and magnates—is hardly accidental. When these texts are examined side-by-side, their prioritization of conciliatory chivalry suggests that aristocratic writers and readers in fifteenth-century Scotland were seriously engaging with the concepts of negotiation, forgiveness, the formation of secure alliances and the incorporation of diverse individuals into the collective identity of the brotherhood of knights.

Notes 1

The Buik of Alexander survives today in only one witness: a sixteenth-century print created by Alexander Arbuthnot (STC (2nd ed.) 321.5; Aldis 165), but it is explicitly dated to 1438 in its colophon, ll. 37–39). For an edition: Ritchie 1921– 29.

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Golagros is known to us only by the print which was made by Chepman and Myllar in April 1508 (STC (2nd ed.) 11984; Aldis 12), and by the fact that it is listed in the contents page of the Asloan Manuscript. Although F. J. Amours (1897, I: xii) places its composition at around 1470, in his new edition Ralph Hanna (2008b, xxx) dates the text to the last quarter of the fifteenth century on linguistic grounds. 3 Rauf Coilвear remains extant only in a print published in St Andrews by Robert Lekpreuik, dated 1572 (STC (2nd ed.) 5487; Aldis 113). It seems likely that Lekpreuik “modernized” the spelling and word forms to some extent, although it is difficult to tell how extensive the changes were. Although general critical consensus places the poem in “the middle of the second half of the fifteenth century” (Herrtage 1882, vii), it is difficult to be more specific than this. However, it is certain that the poem was extant by c.1500, as Douglas refers to it in his Palice of Honour, l. 1711, while Dunbar mentions it at l. 33 of his short poem commencing “Schir, ‫܌‬it remember as befoir”, dated to approximately 1507. As The Tale of Ralph the Collier the romance has most recently been edited by Alan Lupack for TEAMS, in the online publication, Three Middle English Charlemagne Romances. The poem has also been edited by Bawcutt and Riddy (1987, 94–133), the edition used here. 4 See Wormald 1985 for further information on social ties and “the feud, both in its bloody form and its judicial processes” (5) in late medieval Scotland. 5 The Fuerre de Gadres, written by Eustache during the twelfth century and extant in French and Latin versions, is a narrative of the Siege of Tyre. See Armstrong and Foulet 1942 and Ross 1959. The Voeux du Paon was written by Jacques de Longuyon in the early fourteenth century (c.1310) as an offshoot of the Roman d’Alexandre tradition (Ritchie 1921–29, I: xxxv). It is a chanson de geste dealing with Alexander’s knights and the women who observe them. Both source texts are presented in Ritchie’s edition, based on the manuscripts MS Bodley 264 for Li Fuerres des Gadres (collated with MS Bodley Hatton 67) and MS Bibliothèque Nationale 12565 for Les Voeux du Paon. 6 James I was assassinated by a small group of his own nobles, including both Graham and Stewart, at the Blackfriars’ monastery in Perth on 21 February 1437. For two approximately contemporary accounts from differing perspectives, see Shirley’s Dethe of the Kynge of Scotis in Matheson 1999, 23–55 and Bower 1987– 98, VIII:323–37. 7 See Purdie 2005 for a further discussion of Golagros’ attitude to Arthurian kingship, and in particular Arthur’s “curious dual role as exemplary well-advised king and greedy attacker” (107). 8 For the sections themselves, see Roach and Ivy 1950, 389–400 and 485–94. 9 See DOST’s entry for ladlike, a., “ ‘Lad-’ or churl-like, churlish, unknightly”. 10 Spynagros is perhaps the closest of all the figures in Golagros to an original character, as his name does not appear elsewhere in the Arthurian tradition as far as I am aware—although there is some similarity of sound with the name of Malory’s Sir Epinogris of Northumberland in “The Book of Tristram”, the characters appear unrelated. His counterpart in the First Continuation, Bran de Liz, provides information as to the identities of the Riche Soudoier and his lady, but does not

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offer advice and guidance in the same quasi-paternal way that Spynagros does, begging Arthur to “sparis of sic speche quhill ye [m]ore spear” (Golagros, l. 274) and advising Gawane’s envoy party to “meikly with mouth mel to that myld / And mak him na manance, bot al mesoure” (Golagros, ll. 356–57). Purdie (2005, 101) suggests that Spynagros’ role in the text represents the incursion of the advisory into the poem’s otherwise romance-oriented generic identity, and points out that this is even deliberately encoded in the character’s name. In order to be a good knight, it is essential to listen to one’s “conscience”, and the name “Spynagros” etymologically suggests conscientiousness. As Purdie notes (2005, 103), “Spina is…Latin for ‘thorn’ or ‘prick’: this was a popular metaphor for the Conscience, as in the hugely popular fourteenth-century advice manual, The Prick of Conscience”. 11 Surviving in the Percy Folio manuscript (British Library Additional MS 27879), the English tale of John the Reeve is dated by Child (2003, 69) towards the end of the period 1376–1461. It follows the basic plot of the first half of Rauf Coilвear, featuring Edward I in the Charlemagne role, and was edited by David Laing in 1822 (250–83) and Melissa Furrow in 1978 (177–85).

PART II: SIXTEENTH CENTURY

EDITING WILLIAM DUNBAR: SOME AFTERTHOUGHTS ON THE DECADE 1998–2008 PRISCILLA BAWCUTT

My edition of Dunbar’s poems was completed in 1998, and—by a not uncommon publishing fiction—it bears that date, although, strictly speaking, it did not appear until 1999 (Dunbar 1998). After an interval of ten years, it seemed a good idea to take stock of Dunbar studies, or more specifically those that concern textual and editorial matters. There is no space here to consider recent critical work on Dunbar, although much of interest has appeared, ranging from a translation of all his poems into French (Blanchot 2003) to John Burrow’s incisive article in A Companion to Medieval Scottish Poetry (2006).1 This paper falls into two parts: the first is largely positive in tone, the second, unfortunately, is highly negative. I will begin with some valuable new contributions to our knowledge of how Dunbar’s text was preserved and transmitted. Among these I would single out several of the articles published in William Dunbar, “The Nobill Poyet” (Mapstone 2001b) more particularly those that study the witnesses for Dunbar’s poems, such as Catherine van Buuren on the Chepman and Myllar prints (2001)—to which must be added the very useful digitized facsimile of the prints (Mapstone 2008)—and Julia Boffey’s study of the rather neglected Maitland Folio (2001). As she remarks, the confusion evident in some of its texts might suggest “exemplars that were occasionally themselves in no very good shape” (2001, 44).2 Also valuable is Sally Mapstone’s plausible identification of the copyist of the Reidpeth Manuscript as the John Reidpeth who was a servitor to Thomas Young of Leny and a Writer to the Royal Signet between 1622 and 1625. This Reidpeth moved in the same circles as the Maitlands and the Cockburns, and—as Dr Mapstone says— “probably learned his scribal skills as Young’s servitor in Edinburgh” (2005b, 182). Work like this is very welcome, since it brings into sharper focus the social context in which Dunbar’s poems were copied. It is relevant at this point also to mention Nicole Meier’s edition of The Poems

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of Walter Kennedy (2008) which prints, for the first time, the whole of Reidpeth’s text of The Flyting (91–179). The Osborn Manuscript stands somewhat apart from the other witnesses for Dunbar, not least in its Englishness. Some years ago in the first issue of Scottish Studies Review (2000) I gave a more detailed account of that manuscript than would have been appropriate in the edition; it printed and discussed the four Scottish poems that it contains, including Dunbar’s “In secreit place” (B 25). This manuscript, which contains music for lute, gittern and guitar, increases our knowledge of cross-Border contacts in the sixteenth century, especially in the field of lyric and song. It also illustrates how in such transmission short poems were modified quite rapidly, more so probably than long ones. It is relevant here to mention another Scottish poem, also preserved in an early English music manuscript, that has been attributed, with far less certainty, to Dunbar (for text and discussion, see my 1998 edition, I, 28–29). A very interesting reconstruction of its words and music is provided by Kenneth Elliott (2003). Some of the most useful thinking on general editorial principles and the particular problems that confront an editor of Dunbar has come from A. S. G. Edwards. He has discussed the topic on several occasions: in a review of James Kinsley’s 1979 edition of Dunbar (1981), in a detailed article in William Dunbar, “The Nobill Poyet” (Mapstone 2001b) and also in a review of the ASLS edition in 2000. Professor Edwards was one of the few reviewers to look hard at my textual decisions in specific poems. This scrutiny was welcome, even though in the case of one poem—“Quhat is this lyfe” (B 51)—it must be pointed out that he misrepresented my choice of copy text for the poem. Some of his other suggestions, however, are most discerning: for example that the Maitland Folio might have provided a better copy-text than the Bannatyne Manuscript for “Now of women” (B 40). On “To speik of science, craft or sapience” (B 82), perhaps better known to some readers as “Dunbar at Oxinford”, he made a perceptive comment. There is an anomalous change of refrain in its middle stanza, from “A paralous seiknes is vane prosperitie” to “A paralous lyfe is vane prosperite”. As Edwards convincingly showed, this is an error that can be explained by scribal eye-skip, since two lines above there occurs the phrase “gud lyfe”. Critics have regularly praised Dunbar for the brilliance of his language, but they usually leave to editors the more onerous task of explaining what his words mean. The most problematic words, as is well known, tend to cluster in The Flyting and other colloquial and humorous poems. This is an area where one or two scholars have recently put forward suggestions: A.

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A. MacDonald (2006) has written on the reduplicating compounds in “In secreit place” (B 25), and more recently (2008) has provided an ingenious explanation of a crux in “The Testament of Andro Kennedy” (“I maister Androw Kennedy”, B 19); Andrew Breeze (2007) has suggested Celtic or Gaelic etymologies for several words, including “brylyoun” and “slawsy”; T. D. Hill (2004) has a learned but not wholly convincing note on “Sabot” in The Tretis of the Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo (B 3); and Johanna Kramer (2008) investigates the proverbial nature of another of Dunbar’s puzzling phrases: “Falsett no feit hes” (B 27, line 25). It is worth noting, in addition, that further evidence of the Scottish circulation of this phrase is provided by line 9587 of Hay’s Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour: “It may nocht lest, for falsett hes na fete” (Hay 1986–90). Much the most valuable single aid, however, to understanding several more of these still puzzling words or phrases was the completion of A Dictionary of the Older Scottish Tongue (henceforth DOST) in 2002. One example is smoch (Flyting, 364), which an earlier editor, W. Mackay Mackenzie, took to be a verb—“snatch”—but which seems more likely to be a pejorative adjective, with a sense such as “rotten, fusty”. Here DOST is valuable because it provides an interesting parallel to both word and context in a quotation from Zachary Boyd: “a hungry dog gaping for a smush bone”. DOST’s citations enrich Dunbar’s usage elsewhere, as in the use of vpwith in “All is bot frutlese his effeir and fal‫܌‬eis at the vpwith” (Tretis, 401). Both Kinsley and I glossed this correctly as “sexual climax”, but DOST’s citations show, interestingly, that the word was commonly applied to the crucial stage in a legal “actioun” or a business transaction. One should recall that the Widow’s last husband was a merchant. Other instances from Dunbar, such as “hukebanis”, “sowklar”, and “‫܌‬ung lord”, where consultation of DOST can be enlightening are discussed in “DOST and the Literary Scholar” (Bawcutt 2005b). A fascinating phrase in line 179 of The Flyting (B 65) perhaps requires more attention than it is usually given by editors: “Hard hurcheoun hirpland hippit as ane harrow”. In a recent article Thorlac Turville-Petre quoted the line and translated hippit as ane harrow as “with hips like an arrow” (2005, 187). I do not find the sense “arrow” an improvement upon “harrow”, the agricultural implement. “Harrow” fits well into the heavy alliteration on h in this line, and its connotations are rural and menial. This is the sort of reductive farmyard imagery that Dunbar uses in other satirical portraits: one might compare with this image the “hoppir hippis” of the “mell hedit” upstart in “Complane I wald” (B 9, 55, 60). What is less clear is precisely how one should visualize the image: are Kennedy’s hips “straight and thin like the ‘bills’ and ‘stots’ of a harrow”,3 or do they

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stick out like the knobs and sharp protrusions on the harrow’s underside? Possibly the image may even be auditory as well as visual, and anticipate the rattling of Kennedy’s “rigbane” in line 180. Dunbar’s vivid imagery often calls out for more detailed investigation than is possible within the limits of an edition. It is not only Dunbar’s vocabulary that presents problems. Several of the “makars” in “I that in heill wes and gladnes” (B 21) remain unidentified, and one of these is “Sandy Traill”, who in line 69 is linked with Blind Hary. But there exist a few fragments of evidence, unknown to me in 1998, concerning a late fifteenth-century Alexander Traill who would fit the bill. In 1456 he acted as a witness to a legal document: a sasine of land in Northgate, St Andrews, by Thomas Marshall, bailie of St Andrews. Interestingly this Alexander Traill is listed not as a student of the university but as one of the “cytinars”, or citizens.4 (In the poem Sandy Traill too appears not to be a graduate, since he is not given the title “Master”.) A later document shows that what seems to be the same man died shortly before October 1492.5 None of this is conclusive, of course, but the name, location and life span of this particular Alexander Traill make him a strong candidate for a poet who could have been known personally to Dunbar. I must turn now to a less happy topic and an author to whom my response is perhaps best conveyed by Gavin Douglas (II, 1957): I red his wark with harmys at my hart, That syk a buke but sentens or engyne Suldbe intitillit eftir the poet dyvyne.

(I Prol. 146–48)

Douglas’s divine poet was Virgil, and the infamous “wark” was Caxton’s Eneydos. But the work to which I refer is entitled William Dunbar: The Complete Works, edited by John Conlee (2004). In what follows the editor will be called Conlee, although it seems, according to the preface, that in order to “bring this edition to completion” at least four ancillary editors were needed, one of whom is said to have “checked the poems against the MSS, expanded the textual notes, proofread, made suggestions for revision and explanatory notes, constructed the Glossary and entered corrections” (2004, ix.)6 Professor Edwards said of the Scottish Text Society edition of Dunbar, published at the end of the nineteenth century, that its “considerable bulk…is not matched by any corresponding level of enlightenment. In most…respects Small’s text of Dunbar represents a regression, a signal failure to build on Laing’s achievements” (2001, 60). Conlee’s edition, which runs to 474 pages, is no less bulky: it too constitutes an editorial

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regression rather than advancing the understanding of Dunbar. Editions in the TEAMS series are often dependent upon earlier and more scholarly editions, but this work is exceptionally derivative. This might be tolerable, in the interests of the dissemination of knowledge, if the work did not at the same time contain so many errors of judgment, ludicrous failures to comprehend Dunbar and his world, and downright inaccuracies. Conlee’s discussion of the Dunbar canon—a matter of some debate and much conjecture by earlier scholars—is strikingly vague and perfunctory. He casually remarks that “there are a few poems that Dunbar’s editors believe to be his that are not actually attributed to him in any of the early witnesses” (p. 3), yet gives no further information as to which poems or editors he has in mind. One of the poems, however, is the poem, “O lusty flour of yowth”, here given the title, “To the Queen” (C 34). It was excluded from the 1998 edition, since I found the attribution to Dunbar, which stems from a suggestion of David Laing, as unconvincing as the notion that the subject is the widowed Margaret Tudor.7 The limited space available does not permit a throrough examination of this topic. I propose, however, to give a few concrete illustrations of other weaknesses of the edition, starting with the texts. Some of Conlee’s pronouncements—notably references to the Maitland Folio as “parchment” (p. 446) and to British Library, Royal MS Appendix 58 as “Royal MS 58” (p. 447)—do not suggest firsthand acquaintance with the witnesses for the poems that he includes, and his practice confirms this. One instance occurs in “Memento, homo, quod cinis es” (C 9; B 32). Conlee, like most editors, says that Bannatyne provides his copy-text for this poem; and he follows in the tracks of a long line of editors—Lord Hailes, David Laing, Schipper, Mackenzie, Kinsley—in giving the first word of line 37 as So: “So speid thee, man, and thee confes”. But (as was pointed out in the 1998 edition) Bannatyne at this point undoubtedly reads Go, just as does Maitland. Despite a superficial similarity between the two letters, Bannatyne regularly distinguishes capital S (as in nearby “Sed” or “Sall”) from capital G (as in “God”). Another instance occurs in “Gladethe, thoue queyne of Scottis regioun” (C 32; B 15). Here Conlee again follows in the tracks of Schipper, Mackenzie, and Kinsley, and prints line 18 as: “That so thee kervit withe all hir curiys slicht”. Like these editors he takes the form curiys to represent modern “curious”, but such a spelling for that word would be most unusual. Close examination of the text in the Aberdeen MS, the sole witness, shows that the word has long been mistranscribed, and the presence of an ampersand not noticed. The correct and more attractive reading is: cuir and slicht, “care and artistry”.

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In another poem, “Quhen Merche wes with variand windis past” (C 30; B 52), Conlee evidently follows Kinsley in his reading of several lines. He thus prints the syntactically aberrant incress instead of incresis in line 26, and provides the unnecessary emendation of schouris to schouris scharp in line 67. Line 81, however, is printed as: “To seche all fowll of small and greit renown”. An odd textual note on seche is provided: “So MS, followed by Bw. Mc, K emend to feche, an attractive alternative”. None of this, in fact, is accurate, since all previous editors (including “Bw”) correctly read feche. It must be stressed that in Bannatyne, as in other manuscripts of this period, one cannot always at first sight confidently distinguish f from s. Although one might expect a clear cross-stroke to indicate f, in rapid writing this is sometimes barely visible, or even omitted. This is apparent if one looks at such words as “feild” (74) and “first” (87), written by Bannatyne in close proximity to this line. Transcription of a text calls for knowledge and judgment, not only in palaeography but also in lexical matters. In the case of seche versus feche, it should be noted that seche is a Southern English form of “seek” not otherwise recorded in Scots. But feche, “fetch”, makes good sense and good Scots. In line 104 Conlee gives the reading: “And the chief protector in the woddis and schawis”. Neither of the italicized words occurs in Bannatyne. Chief should read cheif; and the second the is an unnecessary emendation, accompanied by a textual note “MS omits the”. In line 56 of the “Ballade of…Barnard Stewart” (C 35; B 56) Conlee follows some earlier editors in normalizing “gloire” to “glorie”. This, although not necessary, seems acceptable, since this form of the word is employed in other refrain lines. But there is no justification for the rejection of the print’s fortunable in line 63 and its replacement by the more commonplace fortunate: “Most fortunate chiftane bothe in yhouth and eild”. Fortunable should be retained here, since it is found elsewhere in this poem at line 41, and seems characteristic of Dunbar, although occurring nowhere else in Scots verse. Line 94 is printed by Conlee as: “Quhoise knyghtli name so schyning in clemencé”. But the accent placed on the final syllable of clemence betrays insensitivity to Dunbar’s rhyme scheme, and also to the fact that in the medieval period the dissyllabic clemence was more usual than the Latinate clemency. I turn now to the notes and on-page glosses. Are they helpful? More importantly, are they accurate? All too often Conlee commits the common mistake of glossing easy words and ignoring difficult ones. It is revealing to see how he deals with one of Dunbar’s most famous poems, “I that in

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heill wes and gladnes” (C 14; B 21). Marginal glosses are provided for words like “tour” and “bour”, but no help is provided—either in glosses or commentary—for the far more complex “Art magicianis”, “Lechis”, “surrigianis” or the verb “supple”. So too with the first of the poems on James Doig (C 57; B 72): here too a gloss is given for boure, but none is provided for hog, where it would be far more useful to tell modern readers that in Older Scots the word signified not “swine” but “yearling sheep”. Worse still, however, are the many glosses that are wildly wrong, so much so as to provoke laughter—until one contemplates the damage they may do to the enjoyment of a poem. Only a few of the more bizarre will be mentioned. In line 97 of “Ane Ballat of the Passioun” (C 2; B 1) Dunbar calls Compassioun “vode of feiris”: this is here glossed as “void of manners”, when it means “mad, demented in behaviour”. In line 140 the dreamer awakes “With spreit halflingis in effray”, which literally means “With spirit half in fear”. Conlee, however, glosses spreit halflingis as “spirit creatures”. In line 22 of “I that in heill wes and gladnes” (C 14; B 21) Death takes knights: “Anarmyt vnder helme and scheild”. “Anarmyt” is here glossed as “Unarmed”, when it means the exact opposite. In the “Ballade on…Barnard Stewart” (C 36; B 23), lines 18–19, Death is upbraided: “Quhy hes thow done so dulfullie devoir / The prince of knychtheid…?” Conlee glosses devoir as “duty”, apparently with no sense that the context demands a verb, and that the sense of done…devoir is “devoured”. Another comical gloss occurs in The Flyting (C 83; B 65), line 99. Dunbar refers to Kennedy’s “giltin” is here explained not as “gilded’’ or “yellow” but as “kilted”. Dunbar describes the followers of Gluttony in line 99 of “Off Februar the fyiftene nycht” (C 77; B 47) as wallowing in creische, “fat, tallow”; Conlee, however, glosses the word as “creases”. Such elementary howlers are to be found throughout this edition. In “A Dream” (C 42 ; B 75), for instance, into ballat wyse is explained as “in wise songs”, when it means “in the form or medium of poetry”. The glossing of “Beauty and the Prisoner” (C 62; B 69) is particularly obtuse: Do wait (21) does not mean “Make him stay”, but “Keep watch”; Langour (33) does not mean “indifference”; on steir does not mean “on the stair” (78); erdit quik does not mean “quickly put to earth” (83); nor does sailyeit (85) mean “fled”. Whoever was responsible for such glosses was ignorant of Older Scots, and clearly over-influenced by the apparent similarity of the words to modern ones with quite different meanings. A good editor

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should help students to recognize linguistic faux amis; this one fails even to perceive that they exist. There is another interesting instance of this in one of Dunbar’s petitionary poems (C 48; B 68), which refers to a pluralist cleric: “Twa curis or thre hes vplandis Michell” (71). According to Conlee, uplandis means that Michell “comes from the Highlands” and is contrasted with the earlier “Iok that wes wont to keip the stirkis”, who is a Lowlander. But this is a false antithesis: uplandis in Older Scots did not necessarily refer to the Highlands; like the related uponland(s) it meant “rustic, rural, from the sticks”. Its usual antithesis was the town or burgh, as in Henryson’s “Fable of the Two Mice”, where one mouse was a burgess, and the other lived “uponland”. Interestingly, uplands in the sense “high lands” seems to have developed somewhat later in the sixteenth century, and to have been first recorded in English texts. Let me linger a little on two longer passages of Conlee’s commentary. A muddled note occurs on the expression gulesnowt in line 52 of The Flyting: “Lyk as the gleddis had on thy gulesnowt dynd” (MF: gule snout). Both K and Bw gloss gulesnowt as “yellow nose”—suggesting perhaps “ghoulish”; or maybe they have in mind a (sea)gull’s beak. But gules is also a heraldic term (here used ironically?) meaning “red”, in which case a “red nose” might imply a drunk. The drunkenness of pirates is mythic— “yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”, etc. Certainly a “Denseman” would not be noted for abstinence.

Conlee seems baffled by the gloss “yellow nose”, and is quite mistaken in suggesting that either I or Kinsley had “in mind a (sea)gull’s beak”. The adjective gule, gull (which derives from Old Norse) was not particularly rare at this time in Scots or northern English, and had such senses as “yellow, sallow, livid”. It well describes the skin tone of someone sick or dying; indeed later in the poem Dunbar says Kennedy suffers from gulsoch (199), the Scots word for jaundice, and also calls him “wan” (101, 195) and saffron-coloured (171). The suggestion that gule might imply “ghoulish” is absurd and anachronistic. Ghoul entered English from Arabic as part of the eighteenth-century taste for things oriental, and its first recorded use in OED is dated 1786. Conlee then goes further, misled by the similarity of the adjective gule to the noun gules, the heraldic term for red: ‘A “red nose” might imply a drunk, and “the drunkenness of pirates is mythic”. Yet in fact drunkenness is one of the few vices not imputed to Kennedy.

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A curious note is later supplied on rak sauch, which occurs in the final section of piled-up rhyming abuse in line 245 of The Flyting: “Filling of tauch, rak sauch, cry crauch, thow art oursett!”. rak sauch. “Stretched” (or “racked”) sack, meaning a “gallows bird”; Bawcutt explains the phrase as “one who stretches a withy, when hanging from it on a gallows” (Bw 2.438). It is also possible that Dunbar is intimating that Kennedy stuffs his trousers with fake marks of manhood made of tallow and rocks.

Rak derives from the verb, “stretch”, and sauch is a noun, meaning (1) sallow, willow, and (2) rope made from twisted sallow withies. In the 1998 edition it was interpreted as one of Dunbar’s characteristic verb + object nominal compounds. But another interpretation is possible, especially if one adopts the Maitland Folio’s variant reading “rak a sauche”, for which there is a later parallel in a poem by Robert Sempill (Cranstoun 1891–93, no. XII, line 56). The construction would then be a command, the equivalent of “go hang yourself!” Conlee, however, seems unaware of the meaning of sauch. Here and elsewhere he glosses it as “sack”, and then proceeds to his extraordinary suggestion concerning Kennedy’s “fake marks of manhood made of tallow and rocks”. Such vulgarism and dumbing-down are unfortunately characteristic of this edition. Conlee glosses donkit (Tretis, 10) as “literally ‘dunked’…”. In “To the King” (C 40; B 62) he attempts to make Dunbar more accessible to the man in the street by explaining play cop out, line 13, “compete in draining the cup” as “chug-a-lugging” (p. 175).7 He uses phrases like “only kidding” (p. 330) and “fighting dirty” (p. 343). The sexual innuendos in Dunbar’s “This hindir nycht in Dumfermeling” (C 70; B 76) do not seem very hard to unravel, but Conlee repeatedly modernizes them—the lamb is “playing hard to get” (p. 360), and the fox “scores” (p. 361). Even more extraordinary, the fox is said to climb into the lamb’s closet, or wardrobe (p. 361); and most weird of all, there is said to be a pun on lame (Bannatyne’s spelling for “lamb”) and lome, that is, penis. Occasional allusions to films seem designed to ingratiate the modern reader, but are not always particularly apt: The Flyting is compared to “the slangingmatch” in Spielberg’s Hook (p. 400), and the attack on the Abbot of Tungland, more understandably, to Hitchock’s Birds (p. 323). The ignorance of Scotland evident in this edition extends from the language to its history, geography and later literature. Conlee speaks of “James Ramsay”, when he means Allan Ramsay; he misspells Haddington as “Haddinton”, and repeatedly spells Stirling as “Sterling”. Arthur’s Seat is downgraded to a “high hill on the outskirts of Edinburgh…”, and Sanct

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Salvatour is said to be not a college, but a “church at St Andrews University, which Dunbar may have attended” (p. 287). There is no attempt to explain the legal and social ritual implicit in the phrase Blew out on (C 62; B 69, l. 96); it is glossed, quite inadequately, as “Blabbed about”. Conlee also curiously thinks that Walter Bower’s Scotichronicon is written in the vernacular (p. 409). This misstatement occurs in a note on “the spreit of Gy” in The Flyting (172), and stems from a misunderstanding of my own note on that passage, illustrating the secondhand quality of much of this edition. The ignorance is not confined to Scotland. In line 23 of his poem attacking Mure, “Schir, I complane off iniuris” (C 60; B 64), Dunbar mentions a fool’s bauble. Conlee’s commentary states that “One of the emblems of a fool is his carrying of a bauble, a round glass sphere” (p. 334). But the medieval fool’s bauble, both in texts and illustrations, was a kind of mock-sceptre. Can Conlee be confusing it with a bauble on a modern Christmas tree? Dunbar’s “This waverand warldis wretchidnes” (C 44; B 79) is a poem that contains a fascinating range of geographical references, including one to “Cal‫܌‬ecot and the New Fund Yle” (62). Conlee informs readers that “Cal‫܌‬ecot” is “Calcutta on the Malabar coast of southwest India”, an observation that is doubly erroneous. Even the nineteenth-century editors of Dunbar, who also confused Calicut with Calcutta, would never have located Calcutta in the southwest of India. Some may think that I have been too severe in my comments on this lamentable work. Many, without looking closely at its contents, have probably recommended it to students since it is fairly cheap, and, what is more, can be accessed on the internet. I, however, find it shocking that young readers—indeed readers of any age, encountering Dunbar for the first time—should be introduced to one of Scotland’s greatest poets in such a slipshod edition.

Notes 1

See also, for instance, Higgins 2004 and Bawcutt 2007. For a recent study, see Martin and McClune 2009. 3 This derives from the note on line 179 of The Flyting in Dunbar 1884–93. Medieval harrows are often depicted in books of hours, in the calendar scenes of labours of the months, especially September and October. A good example occurs for September in a sixteenth-century Flemish manuscript (London, BL Add. 24098, 26v); others occur in a MS illustrated by Simon Bening (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Cod. Lat. 23638, September); and the Très Riches Heures of Jean, Duc de Berry (Chantilly, Musé Condé, MS 65, October). Harrows also occur in fifteenth-century images of the “Christ of the Trades”; see the illustration in Jaritz 1995, 163–88 (fig. 25). 2

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I am much indebted to Ms Rachel Hart, Muniments Archivist at the University of St Andrews, for this information, and the index reference for the inventoried papers of St Salvator’s College (UYSS 110 R12). 5 He is listed as deceased in the list of “conterminous proprietors” in a charter dated 8 October 1492: RMS I, no. 2113. 6 Further references to Conlee, by poem or page number, are incorporated within the text. 7 For more detailed discussion, see Bawcutt 1981 and Dunbar 1998, I, 27–31, “Some Late Attributions to Dunbar”, Appendix to Introduction. 8 “Chug-a-lug” is American slang, according to Webster’s New College Dictionary, for “drink in a single long gulp; swill”.

THE TUA MARIIT WEMEN AND THE WEDO: FINAL FLING OF THE HEROIC LINE J. DERRICK MCCLURE

The ancient poetic vehicle of a four-beat line with alliteration had a very long life. In England, it endured as the medium of major poetry until the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century; in Scotland until the late sixteenth. The distinctively Scottish innovation which contributed to its longevity was the association of the line with a well-defined stanza form, using rhyme, which remained productive from The Buke of the Howlat (c.1450) to—with reservations—Stewart of Baldynneis’s Ane Schersing Out of Trew Felicitie (c.1585).1 The greatest of all Scottish poems in the alliterative line, however, is not written in stanzas but in the more archaic, and in Scotland much rarer, form of a continuous sequence of unrhymed lines; and is in fact the last major example in either country of a poem in this form. But Dunbar’s Tua Mariit Wemen is not only final but a fling, in the sense that his handling of the line excels that of any previous practitioner for metrical inventiveness and exuberance. The rhythm of poetry in Old English and all the language forms derived from it, in Scotland as in England, is based on stress-timing, the recurrence of stresses at approximately equal intervals of time: this applies whether or not the lines of a given poem include a fixed number of syllables, and whether or not the stressed and the unstressed syllables in a line are arranged in definite patterns. In Old English poetry, as everybody knows, each line2 contained four stressed syllables. Either two or three of the stressed syllables were marked by alliteration: these could be the first and third, the second and third, or all three: the fourth never participated in the alliterative pattern. In Middle English and Middle Scots, again as everybody knows, the rules were less strict, resulting in a greater degree of metrical freedom which the poets could exploit: alliteration could extend to the fourth stressed syllable and even to unstressed syllables (that is, the number of occurrences of the alliterating sound in a given line could, and sometimes did, exceed three or even four); alliteration could extend across lines, and could occur on more than one sound giving interweaving

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patterns (both these devices were possible in Old English, but very rare). Changes other than those affecting the use of alliteration were also visible between OE and ME/MSc poetry: the strict requirement that the line should consist of two clearly separate grammatical units was dropped, at least as a strict requirement; and the lines themselves became longer, not only allowing but almost necessitating the presence of words other than those containing the four stressed syllables which were semantically important and therefore required a measure of highlighting. Besides stress, another linguistic feature used to highlight syllables in English (English in the all-inclusive sense, which comprehends Scots) is pitch prominence. This is wholly distinct from and independent of stress: of the two, a syllable may show either, neither or both. A syllable which is stressed but not pitch prominent will be more salient to the ear than one of which the reverse is true; but the “beat” in a line of poetry will, by definition, land on a stressed syllable whether it is prominent or not. In iambic or trochaic metre, what are often referred to as “heavy” feet are ones in which the unstressed as well as the stressed syllable is pitch prominent; “light” feet are ones in which neither is pitch prominent. I have argued before (McClure, 2005) that the mutual independence of stress and pitch prominence is the single most important fact of Scots and English poetic prosody, allowing as it does the infinite range of expressive effects to be obtained from the counterpointing of the two factors. Much more often than not, stressed syllables are also pitch prominent, but exceptions can readily be found; also more often than not, unstressed syllables are not pitch prominent, but exceptions can be found with decidedly greater frequency; and lines like the last in Tennyson’s Ulysses, “To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield”, in which all even-numbered syllables show both features and all odd-numbered ones neither, are in fact rather rare. Even in OE poetry, though it is probably safe to say that the co-occurrence of stress and pitch prominence was the norm to a much greater degree than in more recent times, promoted and demoted syllables could certainly occur;3 and pitch prominent but unstressed syllables had a definite metrical function in D-type and E-type half-lines.4 In post-OE poetry in this metrical form the use of such syllables was much less rule-bound; and a major source of confusion in metrical analysis has been a failure to recognize the mutual independence of stress and pitch-prominence. A pitch-prominent syllable in many cases could be stressed, but whether it is or not depends on the metre of the line or the poem in which it occurs; and in OE, ME and MSc alliterative verse the metre prescribes exactly four stresses.

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I maintain that this rule is one of the features of OE poetry which was not altered as OE passed into ME and MSc, and that lines which must be read as having more than four stresses are as exceptional, or almost so, in ME and MSc verse as in OE. What are often taken to be three-stress a-verses and referred to as “extended” half-lines are, in most if not all cases, verses with the normal two stresses but also alliteration and pitchprominence, or just pitch-prominence, on an unstressed syllable: we will find several such in the Dunbar poem. Often in such cases, as we will see, the line could be read as having more than four stresses; but it should not: if this supposition is mistaken, then the alternative is that the number of feet in a line could vary at random—in other words, that there was no fixed rule at all for the length of a line—which seems to me wholly untenable. Alliteration is not a metrical feature; but in OE verse it had a metrical function: it was used to highlight the stressed syllables. In ME and MSc, as already noted, the strict association of alliteration with two or three of the four stressed syllables and no others was less rigidly observed; but still the normal practice was that those syllables would alliterate, even if no longer necessarily only those syllables. (It has, of course, always been possible for alliteration to occur by mere accident: it is an obvious statistical possibility that words which alliterate may appear in close proximity quite fortuitously. We have probably all had the experience of trying to make students understand that if, say, the words the and then happen to appear in the same line the result does not qualify as alliteration in any poetically significant sense.) That is, the expectation for the syllables which carry the beat in OE poetry, and in ME and MSc poetry written in the corresponding format, is that they will show stress and pitch prominence and alliteration—with, of course, the reservation that in OE poetry the last stressed syllable in a line did not alliterate. On the other hand, it was always possible to some extent, and in ME and MSc was more readily permissible than in OE, for the stressed syllables not to alliterate and/or not to be pitch prominent; and for the unstressed syllables to show either feature or both. Stress and alliteration are either present or absent; pitch prominence is a matter of degree, but for simplicity it may be treated as a third two-way choice. From this it follows that eight types of syllables are possible (see overleaf), since any syllable may be with or without stress, with or without alliteration, and with or without pitch prominence. (A fourth factor, namely syllable duration, is relevant to prosodic analysis; but to keep this discussion within the realms of the manageable, I am leaving that out of account except for incidental allusions.)

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This logical ordering, however, bears no relation to the predictable or the actual distribution of syllable-types in alliterative poetry. (The discussion from now on will refer to ME and MSc poetry, for in OE poetry the association of stress with alliteration was much more rigidly observed.) STRESS

ALLIT.

PROM.

+ + + + – – – –

+ + – – + + – –

+ – + – + – + –

SYMBOL A B C D E F G x

The two most common types, almost self-evidently, will be syllables with all three features and syllables with none of the three. That is, we expect alliteration and pitch prominence to be features of stressed syllables and not to be features of unstressed. Of stressed syllables other than those which show both the other features, the most common type is that with pitch prominence but without alliteration (called “blank staves” by Schmidt (1984) and others following him): in OE poetry, the fourth stressed syllable was generally pitch prominent but invariably nonalliterating; and this is still often true in ME and MSc. Furthermore, since the poetic function of alliteration is to highlight an important syllable, it would seem counter-intuitive to select an alliterating but semantically unimportant, and therefore non-prominent, word: that is, a syllable is more likely to have neither alliteration nor pitch prominence than alliteration but not pitch prominence. The order of expected frequency among the four possible types of stressed syllables, therefore, is A, C, D, B. In unstressed syllables, the most intuitively regular case is the absence of either alliteration or pitch prominence. There is nothing unusual, however, in unstressed syllables showing pitch prominence. Alliteration is another matter. If an unstressed syllable has pitch prominence and alliteration, this will almost certainly be a deliberate choice by the poet, and will impart a much more conspicuous decoration to the line than a syllable with pitchprominence but no alliteration. Such syllables, which we are calling type E, are therefore much less likely to occur accidentally or fortuitously than unstressed syllables with pitch-prominence alone, type G. E- and G-type syllables are in fact not at all infrequent in ME and MSc alliterative poetry; and, as already noted, have often given rise to a mistaken scansion of

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normal two-stress half-lines as containing three or even four stresses. Conversely, if a non-prominent unstressed syllable shows alliteration (type F) this is most likely to be merely fortuitous (like the alliteration on [ð] which almost any passage of English of any length will show), and of no poetic significance. We have thus arrived (I hope) at a putative frequency table for the eight types of syllables, based on the poetic application through the ages of the two linguistic features of stress and pitch prominence and the stylistic feature of alliteration. STRESS

ALLIT.

PROM.

+ – + – – + + –

+ – – – + – + +

+ – + + + – – –

SYMBOL A x C G E D B F

PREDICTION Always present Always present Usually present Common Fairly common Less common Uncommon Rare or accidental

That is, almost any line in ME or MSc alliterative verse will have syllables of the first two types, and most (in OE, virtually all) at least one of the third. There can be no single format for what I have elsewhere (McClure, 2007) called a “perfect” line in alliterative verse,5 as a line like “To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield” is an example of a “perfect” iambic pentameter line, for the obvious reason that a line of alliterative poetry has no fixed number of syllables or pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables; but “Maistur in magesté, maker of Alle”6 would be one possible form of a “perfect” line in that each of the four stressed syllables is pitch prominent, all except the last alliterate, and all are also long; and none of the unstressed syllables is either pitch prominent or alliterating: the syllable-pattern of this line is AxxAxx / AxxCx.7 The formula: x(0-3)Ax(0-3)Ax(0-3) / x(0-3)Ax(0-3)Cx(0-3) could be given as representing the most basic type of line in this metre: with the proviso that it allows for several structures which are in practice never found, such as a line with all the x-clusters having zero members, or all having three.8 Three is not a maximum number for unstressed syllables in sequence, but cases when more than three occur are decidedly rare, and such lines do not illustrate the “basic” pattern. But just as iambic

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pentameter verse regularly contains lines in which some of the stressed syllables are short and/or non-prominent and some of the unstressed ones prominent, so alliterative lines regularly contain syllables of other types than those we have labelled A, C and x: this can happen fortuitously, or it can be exploited for literary effect. The extent to which an alliterative poet employs syllables of types other than A, C and x is a measure of his individual technique. The metrical idiosyncrasies of Piers Plowman have been the subject of extensive controversy,9 but there is no doubt that the first ten lines of the B-text show a striking predominance of syllables of the three commonest types: In a somer seson whan softe was þe sonne, I shoop me into [a] shrou[d] as I a sheep weere, In habite as an heremite, vnholy of werkes, Wente wide in þis world wondres to here. Ac on a May morwenynge on Maluerne hilles Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me þo‫܌‬te; I was wery forwandred and wente me to reste Vnder a brood bank by a bourn[e] syde, And as I lay and lenede and loked on þe watres, I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.13

xxAxAx / xAxxxAx xAxxxxA / xxxADx xAxxxAxx / GAxxCx10 ExAxxAx / AxxCx11 xxxAAxx / xAxxCx12 xxAxAx / xAxxDx xxAxxAx / xAxxxCx GxxAA / FxAxCx xxxAxAx / xAxxxCx xAxxxxAx / xAxxCx

(Throughout, it should be understood that not all the scansions I propose are the only ones possible, and I will ignore most cases of metrically ambiguous lines. A rough-and-ready test which I have often used to determine between possible readings is the assumption that the one which distributes the four stresses most evenly across the line is probably the correct one.) Two or possibly three of the ten lines (7, 9 and probably 5) fit the “basic” formula; one (10) departs from it only in having once a sequence of four x-type syllables, and two more have what can be taken as the least conspicuous variation from a pattern exclusively of A-, C- and xtypes, namely the use of a D-type syllable instead of a C-type in the last stressed position. (Least conspicuous, that is, in the sense that D-type syllables are the most inconspicuous, because least salient, of stressed syllables: not in the sense that it is statistically the commonest. Another type of variation, the presence of G-type syllables, is in fact more frequent, but lines of this kind “stand out” more because of the greater salience of G-type syllables.) The by in line 8 is a clear example of an F-type, a metrically and semantically unimportant syllable which merely happens to alliterate.

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The first ten lines of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, by contrast, show a much greater readiness on the poet’s part to utilize syllables of the less common types. Siþen þe sege and þe assaut watz sesed at Troye, ExxAxxxA / xAxxC Þe bor‫ ܌‬brittened and brent to brondez and askez, xEAxxA / xAxxCx Þe tulk þat þe trammes of tresoun þer wro‫܌‬t xAxxAx / xAxxD Watz tried for his tricherie, þe trewest on erthe: xAxxAxx / xAxxC Hit watz Ennias þe athel, and his highe kynde, xxAxxxAx / xxCxC14 Þat siþen depreced prouinces, and patrounes bicome xGxxAxAxx / xAxxD Welne‫܌‬e of al þe wele in þe west iles. EGxCxA / xxACx Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swyþe, xExAxxxAx / AxxCx With gret bobbaunce þat bur‫܌‬e he biges vpon fyrst, xGAxxAx / xAxxC And neuenes hit his aune nome, as hit now hat…15 xAxxxGxA / xxAD16

We note at once several E-type syllables (alliterating but not stressed) where Langland in a passage of the same length has only one; eight prominent but unstressed syllables (E- and G-types) where Langland has three; and five (or six: see n. 14) lines as compared to two where syllables other than the x-type appear in the anacrusis. We also note a relaxation of the rule prescribing a clear grammatical break in mid-line: in lines 3 and 9 the phrase-division after the second stress is not the principal one in the line. (This is also true of line 6 in the Langland passage, but though the difference between one line and two lines out of ten is hardly significant, the feature is indeed more common in Gawain.) Only one line conforms to the basic formula, and only one more to the D for C variant. If the Gawain-poet shows a greater degree of assumed licence in his treatment of the metre, resulting in an increased flexibility and range of variations, Dunbar goes much further still in his opening lines to the Tua Mariit Wemen. Apon the Midsummer Ewin, mirriest of nichtis, I muvit furth allane in meid as midnicht wes past,

xxxAGxCx / AxxxC xExCxGxA / xAGxC OR xAxGxCxE …17 Besyd ane gudlie grein garth, full of gay flouris, xGxA1xE1A1 / A2xE1A2 Hegeit of ane huge hicht with hawthorne treis; AxxxAE / xAGxC Quhairon ane bird on ane bransche so birst out hir notis GGxAxxA / GAGxC That neuer ane blythfullar bird was on the beuche hard. xGxAxxA / xxxAC Quhat throw the sugarat sound of hir sang glaid, xGxAxxA / xxAC And throw the savour sanative of the sueit flouris, xGxAxAxx / xxAC I drew in derne to the dyk to dirkin efter mirthis. xExAxxA / xAxGxC xEAxxA / xAxxC The dew donkit the daill, and dynnit the feulis.18

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Here the number of pitch-prominent but unstressed syllables is no fewer than nineteen, as compared to eight in the Gawain passage and only three in that from Piers Plowman. (All three poets in those short extracts adhere to the rule of four stressed syllables per line.) Six of them also show alliteration: that is, alliteration itself is not significantly more frequent than in either of the English poems; but alliteration on unstressed syllables is decidedly so: as compared to Dunbar’s six cases, in the Gawain passage only four occur, and Langland in this extract uses only one. Line 3 shows a feature not found in either of the other passages, namely the presence of two different alliterative patterns; and in four instances, as compared to one each in the other two passages,19 the alliterative pattern extends over two lines. None of the lines is structured according to the basic formula, nor the D-for-C variant: another very common variant, the presence of one or more G-type syllables, does occur; but in a carefully patterned manner: the three lines which show this variant alone not only are consecutive (6– 8) but closely similar in their entire prosodic patterns, each having the Gsyllable second in the line (nevir is almost certainly a monosyllable) and each ending in two adjacent stressed syllables: examples of the latter feature can be found in the other two passages, but without this conspicuous emphasis. Two of those lines are also linked by close grammatical parallelism (the G-syllable is the same word) and the presence of the same alliterating sound.

Langland Gawain poet Dunbar

A 31 28 29

C 7 9 11

G 2 4 13

E 1 4 6

D 2 3 0

B 0 0 0

F 1 0 0

A summary table showing the frequency of the various syllable types in the three passages demonstrates clearly that though the figures for the least “marked” syllable types (other than the x-type) scarcely vary, and in all three cases the total number of stressed syllables is exactly forty, the figures for the more “marked” types are unmistakeably greater for the Gawain poet than for Langland, and greater for Dunbar than for either. Alliteration on unstressed syllables occurs only once (wente, l. 4— disregarding the fortuitous by, l. 8), in the first passage, but the second extract has four instances and the third six, including one (either muv[-it] or meid, l. 2) which forms part of a two-line alliterative pattern, two (grein and gay, l. 3) which form part of an interlacing alliterative pattern, and two (drew and dew, ll. 9–10) which form not only part of a two-line pattern but an internal rhyme. Still more striking is the frequency of G-

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type (prominent but neither stressed nor alliterating) syllables in the Dunbar passage: many of these are relatively unimportant prepositions or adverbs, or parts of compound words (midsummer, midnicht, hawthorne) but at least one or two instances in this short passage appear to have a precise literary purpose: as well as the case of lines 6–8 already examined, the clearest example is the forceful sequence of three salient syllables in so birst out (l. 5). The only exception to the pattern of increasing frequency of more “marked” syllable types is that only Dunbar in those lines makes no use of D-type syllables (stressed but neither alliterating nor pitchprominent): it is almost tempting to describe it as characteristic that his departures from the norm are in the direction of increasing the number of salient syllables rather than the number of non-salient ones! And as a last point of comparison, in the Langland passage only two lines have a pitchprominent syllable in the anacrusis (and those semantically unimportant ones, went and vn[-der], the Gawain poet does this in six lines, but in only three of those with a word of semantic force (borв, riche, gret), and Dunbar does so in seven or eight lines, four of these (including the doubtful case) on important words (muv[-it], never, drew, dew. A preference for heavy anacrusis is in fact a major aspect of Dunbar’s technique in this poem, and he manifests it from the outset. And yet, despite the preponderance of G- and E-type syllables, and resultant diversity of patterns in the lines of the poem, the remarkable fact is that Dunbar almost never departs from the bedrock rule of alliterative poetry, that of four stresses per line. Lines of the basic format (three As, one C, no more than twelve xs and no syllables of any other type) are rare, but they do occur: It war bot merrens to be mair bot gif our myndis pleisit (l. 57) xxxAxxxA / xxxACx At playis and at preichingis and pilgrimages greit (l. 71) xAxxAx / xAxxxC Bot als fresche of his forme as flouris in May (l. 87) xxAxxAx / xAxC Compasand and castand cacis a thousand (l. 123) AxxxAx / AxxCx I had a lufsummar leid my lust for to slokyn (l. 283) xxxAxxA /xAxxCx

Much more frequent are lines with one or more unstressed but prominent syllables, with or without alliteration: countless variations are possible using this licence, but as one recurring example, since lines sometimes (though not often) begin with an A-type syllable: Kemmit war thair clier hair and curiouslie sched (l. 21) AxxxAG / xAxxxC Birdis hes ane better law na bernis be meikill (l. 60) AxxAxG / xAxxCx Wariand oft my wekit kyn that me away cast (l. 214) AxxGxAxG / xCxEC

136

J. DERRICK MCCLURE Deid is now that dyvour and dollin in erd (l. 410) Faith has a fair name bot falsheid faris beittir (l. 460)

AxxxAx / xAxxC AxxAG / xAxECx

a deceptive effect is occasionally gained by beginning a line with an alliterating and pitch-prominent syllable which turns out not to take a stress, that is, an E-type: Gymp, iolie and gent, richt ioyus and gent (l. 69) EAxxA / GAxxA ‫܋‬aip and ‫܌‬ing, in the ‫܌‬ok ane ‫܌‬eir for to draw (l. 79) ExAxxA / xAxxC Loud lauchand, the laif allowit hir mekle (l. 240) EAxxA / xAxxCx Ladyis, leir thir lessonis and be no lassis fundin (l. 503) ExAGAx / xxCExCx Siluer schouris doun schuke as the schene cristall (l. 515) ExAGA / xxACx20

Dunbar’s free use of E- and G-type syllables results, as already noted, in numerous lines which could be read as having more than four stresses; though notably, scarcely one line in the poem could be read as an iambic pentameter. A very few might, if they occurred in a poem in iambic pentameters, pass without occasioning any particular comment: He ralis and makes re-pet with ry-atus wordis (l. 193) And thoght his pen pur-ly me payis in bed (l. 135) I busk-it vp my ba-rnis like ba-ronis sonnis (l. 402) For he that sittis me nixt I nip on his fing-er (l. 490) Thar is no liff-and leid so law of de-gre (l. 497)

xAxGFC / xAxxC21 xxxAAx / xAxC xAxGxAx / xAxC xGxCxA / xAxxCx xxCExA / xAxxC

but none has what even looks like an exact alternation of stressed and unstressed syllables; and since this format can quite readily occur by accident in alliterative verse, their non-existence in a poem as long as this is surely intentional (compare Lewis 1938—a landmark paper). (The reason for this, I conjecture, is that decasyllabic lines with an iambic pentameter rhythm were by this time perfectly familiar in Scottish poetry and were used by Dunbar routinely and with his usual expertise:22 his careful avoiding of the format in this poem is to ensure that readers do not fall into the trap of losing their hold, even momentarily, on the regular four-beat rhythm.) It is readily possible, however, to find lines which, in a different metrical context, could be read as having five, six or even seven stresses: E-uer y-ma-gynyng in mynd ma-teris of e-uill (l. 122) GxAxxxA / AxxCx Than ly I walk-and for wa and wal-teris a-bout (l. 213) GGxAxxA / xAxxC I trow that bird of my blis suld a bourd want (l. 238) xGxAxxA / xxAC

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Than said the wei-do: “I-vis, ther is no way o-thir (l. 245) GxxAxxA / xxCECx Sum stal-wardly steppis ben with a stout cu-rage (l. 485) GAxxEC / xxACx Or rest of his roust-y raid, thoght he wer rede wod (l. 141) xAxxExA / xxxAC And ralв-eit lang, or thai wald rest, with ry-atus speche (l. 149) xExCxxxA / xAxxC He dois as do-tit dog that damys on all bus-sis (l. 186) xExAxA / xAxGCx Scho suld not stert for his straik a stray breid of erd (l. 234) xExAxxA / xAGxC In gownis of en-gran-yt claight and gret gold-in chenвeis (l. 366) xExxAxC / xAExC Gif o-ny per-soun wald ap-proche with-in that ple-sand gar-ding (l. 16) xGxAxxxA / xGxAxCx He may weill to the syn as-sent, bot sak-les is his deidis (l. 97) xGCxxExA / xAxxxC To change and ay to cheise a-gane, than chas-ti-te a-dew! (l 208) xAxGxAxG / xAxxxC Quod I, “My ho-ny, hald a-bak and han-dill me nought sair. (l. 223) xGxAxExC / xAxxxC Ne him that dres-sit me so dink—full do-tit wes his heyd! (l. 377) xGxAxxxA / GAxxxC

And yet, every one of these—even the quasi-fourteeners, of which this is not an exhaustive list—in fact fits with little or no difficulty into the steady four-beat rhythm of the lines; the impression of increased weight or pace often (though it would be straining interpretation to suggest always) contributing to the impression of elation, agitation, mockery or revulsion conveyed by the words of a speaker (including the narrator). Dunbar’s treatment of the four-beat line is surely the most radical in the history of the form, only Gavin Douglas in the Prologue of the Aucht Buke of the Eneados rivalling him for metrical audacity; yet throughout this long and intricate poem, he never loses his footing in the basic prescription. Not only the prosody but the alliteration is handled with skill and initiative: alliteration, of course, is a regular feature of Dunbar’s work throughout his opus. Cases of alliteration on the same sound over two or more lines are so frequent as to be almost a norm: the number of consecutive lines having the same alliterating sound often extends to four, and in one instance, lines 84–88, even to five. What appear to be patterned recurrences of the same alliteration over non-consecutive lines are also found: a clear instance is lines 402–05: I buskit vp my barnis like baronis sonnis, And maid bot fulis of the fry of his first wif.

xAxGxAx / xAxC xGxAxxA / xxAC

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J. DERRICK MCCLURE I banyst fra my boundis his brethir ilkane, His frendis as my faiis I held at feid evir

xAxxxA / xAxxC xAxxA / xDxEC

with its alternating [b] – [f] lines. Alliteration on consonant clusters is frequent, and often contributes to an exceptionally expressive line or sequence: examples that leap to mind are lines 92–93: Ane scabbit skarth, ane scorpioun, ane scutarde behind. To se him scart his awin skyn grit scunner I think

xAxExAxx / xAxxC xExAxGA / GAxxD

and lines 485–86 (perhaps the most impertinently improper in the poem):23 Sum stalwardly steppis ben with a stout curage, And a stif standand thing staiffis in mi neiff,

xAxxAC / xxACx EAxxEC / AxxC

The ironically beautiful dawn sequence that ends the poem includes a sustained cluster alliteration (ll. 517–18): The goldin glitterand gleme so gladit ther hertis, Thai maid a glorius gle amang the grene bewis

xExAxxA / GAxxC xGxAxxA / xCxEC

but the phonaesthetically innocuous [gl] becomes less so with the distant echo of lines 107–08: And with his hard hurcheone scyn sa heklis he my chekis xxxAExC / GAxxxC That as a glemand gleyd glowis my chaftis. xxxAxA / AxC

In one instance an expressive cluster alliteration is achieved at the cost of an otherwise unattested word (l. 113): And quhen the smy on me smyrkis with his smake smolet xxxAxxA / xxAAx

but the obvious phonaesthetic implications of the repeated [sm] surely offset the lexical obscurity. The Wedo’s account of her first husband includes a sequence of no fewer than seven lines (ll. 274–81) with alliteration on plosives [k] – [b] – [t] – [d], [k] in one case appearing in a subordinate pattern in a line alliterating on [b]: even the single line (280) which interrupts the sequence, though alliterating on [m], has repeated [k]s and [d]s in non-alliterating positions. The contrasting phonaesthetic

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overtones of voiced plosive and voiceless fricative is surely deliberate in lines 95–96: As birs of ane brym bair his berd is als stif, Bot soft and soupill as the silk is his sary lwme

xAxxAE / xAxxC xExAxxxA / xxAxC

The placing of the alliterating sounds among the syllables of the line is another feature which Dunbar manages in distinctive ways: the remainder of the introductory section of the poem (up to the first dialogue passage), provides abundant instances. Line 11 sets a pattern of alliteration on [h] which continues for four lines; but only the third and fourth show the conventional scheme of alliteration on the first three stressed syllables: in the first it occurs on all four, and in the second, on two of the stresses and an unstressed syllable in the anacrusis. For another sequence of four lines with the same alliterating sound (17–20), the consonant, this time [g], is introduced in the last stressed syllable of the preceding line, in which it does not form part of the alliterative pattern. In the first line of this sequence the [g]-alliteration is relatively inconspicuous, occurring only on two E-type (unstressed) syllables and sharing the line with another twomember alliteration on [s]; in the next, the third and last instance of the [g] is again on an unstressed syllable and is sandwiched between two stresses with a different alliteration, on [f]; in the third, a late unstressed syllable, but not the last stress, shares the initial [g] with the first three stresses; only the last of the four lines in this sequence shows the traditional alliterative pattern. This device of a crescendo, so to speak, of alliteration is a recurring one in the poem: another instance in this passage is lines 25– 27, the alliterating sound, [f], occurring only three times, one being on an unstressed syllable, in the first line, but four times in the other two (three A-type syllables and one E-type arranged in the same order in the two lines); an instance of a different type is lines 29–30, the first containing alliteration on the single consonant [s], the second on the clusters [sp] and [spr]. Another recurring feature is the device, already observed, of introducing an alliterative pattern on the last stressed syllable of the line prior to the sequence in which it occurs: this we see repeated in lines 35– 39, the word wynis initiating a sequence of alliteration on [w] which extends over three lines: this time, the sequence is interrupted by a line with a different alliterating sound, [t] (which might be said to have been hinted at by the unstressed syllable of wantoun), but reinforced by a climactic line on which the alliterating sound occurs no less than five times. In line 30, just referred to, the alliteration on [spr] factors out, so to speak, in a [sp] and a [r], the last going on to serve as the alliterating sound in the following line.

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Dunbar’s play with the sounds alone is ingenious enough, but a further individual feature of his technique is the readiness with which he breaks the traditional bond between stress and alliteration. The simplest instance of this device is the presence of an E-type syllable in a line containing two or three A-types alliterating on the same sound: several cases of this have been noted. A more subtle variation is obtained by distributing the alliteration equally among stressed and unstressed syllables or giving precedence to the latter. Several different forms of this pattern occur: line 33 contains only one A-type syllable, the other two instances of the alliterating sound being on E-types; in line 23 the noun curcheis is part of the anacrusis but alliterates with two stressed and an unstressed syllable later in the line; lines 34–5 share the pattern of an unstressed syllable (in an adjective) in the anacrusis alliterating with the second, but not the first, stress in the line, and also with another unstressed syllable, again an adjective, coming as the penultimate word in the line. E-type syllables may participate in interlacing alliterative patterns: in line 29 the conspicuous alliteration on [sp(r)] shares the line with a minor one between nou (an Etype) in the anacrusis and new (an A-type) in the third stress position; in line 17 neither word in the semantically important alliterative pair gay and grein is stressed and the only A-type syllable in the line occurs in the less striking alliterative pair saw and sit; line 24 repeats the pattern of its predecessor in making a noun in the anacrusis participate in the alliteration, but this time it is in a secondary pattern, the other [m] coming in another E-type syllable late in the line, and the two thus framing the main alliteration of three A-type syllables in [g]. (These two lines are also linked by the consonance on abune, thin and grein: this is not a regular feature of the poem and may be accidental here; but it is certainly noticeable.) Line 33 is a curiosity: it would be a perfectly proper alliterative line without the opening word fragrant, but with it, the only way to maintain its status as a four-beat line—and there is no obvious reason why Dunbar would insert a five-beat line here—is to read it with the first stress on all, though the semantic importance, and therefore the degree of pitch-prominence, on the E-type (by this reading) syllables fra-[grant] and full would be greater than that on the C-type all. The traditions which have provided sources and models for this poem have often been discussed, as has the typical ingenuity and individuality with which he has responded to his stimuli. In the specific instance of the poem’s prosody, the literary significance of his choosing the format of a sequence of alliterative lines with neither rhyme nor stanzaic arrangement, rare enough in Scottish poetry and unique in Dunbar’s oeuvre, is a wellknown topic of interest. What I hope I have done in the present study is

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imparted a higher degree of precision than has hitherto been available to the unchallenged impression that his verbal technique in this format is on a par with his virtuosity—unavoidable cliché!—in other poetic forms.

Notes 1

For discussion see McClure 2008. Except for special cases such as hypermetrical lines; e.g. Dol biþ se þe him his Dryhten ne ondrædeþ; cymeþ him se deaþ unþinged, Seafarer 106 (Gordon 1960, 46). 3 In bord and brad swurd, Maldon 15a (Scragg 1981, 57), the word swurd surely must have received intonational highlighting; in þær him leofost wæs, Maldon, 23b (Scragg 1981, 57) the verb wæs must surely be a promoted syllable. 4 / / \ x /; e.g. grim guðplega, Maldon, 61a (Scragg 1981, 59); / \ x /; e.g. wælræste geceas Maldon, 113b (Scragg 1981, 60). 5 The contrast which I make there is between “perfect” and “ordinary” lines; and the point is made that “though ‘perfect’ lines are ‘extraordinary’ in the sense that they are statistically much the less common of the two kinds, ‘ordinary’ lines are of course not ‘imperfect’ in any derogatory sense: they are by definition no less iambic pentameters than the ‘perfect’ lines; and they are not in any way irregular, since the patterning of duration and pitch prominence in verse lines, unlike that of the stresses, is not prescribed”. Of course, the argument can apply to other types of line than iambic pentameter. 6 Panton and Donaldson 1869–74, I:l, line 1. 7 The extent to which final –e was sounded in English and Scots of this period is one which I will, quite frankly, take as unresolved and assume the licence to exercise my own (I trust) informed judgement in individual cases. I accept the argument of Conner (1974) that what was actually heard was little more than a lengthening of the final consonant: in assuming a syllable structure of Ax for the word alle in this line I do not imply that it was pronounced “alla” or “alley” but with a lengthened [l], as in Italian palla, and the merest trace of a schwa at the end. In many cases the vowel sound would have vanished entirely: the essential fact is that the linguistic significance of the ending had gone but the sound had not, or not completely, so that the pronunciation of any given word could vary. That is, there is some truth in the traditional statement that final –e was sounded “when the metre required it”, but emphatically not in the sense that the choice was between a full vowel like final –e in Italian and no sound at all. 8 Recent work has shown that the range of possibilities is much more specific and rule-bound than was previously realized: for example, the b-verse could not contain a sequence of unstressed syllables both preceding the first and preceding the second stress. See for example Duggan (1987) and Putter et al. (2007). I am indebted to Thorlac Turville-Petre for these references and other helpful suggestions. 9 To which the present brief discussion of a short passage from the poem is not intended as a contribution: for my present purpose it is sufficient simply to quote 2

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the lines as presented in Kane and Donaldson’s authoritative edition (Langland 1988). 10 I take it that the syllable –mite would be pronounced [mi:t]: that is, with a clear vowel and not a schwa; but it would not have pitch prominence. The first syllable of vnholy, by contrast, would have some measure of pitch prominence because of its contrastive function. 11 I assume that world (OE woruld) would still be unambiguously disyllabic. Note, by the way, the unusual feature (for this poem) of an alliteration following from the last stressed syllable of one line to the three stressed syllables, and one unstressed, of the next line. 12 Or conceivably, xDxEAx…. 13 Langland 1998, 227. 14 Or FxAxxxAx / xFAxC, if, as is sometimes the case, words beginning with hare taken to alliterate with words beginning with vowels. Note that the implication of the notational system I am using is that if two C-type syllables appear in the same line they do not alliterate with each other. 15 Tolkien et al. 1967, 1. 16 A line showing unusual asymmetry between the two halves: were it not that the grammatical break made this (surely) impossible, one would be tempted to scan it xAxxxCx / AxxAx. 17 The reading which some editors have preferred—see, for instance, Kinsley’s edtion (Dunbar 1979, 42)—I muvit furth allane, neir as midnicht wes past, actually gives a prosodically unambiguous and much more “orthodox” line. 18 Dunbar 1998, 41. All references are to this edition by Priscilla Bawcutt. 19 Not counting lines 5–6 in the Langland passage: the alliteration of the two mes with the m-words of the preceding line is fortuitous and not poetically significant. 20

An imperfect example, as [s] and [Ȓ] are not identical sounds: however, Dunbar is far from the only poet who has used them as if they did alliterate, and their auditory effect is similar enough for the shift to be tolerable. 21 Here and in the next few examples, the italicized syllables are those which would be stressed if these were pentameter, hexameter or heptameter lines: the formula gives what I take to be the actual reading as four-beat lines. 22 For discussion see McClure 2001. 23 In this and the following example I allow the status of alliterating syllables to ones which alliterate only partially with the clusters.

FROM CHRONICLE TO LITURGY: SCOTTISH SOURCES OF THE LEGEND OF ST MARGARET, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND MELISSA COLL-SMITH

At the end of the eleventh century there lived a Saxon princess named Margaret, a wise and pious girl and the daughter of a rightful king of England. On her father’s death, she and her surviving family left his kingdom and, according to tradition, were blown off course to Scotland where they were received by its king, Malcolm III.1 Malcolm and Margaret were married and together they had eight children in whose veins flowed the blood of the ancient royal lines of England and Scotland.2 The English princess-turned-Scottish queen performed her royal duties with relentless charity and devotion. Her piety was exhaustive, and she often prayed for hours on end and fasted to the point of malnutrition. She died at Edinburgh Castle soon after hearing news of the battlefield deaths of her husband and eldest son in the late autumn of 1093. She was buried with Malcolm in Dunfermline Abbey at the Church of the Holy Trinity that they had helped to establish.3 The tomb, which would be moved twice within the church before it fell to the destruction of the Reformation, was the site of visionary and physical miracles, brokered with God by the sainted queen on behalf of her devotees. This is the historical and hagiographical legend of Margaret of Scotland, evolved from various strands of a textual tradition developed in England and Scotland between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. The hagiographical idea of “legend” refers to a literary composition describing the acts of holy men and women. In the first centuries of Christianity, the earliest form of hagiographic representation, the passio, developed from accounts of the suffering of Christian martyrs throughout the Roman Empire. After the persecution, stories about venerated (but unmartyred) persons developed into narrative traditions of vitae, which recounted the exemplary holiness of their earthly lives; and of miracula, which offered evidence of the saints’ posthumous intercession on behalf of devotees and petitioners. By the Middle Ages these formations became less distinct and

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the legenda, a cohesive holy biography that blended elements of what previously had been separate hagiographical genres, gained prominence as the dominant form for the conception and literary narration of a saint’s life.4 However, although the story of Margaret is hagiographical in that it depicts the life of an acknowledged saint, the presentation of her biography as one of devotional significance is a relatively late development in the evolution of her cult. From the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, the Scottish textual representations of the queen exist almost entirely in the secular contexts of chronicle and (unsacred) biography, rather than of devotional propaganda. The “legend” of Margaret of Scotland finds full fruition as a primarily hagiographical representation in only one witness: the sixteenth-century Breviarium Aberdonense (1509/10), which recounts the life and posthumous miracles of the saintly queen in two liturgies that commemorate her obit and the translation of her relics. But the legend as it was redacted in the Aberdeen liturgy was pieced together from chronicle sources and, as a consequence, it reflects their political and dynastic ideologies rather than a popular tradition of cultic veneration.

The Secular Vita of Queen Margaret of Scotland The earliest account of the life of Margaret of Scotland is an exemplary biography attributed to Turgot (d.1115), a Durham monk thought to have been the queen’s personal priest and confessor (Bartlett 2004).5 Turgot was commissioned to write it in the opening years of the twelfth century by Margaret’s daughter Matilda (1080–1118), who was by then the consort of Henry I of England.6 Turgot provided his patroness with a portrait of her mother’s righteous and effective queenship, composed in Latin [hereafter Vita] and presented in four chapters preceded by a prologue; it would later come to be known as the Vita Margarita Regina Scotiae.7 Although, unlike the other sources discussed here, Turgot’s work is not really a Scottish composition—after all, it was written by an Englishman under the patronage of an English queen—it provides the basis for all of the later textual renditions of Margaret and her character. Despite its influence on Margaret’s medieval hagiographical traditions, at its inception the Latin account was not intended as a justification for her worthiness of religious veneration. Its objective was to provide the young Queen Matilda with a guide for her own execution of royal duty in accordance with the virtues of nobility and spiritual righteousness. Knowing that his patroness’s childhood was spent mostly away from her

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parents, the author expresses his hope that after reading his composition she might, even if she were unable to remember her mother’s face, “at least have a perfect acquaintance with [Margaret’s] virtues” (Life [ForbesLeith 1896], 6; cf. Vita, 328c).8 The first chapter of the Vita begins with an account of the queen’s nobilitas generis. On a most basic level, this provided its intended reader with an account of her family tree and a validation of her descent from the House of Wessex. But Turgot is also careful to present the didactic message that noble inheritance goes hand-in-hand with religious responsibility, and that great political power on earth carries with it a certain duty to God. He identifies two kinds of nobility, noting that each had been epitomized by the young queen’s mother: “[s]ince, then, I am to speak of that nobility of the mind which she had in Christ, it is fitting that something should be premised as to her nobility according to this world” (Life, 6; cf. Vita, 328e). In an effort to demonstrate the virtues of mercy and charity necessitated by the role of queen, Turgot gives Matilda a detailed account of her mother’s care for her subjects. He offers the maternal imagery of Margaret holding orphans on her lap and feeding them with her own spoon, and describes her copious distribution of alms, which were sometimes obtained through the surreptitious emptying of her own husband’s coffers. Turgot describes how the crowds of paupers and downtrodden Scots flocked to the monarch “as they would have done to a most loving mother”, and that “none of them ever left her without being comforted” (Life, 16; cf. Vita, 332e). Her merciful nature is illustrated through an insistence on the humane treatment of English prisoners-of-war and her attempts to bring justice to situations where she thought there was none. The execution of her noble duties also required attention to more pragmatic aspects of the royal household, which are described by Turgot in detail. In an effort to raise its profile, Margaret took it upon herself to make changes that would bring a more modern and cosmopolitan feel to the court. Members of her husband’s retinue were newly required to be of high birth and conduct themselves righteously in public. In private, she brightened the palace by bringing in new costumes and linens, and by decorating its banquet tables with gold and silver.9 Margaret’s reforms were not limited to her domestic sphere, and Turgot tells how she gained a reputation as a religious reformer. Before 1070, Scottish religious customs were sometimes influenced by the rituals of the Keledeiˆ, or Culdees, who followed a rule of St Columba and whose practices she perceived to be at odds with those sanctioned by Rome.10 On

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her arrival in Scotland, Margaret was dismayed that the Scottish church did not observe Lent for a full forty days, and that devotees did not partake of the bread and wine during the Easter liturgy. Furthermore, the Sabbath was not widely observed in the kingdom; and, contrary to Church law, it was considered acceptable for a widow to remarry within her husband’s family.11 In response the queen pressed her husband to call an ecclesiastical council in order to bring consistency to the practice of Catholicism throughout the kingdom, and to address those rituals that she considered aberrant and align them more closely with those of Rome and the rest of Europe. According to Margaret’s Vita (but not modern historians), her role in the assembly was a prominent one; with the king at her side acting as translator for the Gaelic-speaking churchmen, the queen oversaw the proceedings, and addressed five points about the observations of and practices associated with Lent, Easter, Mass, the Sabbath, and matrimony.12 But the dominant image of Margaret is that of an extremely pious and insistently devout woman. In between her instigations of reform and her execution of the role of queen, Turgot tells how she adhered to a rigorous regimen of religious ritual; in addition to her public acts of charity and mercy, privately the queen subjected herself to pathological fasting and exhaustive prayer. She so strove to conduct herself with strict continence that Turgot recalls how she would ask him to point out her faults: [the queen] frequently entreated me to rebuke her without any hesitation in private whenever I saw anything worthy of blame either in her words or her actions. As I did this less frequently and sharply than she wished, she urged the duty on me, and chid me for being drowsy (so to speak) and negligent in her regard. (Life, 13; cf. Vita, 330f.)

She was equally vigilant of the spiritual well-being of those around her. The ladies in her court were not allowed to giggle with frivolity or to have casual interactions with men, and they were chidden for any perceived faults or wrong-doing. The queen expected the same rigid adherence to religious and social protocol from her husband and children. In what may be an attempt to explain certain events Matilda might remember from her childhood, Turgot tells how her mother had believed strongly in the scripture “he that spareth the rod hateth the child” and notes how, out of love, she encouraged the governor of the royal nursery to punish faults severely, using either threats or the rod.13 The Vita offers several glimpses into the intimate goings-on of the court, describing a playful and loving

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relationship between Margaret and Malcolm III: stories that were surely appreciated by a daughter who barely knew her parents. Margaret emerges from this biography as a model of the dutiful queen and of piety in a courtly setting, and indeed the Life was used as an advice for noble women even in the seventeenth century.14 But in the centuries after its composition, Turgot’s narrative accrued the status of a holy biography and a hagiographical vita and was propagated as such especially in Scotland, the kingdom that enjoyed her patronage. A manuscript now catalogued as Madrid, Bibliotheca Réal MS II 2097 contains the only known Scottish manuscript copy of the Vita, compiled in the fifteenth century by the Benedictine monks of Dunfermline alongside the Miracula Sancte Margarite Scotorum Regine, a unique collection of miracles said to have occurred at her shrine.15 The derivative of the Life represented in the Madrid manuscript is distinctive for its omission of the report of Margaret’s nobilitas generis and its consequent emphasis on her conduct; as a result, the tone and effect of the Madrid Vita is decidedly more hagiographic than other versions of Turgot’s composition.16 The monks clearly designated the Miracula as a companion text to the Life: But since the little book written about her life shows sufficiently well what were her deeds in the present world and how brightly they shone with mercy and kindness, I have decided to commit to written memory the miracles performed with the aid of the divine mercy and on account of her merits after she departed this life, by which God through her, or rather she through God, was glorified… (Bartlett 2003, 70–71)

The combination of the arguably secular Vita with the openly religious Miracula in the Madrid manuscript shows a fifteenth-century attempt by the monks of Dunfermline to “adopt” the secular vita for the purposes of justifying and furthering the saint’s cult. But the Madrid derivative is unique in this emphasis, for although there are other contemporary textual renditions of Turgot’s Vita, these belong to the genre of chronicle rather than biography, and they recount the merits of the queen’s holy life in a deliberate effort to propagate a specific dynastic and political agenda to legitimize the Scottish monarchy and the House of Stewart.

Margaret of Scotland and the Scottish Chronicles Margaret’s heritage was of the greatest concern to the chroniclers of medieval Britain, for she and her siblings each continued the coveted line of descent from the House of Wessex. She was one of three children born to Edward Ætheling (d.1057), the exiled son of Edmund Ironside (d.1016)

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and Agatha, who was probably a member of the Hungarian royal family. The Saxon inheritance of Edward’s children was the key to the English throne, and when his eldest daughter Margaret married the king of Scots, her children held a dual claim to the crowns of England and Scotland. In 1100 Edward’s grand-daughter through Margaret married Henry I, and with this the bloodline was restored to England. In the middle of the twelfth century, English chronicles like Ælred of Rievaulx’s Genealogia Regum Anglorum (c.1153) and William of Malmesbury’s Gesta Regum Anglorum (1153–54) each depict the queen in this dynastic discourse, interpreting her strength of character as a direct result of her virtuous nobilitas generis, and exalting the connection between Henry II, the sitting King of England, and his venerated great-grandmother.17 But, of course, at the same time the illustrious pedigree was perpetuated by Matilda’s brothers and the later kings of Scotland, and the kingdom’s fourteenth- and fifteenth-century chroniclers were often preoccupied with the connection between their ruling dynasties and the Houses of Dunkeld and Wessex. Margaret is presented as a dynastic foundress and the progenitor of the Houses of Bruce and Stewart in John of Fordun’s Chronica Gentis Scotorum (1380), Walter Bower’s Scotichronicon (c.1440) and its derivative the Liber Pluscardensis (1461)—all in Latin— and also in Andrew Wyntoun’s vernacular Original Chronicle.18 Each of these exploits the queen’s noble lineage for purposes of justifying the claims of the Scottish kings to both thrones of Britain. Fordun identifies David I’s (d.1153) claim to the English crown in the preface to the account of Margaret’s genealogy: Let me then, starting from King David himself, the most renowned of men, and, even as was written above of his father’s pedigree, ascending, through his glorious mother, to Adam, the father of all mortals, show you the line of our English kingship, as I have been able to find it in the truest and oldest histories or chronicles. (Fordun 1871–72, II:247; I:252 [Latin].)

Fordun offers the impression that David’s maternal lineage was considered to be of equal importance to that of his father. The Scotichronicon follows this, guiding the kings of Scotland to consider the achievements of both their Scottish and their English ancestors: ...so that when you have seen how great has been the prowess of your ancestors in that line…you would recognise also how natural it is for you to abound in riches, to flourish in virtues, to be renowned for victories, and…to shine with Christian piety and the privilege of exercising justice. (Bower 1987–98, III:172–73; cf. Fordun 1871–72, I:252).

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In Book VII of his Chronicle Wyntoun is also careful to emphasize the descent of the Scottish kings from both ancient royal lineages (IV:355, ll. 407–12): þe Saxonys ande þe Scottis blude In nacionnys twa befor þan ‫܌‬ude; Bot þe barne tyme off þat get þat Malcolme had and Sancte Mergret Togedyr drew ful wnyon To passe syne in succession.

The new dynasty of Malcolm and Margaret was thus defined by its combination of the dynastic heritage of both England and Scotland. This genetic mix brought with it an ambitious potential that was almost immediately recognized by the chroniclers and the members of the royal family themselves, as Boardman (2002, 62) writes: “[f]rom an early stage the dual descent of the Scottish royal house allowed the Scots to champion the right of their kings as heirs to the English throne”.19 Although an English princess, Margaret as the Scottish queen was inextricable from the self-perception of her husband’s dynastic heirs: but also, in the age of the chroniclers, those of the Bruces and the Stewarts.20 Of secondary importance to the chroniclers was the relation of Margaret’s acts of charity and devotion, all derived from the Turgot Life, but construed with a different emphasis. The Scotichronicon ascribes to Malcolm a role in Margaret’s merciful deeds, showing the king and queen working in tandem to address the needs of their realm’s orphans and poor. The queen’s reforms to the religious practice of the kingdom and to the court are presented in the chronicles as evidence of Scotland’s emergence as a player on the European stage; Barrow (2004) has observed that the union of Malcolm and Margaret “put Scotland on the European map”, and this is true both in the establishment of their dynasty, and because of the cultural improvements—instigated by the queen—that helped to pose the court for international recognition. However, the Scottish chronicles—composed well after their English counterparts—had at their disposal the currency of Margaret’s reputation as a holy queen and saint. The implicit acceptance of her saintly status allowed for the suggestion that the Scottish dynasties were divinely ordained and the legitimate heirs of the Scottish and English crowns. The chroniclers’ challenge was to embrace Margaret’s embodiment of the Saxon bloodline while simultaneously divorcing her from her undeniably English origins, and in order to do this they cashed in on the one aspect of her posthumous biographical tradition that was almost entirely based on

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Scottish phenomena: her sanctity and official patronage of their kingdom, which had been granted in a limited way in the thirteenth century and extended to universal celebration in the fifteenth. Apart from her historical biography, the queen appears in the chronicles in the guise of a powerful intercessor on behalf of her husband’s realm. While she might have had English blood in life, the Scottish chroniclers show that in death her affections are only towards Scotland. This is certainly the point that is made in Book X of the Scotichronicon, which depicts the queen as a patroness of the kingdom and attributes the defeat of the Norwegians at Largs in 1263 to her intercession. Using a miracle recorded in the Miracula, Bower recounts how Margaret, with her earthly husband at her side, appears in a mystical vision to a gravely ill man called John Wemyss:21 He [Wemyss] appeared to be standing at the [north] doorway of the church at Dunfermline. A lady of radiant beauty and resplendent in full royal attire came quickly out of the aforesaid church. She was leading on her right arm a distinguished-looking knight, clad in gleaming armour, girded with the sword of a knight, and wearing a helmet with a crown on it. Three noble knights, brisk and cheerful in appearance, followed them at a stately pace and in due order, all gleaming in similar armour. [She said], “I am Margaret, formerly queen of the Scots. The knight who has my arm is the lord king Malcolm my husband, and these knights who are following us are our sons, the most renowned kings of this realm while they lived. In company with them I am hurrying to defend our country at Largs, and to win a victory over the usurper who is unjustly trying to make my kingdom subject to his rule. For you must know that I received this kingdom from God, granted in trust to me and to our heirs for ever.” (Bower 1987–98, V:336–38)

Margaret then disappears, and Wemyss recovers enough to make a pilgrimage to Dunfermline to tell the abbot of his dream; on his arrival he is greeted with the news that Scotland has indeed secured a victory against the Norwegians. In his account of this visionary miracle Bower deftly uses the visual description of the queen and her entourage to reinforce her dynastic connections to the Scottish throne. But an even more important characteristic of this episode is that Margaret herself, in her own words, acknowledges her eternal fidelity to the kingdom and pledges her intercession, which is eventually illustrated by the fulfilment of her promise to Wemyss.22 Another miracle recorded by the chronicles occurs in the portrayal of the events surrounding the translation of her relics at Dunfermline Abbey in 1250.23 The translatio was the pivotal event in the establishment of

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Margaret’s formal cult, and is described by Wyntoun, Bower, and in the Liber Pluscardensis. Wyntoun advocates the celebration of the Feast of Margaret and describes how, after its original burial: Sanct Margaretis body a hundreth ‫܌‬ere Lay befor þe Rude altere Into þe kirk off Dunfermelyne; Bot it wes efter translatit syne; Into þe queire scho now lyis, Hir spirit in to Paradiss. And of þat ilk translacioun Maid with veneracioun The fest is ‫܌‬it vphalding ay Before Mydsomer þe fest day. (Wyntoun 1903–14, IV:350; 367–76)24

Later, he tells how Alexander II, along with the kingdom’s highest church officials, descended on Dunfermline in 1250 to execute the wishes of Innocent IV and transfer relics of the newly-canonized saint to a place of greater honour within the Church of the Holy Trinity in Dunfermline.25 The chronicles each include a description of a miracle that occurred at the translation of Margaret’s relics, telling how her corporeal remains refused to be separated from those of her husband.26 The legend of the translatio describes how the celebrants tried, but were unable to move, the queen’s coffin away from Malcolm’s sepulchre, and how once the king’s remains were transferred to the new tomb Margaret’s relics miraculously became less cumbersome. The story emphasizes Margaret’s sanctity and places that perception of holiness firmly within the context of her marriage and, by extension, the Scottish nation. This is precisely the interpretation given by Wyntoun in his vernacular account of the miracle, which he says (V:110, ll. 3102–04): [s]chewis [her] gret reuerens till hir lord, Richt as scho vsit in hir lif, Quhen scho wes his spousit wif.

Her attachment to Malcolm, King of Scots, is indicative both of eternal marital fidelity, and of an indelible association with his kingdom. The forging of this connection between the sainted queen and the nation was central to the Scottish chronicles’ presentations of Margaret of Scotland.

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St Margaret of Scotland and the Breviarium Aberdonense The last strand of Margaret’s Scottish textual tradition is found in the festal liturgies of the Breviarium Aberdonense.27 Many of the lectiones in the compilation were sourced directly from the Sarum Use, but Margaret’s inclusion in the Scottish Breviary is unique and her two feast days indicate her importance to the compilers of the Breviarium Aberdonense.28 Margaret was a newly-recognized universal saint at the time that the Breviary’s overseer William Elphinstone (1431–1514) and his assistants compiled the readings for her feast days. They were thus in the interesting position of being the first to commemorate the saint with a complete liturgy. An account of the translatio, based on the chronicles that provide the only known source of information about the events, is rendered into six liturgical lectiones for reading on St Margaret’s major feast on 19 June.29 A second feast is celebrated on the anniversary of her obit, 16 November.30 The Latin chronicles agree on their basic description of the events that took place at the translatio, describing the gathering of the church officials and the miracle that occurred. Either of the witnesses found in the Scotichronicon and the Liber Pluscardensis might have provided the compilers of the Breviary with their material.31 Because of the similarity of the chronicle accounts of the translation of Margaret’s corpse and their agreement on the main aspects of the event, the tracing of the Breviarium Aberdonense legend of translatio to one source over another must be based on slight peculiarities of diction and sense. The occurrence at Dunfermline is described by the Scotichronicon and the Liber Pluscardensis as a divine miracle, but the later chronicle and the Breviarium (but not the Scotichronicon) each specifically attributes the miracle to “divine grace”.32 All agree that the miracle occurred at the chancel door, but the Breviarium follows the wording of the Liber Pluscardensis more closely than of the Scotichronicon.33 Likewise, the Breviary follows the Liber Pluscardensis in its identification of the north side of the edifice—where the tomb of Malcolm was located—as the “other” part of the church. Yet another correlation between the diction of the Liber Pluscardensis and the Aberdeen liturgy is in the word choice used to describe the weariness of the monks’ arms as they tried in vain to move Margaret’s coffin. Bower chooses stupida; which is repeated in the Liber Pluscardensis alongside another modifier, lassa. In turn, the Breviarium Aberdonense uses lassa together with fatigata. A comparison of the liturgy to the diction found in the Scotichronicon and its derivative shows that the Breviary’s account of the miracle is more directly redacted from the Liber Pluscardensis, rather than from its predecessor.

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But the compilers of the liturgy might not have eschewed the Scotichronicon altogether, the Bower’s chronicle and the Breviary do not share one detail not found in the intermediate Liber Pluscardensis. Bower reports that the reliquary was made of firwood adorned with gold and jewels; while the Liber Pluscardensis identifies a silver casket as the container for Margaret’s bones. The Breviarium Aberdonense blends both of these images and describes a silver reliquary like the one in the Liber Pluscardensis, but one that is gilt with gold and gems as envisioned by Bower.34 Although the accounts show little variation in their portrayal of the events that took place at Margaret’s translatio, the diction suggests that the compilers of the Breviarium Aberdonense Margaret liturgy favoured the Liber Pluscardensis. The reason for this, or even whether or not it was deliberate, is not immediately clear. On one hand, the apparent preference might have been based on nothing more than the fact that the Scotichronicon was simply unavailable to the compilers at the time that they composed Margaret’s liturgy, and so they found a suitable replacement in the Liber Pluscardensis; but this is undermined by the correlation of the descriptions of the bier and by the fact that Elphinstone had ready access to Bower’s chronicle. A more likely explanation for the apparent preference is that the compilers recognized that Pluscarden, like Dunfermline, was a Benedictine foundation and so attributed more authority to it than to the Scotichronicon, which Bower composed as an Augustinian monk of Inchcolm.35 In fact, during the fifteenth century the Dunfermline monks had produced at least two copies of the Liber Pluscardensis, endorsing its account of their abbey’s patroness and the occupier of its most famous (and most profitable) tomb.36 Neither the Breviary nor the chronicles mention an earlier translation of relics that is recounted only in the Miracula. The first account of translatio relates how the queen’s tomb was moved from the “old church” to the north side of the high altar in 1180; it would be almost seventy years before the coffin would finally be placed in a purpose-built chapel at the east end of the church in the ceremony that made its way into the chronicles and, eventually, the Breviarium Aberdonense.37 The Madrid manuscript that preserves the Miracula was still in Dunfermline at the opening of the sixteenth century, and there is no reason to believe that the compilers of the Breviary were completely unaware of its account of the twelfth-century translation of relics. If the Breviary’s compilers were indeed familiar with the earlier translatio, they might not have been the first to ignore the story. Bower, who did know of an exemplar of the Madrid manuscript, makes no

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mention of the first translation of relics, and Bartlett (2003, xliii) surmises that the chronicler had “pictured the ceremony of 1250 as a simple translation of Margaret’s remains from her original resting place to the chapel he knew in his own day”. But Bower, and later the compilers of the liturgy, might have demonstrated some wilful ignorance in their accounts of the translation of Margaret’s relics. While the twelfth-century translation of relics had cultic significance, it had no value as a propagation of a nationalist or dynastic agenda. The fifteenth- and sixteenth-century redactions of the translatio instead depict the ceremony that marked the official ascription of Margaret’s patronage of Scotland, with its sanction by the Church and Alexander II. If Bower and then the compilers did indeed choose between the relation of one translatio narrative over the other, certainly there are strong ideological reasons for doing so. In following the chronicles the compilers of the Breviarium Aberdonense record a legend of translatio that has clear implications about the special relationship between Margaret and the kingdom of Scotland. The second liturgy of Margaret is placed on her obit, 16 November, and is comprised of lectiones derived from some version of the Turgot Life.38 The first lesson recounts the queen’s nobilitas generis, her Hungarian upbringing, her marriage to the Scottish king, and her founding of the church of the Holy Trinity in Dunfermline.39 The next two lectiones illustrate the queen’s piety: how her fervent prayer often drove her to tears, and how she made a habit of reminding herself that the material world is nothing but ashes. Four lessons are then dedicated to the description of the queen’s pervasive charity, rendering Turgot’s portraiture of a queen who serves her kingdom and subjects through acts of almsgiving and mercy; as is expected in a devotional lectio, these emphasize her own agency in these deeds, reverting to the biography’s original emphasis by subjugating the role of Malcolm as it had been portrayed in the chronicles. In the seventh reading for the obit, we find a story about Margaret’s Gospel book, which was dropped into a river and then retrieved, miraculously unharmed.40 The final lesson reaffirms the connection between the queen and the abbey at Dunfermline, highlighting its importance in the Margaret legend by advertising and promoting her shrine. The Breviary highlights Margaret’s virtue and piety within the context of her marriage to a Scottish monarch. But the Margaret who emerges from the liturgical readings is in some ways at odds with the one who seems to have enjoyed popular veneration in late medieval Scotland. Although she was canonized in 1250, it would be over two hundred and fifty years before she would gain universal status in 1487. Complete

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ecclesiastical acceptance of her cultus took centuries, but its unofficial formation was likely to have begun soon after her death in 1093 (Dilworth 1996, 169).41 Her followers, however, did not need to wait for the formal recognition of Rome; by the time of the confirmation of her beatification she had already long been considered a saint in public opinion (ForbesLeith 1896a, 81). In contrast to the fierce defender of Scotland and her national interests that emerges from the chronicles, the Madrid Miracula show a Margaret who is primarily concerned with devotees on a personal level, ministering to them to help with a variety of medical, social, and spiritual conundrums. The late fourteenth-century Scottish vernacular legendary mentions Margaret just once, including her in a list of virtuous women contained at the beginning of the vernacular legend of Alexis of Rome; the poet advocates the example “…of margret, of scottis quene, / In widoued hyre lyf led clene” (Metcalfe 1888–96, I:442, ll. 53–54). The Goldin Litany, which was in use in Scotland by the latter part of the fifteenth century, also picks up on Margaret’s pious conduct as a wife and widow. At the end of the litany, she is petitioned after Saints Anne, Katherine, and Barbara in an appeal for the mercy and intercession of all “haly virginis, wedewis, and matronis” (Bennett 1955, 212, ll. 248–51).42 These texts offer some proof that the Turgot Life was not very well known in popular circles of Margaret devotion, for had their writers been familiar with an accurate biography of the queen they (and their audiences) would have known that she had only outlived her husband by a matter of days, during which time she was constantly bedridden and hardly able to be an outstanding model of Christian widowhood. Furthermore, access to the Life and other textual traditions of Margaret was restricted to those who could read Latin, for there seems to have been no vernacular version of the legend made in Scotland until the one composed by Geddes in 1794. While there is some evidence of a “popular” perception of the saint in the topography of Scotland, and in the thirteenth-century Miracula, there is little trace of it in the Breviarium Aberdonense.43 The Breviary’s compilers implemented sources that reflect the royal initiative of endorsing the saintly progenitor of the House of Stewart, and in so doing portray a liturgical figure that is more reminiscent of the dynastic patron promoted by the political establishment than of the popular intercessor depicted in the Miracula. Unlike the Margaret of the Life and Miracula, the dynastic figure of the chronicles and the Breviary is carefully crafted to emphasize her connections to the Scottish kingdom. Her full canonization in the late fifteenth century coincided with a new trend of patriotic fervour, marked

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by the production of Scottish cultural works and chronicles and a new interest in national heroes and saints. Much of this was done at the behest and with the blessing of James IV, himself an avid devotee of his saintly ancestor.44

The Scottish “Legend” of Margaret Of all the witnesses of Margaret’s textual traditions, the Scotichronicon is distinctive for it offers the fullest portrait of the queen: a complete “legend” composed of a conglomeration of otherwise separate strands of hagiographical tradition. The English chronicles and Fordun are content to relate only the aspects of her traditions that can be classified as secular vita, focusing on her heritage and, to a lesser extent, her characteristic piety; Wyntoun augments this with an account of the translatio strand of the tradition. The Madrid manuscript, taken as a whole, literally combines the saint’s vita and her miracula, but does not include the legend of the miracle that occurred at her thirteenth-century translatio. All of these hagiographical topoi, however, are mingled in the portraiture found in Bower’s chronicle. But the legend does not appear as a stand-alone biography in any of the chronicle witnesses; instead, it is presented as one part of a wider discourse about the history of the Scottish nation and its dynastic succession. Only one source offers a purely hagiographic legend of the queen: the Breviarium Aberdonense, and even this shows the influence of the chronicle traditions that ultimately determined the reception of the saintly queen. In the sixteenth century the dynastic Margaret was represented in the newly-fashioned national use of Scotland; and in the two feasts dedicated to her we find the result of a completed evolution of a legend pieced together from a secular biography and monastic tradition, and then filtered through the political and ideological concerns of the chronicles. The Breviary’s Margaret legend, although cast in a liturgical guise, is less a portrayal of a popular saint than of a powerful symbol of a kingdom, its royal house, and—perhaps most importantly—God’s endorsement of each of these.

Notes 1

Malcolm III, traditionally referred to as Malcolm Canmore, was the son of Duncan I and the second king of the House of Dunkeld.

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For the circumstances of the fleeing of Agatha and her children from England; see Lawson 2004 and Barnett 1926, 25–29. 3 The ceremony was overseen by Fothad, the Gaelic bishop of St Andrews; it might have occurred as early as 1069. Margaret was Malcolm’s second wife; his first was Ingibjorg, a relation of the earl of Orkney, who bore him three sons before her death circa 1067; see Barrow 2004 and Barnett 1926, 33 and 37–38. 4 See Strohm 1975. 5 For the identification of Turgot as the author of the Vita, see also Barnett 1926, 46–47 and 50 n.8. 6 Huneycutt (1989, 94) suggests that the Vita was composed around 1104, although Baker (1978a, 130) argues for an earlier date. 7 Quotations here are from a translation of the Vita by W. Forbes-Leith (1896, rpt. 1980), cited herein as Life. The Vita referred to here is included in the Bollandists’ Acta Sanctorum: see Vita auct. Theodorico Monacho Dunelm. Confessario ipsius Sanctæ, ad filiam Mathildem Angliæ Reginam, ex Membraneo nostro Ms. Valcellensi. Acta Sanctorum [Jun. ii]; see also Hodgson Hinde 1868, I:234–54. 8 Queenship was most often taught in families, with knowledge about the proper conduct of a woman within the court passed down from mother to daughter; however, Matilda would never benefit from such an exchange. In 1086 Matilda was sent to Romsey Abbey and placed in the care of Christina, her maternal aunt; later she went to Wilton Abbey before returning to Scotland a few months before the deaths of her parents in 1093. By that point Margaret was extremely ill and it is unlikely that she herself would have ever been able to share any of her wisdom with her thirteen-year-old daughter. For Matilda’s childhood, see Hilton 2008, 41; Ritchie 1954, 75–77; Huneycutt 2004 and 1989, 89. For the teaching of queenship within families, see McCleery 2006, 691. 9 Her insistence on such improvements to the court might have been seen by her contemporaries as a product of her English upbringing, for the Normans were known for a “marked taste for ceremony, for magnificence, for noble and splendid mansions, [and] their love of colour and gaudy clothes” (Ritchie 1954, 70–71; see also Barnett 1926, 45). 10 Barrow (1973, 166–67 and 189) notes that before 1070 there was “nothing in Scotland resembling at all the type of monastic or regular life generally familiar in the west”, and no religious communities between the Forth and Tweed. The closest thing to such organizations were the Culdees, loose networks of anchorites, eremetics, and ascetics who observed no formal hierarchy or organization and were based in places like Loch Leven, Abernethy, Muthill, Brechin, Monymusk, and Old Deer (Barrow 1973, 190–91; see also Barnett 1926, 64–65). 11 Although the queen held the Culdean holy men in high regard, she nevertheless retained a religious idealism based on adherence to the accepted laws of Rome and the Benedictine Rule, both of which were advocated in the court of Stephen I of Hungary where she had spent her childhood; she therefore found the Celtic monasticism of the Culdees foreign, if not altogether backward. For a summary of her reforms, see Barrow 1973, 196. 12 Duncan (1975, 117) questions whether Margaret really could have played such a role in the reforms, noting that there is no secular supporting evidence for Turgot’s

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account, and suggesting that she was perhaps a focus of change, rather than its agent or instigator. According to Barnett (1926, 45), “the whole tendency of the eleventh and twelfth centuries was for European forms of culture and religion to spread northwards” and that “Margaret was only the chief means of bringing this renascence of life and religion to Scotland”, concluding that “if she had not done it, doubtless someone else would”. For Turgot’s account of what would be known as the Council of Five Points, see Vita, 331d–2e. The queen’s well-known piety might have to some extent allowed for her adoption of such a public role: as Salih (2001, 45) observes, “reputations for private and visionary sainthood [could] authorise the adoption of a public role”. 13 The allusion is to Proverbs 13.24. Turgot also adds that Margaret’s actions were successful, for “thanks to their mother’s religious care, her children surpassed in good behaviour many who were their elders” (Life, 9; cf. Vita, 329f). 14 Although by then her sainthood was already accepted and established, the secular tone of Turgot’s composition prevailed when, in 1661, an advice text for the daughters of English nobles called The Idæa of a Perfect Princesse, in the Life of St Margaret Queen of Scotland With Elogiums on her Children, David, and Mathilda Queen of England was printed in Paris, having been translated from an identical French text that had been printed the year before (see Rushforth 2007, 100). 15 The Vita comprises the first seventeen folios of the Madrid compilation, and the Miracula are placed last, on folios 26r–41v. The Miracula are edited and translated by Bartlett (2003, 70–145). For the history of the manuscript, see also Durkan 1969. 16 Accounts of Margaret’s genealogy are found elsewhere in the manuscript compilation, and so the omission of this aspect of Margaret’s biography may just be the result of an economical desire to avoid repetition in the manuscript. Nevertheless, the abbreviated Vita appears first, and Margaret’s genealogical descent is not described until folio 21v; the ancestry of the House of Dunkeld and its descendants does, therefore, seem to have been a lesser concern for the monks of Dunfermline. I would like to thank Sally Mapstone for sharing with me Robert Bartlett’s unpublished work on the Madrid Vita, which highlights its distinctive features. 17 For Ælred, see Migne 1844–64, Cols 711d–38a; for William, see Mynors et al. 1998. 18 See Skene 1871–72; Bower 1987–98; Skene 1877; Wyntoun 1903–14. Margaret is also represented in Boece’s Latin Scotorum Historiæ (1527), which was translated and augmented by John Bellenden Chronicles of Scotland (1537). 19 See also Boardman 2002, 61–65; Broun 1999, 196; and Tod 2005, 91. 20 Boardman (1997, 23) explains how: “the works of Fordun, Wyntoun…and Bower tend to justify and celebrate the success of the Bruce/Stewart royal line…and to link the triumph of the dynasty with a more general historical vindication of the Scottish kingdom and Scottish kingship”. Pictorial evidence also emphasizes this association; the Corpus Christi manuscript of the Scotichronicon (Cambridge, Corpus Christi MS 171) includes the arms of Edward the Confessor

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(Margaret’s grandfather), which also appear next to James V’s arms in the heraldic ceiling of St Machar’s Cathedral; see Boardman 2002, 67. 21 For the Battle of Largs in the Miracula, see Bartlett 2003, 86–89. 22 Margaret is invoked, along with Andrew and Ninian, as a patron of Scotland in Wyntoun’s description of the battle at Roslin in 1303 (1903–14, V:338, ll. 2531–32). Her reputation as divine protectress was still strong when, in 1513, she was again paired with St Andrew; as the doomed troops marched to Flodden, they followed standards emblazoned with images depicting the two national saints; see Higgitt 2003, 14. 23 This was the culmination of a concerted effort by Alexander II (1198–1249) to canonize his great-great grandmother. In 1245, he wrote to Innocent IV (d.1254) to request an enquiry into the admittance of Margaret to the catalogue of saints. An investigation was conducted, but the pope was dissatisfied with the report; the following year he ordered a second enquiry. Although there is no record of a papal bull establishing Margaret as a saint, a letter dated 16 September 1249 shows the success of the second enquiry, and a letter dated five days later granted an indulgence of forty days to pilgrims who visited Dunfermline for Margaret’s feast on 19 June. Wyntoun (1903–14, V:108, l. 3080) also notes that the translation of Margaret’s relics was made in accordance with a papal bull. For the papal letters regarding Margaret’s canonization, see Innes 1842, 181–83. 24 Wyntoun’s is the earliest surviving account of the translatio, but he refers to others that predate his, as well as his inclination to replace them; “of þis solempnyt translatioun / Before þis is maid mentioun; / Bot noþer is notit þe ‫܌‬ere, / Nor ‫܌‬it þe myrakle writtin heire” (1903–14, V:110, ll. 3105–08). Wyntoun’s lament that the miracle had not yet been recorded suggests that the narrative is probably a later cultic development and casts doubt on the historicity of the event, which itself is representative of a hagiographical convention found elsewhere in medieval legenda. 25 The thirteenth-century translatio narratives are catalogued by the Bollandists as Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina (BHL) 5328–29. 26 See Appendix (following) and Beveridge 1917, xxxii–xxxv. 27 Breuiarij Aberdonensis ad percelebris ecclesie Scotorum potissimum vsum et consuetudinem Pars hyemalis. For an edited facsimile: Blew 1854. For Margaret, see, in volume two, Pars Estivalis, Junius, fols 1ra–1vb and November 162rb– 163ra. 28 Until the implementation of the Aberdeen Use, there was near-universal ascription of medieval Scottish cathedrals (the exceptions being St Andrews and Whithorn) to the Rite of Sarum represented in the Breviarium ad Usum Insignis Ecclesiae Sarum (Galbraith, 1970, 16). 29 See Breviarium Aberdonense Pars Estivalis, Junius fol. 1ra–vb. 30 The feasts are variously recognized in other early Scottish calendars. The Martyrologium Secundum Usum Ecclesiae Aberdonensis, found in a fifteenthcentury manuscript now catalogued as Edinburgh, University Library MS 50, notes the queen’s biographic details on 13 July in its calendar: probably the result of a conflation between her and Margaret the Virgin of Antioch, whose feast is traditionally celebrated on that day. The Arbuthnott calendar (1491) contains both

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observations, but only the translation in June is observed in the calendars of Culenross and Nova Farina, also from the late fifteenth century. Printed calendars from Scotland also demonstrate variation; both the translation and the obit are listed in Adam King’s calendar (1588) and the Scottish Menologium (1622). David Camerarius’ calendar of 1631, however, only observes the feast of the translation (noting the day as 10 June), while the 1637 Scottish Prayerbook’s Kalendar includes only the November celebration (see Forbes 1872, 101, 107 [Arbuthnott], 58 [Culenross], 72 [Nova Farina], 155, 167 [King], 203, 219 [Menologium], 28 [Camerarius], and 257 [Scottish Prayerbook]). Although 19 June was the traditional date of her feast in the Middle Ages, in 1693 Pope Innocent XII (1615– 1700) changed the universal celebration of St Margaret’s day to the tenth of the month to complement the birthday of James II’s son (Rushforth 2007, 100 and Wilson 1993, 103; see also Arnold-Forster 1899, I:136). Rushforth notes that, for unidentified reasons, the feast had been celebrated on that day in 1673 and in 1678 was moved to 8 July (2007, 100). Camerarius’ calendar predates all of these, and suggests that the practice of moving Margaret’s feast began earlier than suggested by Rushforth and Wilson. 31 Bishop Elphinstone had a personal copy of the Scotichronicon and also might have had a copy of Wyntoun’s vernacular Chronicle; see Macfarlane 1985, 234. 32 See Appendix (following). 33 Bower (V:296, l. 14) describes how the monks and abbots moved the coffin “ad cencellariariam portam”, but the Liber Pluscardensis (Skene 1877, I:82) uses “artam portem cancellariae”, which is rendered into the Breviarium Aberdonense account as “ad artam cancellarie partem” (Pars Estivalis, Junius fol. 1va). For the structural development of the church from 1150 until the late Middle Ages, see Beveridge 1917, xxxi–xlvii and unpaginated diagram between xxx–xxxi; see also Henderson 1879, 32–36. 34 See Bower V: 296; Skene 1877, I:82, and Breviarium Aberdonense Pars Estivalis, Junius fol. 1va. 35 In addition to attempts to subjugate the Rule of St Columba to that of St Benedict throughout the kingdom, Margaret’s associations with Benedictine monasticism are also evident in her role in its establishment in Scotland: it was her request that anticipated the reassignment of three monks from the Abbey of the Holy Trinity (Christ Church) in Canterbury to Dunfermline, where they set up a daughter-house in the royal burgh (Barrow 1973, 166–67; see also 193–94). 36 Bartlett notes that the output of the Dunfermline scriptorium shows “interest there in both historical and devotional writing” (2003, xxxii). The Liber Pluscardensis manuscript now found in Glasgow, University Library Gen. 333 was copied there between 1479–97, and the copy now in Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Fairfax 8 was produced in 1489. For the Dunfermline scriptorium, see also Lyall 1989, 248–49. The monks of Dunfermline commemorated their special connection to the saint in the image of their capitular seal, in use from at least 1226, which showed St Margaret and a book, as well as a structure thought to represent her shrine (see Laing 1850, 66, 179–80 and Henderson 1879, 70–71).

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This translation of relics is related in an account of a miracle wherein a girl called Emma is cured of a toothache (apparently, one of Margaret’s medical specialties); see Bartlett 2003, xli–ii and 92–95. 38 For the Scottish liturgy of Margaret’s obit, see Breviarium Aberdonense Pars Estivalis, November 162rb–3ra. The inclusion of Margaret’s nobilitas generis, which follows Turgot, suggests that the liturgy was based on a faithful rendition of the Vita (although no medieval Scottish witnesses to this have been identified) rather than the version found in the Madrid manuscript. 39 Margaret’s name was added to the dedication of the church after 1150 (see Beveridge 1917, xxiii). 40 This may be the same book containing the Biblical accounts of the four Evangelists described by Turgot as one of Margaret’s most beloved treasures and a favourite aid for her devotions; Malcolm is said to have commissioned a richly jewelled cover for it. For Turgot’s account of the Gospel book: Life, 22 and Vita, 333f–334a. Margaret’s Gospel book is traditionally identified as one that is now Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Lat. liturg. f.5; although the jewelled cover (if there ever was one) has been lost, this artefact does show evidence of water damage. The book now held in the Bodleian can be traced no further than the last quarter of the nineteenth century, when it was found in the parish library of Brent-Ely. For an edited facsimile: Forbes-Leith 1896a. The connection to Margaret is based on the inclusion of a Latin poem on one of the front flyleaves. The poem, transcribed by Barnett (1926, 125–6) relates a story of the book’s loss and recovery that mirrors Turgot’s account of the queen’s Gospel book; see Barnett 1926, 122–23. 41 The earliest record of a dedication honouring Margaret as a saint is a grant made by one Waldeve, earl of Dunbar, between 1160 and 1182. See Database of Dedications to Saints 2007. 42 The Goldin Litany is found in London, British Library MS Arundel 285, fols. 116v–25r; Bennett 1955, 205–12. The litany is a Scots version of one that was also known in England; two English copies survive, one in London, Lambeth Palace MS 546, and another in Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Douce 42. The conclusion that the litany refers to the Queen of Scotland rather than the Virgin of Antioch is based on the fact that no Margaret is mentioned in the English representatives of the litany; furthermore, the queen is the only saint in the list who seems to have been considered a widow. 43 There are few indications of the queen’s veneration outside of royal and monastic circles; she must have figured in popular imagination through her commemoration in place names such as North and South Queensferry, ports she established for poor pilgrims at the Firth of Forth, and St Margaret’s Inch in Forfar. In 1455, a chaplainry was dedicated to her in Dundee, the first known foundation dedicated to her outside of the royal seats of Dunfermline and Edinburgh. In 1508, an aisle at the chapel of Forfar was installed in her honour. There was also a holy well dedicated to the queen about a mile north-east of Dunfermline, which was decorated each year on her feast day until the practice was banned in 1691 (see Database 2007 and Henderson 1879, 320). 44 For James IV’s dedications to St Margaret, see Database 2007, “Margaret of Scotland”.

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APPENDIX Scottish Descriptions of the Translation of St Margaret’s Relics Wyntoun 1903–14, V:108, ll. 3067–89, 3085–98: “Off a myrakle of commendatioun [t]hat fell at Sanct Margaretis translation”: That ‫܌‬ere with veneratioun Off Sanct Margaret, þe haly queen. Off a faire myrakle þare wes sene … With all þar power and þar slycht Hir corps to rai[se] þai had na mycht To lift hir anys out of þat place Quhare scho þat tyme lyand was, For all þar deuotionis, For fasting na for orisonis, That all þe personis semblit þare Did on full deuote manare, Till first þai tuke vp þe body Off hir lord, þat lay þarby And baire it be in to þe queire; And syne, liftit of ane faire manere, Hire cor[pse] þai tuke vp and haire ben, And entyrit þaim togidder þen.

Bower 1987–98, V:296, ll. 9–19, “De translacione glebe corporis sanctissime Margarete regine”: Nec defuit ibidem divinum miraculum. Nam cum thesaurus ille percelebris in exteriori ecclesia locatus ad recondendum in choro supra maius altare, ut honorifice previsum fuerat, per sacratas presulum et abbatum manus de facili sustolleretur, et processionaliter cantantibus organis et choro canora voce concinente deportaretur usque ad cencellariariam portam corpori viri sui regis Malcolmi jacentis sub testudine archuali a parte boreali navis ecclesie eque oppositam, brachia mox ferencium reddebantur stupida, et preponderis gravitudine ulterius non poterant feretrum cum reliquiis amovere. Sed velint nolint coacti sunt stacionem facere et onus ocius ad solum reponere.

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Liber Pluscardensis (Skene 1877), I:82, “De translacione glebae corporis beatissimae Margaretae reginae”: Nec defuit ibidem divinae graciae miraculum; nam, cum thesaurus ille percelebris in ecclesia exteriori primo locaretur, et novissime ad locandum in summitate magni altaris in choro, ut honorifice praevisum fuerat, per sacras episcoporum et abbatum manus de facili sustolleretur et processionaliter, cantantibus organis et in choro canora voce, portaretur usque ad artam portam cancellariae, prope tumbam viri sui regis Malcolmi, in boriali parte navis ulterioris ecclesiae sub testudine arthuali jacentis, in parte opposita, ecce mox ferencium brachia redduntur quasi lassa et stupida, sic quod prae molosi, ponderis gravitate, ulterius non poterant feretrum cum sanctis reliquiis de loco amovere, ymmo, velint nolint, coacti [sunt] protenus stacionem in eodem loco facere, et onerosum feretrum ad terram ibidem pausare.

Breviarium Aberdonense, “Translacion (Pars Estivalis, Junius, fol. 1v):

sancta

Margarete

regine”

Nec defuit ibidem divine gracie miraculum. Namque cum thesaurus ille reliquiarum processionaliter a tumba illa lapidea ducum et comitum manibus deportaretur de ecclesia inferiori ad chorum eiusdem usque ad artam cancellarie partem ubi tunc quondam mariti sui Malcolmi regis scotorum ossa et reliquie eiusdem in boriali parte nauis ecclesie ulterioris sub testudine archuali in opposito iacebant mox ferencium brachia reddebantur in tantum fatigata et lassa prae nimia ponderis grauitate quod feretrum ipsum cum reliquis de loco ammoveri non poterant. Adiunctis insuper pontificum mandatis aliis portitoribus illis forcioribus qui quanto magis levare conabantur tanto minus feretrum ipsum levere seu remouere poterant.

“GELY WYTH THARMYS OF SCOTLAND ENGLAND”: WORD, IMAGE AND PERFORMANCE AT THE MARRIAGE OF JAMES IV AND MARGARET TUDOR SARAH CARPENTER

An English visitor from the City of London brought back a souvenir from the banquet celebrating Margaret Tudor’s reception into Edinburgh in 1503 as the new bride of James IV. Copied into “The Great Chronicle of London” in the Guildhall Library is a menu of the three courses of the feast: the last course opened with “Gely wyth tharmys of Scotland” and “Gely wyth tharmys of Scotland England” (Guildhall MS 3313, fol. 301r). This translucent and ephemeral gelatinous image is a vivid instance of the topic of this paper. It records the most fleeting of the many ways in which this significant political event was first imagined and then promulgated through heraldic images to those taking part in and those witnessing royal Scottish ceremonial. A great deal of expert work has been done on the ceremonial celebrations, the literature and the images connected with this marriage. Douglas Gray (1998) has written an enlightening essay on the royal entry of Margaret into Edinburgh; Priscilla Bawcutt (1986) has established in revealing detail the backgrounds to the heraldic images of, in particular, the thistle and the lion.1 This paper is more concerned with the dynamics of ceremonial performance. Its purpose is to concentrate not so much on the images themselves and their traditional meanings, but on the media through which they were presented and the way in which they engaged spectators, audiences and participants in the events. How were these heraldic images used to imagine and conceptualize the marriage and its implications? How were they offered, embodied or enacted? How were they aimed to affect those involved in or witnessing the various stages of the event? These questions are as much about ceremonial and performance as about the images themselves. Ceremonial is clearly a particular kind of

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performance. It shares many of the features we associate with drama: spectacular embodiment; the immediacy of reception by spectators and witnesses; the ephemerality of live enactment. But it can also include an important element of Austin’s notion of performativity. Like Austin’s famous “performative utterances” in which, he points out, “to say something is to do something”, the spectacle of ceremony is not only aesthetic or representational, but can enact or make real that which it represents (1962, 12).2 This paper aims to trace the Scots’ use of heraldic imagery not only to represent and to explain, but to embody and to perform the marriage of James IV and Margaret Tudor. We can trace the beginning of the Scots’ imaginative conceptualization of the marriage from early in the proceedings. The initial agreement took place in London, where a party of Scots ambassadors arrived in November 1501, resulting in the formal betrothal of the twelve year old Margaret to the Earl of Bothwell, standing proxy for James. That betrothal in January 1502 was marked by elaborate English court performances. The Scots ambassadors had arrived in London in the middle of a series of spectacular disguisings and tournaments that Henry VII had mounted to mark what seemed the far more important marriage of Arthur, Prince of Wales to Katherine of Aragon. For Margaret’s betrothal one of the pageant car disguisings from that earlier marriage was revived, “a goodly Pageant, curiously wrought with Fenestrallis, having many Lights brenning in the same, in Manner of a Lantron, out of which sorted divers Sortes of Morisks” (Leland 1770, IV:263).3 This particular revival may have been chosen, as Gordon Kipling persuasively argues (1990, xxiii), because of its especially striking spectacle; but equally, of the various pageants of November 1501, it was one of the least specifically related to the circumstances and imagery of the Anglo-Spanish marriage, making it more readily transferable to the new occasion. Although splendid, the relation of this disguising to the new marriage was inevitably somewhat second-hand. The celebration of the betrothal and the accompanying “Treaty of Perpetual Peace” in January 1502 was clearly a relief to both nations, although it does not seem to have been a source of spontaneous jubilation. Relations between England and Scotland had been unsettled and often illtempered for years, and the tentative negotiation for such a marriage and treaty had been proceeding by fits and starts since at least 1496 (Macdougall 1989, 248–49). Scotland, in particular, therefore needed to develop a means of presenting the alliance which would emphasize its benefits in the most rhetorically persuasive way. Within two months of the January betrothal, we find the Scots beginning to formulate new imagery

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to present and publicize the alliance. Sometime in February or March, Walter Ogilvie, a member of the Scots delegation to London to agree the treaties, wrote a panegyric to Henry VII (Ogilvie 1502 [NLS Adv. 33.2.24]).4 This eulogy focused primarily on the glorious marriage alliance the English king was forming with Scotland. Written in the encomiastic style favoured by Henry, it first picks up the well-established imagery of Tudor propaganda in presenting Margaret as the parti-coloured “red and white” rose of the combined houses of Lancaster and York:5 hec margareta candore niues quem a matre rosa candida contraxat: superare videtur: purpureum uero genitoris roseumque decorem ab omni parte equauit: Ita ex vtroque paterno scilicet roseoque decore maternoque candore pulcherrimum gratissimumque contemperamentum in hac margareta fecit natura. (Ogilvie, fol. 4v) [This Margaret/pearl seems to outdo the snow in whiteness which she inherited from the white rose her mother; she has fully equalled the rosyred beauty of her father. Thus Nature has made in this Margaret/pearl a fair and most attractive mingling from each—the fatherly, rosy beauty and the motherly whiteness.]

But Ogilvie then expands this heraldic motif to embody the new marriage. The rose Margaret encounters the lion of Scotland: Hec est enim margareta que sola ex omnibus principum atque regum filiabus Magnanimum sibi illum generosissimumque leonem Jacobum scotorum regem strenuissimum haud aliter In sui amorem traxit: quam magnes ferrum succinum paleas trahere solet. ...sic ussit leonem margarete nitor splendentis pario marmore purius. …Curret generosus ille leo post odorem rose gratissimum. (Ogilvie, fol. 4v–6r) [This is the Margaret who alone of all kings’ and princes’ daughters drew to her love that chivalrous and most noble lion, the most vigorous James, King of Scots; none otherwise than the magnet draws the iron, or amber a straw. …thus the beauty of the shining Margaret, purer than Parian marble, inflames the lion. …That noble lion runs after the most attractive perfume of the rose.]

The Tudor exploitation of heraldic symbols is extended to the Stewart line, via the royal arms of Scotland, the single lion rampant. The lion enters a relationship with the rose more metaphorically vivid (and in fact significantly less compromised and uneasy) than the political alliance of James and Margaret, Scotland and England, was known to be. Ogilvie’s work seems designed not only to impress Henry VII but to present an

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embodied image of the beauty, strength and harmony of the national alliance to encourage imaginative assent amongst courtly readers. As preparations for the Edinburgh marriage gathered pace, the ceremonial vision continued to draw on this readily available heraldic focus. Both countries adorn the proceedings with their own arms, shifting from the verbal and literary to the material and visual. The English prepared for Margaret’s journey to Scotland a bed of estate with “a scochyn [escutcheon] of our armes to be set on the said bedde with two of our own bests [heraldic beasts]”, while similar heraldic badges adorned an altar cloth, a “sadyll and a pillyon” and a litter (Bain 1881–88, IV:344– 46). Even her baggage wagons were “couered with couuerynges whytt & grene [the Tudor livery colours] the armes of scotlaund & of inglaund halff parted with Red Rosys & portecollies crowned” (Young 1502, fol. 78v; Leland 1770, IV:268). The magnificence of national and genealogical union was thus demonstrated to onlookers along Margaret’s progress. In Scotland, the red lion of the Royal Arms illuminates official documents, decorating the final versions of the treaties of marriage and perpetual peace (London, National Archives, Treaty E39/58; Treaty E39/81); the Arms were carved and painted on the gatehouse of Holyrood palace, newly constructed for the marriage (TA II:383); and perhaps most impressively, they glow from the pages of the spectacular Book of Hours James appears to have commissioned for Margaret (Unterkircher and Wilkie 1987, fols 14v, 24v, 243v).6 Here the king kneels before an altar dominated by his own royal arms while the new Queen’s altar cloth represents the parted arms of the two nations.7 Apart from these formally parted royal arms English heraldic representation seems to focus exclusively on the Lancastrian badges of Margaret’s English heritage. But Scottish imagery, following the same strategy as Ogilvie’s panegyric, is increasingly expanded to include heraldic representations of the new marriage alliance. There is no obvious image of the rose inflaming the lion, or the lion pursuing the perfume of the rose. But designers seem to have quickly moved to a more easily managed partner to the Tudor rose (or sometimes Margaret’s own flower, the daisy): the Scottish thistle. The thistle, first introduced as a Scottish badge under James IV’s father James III, was popularized perhaps especially in relation to this marriage (Bawcutt 1986; Stevenson 2004). The finely illuminated treaty documents prepared by Sir Thomas Galbraith, one of the clerks of the Chapel Royal at Stirling, in addition to the Scottish royal arms show intertwined thistles and roses, with daisies (Treaty E39/81; TA II:350).8 The Flemish Master of James IV, who clearly worked on parts of the Book of Hours with input from Scotland, similarly combined thistles, daisies and roses in the borders.9

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Fig. 1. Detail, London, National Archives E39/81 written and decorated by Thomas Galbraith. By kind permission of the National Archives.

Fig. 2. Detail, Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek Codex 1897, fol. 189v. Reproduced from Unterkircher and Wilkie 1987. By kind permission of Adeva (Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt).

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Although the pairing is not certainly deliberate, at least one margin presents a thistle and a rose growing from a single stem (Unterkircher and Wilkie 1987, fol. 53v). While documentary images of this kind are clearly not in themselves performances, they help to form the visual context for ceremonial enactment. These images feature actively in many aspects of the public wedding spectacle in August 1503. They enact the historic, genealogic linking of nations through a visually imaginative representation, perhaps appearing most dynamically in the climax to the entry pageants that received Margaret into Edinburgh. Unusually for a royal entry, the king accompanied his new bride throughout her entry, and the final pageant seems to address them together as sovereigns before the wedding and investment ceremonies were performed the following day (Gray 1998). Images of rule and government decorated an arch at the Netherbow gate between the High Street and Canongate.10 This gateway marked the passage out from the city proper to the new royal palace of Holyrood and the abbey church where the marriage itself would be performed.11 The arched gate presented the four Cardinal Virtues, traditionally proper to rule: Justice, Fortitude, Temperance and Prudence. Beneath these Virtues, however, was a crucially combined image. John Young, the English Somerset herald who composed a detailed narrative of the entry, describes a “licorne and a greyond yat helded a difference of one chardone florysched & of a Red Rose entrelassed [a unicorn and a greyhound that supported a difference (an addition to a coat of arms) of a thistle flourished (flowering thistle) and of a red rose, interlaced]” (Young 1502, fol. 103r [London, College of Arms 1st M 13]; Leland 1770, IV:290). Unicorns had been established by James III as the supporters of the Scottish Royal Arms, while the greyhound was Henry VII’s sinister supporter: the two beasts now join to support the new device, the interlaced badge of thistle and rose. This image, vividly expressive in itself, formed the setting for a symbolic performed action. As the royal couple approached the arch, “was tabrettes [tabors] yat playd merely [merrily] whill ye noble company past thorough yat same”. The pageant images of heraldic union, offer an expressive symbolic stage space through which the two royal actors move in a gesture that both anticipates and embodies the marriage ceremony, in a public rather than a sacred space. This focus on performing the new relationship can be seen in variously translucent media at the celebration that followed the next day’s wedding ceremony. The windows of the Great Chamber at Holyrood had been finely decorated and newly glazed to form an expressive setting for the marriage feast:

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thorough the glassys wyndowes the armes of scotlaund & of inglaund myperted with the differences beforsaid, chardone & Rose interlassed (Young 1502, fol. 119v; Leland 1770, IV:295) thorough a crowne.12

That stained glass, and the coloured patterns it cast, was complemented by the even more ephemeral display of the jellies. These tremulous images form an especially engaging emblem of the vividly evanescent embodiment of the marriage for the assembled Scots and English spectators and actors.13 This brings us to the most famous and most elaborate exploitation of the heraldic images of union: Dunbar’s poem beginning “Quhen Merche wes with variand windis past” (also known as The Thrissil and the Rois).14 This work offers an imaginative, literary re-conception of the marriage in the form of a late-medieval dream vision. It presents an allegorical vision of Nature summoning all living things and crowning the lion as king of beasts, the eagle as king of birds, and the thistle as king of plants, who is then emblematically united to the rose, crowned queen of flowers. The poem survives for us purely as a literary text; but it is intimately adapted to the network of material performance of heraldic images that embodied and expressed the marriage. This is apparent in more than just Dunbar’s general sensitivity to the theatrical which we find in many of his poems. The detail of “Quhen Merche wes” suggests a close familiarity with the spectacular arrangements for the marriage, and a responsiveness to the particular ceremonial vision of the event. Dunbar picks up the heraldic images which had dominated representations of the marriage from Ogilvie’s 1502 panegyric onwards: much of the power of the poem arises from his developing those static images into a potentially theatrical encounter. The heraldic badges of lion, thistle or rose personified James and Margaret as idealized but static emblems of royal or national identity; Dunbar’s court of Nature draws them into a dynamic action and dialogue that shares many of the features of dramatic performance. Aspects of the poem reveal a direct engagement with performance. Song accompanies the action of the poem throughout, as we know it also accompanied the entry celebrations. The final lyrical hymn of the birds at the close celebrates the Rose in terms that are specific to Margaret Tudor: “Haill, plant of yowth, haill, princes dochtir deir, Haill, blosome breking out of the blud royall Quois pretius vertew is imperiall.” … …“Haill, Rois both reid and quhyt,

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SARAH CARPENTER Most plesand flour of michty cullouris twane!” … “Welcome to be our princes of honour” (ll. 166–68; 171–72; 179)

This closely echoes a song, set to music in a manuscript in the British Library (MS Royal App. 58, fols 17v–18r; Elliott 2003, 6–8). The song must have been composed for performance at the entry: Young tender plant of pulcritud Descendyd of Imperyall blode Freshe fragrant floure of ffayre hede shene Welcum of scotlond to be quene Welcum the rose bothe rede & whyte Welcum the floure of oure delyte.

(fols. 17v–18r)

We know that Margaret was received into Edinburgh by “revested Angells syngyng joyously for the Comynge of so noble a Lady” in towers above the city gate (Leland 1770, IV:289). If Dunbar’s birdsong in “Quhen Merche wes” was not itself presented as a live choral performance, it must at least have addressed an audience who would recognize and appreciate its close relationship to these other performed musical events. “Quhen Merche wes with variand windis past” hovers intriguingly between a literary and a performance text. Its intimate relationship to the marriage and entry ceremonial suggests a performance context, yet it survives only as a narrative poem presented for readers in the Bannatyne manuscript. The scenario it creates has strong resemblance to the kind of courtly pageant disguising that the Scots ambassadors witnessed in London, of which Walter Ogilvie gives a brief eye-witness description in his panegyric. There is even a possibility that Dunbar may also have been present at this disguising. While there is no certain proof, various circumstantial evidence might imply that he was part of the Scottish delegation to London. A well-known anecdote records the contribution of a Scottish priest-poet among the ambassadors: In the Crystmess weke ffolowyng the mayer had to dyner my lord chaunceler whom accompanyed the fforenamyd Scottysh ambassadours wyth many othyr honourable men / In tyme of which dyner a Scottysh preyst Syttyng at oon of the syde tablys made thys Balade here vndyr ffoluyng. (Guildhall MS 3313, fol. 292v)

This report is followed by the text of “To London”, sometimes since attributed to Dunbar, even if only on the general grounds of its congruent style and because the tale from the “Great Chronicle of London” supports

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our impression of impromptu engagement with public occasions which seems typical of Dunbar (Bawcutt 1992, 81–82). Supporting evidence for a possible visit to London at around this time comes from the Treasurer’s Accounts. A payment listed on or after 20 December 1501 records the payment of an instalment of Dunbar’s pension: “Item to maister William dunbar quhilk wes payit to him eftir he cam furth of Ingland v lib” (NRS E21/5, fol. 89r ). This entry is at the foot of a page, in slightly darker ink, possibly implying that it was added at a later date from the other entries on the leaf. While this evidence certainly does not prove Dunbar’s presence at the 26 November disguising, it does add circumstantial support to the impression that he could have been among the eye-witnesses. The disguising, that Ogilvie if not Dunbar attended, offered a heraldic celebration of the marriage of Arthur and Katherine of Aragon. Two symbolic mountains were wheeled into the hall, one “grene, plantid full of fresshe trees” representing Arthur and England, the other “like unto a roche skorgid and brent with the soone” representing Spain and Katherine (Kipling 1990, 66). The mountains were chained together and carried musicians “makyng great and swete melody”. This national symbolism offers a parallel, if not a model, for imaginative spectacular embodiment of an international marriage which resonates with Dunbar’s choice of the animated Lion, Eagle, Thistle and Rose in a garden “[o]f herb and flour and tendir plantis sweit” (l. 48) with “the blisfull soune of cherarchy [the celestial hierarchies]” (l. 57). The striking English pageants seem not to have included dialogue; Dunbar’s poem, which describes an analogous action and is sensitive to many aspects of live performance, elaborates the spectacle and its meaning in poetic text. If “Quhen Merche wes” is not, formally, a performance, it suggests a sophisticated verbal engagement with one. Gordon Kipling has pointed out how the English pageant disguisings frequently attempt to re-create the scenarios of late medieval dream visions (1977, 107–09). Dunbar seems to reverse the process, reimagining the model of pageant entry in the medieval form of the dream vision.15 Much more uncertain is any direct connection of the poem to performance. We do not know what reception it was designed for: private or public reading, some kind of spectacle, or even full enactment as a disguising pageant. In spite of its extensive passages of direct speech, the framework of the text is plainly narrative rather than dramatic, and no concrete evidence survives for any kind of disguising performance during the wedding festivities. But it is worth considering the role of the only dramatic performers known to have contributed to the revels. Henry VII

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had ensured that his daughter was accompanied to Scotland not only by professional musicians but also by a company of players, headed by John English, leader of “les pleyars of the Kyngs enterludes” (Kipling 1981, 152–55). It seems at least possible that these players were sent because Henry had learned that formal dramatic performance was not as yet an established feature of the Scottish court. There is certainly no evidence that James’ court provided for the wedding any of the spectacular indoor theatrical pageantry that Henry VII’s had developed. Young’s report of the Scottish celebrations refers to jousting, music and elaborate acrobatic displays, but the only brief allusions to dramatic entertainment are associated with the visiting English players. On 11 August, the third day after the marriage, Young records that: “After the soupper the kynge & the qwene togeder in ye grett chambre of hyre playd Johne inglysche and hys companyons after Ichon went hys way” (fol. 124r; Leland 1770, IV:299). Two days later, on what appears to be the last day of formal festivity: “after dynnar was playd sum moralite by thesaid inglish & hys companyons the kyng & the qwene ware yare & after daunces ware daunced” (fol. 125r; Leland 1770, IV:300). No detail is given of the nature of these performances. In London, John English was involved not only in the playing of interludes but also as a deviser / producer of the new pageant car disguisings; he had in fact been responsible for the spectacular lantern pageant which had been played for the marriage of Arthur and Katherine and had then been revived for the betrothal of Margaret and James in January 1502 (Kipling 1990, xxiii). Neither time nor resource would have allowed for such a display at Edinburgh. But Gordon Kipling (1981, 154) has pointed out that the company was “a troupe whose strong suit was spectacle” and John English’s expertise in this area, along with his possible acquaintance with some of the Scottish embassy, may well have inflected his company’s activity at the wedding. There is one surprising and possibly suggestive element of Young’s account: his use of the phrase “was playd sum moralite”. We are now so familiar with the term “morality play” that we tend to forget that this did not emerge in English as a name for a genre of drama until the eighteenth century (Twycross 2006, 454–55). In 1503 Young’s introduction of it is exceptional (Bawcutt 2006). It is possible that he was simply borrowing from French, where the moralité was a well-established theatrical form which was designed “to teach a moral lesson by means of allegorical personifications” (Knight 1989, 75). There are a number of French borrowings in Young’s account (such as deessys, chardon), often connected to his heraldic interests. But there seems little reason to introduce a French

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term at this non-heraldic point when normal English usage for plays of this type, interlude, was readily available. More probably, perhaps, Young is using the word in its English, literary but non-dramatic sense, especially as he refers to the less discrete “sum moralite” rather than to “a moralite”. Literary use of the term at this period can refer simply to serious or moral content.16 But in English, as in French, the literary meaning tends to shade over into something closer to allegory.17 This is often linked to the form of the fable, as when Chaucer’s Nuns’ Priest urges readers to “taketh the moralitee” of the fable of the cock and the fox. But it can also be applied more generally, as when Lydgate explains, in “A Seyinge of the Nightingale”, “Þis briddes song… / Who þat take þe moralytee, / Betokeneþe… / Þe gret fraunchyse, þe gret liberte, / Which shoulde in loue beo” (ll. 64–68). Young’s phrase “sum moralite”, may very well refer not specifically to what we now think of as a morality play but to any broadly ethical performance with an allegorical interpretation. “Quhen Merche wes” fits well with this sense of the term moralite. An ethical work offering welcome to the queen and advice to the king, it is also a heraldic allegory which invites interpretation. Our only witness of the text seems to agree, for it is placed by compiler George Bannatyne in the section of his manuscript concerned with “the fabillis of Esop with diuers vþir fabillis and poeticall workis”. Addressing the “redar” directly, Bannatyne claims that in these poems “ar hid but dowt / Grave materis wyiss and sapient / Vnder the workis of poyetis gent” (Ritchie 1928–34, IV:116–17). None of this, of course, proves or even implies that “Quhen Merche wes” formed the basis of any performance by John English and his players. But it does at least suggest that when Young unusually chooses to specify “sum moralite” the term is one that would not at this period commonly designate a “morality play”, but could be taken as appropriate for a performance relating to a work like Dunbar’s poem. Young’s unexpected choice of terminology might even hint that the troupe’s performance was slightly unusual in form. There is at least scope to imagine some kind of presentation of Dunbar’s vision that was neither clearly an interlude nor a disguising: a scaled down performance of a pageant disguising, or an enacted reading rather than an interlude, performed by professionals with experience of both forms. This is not a necessary conclusion of the evidence. There may be no material connection at all between English’s company and Dunbar’s poem. But there remains a reinforced sense of the detailed theatricality both of “Quhen Merche wes” and its occasional context. Dunbar has chosen to write in very sophisticated ways to readers who are cast as audiences, listeners who are cast as spectators. It is clear that the Scots were

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concerned to enact the marriage of James and Margaret both visually and verbally, and to concentrate this presentation around the moment of the wedding. Dunbar was plainly alert to the programme of presentation and his poem both responded to and developed further many of the performed images that accompanied the celebrations. The poem expands our sense of late medieval response to ceremonial as performance, and to performance as a very particular means of engaging spectators in the meaning of what they witness. “Quhen Merche wes with variand windis past” may also contribute to another feature of the wedding celebration and spectacle. The various performances associated with the marriage offer suggestive evidence of some degree of influence and interaction between Scotland and England. This is perhaps most vividly summed up in James IV’s apparently impromptu arrangement of a musical duet between Scots and English courtiers. When Sir Edward Stanley, one of the English retinue, sang and played for the royal couple, the king “incountynent he called a gentylman of hys yat could synge well & maid them synge togeder the wiche accorded varey well” (Young 1502, fol. 96v/97r; Leland 1770, IV:284).18 Performance became the arena for enacted national harmony. In elaborating their own artistic response to the marriage of their king, the Scots not only emphasized the linking of the two nations, but drew on and developed images, theatrical forms, possibly even performers from England. The new national alliance was notoriously fragile, emerging from a climate of political frustration between the two countries and ending only ten years later with death of James at the hands of English forces at Flodden. It is perhaps the very transience of performance that allowed for the vividness of the images of unity and the artistic co-operation. The “Gely wyth tharmys of Scotland England” proved a fitting emblem not only for the performances, but for the national union itself.

Notes 1

See also Fradenburg 1991, 67–149; Carpenter 2009a. Austin did not himself consider the complex relationship between this concept of the performative and theatrical performance, but it contributes to much recent theorizing. See Loxley 2007, 139–166. 3 For an account of this pageant at the earlier marriage, see Kipling 1990, 60. 4 Ogilvie’s assumption in the panegyric that Prince Arthur is still alive dates its composition to a narrow window between the betrothal on 25 January and Arthur’s death on 2 April 1502. It is possible that this death made it inappropriate to present the panegyric to Henry VII, leaving the only copy in Scotland where, by the early seventeenth century, it had devolved to the officers of arms. 2

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For panegyric at Henry’s court see Kipling 1981; Wahlgren-Smith 2000. For the Book of Hours see Macfarlane 1960. 7 The Book of Hours includes other allusions to Scottish ceremonial heraldry. One illuminated border explicitly echoes the dressing of the Scottish sword of honour: purple velvet with the motto “in my defens” picked out in pearls, Unterkircher and Wilkie 1987, fol. 189v; cf. Young 1502, fol. 99v (Leland 1770, IV:287). James’ royal embroiderer had been paid £4 for his labour in dressing the sword of honour with purple velvet, gold and pearls for the wedding entry, see TA, II:206. 8 The parallel English version (Treaty SP6/31) is decorated with red Lancastrian roses alone. In the Book of Hours the image of St Margaret has a border of alternating daisies and thistles (Unterkircher and Wilkie 1987, fol. 56r). 9 It is often argued that the artist was Gerard Horenbout; see, for example, Macfarlane 1960, 18–20. Although the illuminations show many references to James and Margaret it is not clear how far the floral borders are standard patterns rather than specific to the commission. 10 Ian Campbell (1997) argues that this may be the first instance in Britain of a Renaissance triumphal arch. 11 For the topography of the entry see Lynch and Dennison 2005, 37–39. 12 “Miparti” is the heraldic term for arms which are divided in half and joined together longwise to express alliance. 13 Jelly art at royal banquets was clearly highly sophisticated. I am grateful to Meg Twycross for pointing out the menu for Henry VI’s coronation which included “Gely wrytyn and notyd Te Deum laudamus”, an even more direct embodiment of performance (Gairdner 1876, 169). 14 All quotations are from Bawcutt’s edition, Dunbar 1996. 15 For further suggestive reflection on the relation of Dunbar’s dream vision poetry to court pageant disguising, see King 1984. 16 See, for example, Kingis Quair, ll. 1376–77, where Gower and Chaucer are cited as “poetis laureate / In moralitee and eloquence ornate”. 17 The MED defines this (sense 2c) as “the spiritual or moral significance or interpretation of a tale, name, season, etc”. 18 For a vivid account of Edward Stanley’s musical talents see Baldwin et al 2009, 31–33. 6

THE BOOK OF THE DEAN OF LISMORE: THE LITERARY PERSPECTIVE WILLIAM GILLIES

This paper is about the cloth of late medieval Gaelic literature (both the cut and the texture) and the fabric of late medieval Gaelic literary society, as glimpsed in National Library of Scotland MS 72.1.37, that is, the Book of the Dean of Lismore (hereafter BDL). In it I shall review some points which have emerged from my work, including published editions of individual poems from BDL, over the last three decades, and collect some conclusions aired in unpublished overviews of this taxing and tantalizing but always rewarding source.1 I should explain that my title contains a deliberate reference to Martin MacGregor’s recent writings on BDL, in which the historical perspective has been so fruitfully exploited.2 This reference is not hostile in intent; on the contrary, it is intended to acknowledge the fact that, when deployed sympathetically and constructively, historical scholarship can powerfully enhance literary endeavours, and to suggest that the benefit can be reciprocated. It is worth recording that recent work by other scholars has in general shown this benign tendency to unite literary and historical perspectives, providing further breadth and depth to our understanding of various aspects of BDL, and encouraging the thought that the time is ripe for a fresh initiative to resolve the more intractable linguistic difficulties it presents. If I may dwell for a moment on this last point, eminent scholars like W. J. Watson and E. C. Quiggin devoted years of study to the history, orthography and palaeography of Gaelic and Scots in the late Middle Ages, the technicalities of Classical Gaelic language and metre, and the niceties of the Perthshire dialect of Gaelic, so that they eventually became sufficiently learned in this esoteric combination of studies to make educated transliterations of BDL’s texts. The next generation of labourers in this field, including Donald Meek and myself, has enjoyed the precious fruits of our predecessors’ work, but have essentially had to go through the same exacting, self-administered apprenticeship before being in any way competent to add to their harvest. This time round we need to fix things so

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that the next generation of scholars does not have to go back to square one. We do have certain advantages over earlier scholars, including the ability to harness computer power to help us at several levels. That is why I feel it is time for a final (or at least a major) assault on BDL, and hope to be spared to take part in that assault. As a consequence, the following exposition has the subsidiary aim of strengthening the case for making this assault, principally by reminding ourselves why this musty little book should be regarded as one of Scotland’s “premier league” national treasures.3 My main aim, however, has been to give attention to the “literary perspective”: first, through the various ways in which its compilers engaged in the production of BDL itself, which will hopefully yield some fresh insights into the nature of their enterprise; and secondly by examination of the field of literary reference that they shared, which may help to clarify more general questions of cultural focus and identity. The first scholar to study BDL seriously, and with the technical competency to face up to its many challenges, was Ewen MacLachlan, who analysed and transliterated it in the context of the Highland Society’s enquiry into the authenticity of “Ossian”.4 The edition of Rev. Thomas McLauchlan and William Forbes Skene, published in 1862, was a landmark, both in the sense that BDL’s contents were now placed firmly in the public domain, and inasmuch as the combination of McLauchlan’s familiarity with Gaelic literature and Skene’s pre-eminence as a Celtic and Scottish historian allowed the main aspects of BDL’s cultural milieu to be demonstrated once and for all.5 It fell to the twentieth-century scholars, of whom Quiggin and Watson were the doyens, to provide genuinely scholarly transcriptions and annotated editions of individual poems from BDL; and this tradition has been maintained by, amongst others, Donald Meek and the present writer.6 There has also been a considerable amount of research in areas which are directly or indirectly relevant both to the general background of BDL and to the elucidation of some of its specific challenges. We may note under the heading of general relevance the completion and digitization of the Dictionary of the Older Scottish Tongue and the Royal Irish Academy Dictionary of the Irish Language, the digitization of Edward Dwelly’s Illustrated Gaelic Dictionary and the completion by Katharine Simms and the Dublin Institute of Advanced Studies of the Bardic Poetry Database.7 But despite these enhancements to the scholarly environment, the content of BDL remains hard of access. There are still some poems (mostly stray quatrains or fragmentary poems or verses that are hard to read) that have not been published at all; and there are many more poems which have not been adequately edited (including poems which have been

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edited from other, mostly Irish sources, but without proper attention to the testimony of BDL). Its linguistic testimony remains obscure because a combination of historical, physical, palaeographical and linguistic factors has prevented systematic analysis and comprehensive evaluation, which in turn inhibits exploration of the texts as literature. Some of the texts which have been preserved only in the obscurity of BDL are without close parallel anywhere else, which raises an additional layer of doubt about individual readings; and their uniqueness can sometimes leave one uncertain even as to what is the correct cultural setting to assume, whether pan-Gaelic or Scottish Gaelic or Scottish. Finally, the existence of texts which occur in variant forms or show signs of minor or, in some cases, of major editorial interference, reminds us that we still know too little about the status of BDL: do we possess the “real” Book of the Dean of Lismore, or notes towards the same, or excerpts from it, or what? We therefore have to recognize that answers to questions like those just posed are bound to be provisional rather than definitive. Moreover, if we find ourselves forced to rely on internal considerations to arrive at even provisional answers, we have to be alive to the risks of circularity and selfdelusion. Even so, if one is consistently aware of the assumptions one is making, plenty of valid questions and interesting possibilities come to the surface in regard to the mentalité and literary-cultural constructs of the compilers of BDL. The longer I study BDL, the clearer it becomes (to me at least) that its authors have made palpable choices about criteria for inclusion and exclusion, and have well-defined attitudes towards their texts. These attitudes can be our starting point. They involve a knot of interrelated issues concerning textuality and inter-textuality, ascription and attribution, genre and category, and authors and audiences. As a way into this nexus I shall organize my remarks into three sections. I shall start by discussing the preferences (and non-preferences) evident in BDL’s literary coverage, then move on to what I have termed the input of the compilers (that is, the various ways in which they interact with their texts), and conclude with some remarks on their literary field of reference. The poem Duanaire na Sracaire, attributed to Finlay Macnab of Bovaine, chief of the Macnabs and a close associate of the Dean of Lismore’s family, has long been seen as commemorating the anthologizing enterprise which is somehow at the heart of BDL. In urging the MacGregors to compile it, Macnab recommends that all sorts of poetic activity be included in the Book.8 However, knowing what we do about the Scottish Gaelic tradition in the early sixteenth century, we have to say that there are omissions. Most notably, BDL contains only syllabic verse

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(dán). There is no place for song-poetry in the accentual metres, either the so-called strophic metres or the amhran, or for the “choral” tradition of song.9 Yet we know these were around, from scattered examples elsewhere, from the slightly later but poetically mature MacGregor songs, from the internal evidence of the older waulking songs, from detailed correspondences between Irish and Scottish Gaelic specimens arguing a common heritage, and so forth. Indeed, if we want direct evidence for accentual metre in BDL, there is just one possible example of an accentual ceangal (or coda) ending a syllabic poem, in the manner that is most commonly associated with seventeenth-century Irish examples.10 The absence of any trace of vernacular Gaelic song-poetry suggests that we are dealing with a fundamentally “words” culture in BDL, presumably one with connotations of social status and gender.11 This ties in well enough with what we know about the men of the Dean of Lismore’s family as clerics, notaries and acolytes of the Campbells of Glenorchy. Within the framework of the syllabic verse tradition, however, BDL shows variety and breadth of coverage in terms of language and diction, presumably corresponding to the differing levels of strictness and subject-matter appropriate to different poetic grades in the cliar or “poetic order”, and to distinctions between professional and amateur poets, and official or unofficial compositions. The language of composition of poems in BDL ranges from the minutely prescribed “classical” Gaelic of official bardic panegyrics to pretty low-key Early Modern Gaelic verses. That this variation was partly the result of choice may be seen from a comparison of poems by one of the amateur poets, Sir Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy. In Teachtaire chuireas i gcéin, a courtly love poem with a wry twist, the diction and linguistic forms are understated but “classical”, as befits the genre. In Bod bríoghmhor atá ag Donnchadh, a praise-poem addressed to a redoubtable male organ, the language rises to the occasion with suitably overblown panegyric compounds and conceits. By contrast, Uch, is mise an gille mór, on the theme of “I was a big man yesterday”, adopts a more conversational, near-vernacular register.12 Within the same syllabic framework one also gets a strong suggestion of metrical variety. In fact, “metrically unusual” seems likely to have been one of the MacGregors’ criteria for inclusion in their anthology, to judge by the number of poems in unusual metres included beside the standard patterns of versification (that is, rannaigheacht, deibhidhe, séadna, aoi freislighe) that are also plentifully present in BDL.13 One notes that some of the metrically unusual poems are also curious in terms of genre or theme; and I have found it expedient to adopt this principle of

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inclusiveness, combining mainstream and out of the way specimens, “classics” and rarities, as a way into the minds of the compilers of BDL. If inclusiveness within the dán tradition can be seen as an aim of the collectors, there are nevertheless some omissions. Many other Gaelic manuscripts with miscellaneous poetic contents contain dramatic lyrics spoken by Colum Cille (St. Columba) or literary figures like Fionn or Deirdre. While BDL contains a fine collection of Fenian ballads and lyrics, the range of non-Fenian poetry in these genres is limited. Again, the MacGregors’ antiquarian interests, evident from their interest in genealogy and history, did not lead them to include poems of place-lore (dinnsheanchas) relating to their own area or to the Highlands as a whole, except insofar as Fenian poems with an antiquarian flavour are reasonably prominent in their collection. When trying to form an opinion about collectors’ principles and intentions one has to beware of superimposing one’s own values at the expense of theirs. One of the lyrics relating to the Fenian Cycle is the poem Do mhillis mise, a Ghráinne (“You have ruined me, o Gráinne”) in which Diarmaid is made to lament his loss of the simple, manly life he enjoyed before becoming entangled with Gráinne (H XXV). But while it is tempting to imagine this poem was selected as a depiction of an emotional outburst with the underlying theme of “The course of True Love never runs straight”, we need to remember that Diarmaid was one of the native examples of heroes ruined by women, as cited in the anti-feminist poem Créad fá seachnainn-sa suirghe (to be discussed below). This means it is also possible that Diarmaid’s outburst owes its presence in BDL to the misogynist sentiments in which the MacGregors indulge in other parts of their collection, and not so much to show respect for dramatic lyric poetry. In linguistic and metrical terms, what is truly striking about BDL, by comparison with most other Gaelic poetic manuscripts, is the extent to which strict-metre court poetry (that is, eulogies or elegies to temporal princes plus bardic religious verse) occurs side by side with non-official productions and occasional poetry (composed by “gentlemen amateurs” as well as professional poets) observing a much lower standard of ornamentation and a correspondingly more relaxed linguistic usage. And this sense of formal differentiation is reflected in the thematic range contained in BDL. Speaking generally, one can recognize certain main sorts of Gaelic poetry manuscript dating from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries: (1) the duanaire or family poem-book, associated with a particular poetic family and containing eulogies and elegies to the noble family who were their patrons; (2) thematically based collections, for example of devotional poems, compiled for a patron’s use; (3) manuscripts

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containing “learned” material, for instance genealogical, historical, topographical, metrical or linguistic lore, as used by the poets themselves for teaching or reference purposes; (4) commonplace books, containing a wider range of poetic productions, including metrical tours de force and linguistic specimen pieces, again for the use of the poets themselves.14 BDL contains material which we could associate with most, if not all, of these categories. It also contains items which it is hard to parallel elsewhere: satires, for instance, which would hardly have appeared in a patron’s poem-book, presumably circulated more clandestinely, whether orally or in esoteric manuscripts, amongst the poetic families. By comparison with near contemporary sources of Scots poetry like the Bannatyne MS or the Asloan MS, with their classified sections and indexed contents, the material in BDL is presented in what looks like a careless profusion. This general statement contains a good measure of truth, but needs some qualifications in detail. For one thing, we have to allow for physical dislocation of the MS at certain points.15 Moreover, there are some sections of BDL (for example containing sequences of bardic verse or religious exempla or Fenian lays) which have a more homogeneous, planned feel to them. But at the end of the day it is BDL’s miscellaneous quality and lack of overall order that is most striking. If one tries to pin-point a principle that motivates the enterprise as a whole it is easy enough to refer to Finlay Macnab’s appeal for everyone to contribute to Duanaire na Sracaire, but difficult to see beyond that, at least on the evidence afforded by BDL. In fact, the way to reconcile the impression of chaos in BDL with the strong sense of purpose which is also present is surely to divorce “the BDL enterprise” from the physically surviving BDL itself; and the most obvious way of doing that is just to take the latter as the concrete result of collecting activity directed towards the production of the former, but not identical with it. This allows us to think in terms of “materials towards” the Duanaire rather than the finished product. Actually, if one reads it carefully, that is just what is being asked for in Finlay Macnab’s programmatic poem, and I propose to adopt this more abstract understanding of “The Book of the Dean of Lismore”, as the object of the MacGregor family’s enterprise, in what follows.16 Many other issues become less of a concern if we examine BDL’s contents in the light of this clarification. We may now proceed to examine the three major categories of court poetry (including religious verse), heroic lays and satirical verse in slightly greater depth.

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Eulogy, elegy and related categories This wide thematic grouping accounts for the defining activities of the professional poets in the service of their patrons.17 One of the most striking aspects of BDL’s assemblage of bardic poetry is the presence of a considerable number of pieces composed by Irish poets, composed for Irish patrons, or both. Amongst the items which have this Irish dimension, we note first a scattering of “classic” anthology and citation pieces which recur in contemporary or later Irish manuscripts and were composed by (or at least attributed to) some of the most illustrious names in bardic poetry, for example members of the Ó Dálaigh, Ó hUiginn and Ó Maolchonaire bardic families. The same is also true of some of the later Scottish manuscripts containing Classical Gaelic poetry. But it is clear that BDL and these later sources mostly owe their bardic poetry of Irish provenance to independent borrowing. There is not much in common between BDL and these later MSS; both in its date and in its Perthshire provenance BDL is at a remove from the main streams of manuscript production and transmission in Scotland.18 Alongside poems which are found also in the mainstream Irish MS tradition, BDL contains a good number of “Irish” pieces which do not recur in surviving Irish sources. These include a few composed by the “big names” (notably by Muireadhach Albanach Ó Dálaigh), but also some ascribed to less well-known poets, for instance Diarmaid Ó hIfearnáin, Seaán Ó Clúmhain and Giolla-Íosa (?) Ó Sléibhín.19 From this perspective the widely ramified and organizationally important Ó Dálaigh family is the best represented.20 BDL has specimens by the thirteenth- and fourteenthcentury master-poets who are so well represented in Irish manuscripts: Donnchadh Mór, Muireadhach Albanach and Gofraidh Fionn. It is in Muireadhach’s poems that we see most clearly the juxtaposition of “mainline” anthology pieces and unique survivals: BDL alone has his elegy, composed in the most richly ornamented version of rannaigheacht mhór metre, for his wife.21 Again, BDL’s Donnchadh Mór selection includes, in addition to some plausible ascriptions and a couple of optimistic ones (as is commonly found in Irish MSS too), the delightful poem on the Wren referred to already (note 15), which is found in only one source in Ireland. Since Muireadhach was the eponymous founder of the MacMhuirich dynasty of poets to the Lords of the Isles, their presence in Scotland may help to explain the prominence given to the O’Daly poets in BDL. We shall see that BDL contains some items by one or more contemporary MacMhuirichs; an obvious inference would be that it was

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through the agency of poets like Eóin Mac Mhuireadhaigh that some of the unique bardic pieces found their way into BDL. The Irish dimension in BDL’s court poetry implies the presence of Irish patrons, acting as both the “home” patrons of Irish poets and the “away” destination of Scottish poets. Those who figure in the poems display, in general, a bias towards the Northern Half of Ireland; but some of the leading Ulster families are absent, and in some ways the West of Ireland seems better represented. Nor is Munster entirely neglected. Given the peripatetic practices of, and the quasi-diplomatic role assumed by the professional Gaelic poets, BDL’s Irish poems could have been brought to Scotland on the back of poetic to-ings and fro-ings mirroring political connections. For instance, BDL’s two poems in praise of MacDiarmada, if their author served MacAllister of Loup (see below), could reflect that family’s fifteenth-century Irish entanglements. While it is probably safe to talk quite generally about a pan-Gaelic network of professional poets, the presence of Ó Dálaigh poetic families in all the Irish Provinces (including Gofraidh Fionn in the service of the Fitzgeralds in the South-west) and in Scotland might tempt us to suggest an Ó Dálaigh network as a more specific basis for understanding this Irish-Scottish intercourse. As for the versions of court poems preserved in BDL, if we look beyond the unorthodox orthography and intermittent linguistic modernizations, and try to view it simply as another Gaelic source for bardic verse, we find that the BDL versions of poems which are also found in Irish sources readily bear comparison with such Irish congeners as the fifteenth-century duanaire (“poem-book”, “poetic anthology”) which forms part of the Yellow Book of Lecan, the seventeenth-century Royal Irish Academy manuscripts Stowe A iv 3, RIA 23 L 17 and RIA 23 F 16 (the O’Gara MS), and the Book of the O’Conor Don, that is, with the most authoritative stratum of “mainstream” sources for bardic verse, written before the destruction of the bardic schools.22 BDL sometimes omits verses present in one or more Irish sources, and sometimes contains verses omitted by one or more of the Irish MSS. BDL tends to show divergent verse order at points where there is instability in the other MSS (for instance in post-dúnadh honorific verses),23 and corresponds pretty well with the others where there is unanimity. Its coverage of bardic panegyric seems to show the most significant correlation with that of RIA MS 23 L 17; but this is far from sufficient to establish a unique relationship with that MS. My impression is that BDL’s versions in general stand a little further away from the Irish sources mentioned above than these diverge from one another; but that there is certainly not a difference of order. This underlying relationship is obscured by the fact that BDL has many

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individual readings displaying linguistic erosion, comparable to but not identical with the deterioration that characterizes later Gaelic MSS in Ireland (those written in the post-bardic period, when precise understanding of the linguistic and metrical niceties of Classical dán had been lost). The marks of this “erosion” include homonym substitution, the loss of metrically required declensional forms, and so on. However, these “inferior” readings alternate with equivalent or superior readings widely and frequently enough for us to seek a special explanation for the textual “degeneration” (“divergence” would be a better word) we find in BDL; namely, in the specific linguistic attainments and circumstances of BDL’s non-professional compilers and their immediate sources. An analogous conclusion is suggested in the special case of MS ascriptions to famous poets: BDL has its share of speculative or mistaken ascriptions to “Donnchadh Mór” or “Gofraidh Fionn” or “Muireadhach Albanach”, as well as those that are unexceptionable; this is more or less equally true of ascriptions in comparable Irish MSS, but BDL’s speculations and mistakes seem to be independent of theirs.24 It is not easy to say precisely how poems like these found their way into BDL. There is reason to believe that MS copies of famous poems would have been available in the bardic schools; but it is clear that the professional poets also had to learn such master-works by heart as part of their training (McManus 2004). Textual criticism may provide answers some day. But this sort of study is in its infancy in the Gaelic context; and the linguistic and orthographic form of BDL make for additional challenges.25 Analysis of texts which occur in more than one version in BDL might provide a useful preliminary step to comparing BDL texts with those in other MSS, though these may not be numerous enough to bear the weight of such an examination on their own.26 Insight into the final stage in the transmissional chain may, unusually, be attainable in the case of Giolla-Críost Brúilingeach’s poem to Mac Diarmada, Lámh aoinfhir fhóirfeas i nÉirinn, which in its MS setting (for which compare Q XXV) differs instructively from Watson’s reconstruction of the original verse order in W VI. In BDL, p. 153 contains verses 1–15ab (with omissions) and p. 154 contains verses 15cd–25. Beneath verse 15ab and verse 25 horizontal lines have been drawn across the pages, and the verses omitted are added beneath the lines (verses 7–8 and 13 on p. 153 and 11–12 on p. 154). The picture this suggests to me is one of rendition from memory with gaps, followed by recall of the missing verses. This guess may not be correct, and it certainly could not be proposed as a general pattern; but it is noticeable that some other texts of the class we are considering (for example Q XV and XVI) appear to show this pattern of missing verses

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incorporated later on in the text. More detailed investigation would be needed to determine the worth of this suggestion. As regards the criteria which may have guided the compilers of BDL in their choice of what “pan-Gaelic” bardic material to include, a couple of possible pointers may be mentioned next. First, we note a couple of examples where the apologues from formal bardic eulogies have been included, minus the standard eulogistic sections which originally preceded and followed them. Since these apologues are elegantly told, succinct renditions of episodes from the early literature, stripping out the highly repetitive panegyric sections could argue an interest in narrative, in literary quality, or both.27 Second, BDL’s repertoire shows a noticeable interest in poems which treat of the literary tradition itself. Just as Professor Bergin’s editions of bardic poetry (collected in Bergin 1970) show a higher proportion of poems illustrative of the lives and feelings of men of art than would be true of the whole corpus of bardic verse (naturally enough, since he had chosen them for their educative value for an interested general readership, and published them mostly in the generalist journal Studies), so BDL’s compilers have chosen a high proportion of poems containing references to literary tales and characters from the older literature, and of historical and legendary poets, sages and story-tellers.28 Despite these discernible preferences, the selection made by Duncan and James MacGregor manages successfully to capture the flavour of the “pan-Gaelic” tradition as a whole, both the public “court” poetry and the more introverted, scholastic side of the tradition. We need, of course, to be cautious about making generalizations when we are ignorant of the total scope of their collecting activities, of which the surviving BDL may be just a part. But we will not err by much if we refine our earlier definition and speak of twin objectives: (1) to include some “classics” or “Old Masters”, and (2) to move away where possible from the “first position” of bardic panegyric to a secular patron: witness the inclusion of an elegy for a wife, or praise of a wonderful clarsach, or eulogy delivered obliquely through description of a chief’s house, or of his maritime hosting.29 Maybe we can even sense a readiness to escape from chiefly eulogy as such in favour of imaginative description, as in the excerpting of bardic apologues and suppression of the purely eulogistic parts of some poems. It may be possible to discern the same sensibility behind the inclusion of the bardic praise-poem which describes the marvellous house of Cluain Fraoich (Q XXI) and that which chose to include the poem from a fantasy tale about the Palace of the King of the Little People (Q XLIV, cf. Gillies, 2007). Armed with this mental picture based on BDL’s choice of “pan-Gaelic” panegyric verse, we may now turn to the purely Scottish manifestation of the

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same brand of poetry. The content of BDL’s Scottish bardic component is better known, thanks to the existence of Watson 1937, the fruit of many years’ worth of decipherment and detective work. Before approaching this material we need to mention two wider debates currently exercising scholars: (1) the extent to which the Scottish court poetry is independent of, or enclitic upon, the better attested Irish tradition; and (2) the cultural purview of BDL, whether it is to be seen as embracing a MacDonald-centred universe based on the Lordship of the Isles, or a Campbell-centred universe, radiating from Inveraray or Glenorchy, or what.30 We shall not engage directly with these debates, but our discussion and findings may help to illuminate certain aspects of them. At all events, the following features stand out. First, if one compares BDL’s Scottish bardic verse with what has survived in Irish MSS, the high proportion of technically informal poems is striking. Most are in the ógláchas or informal versions of the syllabic metres, which are more permissive than dán díreach in regard to rhymes, and make less use of convoluted word order, ad hoc compounds and the reservoir of permitted linguistic variants as found in the Irish Grammatical Tracts. Many of them are short by comparison with the formal eulogies: for example Diomdhach mé don ghaoith a-deas (“I’m scunnered by the south wind”), to MacLeod of Lewis, seems like a delightful epigram by comparison with the formality and gravitas of Ceannaigh duain t’athar, a Aonghais (“Buy your father’s poem, Angus”), addressed by an Irish poet to Angus of the Isles on a comparable theme.31 This makes the truly formal Scottish poems to Scottish chiefs stand out, for instance the MacGregor eulogies Buaidh thighearna ar thóiseachaibh (W V), Parrthas toraidh i nDíseart (W XXVI) and Ríoghdhacht ghaiscidh oighreacht Eóin (W XXVII), and the MacDougall elegy Do athraigh séan ar Síol Chuinn (W XXI). In the same way, given that the overwhelming majority of bardic poems were composed in a mere handful out of the scores of metres listed in the metrical tracts, the recherché metres of some of the BDL praise poems are noteworthy: for example W V is in aoi fhreislighe, more commonly associated with satiric themes, W IX is in séadradh ngairid, W XIV is in deachnadh mór, and W XVII is in brúilingeacht. In some cases, we may suspect that the choice of an unusual metre was meant to signal some point of poetic etiquette: for example Buaidh thighearna ar thóiseachaibh (W V), a serious elegy composed by Mac Giolla-Fhionntóig an Fear Dána (“MacClintock the professional poet”) in a potentially subversive metre, might have carried a message about the status of the poet, the patron or the occasion of composition.

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Even these informal poems share the pan-Gaelic field of literary reference. In other words, they assume their audience’s familiarity with famous (and sometimes not-so-famous) characters and episodes from the Ulster Cycle, the Fenian Cycle, the Mythological Cycle and the Historical Cycles (including the pseudo-historical Leabhar Gabhála Éireann). Thus Fhuaras mac mar an t-athair (W XIII) contains references to valuable items (seóid), such as the weapons and horses of heroes referred to in the early sagas, as a means of extolling MacLeod’s generosity: if he had been the owner of Cú Chulainn’s wonderful horses, he would have bestowed them on his poet. This opens the way for a comparison of MacLeod with Cú Chulainn, as the peerless hero of his own age.32 Some of these references are developed into extended comparisons, as when Mac Cailéin is compared to the mythical Lugh (W XX). In other poems they become full-scale apologues, where an episode from the early literature is presented as an exemplum to be acted out by the one who is its latter-day counterpart: Giolla-Coluim Mac an Ollaimh’s elegy for Angus, son of John of the Isles, who was murdered c.1490, may serve as an example in dán díreach;33 compare W XV for a less formal specimen of this poetic gambit. One over-arching theme which permeates all the early literature is the idea that the ruler is mystically united with his territory, which is represented by a female sovereignty figure. The land smiles and is bountiful when the rightful ruler is in place and rules justly, but the opposite is true when the ruler acts unjustly or if his rule is terminated unjustly. Echoes of this set of ideas are present also in our poems, for instance in elegies such as Do athraigh séan ar Síol Chuinn (W XXI), where the poet sees the natural world dismally reflecting the unhappy state of the people bereft of their chief. In bardic poetry in general there is a fair amount of quotation from, or reprising of earlier bardic poetry. The BDL poems do not show a great deal of this. Nevertheless, there are a few examples, including Fionnlagh Ruadh’s Fhuaras mo rogha theach mhór (W XIX), which seems to echo and develop material in Tórna Ó Maolchonaire’s famous poem Tosach féile fairsinge (the BDL version of which is Q XVI). This is one of several examples of a connection with, or an interest in, the Mac Diarmada chiefs of Moylurg, which can also be seen in the poems of Giolla-Críost Brúilingeach (W VI and VII). A similar willingness to respond to Irish material occurs when some BDL “amateur poets” use the figure of Gearóid Iarla (“Earl Gerald”), as we shall see. BDL’s Scottish verse shows poetic variation of another sort in the form of poems which move away from the “first position” of simple eulogyelegy. These include poems of request (such as W XVIII: Fada atáim gan

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bhogha), of reconciliation (such as W XV: Gaibh rem chomraigh, a Mheic Griogóir), and of threat (such as W XXIV Cóir feitheamh ar uaislibh Alban). There are also examples of different devices used to approach the “first position” in novel ways. Thus, W XVII (Gealladh gach saoi don each odhar) praises a wonderful horse as a way of aggrandising its owner, the chief. Again, in W IX (Mór an feidhm freagairt na bhfhaoighdheach) the poet complains eloquently and wittily about the thiggers who are denuding him, as a lead-up to the announcement that he himself will go thigging to his patron, who he knows will set him on his feet again. Amongst the elegies, we may mention here the much-praised poem of Aithbhreac Ni Chorcadail, A phaidrín do dhúisg mo dhéar (W VIII), in which she meditates on her dead husband’s rosary as a means to expressing her loss. Amongst other possibly significant features, BDL appears to show an interest in eulogies which include roll-calls of ancestors: see Buaidh thighearna ar thóiseachaibh (W V) and Duncan MacGregor’s own Aithris fhréimhe ruanaidh Eóin (W XXVIII).34 These tie in with the list of Scottish kings and the other historical interests represented in BDL. On another tack, a fairly high proportion of these Scottish poems close with a complimentary verse or verses to the honorand’s wife (including W XIII, W XVIII, W XXVI). The point I wish to make is not so much that these honorific verses were composed—we know they were—as that they were preserved with the body of the poem, which tells us something about the status of these poems and the attitudes with which they were transmitted and reproduced. In Fhuaras rogha na n-óg mbríoghmhor (W XIV) we see something else: the complimentary verses to his first or “home” patron which a professional poet (in this case Giolla-Pádraig Mac Lachlainn) would add when composing a poem to another chief. In this case, the “home” poet was the Earl of Argyll.35 In Ríoghdhacht ghaiscidh oighreacht Eóin (W XXVII) a different sort of dedication is found: Dubhghall mac an Ghiolla Ghlais invokes Christ and Mary, as many of the Irish professional poets do. Is there a distinctively Scottish dimension in all this? Although the default descriptors for chiefs are pan-Gaelic (“descendant of Lugh”, “heir of Conn”, etc.), when Scottish patrons become linked with the land the stock images for “Ireland” which were used indiscriminately for chiefs from Kerry to Inishowen tend to be replaced by more appropriate, local descriptors: MacLeod will be associated with Lewis, MacDonald with Islay and MacGregor with Loch Tulla or Glen Orchy. Similarly, we sometimes find the pan-Gaelic genealogical framework, which derived the Gaelic aristocracy mostly from the Sons of Míl Easpáine, suspended in

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favour of Scottish genealogical traditions with alternative reference points, such as Kings of the Scots or, in the case of “British” clans like the Campbells, Kings of Britain. That is why Malcolm Canmore and Kenneth mac Alpin appear in the MacGregor poem Aithris fhréimhe ruanaidh Eóin (W XXVIII), and King Arthur in the same poem and in the Campbell of Lawers poem Fhuaras rogha na n-óg mbríoghmhor (W XIV). Another noticeable and perhaps significant trait is the sense of the presence of “the enemy” in two Campbell poems (W XIV and W XX), where the enemy are Goill “foreigners, Lowlanders” or Saxain “Saxons, English”. This is in contrast to the MacGregor poems, where the ideological thrust is focused much more squarely on generosity and hospitality. It is true that in some Irish bardic poems the Goill (“foreigners, Anglo-Normans, English” in our period) are a potentially or actually threatening presence; so it would be possible to suggest that the Scottish Goill owe their presence to the panGaelic stratum. But recent writings have tended to strengthen the belief that the Campbell poets are thinking within specifically Scottish parameters, whether this is to be seen as indicating a local HighlandLowland frontier or a national political scene (Coira, 2008). Other than these indications, one strains to find specifically Scottish notes in this body of verse. There are just occasional glimpses. The elegy for Duncan MacGregor by An Giolla Glas (W XXVI) makes reference to Díseart Chonnán, the graveyard of the MacGregor chiefs, and talks of the daol meirbh itheas gach colainn “the sluggish beetle that eats every body”. I do not believe that body-eating beetles recur in the highly conventional bardic elegies of the Gaelic tradition; but they would be very much at home as part of the image of mortality in late medieval Scots literature. However, it is only rarely that the professional poets drop their guard. Aware of its variety and strengths, our collectors have clearly done their best to capture the breadth of what the bardic tradition had to offer, both Irish and Scottish. They have included poetry that celebrates prosperity and peace, the Fenian virtues of generosity and honour, wisdom and justice, and the strength and ferocity that are needed for war and conflict. They clearly have a particular penchant for vivid descriptions: witness the brilliant evocation of the maritime expedition in Dál chabhlaigh ar Chaisteal Shuibhne (W II, Meek 1997). They have an eye for the “inside story” as well as the public account: see the rumbustiously subversive elegy for Allan of Clanranald in Theast aon diabhal na nGaoidheal (W XVI). They sometimes offer us alternative perspectives. The murder of Angus, son of John of the Isles, was a momentous event and directly preceded the forfeiture of the Lordship; BDL offers us a formal elegy for Aonghas by his own poet (W X plus H XXIV), an

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exultant address to the severed head of the murderer, Diarmaid Ó Cairbre (W XII) and a reflective elegy for the Clan Donald as a whole (W XI). There are some apparent gaps in the extant coverage: for example the House of Argyll receives only the poem of incitement just mentioned (note 34), and we lack any formal poetry addressed to the Campbells of Glenorchy, although this must have existed. But overall the surviving body of bardic verse captured is a rich and varied one, at least from the Fortingall perspective.

Religious poetry It is no surprise, considering the date and authorship of the BDL enterprise, that it includes a considerable body of religious verse, to which we may now turn.36 In a number of ways it will be seen that the picture we have built up to express the parameters and divisions of the vernacular praise poetry holds good, mutatis mutandis, for religious poetry: formal (“bardic”) and informal, pan-Gaelic and Scottish, serious and subversive are all recognizable oppositions. The main reason for this correspondence is that the obscure twelfth-century “deal” which saw the establishment of a bardic order under secular patronage somehow provided also for the new professional class of poets to apply the fullest expression of their art to the praise of God. Donnchadh Mór’s way of expressing this is to say, Gabham deachmhaidh ar ndána / do Dhia mar as diongmhála (“Let me compose the tithe of my poetry / to God, as is right”).37 We therefore find ornate divine poems in dán díreach attributed to the same master-poets whose verses to earthly princes we have met already. They occur in the same or similar manuscript sources. Many of their rhetorical techniques parallel those found in the secular poems: for example a reservoir of aliases and descriptors for God, Christ, the Virgin and the Cross corresponds to the reservoir of descriptors applied to chiefs. BDL has its share of religious “classics”—poems known also from conventional MS sources, the great majority located in Ireland. They include poems attributed to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh (Q VI: Garbh éirghid iodhna brátha), Gothfraidh Fionn Ó Dálaigh (Q I: Mairg mheallas muirn an tsaoghail) and especially Tadhg Óg Ó hUiginn (Q III: Atá trí comhraic im chionn, Q IV: Cairt a síothchána ag síol Ádhaimh and Q VIII: Fuigheall beannacht brú Moire).38 Some of the BDL versions are on a par with the extant Irish witnesses to these poems; it is not unusual for BDL to provide textual variants, and sometimes these are superior; for instance BDL’s texts of Marthain duit, a chroch an Choimdhe (Q V) and Réadla na cruinne Caitir Fhíona (Q XXXI) are fuller than those of the

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Irish versions. But sometimes the difficult wording and thought of the originals has defeated BDL’s scribes or their sources, leading to nonsensical or refashioned readings. There are also a few poems, only snatches of which appear in BDL, as though they had been imperfectly recalled from memory, such as Muireadhach Albanach’s Déana mo theagasc, a Thríonóid (McKenna, 1939–40, no. 70).39 BDL also contains some unique items, including the magnificent poem to Mary, Éistigh riom-sa a Mhoire mhór (“Listen to me, great Mary”), for which see Bergin (1970, no. 21). Taking BDL’s sampling of bardic religious verse as a whole, certain preferences stand out. Marian poems were obviously important: see Q VII, Q VIII and Q IX; there is also a fragmentary version of a poem of Marian lore, Trí ingheana rug Anna “Anna bore three daughters.40 But poems addressed to the Cross (Q IV and Q V) and on Judgement Day (Q VI) are prime examples of other favourite themes of bardic religious poetry. It is worth mentioning that both Q IV and Q VI contain apocryphal lore: respectively, Queen Helena’s finding of the True Cross, and the Twelve Signs of the approach of Doomsday. This, it may be suggested, could have been of special interest to the Dean of Lismore as a churchman. In addition to the strict-metre bardic religious verse by poets like Donnchadh Mór and Tadhg Óg, which count as the “gold standard” for this sort of literature, BDL contains a number of related types. As with the secular verse, we can see fairly seamless progressions from “pan-Gaelic” to local, from dán díreach to some very loose examples of dán, from the ecstatic and adulatory bardic mode to reflective and narrative forms. The poems attributed to Muireadhach Albanach in BDL include, in addition to the big formal ones, two “death-bed” poems, Réidhigh an croidhe, a Mhic Dhé (“Quieten the heart, o Son of God”) and Mithidh dom triall go tigh Phardhais (“It is time for me to travel to the house of Paradise”).41 Since there is a tradition of composing “last words” for famous figures, there has to be a doubt over the authenticity of these poems; but they are well constructed, pleasing compositions, and we have to recognize that our master-poets did not confine themselves to the elaborate commissioned works which they are best known for. The Marian poem Ná léig mo mhealladh, a Mhuire (“Mary, do not let me be deceived”), Q XII, is in the tradition of those we have mentioned, but is in a looser form of metre and is linguistically less highly wrought than they are. It is ascribed to “Maol-Domhnaigh mac Maghnais Mhuiligh’” who might just have been an early member of the Ó Muirgheasáin family of poets who served Maclean and MacLeod chiefs in the seventeenth century. Still nearer to home, and still more informal in metre and language, are the

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next two examples: Gearr go gcobhra Rí na Ríogh (“Not long till the King of Kings provides succour”), Q X, ascribed to “Robert Lamont (?) at Ascog”, which provides some homely precepts for leading a good life; and Tuig gura feargach an t-éad (“Realise that jealousy is wrathful”), Q LIII, ascribed to “sir Duncan MacDiarmid”, which warns against jealousy (éad) as a corrosive force in human relationships affecting all ages and social levels. A very familiar note is struck by Seacht saighde atá ar mo thí (“Seven arrows are aimed at me”), W XXXVIII, ascribed somewhat cryptically in BDL to “Young Duncan”, which describes the Seven Deadly Sins lying in wait for the poet. This poem is also interesting as being one of the few BDL texts which recur in later Scottish Gaelic tradition (Watson 1937, 306). Another such link with the vernacular tradition is the widely recurrent poem on the vanity of human aspirations which takes Alexander the Great as its example of the theme “You can’t take it with you when you go”. In BDL’s Gaelic version it appears as Ceathrar do bhí ar uaigh an fhir (“A foursome were by the grave of the (great) man”).42 We may conclude our survey of these pious, sometimes pessimistic poems by noting that Duncan MacGregor himself contributed an example of the genre: Féicheamhoin sibh, a chlann cuil (“You are debtors, children of sin”); as did a presumed associate named as “Duncan, son of the Parson”: Ar mhaithibh is olc th’aithne (“Your recognition of worthy men is not good”).43 Three poems by Giolla-Críost Táillear take us on a slightly different tack; these are versified exempla telling of (i) a monk who fell asleep listening to the song of a bird and slept for 373 years before waking, and was then transported to Heaven by the power of Mary (Q XIII: Binn labhras Leabhar Moire “Sweetly speaks the Book of Mary”); (ii) a man relating to a cleric a frightening dream of being pursued into a tree and falling into a dragon’s mouth, which the cleric then interprets for him (Q XIV: Adhbhar bróin bruadar bailc “A violent dream is a cause for sorrow”); (iii) a woman who is cozened into bringing a consecrated wafer away from the church and concealing it at home with unexpected consequences (Q XI Réadla na cruinne Corp Críost “The Body of Christ is the star of the universe”). Sìm Innes (2010) has discussed the possible sources, non-Gaelic and Gaelic, for Q XIII, and concludes sensibly that at this stage we cannot exclude either native sources of long standing (as found in native hagiographical sources), non-Gaelic sources imported fairly recently into the Gaelic bardic tradition and hence available to Giolla-Críost as a trained poet, or non-Gaelic sources available to GiollaCríost more or less directly (for example through ecclesiastical contacts). The same is true of Q XIV, where one could add to the list of possibilities

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that of non-Gaelic sources imported fairly recently through popular tradition and hence available to Giolla-Críost as a sociable human being.44 Cumulatively, Giolla-Críost’s religious poems with their sermonizing flavour make one think more of Scots, English and European analogues than Gaelic; and the same is true of the anonymous Q XLI (Maith ataoi an sin, a Néill “You are all right there, Neil”), which styles itself “a fable on almsgiving” (3a, 15a: uirscéal ar an déirc) and tells about a man who loses his companions and falls ill in Rheims—except that in this case a cautionary casual reference lets us know that the man set off from a “here” which is specified as Ireland (4a: do-chuaidh a hÉirinn uann). I believe this is the context in which to mention the two famous “Ship of Evil Women” poems by “the Bard Macintyre” (W XXIX and XXX). Whereas we shall shortly meet some satiric poems which “have a go” at women as part of the great “Debate about Women”, these poems contain serious statements about morality or mores, and use the fanciful ships as vehicles to get rid of the offending vices by carrying their perpetrators to perdition. Given the “European” hints which the pious and moralistic works offer us, I have suggested that some form of contact with Brant’s Ship of Fools may lie behind the format adopted by Macintyre here (Gillies 1977, 44–45). But given Macintyre’s fertile mind, we should not exclude the possibility of wisps of inspiration reaching him from the Biblical Ark, from witches’ spells or poets’ curses or wherever. What the specific cause of composing these poems may have been is not clear to me either: some new-fangled French or English manners or fashions percolating through to the Highlands from the Scottish Court, perhaps? The question remains open. Another side of Macintyre’s inventiveness is revealed in an unpublished poem addressed to a local Perthshire Gaelic saint: Foillsigh do chumhachta, a Choid (“Reveal your power, o Coid”)45. This beginning, which may echo Tadhg Óg’s Foillsigh do mhíorbhuile, a Mhuire (McKenna 1939–40, no. 22), seems to presage a plea to the saint to aid the poet. But as it proceeds, we learn that the poet has been wronged by certain people and is actually venting his indignation on Saint Coid (alias Mo-Choid) for letting the outrage happen. He chides Mo-Choid, suggesting that the neighbouring saints Connán and Adhamhnán did not allow this sort of thing to happen in their territories, before taking matters into his own hands and cursing the wrongdoers. The outrage turns out to be the theft and butchering of a cow of the poet’s, which reminds us that there were plenty of cattle-thefts in Rannoch in the Dean of Lismore’s day, but also raises the possibility that the whole poem is an oblique appeal for restitution to the poet’s patron.

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Poets and practitioners The court poetry provided the keystone of the Gaelic literary tradition. The cultural compact which sustained it survived even after the demise of the axis of trained poet and aristocratic patron, and of the syllabic court poetry which was its visible emblem, to be reincarnated in the taigh mòr (“big house”) of later chiefs and their vernacular bards. As we turn to the more informal genres it is expedient to interject a word about the composers of the poetry in BDL, an area where BDL’s evidence becomes even more striking. At the top of the ladder was the ollamh. He was two things. Having first been trained to the highest level he had (1) been lucky enough to win the support of a major patron (one of whose claims to “premier league” status as a member of the Gaelic aristocracy was his maintenance of a topflight poetic talent); and (2) as a consequence of his position (which included a free living and many perks) he had an obligation to teach and train younger poets. Our ollamh was probably a poet’s son, and members of his family might well have been associated with his patron’s family before him, though this hereditary relationship was not always as permanent a fixture as is sometimes claimed. As an apprentice poet he might have attended several bardic schools, and in due course he would have joined the entourage of his ollamh (in the sense of “teacher” or “professor”) on seasonal poetic circuits, where he would have had the chance to show off his own paces and to act as reciter of formal odes composed by the master-poet. Some of his fellows (who might include his own siblings) would eventually have decided they had trained enough, and would have headed home to a settled life and living with a patron of the second rank. But he himself would eventually have been successful in gaining the attention of a leading patron, and would know what he had to do to uphold his patron and his position, that is, discourage would-be usurpers or challengers.46 BDL is full of references to this world, from the ollamhain down. We have mentioned the MacMhuirichs as official poets to the Lords of the Isles, and Eóin Mac Mhuireadhaigh’s Námha dhomh an dán (“Fate/poetry is my enemy”) is a good example of a courtly love poem with the wordplay, abstruse allusions and coded reference to the lady’s name which could only come from one of the learned poets (Gillies, forthcoming). Giolla-Coluim Mac an Ollaimh, whose name actually means “son of the ollamh”, actually refers to himself as an ollamh (W IX, v. 17a); he too may have been a MacMhuirich, though that is not necessarily so.47 Other probable examples of top-level poets associated with top-level patrons

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include Giolla-Pádraig MacLachlainn and the Earl of Argyll (W XIII, vv. 33–35).48 Later on, of course, the MacEwen bardic family provided poets to the Earls of Argyll, and it is interesting to note that the high-class bardic elegy for John MacDougall was composed by one “Eóghan mac Eóin mac (?) Athairne” (W XXI), who may have been a progenitor of the MacEwen family (Matheson 1953–59, 200–03). Did the MacEwens allow themselves to be tempted away from the MacDougalls as the latter’s star waned, and join the ascendant Campbell dynasty?49 Again, a term used in BDL to signify a top-level poet is fear dána (“man of (syllabic) poetry”); amongst others the term is used in connection with Giolla-Coluim Mac an Ollaimh (W XI). When it is used to qualify the name of Mac Giolla-Fhionntóg (W V), the author of an encomium to MacGregor who is otherwise unknown in a MacGregor context, we may assume that he was a visiting poet of some stature, possibly from Ireland. If an ollamh could be identified as one having the right and obligation to produce an official ode in strict metre to the head of an important family, where does that leave the non-strict-metre poetry that predominates in BDL? A case in point is that of Ná léig mo mhealladh, a Mhuire, if its composer, Maol-Domhnaigh mac Maghnuis Mhuiligh (“from Mull”), was an Ó Muirgheasáin learned poet. A later MaolDomhnaigh Ó Muirgheasáin was a master-craftsman of poetry, and a professional in the sense that he spent half a life-time in bardic schools in Ireland.50 But a century earlier the family could have been operating at a less elevated level, or the poet could have been a junior member of his family, or simply composing without the pressure of earning a duais (“fee”, “reward”). We need to bear all these possibilities in mind when dealing with the Scottish poets. For instance, Martin MacGregor has identified three generations of a poetic family composing for the MacGregors: Giolla-Críost Táillear, Giolla-Glas mac an Táilleir, and Dubhghall mac an Ghiolla-Ghlais (2006, 54–55). They are all fluent, effective poets, and the latter two have been entrusted with elegies for members of the MacGregor aristocracy. But they do not use dán díreach, perhaps because their subjects were not actual chiefs of a clan, or perhaps because of the level their own formal poetic training had reached. The bardic world had its protocols and demarcation lines, and this could be an example. Perhaps the reason why BDL has no formal eulogies for the Campbells of Argyll or Glenorchy is that this would have been treading on the toes of their official poets; one is reminded of John Carswell’s anxious apologies to any saoi re h-ealadhain (“sage of (literary) art”) who might find fault with the quality of the Gaelic in his translation of the Book of Common Order (which in fact is a fine piece of work).51

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It is useful to keep this point in mind when we come to bard, the other term used in BDL to denote a class of poet. The medieval poetical and legal tracts place the bard well below the file or ollamh on the spectrum of poets. This can lead to the term being used disparagingly in Scottish Gaelic; but it seems to be used neutrally (though perhaps technically)52 in BDL in the case of Fionnlagh an Bard Ruadh (“the Red Bard”), An Bard Mac an tSaoir (“the Bard Macintyre”) and Giolla-Críost Brúilingeach, Bard an Léim (“the Bard from Léim”).53 Of these, the Red Bard was deemed by Professor John Fraser (1942) to be the outstanding new poetic talent revealed by the publication of Watson (1937); and both the others show signs of serious bardic training in their deployment of compounds, permitted linguistic variants and so on. I venture to suggest elsewhere, in a comment on Macintyre’s artistic control, that he could have written in dán díreach had he needed to; but he does not.54 These niceties may often need to be explained in terms of the (in)formality of the occasion or the dignity of the subject, or indeed the size of the purse; but at the end of the day it looks as though the ollamh or file possessed a recognized qualification or mark of validation that the bard did not have. The poetic band (termed cliar when on a poetic circuit) contained other sorts of entertainer, such as the crosán (“lampooner” or similar), but their works do not figure largely in MS sources, which in this case include BDL. When Finlay Macnab counselled the MacGregor brothers to include material got from the “packman” and the “strollers”, this may have seemed over-enthusiastic to the prospective editors. I have noted one possible exception to this statement: the author of an acephalous poem at BDL, p. 8, introduces himself as a crosán and states that crosántacht is his trade (Q XXXVII, vv. 4–6). O’Rahilly (1935, 53) termed it a “fragment of a crosántacht for Ó Ruairc”; if that is correct, it was perhaps included as a specimen of the genre for completeness’ sake.55 At all events, BDL goes much further than other surviving collections in its inclusiveness of coverage, and we should be thankful for that. Mention of Finlay Macnab brings us to another truly distinctive feature of BDL: its “amateur” poets, who are far more numerous than we find in mainstream Gaelic MS sources. Because the production and maintenance of Gaelic manuscripts was normally in the hands of the filídhe(an), whether as family poets or through the activities of bardic schools, the amateur dimension either did not exist or has been suppressed in other quarters; but the amateurs are a pervasive presence in BDL. Actually, there is some evidence for the children of chiefs being taught to read and write Gaelic, and for elementary bardic training being regarded as part of an aristocratic upbringing (Bannerman 1983). And I have argued elsewhere

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that we should assume a general interest in Gaelic verse on the part of the Gaelic gentry, and believe it likely that the children of typical uaislean would receive at least some poetic training—as, indeed, it is clear that those who were training to become Gaelic physicians and lawyers also did (Thomson 1968). In the case of BDL, the prime examples of aristocratic amateurs are the Campbell poets: Colin “Earl of Argyll” (one poem), Isabella “Countess of Argyll” (three poems) and Argyll’s cousin Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy, “the Good Knight” (no less than nine poems, one of which is entered twice). These aristocratic contributions include courtly and uncourtly works on love and sex, and in Duncan’s case, humour and satire of various sorts (Gillies 1977, 1978–83). Finlay Macnab’s poem of incitement to literary collection, as previously mentioned, talks of the collectors bringing the results of their researches “to Colin’s son to be read” (or possibly “read out”), and it is tempting to cast these leading Campbell figures in the role of judges or arbiters of poetic merit to a circle of like-minded members of the Gaelic gentry and their followers in Argyllshire, Perthshire and the Central Highlands. In that context, it is worth mentioning that this little circle of poets had their own archipoeta, in the person of the fourteenth-century Irish aristocrat and poet whom they knew as Gearóid Iarla (“Earl Gerald”).56 Gerald seems to have been mediated to them not as an historical character but as a literary figure symbolizing swash-buckling youth followed by cuckolded old age, and as the author of poetry expressing these experiences.57 Our poets responded to his verses with some of their own, or referred to him as an exemplary figure, and items attributed to him duly appear in BDL. It has to be said that not all of the nine poems attributed to him there can possibly be the work of the Gearóid Iarla whom we know from the “Duanaire Ghearóid Iarla” in the fifteenthcentury Irish Book of Fermoy.58 Some of the ascriptions are merely testimony to the place he occupied in the hearts of the Scottish coterie, supplemented by the horror vacui which led to a number of other “hit or miss” ascriptions in BDL. However, I believe that at least one of them can be plausibly associated with the “Duanaire Ghearóid Iarla” poems;59 and even the less likely ascriptions provide precious testimony to the channels of literary intercourse linking Ireland and Scotland in the Dean of Lismore’s day.60 In addition to these “aristocratic amateurs” we have to reckon with the Dean’s own peers and associates who contribute to BDL as the authors of short poems and epigrams (and sometimes as the subject-matter of the verses). For many of them appear in historical records linked with the Dean’s family and with Campbell patronage, for example as participants in

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bonds or witnesses to deeds and so forth, as Perthshire landholders, and likewise as churchmen. Our knowledge of these characters, whom we may call “the Dean’s circle”, has been greatly extended by the researches of Martin MacGregor (2006), and the tone and ramifications of their literary culture are among the most important things we learn from BDL. I would like to conclude this section by mentioning one more perception which we may be permitted to draw from the programmatic Duanaire na Sracaire. If I am right about this it surely captures the spirit in which the MacGregor brothers went about their literary work. The word sracaire (which occurs as strakkirre, BDL, p. 143) has caused me some perplexity. Professor Watson translated it “pillagers”, and I grew up rather uneasily taking this to signify “plunderers of the treasury of poetry” or similar.61 Lately, however, I have started to wonder whether the key to understanding it is the uncommon word sacaire (“sac- or sack-fellow”?), which occurs in some law commentaries to denote one of the lowest grades of poet.62 There is a nice contrast between the sacaire, the “sack” or “scrip” person who collects the poems, and the pacaire “pack-man” who donates them. There is also a whiff of the same (mock?) humility that made Duncan style himself daor-óglach, which seems to mean something a bit like “dogsbody” in regard to the BDL enterprise.63 As to s(t)racaire, if it has indeed supplanted sacaire, I doubt if it is a lapsus calami: it sounds more like a bit of MacGregor mischief at the poet’s (Macnab’s) expense, making his “apprentice boys” into “tearaways” (or whatever).

Heroic Poetry BDL contains an important collection of heroic poetry, comprising narrative verse, dramatic lyrics and versified supporting lore—the infrastructure of the literary cycle relating to the legendary Fionn mac Cumhaill (“Finn McCoul” or similar) and his fian “warrior band”.64 This cycle—the Fenian Cycle—comes down to us both in tales and verse, dating from the Old Irish period to the twentieth century in Scottish, Irish and even Manx Gaelic story-telling (Mac Cana 1987, Bruford 1987). The verse tradition of Fenian ballads (laoidhean na Fèinne in Scottish Gaelic) was already in existence in the twelfth century, since there are some examples in the Book of Leinster (Trinity College Dublin MS 1339 (H.2.18), compiled in the second half of the twelfth century), and others are embedded in the twelfth-century prose text Acallam na Senórach “The Colloquy of the Ancients” (for which see Dooley and Roe, 1999). BDL’s is the next earliest collection of these texts, though the seventeenth-century Irish manuscript Duanaire Finn (MacNéill and Murphy, 1908–53),

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includes texts which show earlier linguistic characteristics than are found in BDL’s ones (Meek, 1987, 138; 1986–88, 63–64). All later collections show a profound debt to Acallam na Senórach, which provided the Fenian Cycle with a firm and lasting tempus and locus (Dooley 2004). For the Acallam was imagined as taking place when St Patrick and his clerics had come ashore in pagan Ireland and made contact with Oisín and Caoilte, venerable survivors of the Fenian age, who conduct the Christians around the country describing the deeds and characters of the vanished era as they go. The BDL texts assume this background; many of them are attributed to “Oisín” (in one case to Caoilte), while others of them, although anonymous in BDL, only make sense if they are spoken by Oisín. Some of the Fenian texts survive only in Ireland, others only in Scotland; for the majority there is evidence both from Ireland and Scotland. In form, these poems are no different from the other sorts of verse we have examined: they are in dán (“syllabic verse”), albeit they are confined to non-strict forms of the metres. They are mostly composed in deibhidhe or rannaigheacht, whose seven-syllabled lines are also the two commonest metres of the court poets; but a small number exploit less common dán metres with shorter lines, and do so to good effect (such as H X, H XX, H XXII, H XXVIII). As to literary genre, some are predominantly narrative, but dramatic monologues (usually by the Oisín persona) and dialogues (including those between Oisín and Pádraig) are also to the fore. And there are some “hybrids” which contain both (for instance H VI). They narrate directly, or evoke indirectly, many of the major episodes and preoccupations of the Cycle: battles and hunts, expeditions and defensive actions, plus (of course) the deaths of famous warriors and the collective fate of Fionn’s fian at the momentous last battle, Cath Gabhra (for which see H XXII and XXIII). A subsidiary theme, also present in the Acallam, is the juxtaposition and exploration of Fenian and Christian values, which is usually conducted in a spirit of mutual respect, but occasionally results in a burst of exasperation (H XIX, H XX). In addition to laoidhean na Fèinne, one dialogue belongs to the Ulster Cycle (H XVIII, the famous dialogue between Cú Chulainn’s woman, Eimhear, and his foster-father, Conall Cearnach, who has just avenged Cú Chulainn’s death and carries with him the heads of the murderers), and another is more loosely associated with the Ulster Cycle in the tale literature (H XXIX, the death of Fraoch).65 The world-view of these poems is basically Ireland-centred, radiating out from Fionn’s home base at Beinn Éadair (the Hill of Howth, just north of Dublin) to embrace the whole of Ireland as the stamping ground of the fiana in heroic times. There are other fiana in Scotland and “Britain”, and

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the action is transferred thither on occasion. For Scottish audiences some of the activities of Fionn and his men were indubitably localized in Scotland by the Dean of Lismore’s day.66 Where we have a Scottish location for a Fenian event and a Scottish ballad about it survives but no Irish ballad survives, it is tempting to consider that they were composed in Scotland. The clearest such examples are Laoidh Fhraoich (“the Ballad of Fraoch”) and Bás Dhiarmaid (“the Death of Diarmaid”), for neither of which is there any Irish ballad evidence, though both stories were of course known in Ireland. This raises the question of authorship. We actually do not know when the ballads were composed, except within broad linguistic limits. As Professor Meek has pointed out, some of them could have been composed (or re-composed) a relatively short time before the compilation of BDL, and we are to think in any case of a dynamic (“buoyant”) rather than an inert textual tradition (Meek, 1986–88, 348–49). Ascriptions, as we have already noted, are mostly to the legendary figure of Oisín, though the equally legendary Fearghus File (H X, H XXII) and Caoilte (IX) also claim a couple of credits. But in a couple of case BDL texts are attributed to what look like real-life poets: Ailín mac Ruaidhrí in the case of Bás Dhiarmaid and the mysterious “An Caoch Ó Clúmhain” (“the blind one Ó Clúmhain”) for Laoidh Fhraoich.67 The implications of an ascribed authorship in such circumstances are not clear, and Professor Meek may well be right in seeing it as asserting that a poem was somebody’s “(re)telling” in a context involving more than reverential transmission, and less than de novo authorship. This postulated dynamic quality of ballad texts may in its turn be relevant to the question of the BDL editors’ engagement with their texts. While all categories of text in BDL can show evidence for editorial revisiting of texts for proofing purposes or similar, some have been worked over in more fundamental ways. Amongst the most heavily worked over are heroic ballads. Some of the additional activity can be explained simply in terms of an editor feeling himself licensed to interact directly with a text to “improve” it; but in other cases it clearly involves the availability, in whatever form, of more than one version of the text.68 This textual complexity is almost completely obscured by the earlier editions of BDL; the variae lectiones in Quiggin 1937 mostly represent different attempts to read what he judged to be the finally intended text of BDL; Watson’s and Ross’s editions contain very few reports of textual variation. But recognizing it is at the heart of both the question of the status of the ballad texts and our understanding of the relationship between the MacGregors and their texts.69

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Satiric Poetry Recent scholarship has sought to explain the potent appeal of Acallam na Senórach from the twelfth century to the present, and reference has been made to the fact that it dealt with a transition between two eras (pagan and Christian) at a time when the Norman era was bringing profound change to political structures, church organization and culture in general. One could go further and suggest that there might have been a measure of comparability between the twelfth century and the late-fifteenth / early sixteenth century in the Highlands, as a result of the fall of the Lordship of the Isles, the pressure of Campbell empire-building on the Clan MacGregor and other older kindreds in Perthshire, and—post-1513—the end of a dynamic period in Campbell history itself (MacGregor, 2006, 49– 50, 53, 56). This could be another way of looking at what Prof. Meek has identified as a noticeable elegiac emphasis in the BDL collection of laoidhean (and, it may be added, elsewhere in BDL).70 If one were to try to pin-point the nature of the special appeal more closely, the Fenian texts may have had a special aura about them—the product of such ingredients as a sense of antiquity, the presence of tutelary characters, and unchanging, noble values. More recently, something of this aura may have been experienced by James MacPherson (though he failed to reproduce it in its authentic form), and it may explain why ordinary people in the Highlands in the last couple of centuries have consistently evinced an intense loyalty to the laoidhean, despite (by then) often dislocated texts and obsolete language and metrical-musical form. The whole question of musical form must remain imponderable in the case of BDL. We have called its editors “texts people”, but insofar as their texts were orally collected, they would presumably have been transmitted in song form. Moreover, given the presence of some Argyllshire and Perthshire ballad renditions, dating from the late eighteenth century on, which bear a familial resemblance to the corresponding BDL texts, it would be perverse to assume that the MacGregor brothers did not come into contact with them as songs. But maybe, like some nineteenth- and early twentiethcentury folklore collectors, they were insensible to the musical component. If it is a moot point how BDL’s compilers experienced the laoidhean in performance, we can be more certain about saying that they had a good ear for literary quality. Their inclusion of the highly artistic Laoidh Fhraoich and of metrical tours de force like Ardaigneach Goll (H X), even their inclusion of the elegantly told bardic apologues with Fenian content, all bear witness to their literary discrimination. We can empathize with their aesthetic response to the graphic description in the Banners of the

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Fian (H XIV), as well as their antiquarian interest in the listing of the banners associated with each warrior. We can share both sorts of response to the evocative place-names and bird- and animal-names in Caoilte’s story (H IX). We can appreciate their partiality for quasi-panegyric endings of ballads, evoking the heroic qualities of dead warriors like epitaphs. Finally, as we have learned to expect from other categories of text, they liked to admit a subversive element from time to time. Professor Meek has explained H XVII as gently deflating the genre of ballads which enumerate the great heroes the speaker has seen in his day (1986–88, 67– 68); and I would add that the unique complaint of Diarmaid to Gráinne for ruining his life-style (H XXV) also has a sardonic tinge to it.71 The “subversive” elements in the categories considered up to now have been at the fringes of the literature, giving glimpses of their creators in “off-duty” mood, momentarily undermining the solemn and dignified aspects of their work. That other world is revealed in BDL to a greater extent than in any other Gaelic manuscript I can think of. For in dealing with what I have called “satiric” verse, the last category to be discussed, the subversive becomes central and the serious is out at the edges. That the “serious” is there at all—for example in a “real” satire like Domhnall Liath MacGregor’s vitriolic Tá triúr cailín as searbh glór (BDL, p. 199) or Donnchadh Óg Albanach’s menacing threat of satire Dá ghabhla dhéag san dán (Greene, 1947)—lets us see that the subversive itself can be subverted. The satiric world is an intimate one; it reveals itself as being near to the personal lives and thoughts of the MacGregor brothers and their friends. They were family men and working men, whether as lawyers, lairds or churchmen; but when they got together their diversions included verse in which they teased and derided themselves and each other and mocked those around them in what I take to be, at the most basic level, an expression of cultural solidarity. Their principal targets were women (wives, lovers and the gens feminea in general), the Church (principally self-indulgent clergy) and, as I have said, their “mates”. As far as women are concerned, the BDL poets conduct their own miniature version of the Great Debate about Women. Two poems ascribed to Earl Gerald sound a clarion warning: Mairg léimeas thar a each (BDL, p. 68: “Woe to him who dismounts from his horse”) and Mairg do chuirfeadh geall a mnaoi (Q LIX: “Woe to him who would put trust in a woman”) tell respectively of the shortcomings of women in general and of the fickleness of one woman in particular. Local voices pick up the chorus: Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy’s Fada ó mhallaigh Dia na mná (Gillies 1978–83, no. II: “[It is] long since God cursed women”) and Atá amhghar fá na mnáibh (Gillies 1978–83, no. III: “Women are trouble”) are

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summarized accurately by their first lines. Ailín Mac Dhubhghaill Bháin’s Scéal beag agam ar na mnáibh (Q LXVIII: “I have a little tale about the women”) lists the different classes of men who suffer from their womenfolk.72 Foreign authorities are cited (inaccurately): Chaucer and Boccaccio.73 Some are even so bold as to address Her directly. Again, Gerald leads the way, with A bhean na dtrí mbó (Murphy 1940: “O Woman of the three cows”), which is echoed approvingly by Fearchar mac Phádraig Grannd’s A bhean ’gá bhfuil crodh (Matheson 1945–47: “O woman who has cattle”). Colin, Earl of Argyll, poses a blunt question in A bhean dá dtugas-sa grádh (BDL, p. 73: “O woman to whom I have given (my) love”)—“Whether does a woman prefer love or sex?”—and ends up with an answer satisfactory to himself, that sex beats love. A poet with the nom de guerre “The Parson” cites literary examples of women’s power to destroy men, and concludes, “If you can’t beat them, join them”, in his poem Créad fá seachnainn-sa suirghe? (Gillies 2008: “Why should I avoid courting?”). Earl Gerald has the last word on this strand of the debate, in his Mairg adeir olc risna mnáibh (Ní Dhonnchadha 2002, 324– 25): “Woe to him who speaks ill of women”); after an irenic start, in which he lists bad things which women do not do (but which men do), he concludes, “Women are all right—because they like men like me”. But that is not the end of the story. Duncan Campbell, author of the rumbustious parody of bardic panegyric, Bod bríoghmhor atá ag Donnchadh (Gillies (1978–83, no. VII: “A potent prick has Duncan”), experiences the dark side of women’s fancy for virile young men when his own virility recedes, as he recounts in Mairg ó ndeachaidh a léim lúith (Gillies (1978–83, no. VI: “Woe to him whose lively leap has deserted him”). And Isabella, Countess of Argyll, rubs it in for him, in a poem surely designed also as a riposte to the view expressed by Earl Gerald and Earl Colin, Éistibh, lucht an tighe-se (BDL, p. 25: “Listen, people of this house”). Here she says, in effect, “If you boys want to talk about ‘potent pricks’, my chaplain’s takes the prize”. But there are other views on these matters. The same Isabella has two conventionally courtly love poems (one explicitly to a fleascach or “young man”, it has to be said), Atá fleascach ar mo thí (W, pp. 307–08: “There is a young man after me”) and Is mairg dán galar an grádh (W XXXI: “Woe to the one whose sickness is love”). An anonymous poet, named only as “A certain wooer” in BDL, could almost be Isabella’s fleascach when he says Tugas ró-ghrádh do mhnaoi fir (Q LXVI: “I have given great love to a man’s wife”). And another anonymous male expresses the position of the courtly lover in greater detail in Fada atú i n-easbhaidh aoibhnis (Q XLVIII: “Long have I been lacking in joy”). The most teasing item in this

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group of courtly and uncourtly poems that attracted the attention of the Dean of Lismore is another of Earl Gerald’s. Ní bhfuil an t-éag mar a theist (BDL, p. 128: “Death is not like its reputation”) starts with standard courtly lovers’ sentiments on the suffering and the mental and physical symptoms of unrequited love. The poet then introduces an apologue, likening himself to the fox in a known International Popular Tale type “The Fox and the Bull”. In the story, the fox sees a bull lying down in a field with massive testicles projecting from his recumbent body. The fox mistakes the testicles for a (still-born?) lamb and settles down to wait for the bull to depart, leaving the carrion behind, but waits in vain. This clever conceit and the poet’s dead-pan delivery raise serious questions of interpretation: is the choice of conceit innocent or “Freudian”, and does it mock the hearer or the poet? And how did the Dean and his circle take it? This poem, more obviously than some of the others, requires further thought (see note 59). Turning to the anti-clerical items, two of the poems on women and men just discussed have already involved the clergy. Isabella’s Éistibh, lucht an tighe-se, while celebrating the true bod bríoghmhor, casually lets it be known that its owner is a priest. And when “The Parson” announces that he is going to go a-courting, we may take it that, whoever is lurking behind that alias, he is exploiting a mind-set in which frolicking friars and sexy priests have an assured place. We must consequently be prepared to detect a hint of condonement or connivance when facing the explicit and lurid accusations of BDL’s two main anti-clerical satires—A shagairt na h-éanphóige (Gillies 1978–83, no. VIII: “O priest of the single kiss”) and Mairg bean nach bí ag éansagart (BDL, p. 223: “Woe to the woman whom no priest possesses”). For they were composed by the broad-minded Duncan Campbell and the Dean’s brother Duncan respectively. That surely licenses us to assume a certain level of intimacy between accusers and accused; a sense that is reinforced when we recall that the anti-clerical pieces sit next to or near to numerous squibs and epigrams, with cognate subject-matter, by and about men whose names link them with the Dean’s family professionally or as neighbours. Their witticisms and pensées give us a close-range view of a particular compartment of their being. They include Do-chuaidh mise, Roibeart féin (BDL, p. 58: “I, Robert, personally went”), said by one who claimed he was not allowed into a monastery because he did not have his wife with him. Another is D’fhiosraigh inghean an fhoilt fhinn (BDL, p. 90: “The maiden with the fair hair inquired”), about a dumb blonde who asks her would-be seducer (in her best Latin) if he is a priest. Another is Mór an maidhm-se don mhnaoi bhláith (BDL, p. 181: “This is a great upset for the tender lady”),

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in which the “tender lady” needs Brother William’s services, but has mistimed things: the poor friar is ill. These last anti-clerical examples can equally be viewed as specimens of the wider class of epigrams, versified bons mots, lampoons and compliments which passed between members of the Dean’s circle and found their way into BDL. Some of them have developed into fully blown poems, such as Duncan Campbell’s mock elegy for the harper Lachlan Galbraith, Cia don phléid as ceann uidhe (Gillies 1978–83, no. V: “Who is the destination for Contumacy?”). Note how this poem concludes with an invitation to add further verses on the obnoxious Lachlan—an invitation which the compilers of BDL found it impossible to resist. Similarly, Duncan’s poem Créad dá ndearnadh Domhnall Donn? (Gillies 1978–83, no. IX: “What is Brown Donald made of?”) must be about someone who was personally known to both the poet and the MacGregor brothers. But these are outgrowths from a more numerous class that are mostly no more than one or two quatrains in length. They are highly miscellaneous in character. A typical compliment is Duncan MacGregor’s one to John Campbell of Lawers, Marthain uaim go Eóin (BDL, p. 7: “A welcome from me to John”). Another, by “Duncan, son of the Parson”, strikes a note of friendly banter: Alastair, ’n do thréig tú ’n ghruaim? (W XXXV: “Alastair, have you abandoned your sulk?”). And a joke at the expense of another man (BDL, p. 175) runs as follows: “Come, people, and listen to what ‘Royre Rodessyt’ promised, who said he was giving up the world when he didn’t possess it in the first place!” In these and such as these we see some of the amusing moments or the mischievous imaginings of our group becoming encapsulated in verse and, by an extraordinary chance, surviving in BDL.

Literary Background This account of the literary contents of BDL has necessarily been a provisional one, inasmuch as it contains material which is as yet unpublished, and in some cases undeciphered. I have attempted to identify an epicentre of literary activity in the “official” work of the poets and a periphery of amateur composition; but it emerges that in some ways the work of the latter is the beating heart of this little world. Again, I have sought to deal with distinct categories, only to be faced by ambiguous examples and overlaps. The safest conclusion would seem to be that to our poetry-lovers and composers the whole poetic tradition was, as Professor Bergin once said of the Irish literary tradition, “a seamless garment”.

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The indivisibility is, of course, hard to see at the literal level. Even if one allows for physical dislocation, and accepts the argument that BDL as we have it was not a “finished article”, the genres and categories crowd one another with endless promiscuity. Indeed, the sense of promiscuity is underlined by the way the non-poetical materials (historical and geographical, genealogical and other sorts of information), succeed each other without warning, as well as being interspersed amongst the literary items throughout. But the literary material is more than just a jumble. It has a coherence that comes from the fact that its composers shared a field of literary reference. They were, of course, open to Lowland or European influence on occasion. In Créad fá seachnainn-sa suirghe, when he gives his examples of viri illustres who have been ruined by women, “The Parson” cites Hercules, Solomon and Aristotle beside Fionn, Ealcmhar (from the “Mythological Cycle” of tales) and Diarmaid. And BDL contains two separate lists of the Novem Probi (at p. 166 and p. 198), perhaps testifying to someone’s awareness of the visual representation of the Nine on a ceiling in the newly constructed Royal Palace at Stirling. But in general the literary world our poets inhabit is overwhelmingly a Gaelic one. We would expect this to be so in the case of the professional poets, for it is a commonplace of Early Gaelic literature that a poet had to be prepared to deliver the prímscéla (“principal stories”), and the lore of places and peoples, at the hostings and assemblies of the Gaels. The bardic poetry duly reflects this, being well laced with literary comparisons that range from fleeting allusions to the full-scale apologues we have discussed above. Thus Giolla-Pádraig Mac Lachlainn’s poem to James Campbell of Lawers (W XIV) introduces appropriate references to Tara (seat of ancestral Kings), Cú Chulainn (warrior hero), Naoise (who eloped with Deirdre), Guaire mac Colmáin (early historical king known as a symbol of generosity) and Arthur (“British” ancestor of the Campbells). The poem on Mac Diarmada’s wonderful house at Cloonfree (Q XXI) refers to Cruachain and Meadhbh (legendary capital and queen of Connacht), and to Lugh and the Daghdha (Mythological Cycle heroes). We have referred (note 28) to Ó Maolchonaire’s poem Lá dár shuidh ceathrar ré ceird (Q XXIV: “One day when a foursome sat to (practise their) craft”), whose tone is didactic and scholarly rather than panegyric. In it the merits of the reigns of several kings are debated. It implies a continuity stretching from the time of the remote pre-historic Conaire and the nearly proto-historic Conn to the medieval Niall Frosach, Brian Boru and Cathal Red-hand. Even the technically informal praise-poem to MacLeod of Lewis, Fhuaras mac mar an t-athair (W XIII: “I have found a son like the father”)

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demands that the patron should understand the poet’s references to precious jewels, weapons and horses possessed by heroes from the early literary cycles; for the conceit is that MacLeod, if he had owned these, would have given them to his poet.74 One of Eóin Mac Mhuireadhaigh’s contributions is a sardonic address to a baby-faced newcomer who has all the girls swooning (Q XLIX: Maith do chuid, a charbaid mhaoil “You are well off, (Mister) Bare Cheek”); in it he gives us a precious list of the leading characters of romantic tales and ballads which must have been in vogue at the time, with whom the upstart cannot hope to compare himself: Ailill Fionn, “The Son of the King of Greece”, “The Son of the King of Ireland”, the Fenian heroes Oscar, Goll and Oisín, the Ulster heroes Cú Raoi and Cú Chulainn, and the Mythological Cycle heroes Manannán, Midhir and Mac an Óg.75 This sense of the presence of a literary tradition is all the more striking when it is displayed by our amateur poets. A man known to the Dean as “The Baron, Eóghan Mac Combaigh” has contributed an informal poem on the tedium of the sick-bed (W XXV), in which he refers not only to the universally known Táin Bó Cúailnge (“The Cattle-raid of Cooley”), but also to the much less famous Táin Bó Dartada and Táin Bó Flidais, to Manannán, (Fionn) Mac Cumhaill and Cú Chulainn, Éibhear and Éireamhón (the pseudo-historical conquerors of Ireland, and progenitors of the Gaels), and others. In view of the literary-legendary status of Earl Gerald, Duncan Campbell’s citation of him as a fellow sufferer at the hands of a wife who runs off with a lover (Gillies 1978–83, no. VI, v. 13) may also be counted as a reference to the literary tradition, showing its capacity to add more recent figures to the tapestry. Last, but not least, when Isabella is turning the tables on Colin and Duncan Campbell in Éistibh, lucht an tighe-se, she knows to compare the well-endowed chaplain to Fearghus Mac Róich, the lover of Meadhbh in Táin Bó Cúailnge, who was also legendary in that respect.76 The poetry we have mentioned is no more than the tip of an iceberg of literary activity. If we look beyond BDL we can catch some other glimpses of what lies below the surface. For example some of the romances and tales our poets refer to occur in surviving manuscripts. And there is more to learn from what we have in BDL; much of it is seriously under-studied, and some has not even been transliterated. But I hope the foregoing review has succeeded in capturing the “literary perspective” of BDL, as promised by my title; and likewise that the vista brought into focus, while incomplete and uncertain at some points, does justice to the aims and achievements of James and Duncan MacGregor and their friends and associates.

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Notes 1

I refer especially to “The Book of the Dean of Lismore”, a Statutory Public Lecture of the School of Celtic Studies, Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, delivered in University College, Dublin, 20 November 1992, and to “Pattern and purpose in the Book of the Dean of Lismore”, the 6th A. G. Van Hamel Lecture, delivered in the University of Utrecht 3 October 1998. I am very grateful to the School of Celtic Studies and to the Board of the Stichting A. G. van Hamel voor Keltische Studies for giving me the opportunity to present my views on BDL on these occasions, and to those present whose questions and criticisms have helped to shape my thinking on a number of the issues raised in the present essay. 2 See especially MacGregor 2006 and 2007. 3 In the oral version of this paper I expatiated on the urgent need to digitize BDL. Happily that task has been accomplished, and BDL is now available on-line at the Irish Script on Screen (ISOS) website hosted by Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies; see http://www.isos.dias.ie/irish/index.html. Heartfelt thanks are due to NLS for putting BDL into its digitization programme, and to the School of Celtic Studies of DIAS for hosting the images. We are especially indebted to Dr Ulrike Hogg at NLS and Prof. Pádraig Ó Macháin at DIAS for expediting these developments, which are enhanced by the addition of the BDL section of Ronald Black’s draft Catalogue of Gaelic Manuscripts in NLS. The additional measures I advocated in August 2008, aimed at making BDL more “user-friendly” to scholars of literature and language, can now be proceeded with. I hope progress will be made on this front over the years to come. 4 A transcript of MacLachlan’s, made in 1813, survives as NLS MS 72.3.3. 5 That is, Skene and MacLauchlan 1862. The other main nineteenth-century contribution was that of Rev. Alexander Cameron, whose transcriptions and transliterations of considerable sections of BDL, published posthumously by Alexander MacBain and Rev. John Kennedy in Reliquiae Celticae (that is, Cameron 1892–94, 1:1–109), sharpened up the text in various ways and improved the transliterations considerably. 6 For BDL texts see especially Quiggin 1937 (“Q”) and Watson 1937 (“W”). See also Ross 1939 (“H”), currently being re-edited by Donald Meek. For more recently published texts: Meek 1986, 1990 and 1997; Gillies 1978–83, 2007 and 2008. 7 For DOST: http://www.dsl.ac.uk/; for Dictionary of the Irish Language: http://www.dil.ie/; for Dwelly: http://www.cairnwater.co.uk/gaelicdictionary/; for Bardic Poetry Database: http://bardic.celt.dias.ie/. 8 BDL, p. 143. It was edited by W. J. Watson 1927, 64–67 and 1937, 2–5. See also Ó Mainnín 2002, 395–422 (403–05); McLeod and Bateman 2007, 352–57. 9 For these musically and metrically differentiated “traditions” of Gaelic poetry see Matheson 1970, 149–53; Watson 1959, xxxvi–lxiv. 10 See BDL, p. 201, last 6 lines (omitted by Quiggin 1937, 74, where they should follow the last verse of No. LV). For the developed “Three verses and a song” formula see Ó Baoill and Ó Dochartaigh 1996.

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There was of course a musical dimension to syllabic verse, both bardic eulogy and Fenian lays: see Ó Madagáin 2005 and Gillies 2010. But it seems that we are dealing here with poetry lovers who were purely “texts people”. Compare, perhaps, the recitation of Alexander MacDonald’s Birlinn Chlann Raghnaill as a verbal tour de force (in South Uist and Skye, to my knowledge) in the twentieth century. 12 See Gillies 1978, 24–30 and 41–44 and 1983, 59–71 for these poems. 13 See Breatnach 2000. Rarer types in BDL include Fionnlagh Ruadh’s brúilingeacht of deachnadh mhór (Watson 1937, no. XVII), a corránach version of Eóin Mac Mhuirich’s leathrannaigheacht (Skene and McLauchlan 1862, 82–83) and a syllabic-accentual specimen of ollbhairdne (Arbuthnot and Hollo 2007, 34– 36). For technical terms and metrical patterns of pre-Modern Gaelic verse: Murphy 1961. 14 Cf. Ó Cuív 1973 and 1976, McManus 2004. There are of course overlaps between the verse categories, not to mention manuscripts which contain more than one category of verse. 15 That textual dislocation goes back to the time of the compilation of BDL can be shown by reference to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh’s poem Dreén eanaigh ionmhain fáidh, which starts at the foot of p. 11 but whose final verse appears at the top of p. 28; for an independent version of the final verse has been written, in a sixteenth-century hand that recurs elsewhere in BDL, in the bottom margin of p. 11. Clearly, a contemporary of the Dean of Lismore (or the Dean himself?) had lost sight of the fact that the missing verse was now bound into another part of the MS, and supplied the omission from another source. See Ó Cuív 1977. 16 Adopting this distinction enables one to evade the difficulty voiced by Meek (1996, 256), where he refers to this poem’s lack of prominence in BDL as we have it, as a reason for doubting its importance as a signpost to the purpose of BDL. 17 Commonest terms used to describe the professional poets are file “learned poet”, ollamh “chief poet” or “chief’s poet” (i.e. a file who had been appointed as the official poet of a recognized chief and could train younger poets in his profession), saoi “sage”, éigeas “trained poet” and fear dána “man of art” (where dán “poem, poetry” also bore the more specialized meaning of “syllabic poetry”, as practised by the trained poets). English usage sanctions the term “bard” and “bardic” in connection with the professional poets and their productions, but in Early Modern Gaelic bard and bairdne referred to a less prestigious class of poet and poetry. See further Breatnach 1983. 18 See in general Black 1989. One of the few exceptions is the BDL poem praising the Irish chief Tomaltach MacDiarmada, Lámh aoinfhir fhóirfeas i n-Éirinn (W VI, on which see further below), a solitary version of which recurs in the mostly vernacular “Turner MS” as Dàn Mhic Dhiarmuid (Cameron 1892–94, 2, 326–28). 19 For indexes of poems and authors in BDL see O’Rahilly 1935 and Quiggin 1937. Ó hIfearnáin’s poem is Q XLIII, Ó Clúmhain’s is Q XX, Ó Sléibhín’s is Q XXXVI. 20 On the reasons for their special importance: Simms 2007. 21 Edited by Bergin (1970, no. 22).

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The “YBL Duanaire” is part of Trinity College Dublin MS 1318 (H.2.16); see Abbott and Gwynn (1921, 94–110.) For the RIA MSS cited, see O’Rahilly et al. 1926–70; for the O’Conor Don’s Book see Ó Macháin 2010. 23 The dúnadh is the closing verbal echo of the beginning of a poem in dán metre. It may be followed by a supplementary verse or verses containing, e.g., a compliment to the patron’s wife, or to the “home” patron of a poet addressing another patron, or to the poet’s patron saint. BDL’s version of Teach carad do-chíu folamh (Q XVIII) lacks the post-dúnadh verses present in the comparable Irish versions; its version of Tosach féile fairsinge (Q XVI) contains post-dúnadh verses not in the Irish congeners; and its version of Dorn idir dán agus dásacht (Q XX) contains a different set of post-dúnadh verses from the others. 24 BDL uniquely gives “Muireadhach Leasa an Doill Ó Dálaigh” as the author of Créad agaibh aoidhigh i gcéin (Q XV), substitutes the more famous Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh for the less famous Tadhg Camchosach Ó Dálaigh as the author of the section of Bean ar n-aithéirghe Éire printed as Q XIX, and leaves Cuaine ríoghna rug Éadaoin (Q XXXV) anonymous, whereas it is ascribed (albeit speculatively) to Donnchadh Mór in Irish MSS. Tomhas mhúir Chruachan i gCluain Fraoich (Q XXI) is also attributed to a different member of the Ó Dálaigh family from the one given in Irish MSS. A question-mark obviously hangs over the poems attributed to Muireadhach Albanach, Donnchadh Mór and Gofraidh Fionn which occur uniquely in BDL. 25 For an exploratory study aimed at determining the status of the Book of the O’Conor Don relative to other comparable MSS see Ó Riain 2010. 26 BDL, e.g., has two partial texts of a poem ascribed to “Giolla-Brighde Beag Mac Con-Midhe” (Q XXXIV), pp. 40 and 250, in addition to the main text, pp. 226–29. 27 E.g. Q XIX, H XV; for a Scottish example see below on W X = H XXIV. 28 E.g. Q XXIV, ascribed to “Ó Maolchonaire” and found only in BDL, includes a debate on the relative merits of the kingship of certain pre-historic and historical kings of Ireland who had acquired legendary status and figured in the medieval tales. 29 See Q XXVII, cf. Bergin (1970, no. 22); Q XL, cf. Bergin (1970, no. 15); Q XXI; W II. 30 See McLeod 2004, ch. 3, and MacGregor 2007, 47–55, for discussion of these issues respectively. 31 W VIII (7 quatrains); Bergin (1970, no. 45, 31 quatrains); cf. also W XXIII, a miniature encomium to Duncan MacDougall (11 quatrains). 32 Cf. W XIV (Cú Chulainn and Naoise), W XXV (the Cattle-Raids, Manannán, Fionn, etc.), W XXVII (the Fenian heroes), and so forth. 33 The first part of this poem, beginning Thánaig adhbhar mo thuirse, is separated from the apologue in BDL. The former, published as W X, is at B, p. 240; the latter, published as H XXIV (because of its Fenian Cycle content), is at B, p. 236. The third and final part, containing the applicatio of the apologue, is lost. 34 Cf. the list of Campbell ancestors invoked in the acephalous Ar sliocht Ghaoidheal ó ghort Ghréag (W XX). Could this portion of a poem, which has attracted so much attention as a possible incitement to the Earl of Argyll to join the

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campaign against the English which resulted in Flodden, have been included in BDL on account of its roll-call of Campbell ancestors? 35 For further examples see (1) Giolla-Críost Brúilingeach’s poem to Mac Diarmada (W VI), which originally closed with a verse to “Donald son of Ranald son of Alasdair” (Q XXV, verse 25; cf. Watson 1937, 266–67, both emended as necessary), that is, the chief of the MacAllisters of Loup, for whom see MacDonald and MacDonald 1896–1904, 3, 185; (2) the Bard Macintyre’s poem Tánaig long ar Loch Raithneach (XXX), which has such a supplementary verse to (as I read it) “Duncan, son of Colin”. 36 The principal published sources for bardic religious verse are the editions of Fr. Lambert McKenna (Laimhbheartach Mac Cionnaith): McKenna 1919, [1922], and 1931. The unpublished PhD dissertations of Bateman 1990 and Innes 2010 provide a wealth of analysis, criticism and access to more recent scholarship. 37 McKenna [1922], no. XXV, v. 1. The idea that we should all pay our “tithe” to God while living our life on earth is a common motif in bardic religious verse (McKenna [1922], xiii). 38 BDL also attributes Q VII: Iomdha scéal maith ar Muire to Tadhg Óg, whereas Irish sources attribute it to Aonghus Fionn Ó Dálaigh. 39 There are cases where more intensive study of the MS and its texts can amplify BDL versions; e.g. Bergin’s edition of Muireadhach Albanach’s M’anam do scar riom-sa a-réir (1970, no. 22) dealt with only sixteen out of the twenty-five verses printed as Q XXVII, and Quiggin (1937, 11–12) omitted some of the closing lines of Donnchadh Mór’s Garbh éirghid iodhna brátha from Q VI. 40 That is, the legend of The Three Maries, published by McKenna (1930). It occurs in BDL at p. 182. 41 Ed. Gillies 1979–80 and 1990. 42 Discussed by Gillies 1996 and Ó Macháin 1997. 43 Ed. Gillies 2008, 217–9. The second of the two is addressed to “the World”, which (in the poet’s view) casts down good people and raises up the not so good. 44 For a pioneering discussion of these poems: Quiggin 1911–12, 34–35. For Q XIV see also Flower 1926, 559; Merdrignac 1987, 81. I am not aware of any source for Q XI except that in Wright 1842, cited by Quiggin 1911–12, 34–35. The nearest Gaelic source I know is rather different in tone: the bardic poem Leigheas an bheatha bás Dé (“God’s death is the healing of the world”) contains lore about the Jews puncturing the rediscovered Body of Christ and causing a mighty flow of blood (McKenna 1939–40, no. 95). 45 It occurs in BDL, pp. 282–83. I hope to publish an edition in the near future. 46 The classic account of the poetic order is Osborn Bergin’s 1912 lecture “Bardic poetry” (rpt. Bergin 1970, 12–22). For a Scottish account from seventeenth-century Speyside see Gordon 1955. The most detailed recent study is in McManus 2004. 47 Because of the stand-off between John of the Isles and his son Angus in the period leading up to Angus’s murder, a delicate situation may have arisen for the MacMhuirich poets. It is conceivable that the senior MacMhuirich poet stayed with John and that Angus’s poet Giolla-Coluim was a more junior MacMhuirich, or even a Beaton, of the mainly medical family.

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Mac Mharcuis is another identifiable poetic family (Thomson 1968, 73; Ó Baoill 1976, 183). 49 Interesting changes in the genealogical doctrine purveyed on behalf of the Campbells could tie in with a poetic regime change in the sixteenth century: see Gillies 1994. 50 For his work: Black 1976–81; for a touching tribute to him by a contemporary Irish poet: O’Rahilly 1942. 51 Thomson 1970, 12; his dedicatory poem, 13, passes muster, but merits more diffidence than his prose. 52 See, e.g., Breatnach 1987, 106–07, §§7–8. 53 We should perhaps add Giolla-Críost Táillear, if the somewhat off-putting soubriquet “Bod in stuyk” which he receives in BDL, p. 23, contains a mistake (a Freudian slip?) for “Bard”. 54 The same is true of Giolla-Críost’s Beannaigh do theaghlach, a Thríonóid (W XXII); his two religious poems are in a lower register. 55 For literary crosántacht: Harrison 1989. 56 Historically he was Gerald fitzMaurice, 3rd Earl of Desmond (1338–98). 57 For an attempt to disentangle the different “concepts of Gerald” which we find in literature and folklore: Gillies 2012. 58 For the issues of authenticity surrounding Gearóid Iarla: Mac Mathúna 2010. 59 I hope to publish this poem soon in collaboration with Dr Barbara Hillers. 60 See further Ó Mainnín 1999 and 2002. 61 My concerns include (1) the semantics of “tear” and “pillage”, and (2) the initial str-, given that the word for “tear” has historically an initial sr-, and modern Perthshire dialects do not show intrusive -t- in this cluster, suggesting that another word was involved in any case. 62 See Dictionary of the Irish Language, s.v.; it occurs as a synonym for taman, which is glossed creat chuaine ina filed “the dogsbody of the poets” in Uraicecht na ríar: see Breatnach 1987, 112–13 (§18). 63 Watson 1937, xv. Real humility would be a matter of deference to the professional poets (as above); compare the fact that Duncan actually composed a praise poem (not in dán díreach, of course) to the chief of the MacGregors (W XXVIII). Mock humility would be based on the knowledge that he had composed a recognizable praise-poem containing quite a few successful bardic flourishes. 64 The standard edition, Ross 1939, i.e. “H”, is being replaced by a new edition (Meek, forthcoming). See meanwhile Professor Meek’s published studies and editions: Meek 1984, 1986, 1987, 1986–88, 1990, 1996, 2004. 65 H XXIV (on which see Meek 1984) and H XXVI also belong to the Ulster Cycle, but are apologues abstracted from bardic poems, rather than ballads. 66 See Meek 1990, 343–45. Note that some “Fenian” place-names are Ossianic in the sense that they post-date James MacPherson’s “translations”; but these are in general easily identified. 67 This man’s alias has also been interpreted as ó Chluain (“from Clon-”): see Meek 1984, 36–37; 1987, 145; but BDL tends to use bhó rather than ó in such cases, e.g. Donnchadh Mór ó Leamhnacht is voe Lawenycht in BDL (p. 23). The

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potential difficulty, if he was an Ó Clúmhain, is that this was the name of an Irish, not a Scottish bardic family. 68 We should recall here the actual doublets, with textual variation, of some poems in BDL, e.g. Bod bríoghmhor atá ag Donnchadh (BDL, pp. 37 and 157), Créachtach sin, a mhacaoimh mhóir (BDL, pp. 39 and 59) and A bhean ’gá bhfuil crodh (BDL, pp. 88 and 171). 69 See Meek 1987, 147–51 for analysis of the textual revisions to H IX, the most spectacular example of this phenomenon; cf. Gillies 1978–83, no. VI, where the occurrence of a commonly used trope about “calling a black a white” has triggered a flurry of revisions. 70 See Meek 1986–88, 64–67 for this perception. 71 Note also Meek’s plausible explanation of the last verse of H I, as an interpolation which gently undermines the seriousness of the preceding verses (1987, 143–44). 72 Quiggin gives the author a surname “McReaddy”, but the creaddyt in BDL is part of the dúnadh of the previous poem, Créad í an long-sa ar Loch Inse. 73 Chaucer: BDL, p. 77 (actually pseudo-Dunbar); Boccaccio: BDL, p. 92B (actually Henryson) and p. 184 (actually Lydgate); see further Mapstone 1985 and MacGregor 2006, 71–72. 74 Cú Chulainn’s horses, the Liath Macha (“The Grey of Macha”) and the Dubh Saingleann (“The Black of Saingliu”), recur in W XVII, in verses praising a fine horse. 75 For the romantic tales, see Bruford 1969. Each of these heroes has a connection with love or seduction in one way or another. The list also contains a character called “in daynee”, whom I have not yet identified, and “Hector”, whose inclusion should probably be explained by the fact that Togail Troí (“The destruction of Troy”) and Imtheachta Aeniasa (“The adventures of Aeneas”) had been in the Gaelic tradition since the eleventh or twelfth century. 76 See Gillies 2005, 66–67, where I raise the possibility that the reference could be to a more recent tale involving a different, but similarly endowed Fearghus.

KINGSHIP AND IMPERIAL IDEAS IN THE CHRONICLES OF SCOTLAND RYOKO HARIKAE

John Bellenden’s Chronicles of Scotland (1531–c.1537; hereafter the Chronicles) is the first printed vernacular history of Scotland. It is a translation into Older Scots of the Scotorum Historia (Paris, 1527) written by Hector Boece in Latin during the last years of the minority of James V. Boece dedicated his work to the king in 1527, and the king commissioned Bellenden to translate it into Scots after he assumed his personal rule in 1528. Thus, the Chronicles in its vernacular form was national propaganda promoted by the newly independent and assertive king, who sought to elevate his status as a patron of culture as well as the sovereign of the Scottish nation. Bellenden presented the work in manuscript to James V in 1531. This is a beautifully decorated manuscript now held in the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, MS M 527 (hereafter MS M). Bellenden meticulously revised the text in several stages, and at least two recensions of MS M exist in manuscript.1 Representative manuscripts of these stages are Cambridge, Trinity College, MS 0.3.21 (hereafter MS C) and London, University College, MS Angl. 1 (hereafter MS A). MS C represents an early stage of revision work, whereas MS A is a later intermediary manuscript.2 After its thorough revision with stylistic as well as ideological alterations, the final version was printed and published by Thomas Davidson, the king’s printer, in Edinburgh in about 1537.3 Through its use of the vernacular and its appearance as a printed work, the Chronicles disseminated a uniform national history more widely than ever, and assumed a pivotal role in shaping the national identity of sixteenthcentury Scotland. Despite its claim to be a translation of the Scotorum Historia, Bellenden’s translation is far from identical with Boece’s original Latin in terms of its contents, organization and historiographical and political views. It is true that, in general, Bellenden follows Boece’s narrative flow; even at a late stage of his revision work, he returns to Boece and corrects mistranslations or false renditions and restores passages he had missed out

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from the original Latin text. Nonetheless, it often happens that Bellenden accords his translation a different focus or interpretation from that in the original. Thus, his rendition in MS M did, to a certain extent, deviate from Boece. In later versions, Bellenden retains or even intensifies some alterations he makes in MS M, and sometimes makes further alterations through adding material or significantly changing the reading of a passage. Consequently, Boece’s original Latin, the three manuscript versions and the printed version do not necessarily accord with each other.4 The purpose of this paper is to illustrate the complicated textual transformation Bellenden makes through the course of his translation and revision work. By focusing on Book 12 of the Chronicles, and, in particular, on one of the most famous events in Scottish history, the usurpation of the crown by Macbeth, I will discuss how Bellenden transforms Boece’s original text according to his own perspective on contemporary political ideas, especially those about kingship. It is noteworthy that Bellenden’s attitude towards kingship evolves, as evidenced in the revisions he makes to the versions preceding the final print version. Apparently, Bellenden’s focus and priorities changed from MS M to the final printed version. Before pursuing these themes, some precursory points have to be made here. That the textual alterations made from MS M to the printed version of the Chronicles are predominantly Bellenden’s and not the reflections of scribal practice is strongly suggested from an examination of Bellenden’s revision practice in his translation of Livy. Some fragments of the translation, which are evidently Bellenden’s early working drafts, are preserved in British Library, MS Add. 36678: the surviving materials include drafts by Bellenden, fair copies by his amanuensis, and then revisions by Bellenden to those copies. Thus they show Bellenden’s authentic translation and revision practice. Significantly, a comparison of Bellenden’s two works of prose translation reveals that there is much in common in his revision practice; they share a common pattern of altering vocabulary for stylistic as well as ideological reasons.5 It is also possible that Boece was involved in the revision work on the Chronicles to a certain extent. Considering the fact that the Chronicles was published in or after 1537, however, it is probable that Bellenden was still revising his text for printing after Boece’s death in 1536. Thus, it is impossible that Boece was actively or deeply involved in the later stages of revision work. Indeed it is very likely that the death of the original author afforded Bellenden more freedom to alter the text according to his personal idea or preference (Harikae 2009, 65–69, 75–77). Moreover, from internal as well as external evidence, it has been suggested that Boece’s share in the revision work, if any at all, was within the confines of “Latin-consult”, and thus negligible

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(Sheppard 1937, 68).6 It is reasonable, therefore, to surmise that Bellenden was responsible for most of the textual alterations found in the Chronicles. During the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, the Stewart monarchy had endured a series of unexpected and, in many cases, violent deaths of kings, which were followed by minorities. James I was assassinated in 1437, and James II succeeded to the crown at the age of six. James II unexpectedly died young in a gun accident at the siege of Roxburgh in 1460, when his son was eight years old. James III was killed in a rebellion, his own son among the rebels, in 1488. James IV succeeded to the throne at the age of fifteen, an exceptional “adult” succession. The death of James IV came in 1513 at the battle of Flodden, when his son was only one year old. Accordingly, such issues as the nature of kingship, the merits or demerits of hereditary and elective kingship in relation to minority kingship and the right to resistance, were significant in the period. More often than not, medieval Scottish authors maintain a “conservative” political ideology, and even when the idea of resisting the crown is stated, it is in “only the most hesitant and ambiguous of terms” (Mason 1987, 126). Indeed, Boece does not speak directly of his political ideas or philosophy of kingship, and so his attitude has to be inferred from the examples of the kings and nobles that he uses (Royan 1996, 24).7 Unsurprisingly, it is even more difficult to infer Bellenden’s own political philosophy from his translation of Boece’s work. It has been suggested that Bellenden’s textual alterations to Boece’s original Latin as well as his own translation show his apparent support for hereditary kingship.8 Bellenden’s textual revisions to the scene of King Duncan’s murder in Book 12 from MS M through intermediary manuscripts C and A to the printed version reveal, however, a very different aspect of Bellenden’s political attitude. One of the recurrent textual revisions that reveals Bellenden’s awareness of the political context of the reign of James V is his employment of the idea of “empire”. The word “empire”, or imperium, is originally derived from Imperium romanum. In medieval and early modern Europe, as Armitage (2000, 30–33) argues, the Roman legacy of the word “empire” was threefold. Firstly, imperium denoted “independent authority”. As this independence of authority suggested that sovereignty could not be “divided within the polity” nor “overridden from without”, late medieval and early modern rulers frequently employed the word “empire” in order to claim “both independence from external interference and ascendancy over internal competitors”.9 Secondly, the word “empire” described a territorial unit. After the model of Imperium Romanum, which was composed of “distinct provinces bound to the Empire by the emperor

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himself”, many early modern monarchs could also claim that they were “emperors” because they “possessed a number of distinct territories which were united only under their headship” (Armitage 2000, 33). Thirdly, the word “empire” offered an historical foundation for claims to both the authority and the territory ruled by the Roman emperors (Armitage 2000, 30 and 34; Pagden 1995, 12). Emperors became “the existence of a supreme legislative authority”, which was beyond the confines of being mere kings (Pagden 1995, 15). Hence, by claiming themselves emperors, late medieval and early modern rulers could demonstrate that they ruled over the domain “composed of a number of different states”, where they, as legibus solutus, made the laws according to their own will (Pagden 1995, 16). Imperial kingship was an idea in which great value was invested by fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Stewart monarchs, who sought to project the image of themselves as worthy partners of the continental monarchies. They found the closed imperial crown was of great use to them, because it showed their “parity of status and esteem” with the other European monarchies (Mason 1998, 135). Thus they deliberately deployed the idea and image in order to indicate their supremacy in the kingdom over the Church, or even over local magnates, but mainly to show their freedom from foreign overlordship (Mason 1998, 130–34).10 The idea was employed as early as in the reign of James III. It was declared in the parliament of 1469 that the king had “ful Jurisdictioune and fre Impire within his Realme” (APS II.95).11 James V’s reign saw the apogee of the imperial conception. The closed imperial crown was depicted on coins or signet seals newly produced during his reign (Mason 1998, 126, 136).12 The imperial conception was also significantly disseminated beyond royal commission. In the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, the symbol of the imperial crown was frequently employed in portraiture or in architectural detail, and not a few churches with “crown steeples” were built in Scotland (Mason 1998, 130, 136).13 The Chronicles does not fail to reflect the social climate. When Thomas Davidson printed the Chronicles, he used a woodcut in which the royal arms with a closed imperial crown is depicted for the title page.14 Davidson probably commissioned the woodcut from the Low Countries for this purpose.15 In MS M, between the table of contents and the preface, there is one fully-decorated page which also includes the coat of arms of James V. This is a reproduction of the armorial woodcut employed by Badius Ascensius for Boece’s Scotorum Historia (Paris, 1527) and John Mair’s Historia Brittaniae (Paris, 1521), and the crown depicted is an open one, not a closed imperial crown (xxv). Thus, the alteration Davidson

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made was a premeditated one. He demonstrates his positive attitude towards the king’s image-making. Bellenden also shows his evolving awareness of the imperial idea from MS M to the printed version. In Book 12, the imperial idea is frequently employed when Scotland faces external challenges. Bellenden employs the imperial idea in order to show the independence of Scotland from foreign overlordship.16 One example is found in the description of Sueno’s coming to Scotland early in the reign of Duncan in Book 12, chapter 2. When Duncan is informed of Sueno’s invasion, he assembles an army. Boece describes this situation: “Magnas extemplo conscribit copias” (fol. 256v)17 [[Duncan] at once enrolled a large force]. In MS M, Bellenden translates this passage faithfully: “[Duncan] assembillit ane grete novmer of pepill” (400).18 This is retained in the intermediary manuscripts.19 In the printed version, however, Bellenden inserts the word “empire”: “[Duncan] assemblit ane army of all pepill vnder his empire” (fol. 172).20 Notably, in the scene where Scotland faces external danger, Bellenden describes Scotland as an empire, which is integrated under King Duncan. A similar way of using the imperial image can be found in the episode where David I raises an army against King Stephen to expel all the English from Northumbria in Book 12, chapter 16. Again, the word “empire” is employed to show the autonomy of the kingdom against the foreign enemy. Boece reads: Dauid vt bello finem aliquem quamprimum imponeret consultius ratus aut omnibus viribus Northumbria Anglos pellere, aut honeste occumbentem in totum cedere, per omnem Scotiam milites scribi iubet, maximumque exercitum contrahi. (fol. 274) [In order to bring some end to the war as soon as possible, David thought it best either to drive the English from Northumbria with all his strength, or to die honourably and entirely yield. He ordered soldiers to be enrolled through all Scotland, and a very large army to be assembled.]

What is notable here is the way Bellenden renders the place-name “Northumbria” in his translation. In MS M, “Northumbria” is replaced with the phrase “landis pertenand to þaim”: “King Dauid, to resist his Jniuris gaderit ane gret power with full purposs othir to ding Jnglismen out of All landis pertenand to þaim be Just titill / Or ellis All Attanys to de” (430). Here, Bellenden shows that the land Northumbria belongs to “them”, namely the Scots. In the later versions, however, Bellenden makes an alteration to this phrase. The printed version reads: “King Dauid to resist þir iniuris, gaderit ane army with deliuerit mynd othir to expel

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Jnglismen out of al boundis pertenand to his empire” (fol. 186).21 Northumbria, which is under the threat of English invasion, is now shown as a land which is a part of the integrated realm under the Scottish king. Accordingly, the inviolability of the land is given more emphasis here. After several battles take place between the Scots led by David and the English led by Stephen, these two kings conclude a peace. It is treated that Northumbria and Huntingdon should be under the governance of Henry, son to David. Boece reads: “Northumbria, Hundintoniaque Henrico Dauidis filio velut iusto haeredi, iure materno cederent” (fol. 274v). [Northumbria and Huntingdon come to the possession of Henry, son of David as legal heir by his mother’s right.] Bellenden gives a rather complex rendition in MS M: “Northumberland sall remane with hary King Dauidis sone be rycht of his moder / And cumber to remane with him be auld richt” (430). In the later recensions, Bellenden makes a closer rendition to Boece in terms of concision, but he inserts additional phrases, “empire” and “prince of Scotland”. The printed version reads: “Northumbirland and Huntingtoun sal remane vnder the empire of Hary prince of Scotland be richt of his moder” (fol. 186).22 With these additional phrases, the authority of Henry is enhanced. It seems possible, from this ostentatious employment of the imperial ideas, that Bellenden is seeking to show his ideological sympathy towards the king. However, another type of textual revision Bellenden makes in the context of the reign of James V shows that his way of handling text concerning kingship is not entirely consistent. The first notable point is Bellenden’s treatment of Banquo, the progenitor of the Stewart family. The link between Banquo and the Stewarts is articulated by Boece and Bellenden. In Book 12, Boece gives simple genealogical accounts of the family from Banquo down to James V. These accounts are retained in MSS M, C, and A. In the printed version, on the other hand, Bellenden changes that emphasis by expanding the last half of the genealogical accounts, after the reign of Robert II, on a large scale, with a significant number of additional passages. It is a well-known fact that in Boece’s original text Banquo was involved in the conspiracy against King Duncan. In the scene of Duncan’s murder in Book 12, chapter 3, Boece states that Macbeth colluded with his friends including Banquo: Consilia igitur cum proximis amicis communicat, ac in primis eum [sic.; cum] Banquhone: qui vbi omnia polliciti fuissent, per occasionem regem septimum iam annum regnantem ad Enuernes (alii dicunt ad Bot gosuanae) obtruncat. (fol. 258v)

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[[Macbeth], therefore, held a council with his closest friends, and in particular with Banquo. When they had promised everything, they took an opportunity and killed the king [Duncan] at Inverness (others say it was Pitgaveny) in the seventh year of his reign.]

It is plausible that Bellenden found this episode inappropriate to a work which was to be dedicated to James V.23 Bellenden removes the name of Banquo from the text in MS M: “[Makbeth] gaderit all his freyndis, to ane counsale / And went to Jnuernes / quhair he slew king duncan / þe vij ‫܌‬ere of his Regne” (403). Bellenden’s intention to avoid offending the king, the principal reader and patron of this version, is probable. What is more intriguing, however, is the fact that Bellenden restores Banquo’s name in all the later versions. As Bellenden makes a thorough revision here, the restoration of Banquo’s name cannot be dismissed as accidental. The printed version reads: [Makbeth] gaderit his freindis to ane counsall at Jnnernes, quhare kyng Duncane happinnit to be for þe tyme. And becaus he fand sufficient oportunite be support of Banquho and otheris his freindis, he slew king Duncane the vii. ‫܌‬eir of his regne (fol. 173r–173v).24

Despite the fact that the printed version was also to be dedicated to James, Bellenden does not hesitate to insert the name of Banquo into the later versions. This seemingly inconsistent treatment of text can also be found in the description of the weird sisters. Boece deliberately avoids giving a conclusive definition of the three women who supply Macbeth with the first prophecies, which encourage him to usurp the crown. For example, he calls them “tres apparuere muliebri specie, insolita vestitus facie” (fol. 257v) [three, looking like women, in unusual clothing], or “parcas aut nymphas aliquas fatidicas diabolico astu praeditas” (fol. 258) [either the Fates or certain nymphs able to predict the future, endowed with devilish skill]. It is hardly possible to judge whether they are good or evil from these passages. Nevertheless, it seems that Bellenden regards the first prophecies that Macbeth will be the King of Scotland as good or favourable, while he regards the later prophecies which led him to destruction as unfavourable. Both in MS M and the printed version, Bellenden uses such favourable expressions in the description of the former as “wounderfull thyng” (fol. 173) or “beniuolence of fortoun” (fol. 173), while, in the description of the latter, he uses such negative expressions as “fals illusionis of þe deuil” (fol. 176).25 Hence this approach reveals that Bellenden does not think Macbeth’s usurping of the

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crown was altogether a bad thing. Macbeth was a good king for at least the first half of his reign, making valuable laws and preserving justice; and so, to Bellenden, he deserved his kingship. Although Bellenden often shows an ideological and political sympathy towards his own king by giving prominence to the imperial ideas and hereditary kingship in the later versions of the Chronicles, he does not take issue with the usurpation in this part of the Chronicles. Thus, Bellenden comes closer to Boece’s views on kingship here. This may be related to the fact that hereditary kingship was not yet established in Macbeth’s reign. Presumably, Bellenden thought that the political or social situation in Scotland before Macbeth’s reign was different from that thereafter, and thus he did not regard Macbeth’s usurpation of the crown as an entirely problematic issue, even if he did not see the earlier mode of succession as a preferable one.26 Bellenden’s description of these three women is striking, because he employs completely opposite nomenclature in MS M from that in the final printed version. In MS M, Bellenden consistently calls them “witches”, the same nomenclature he uses for the other supernatural beings who supply Macbeth with the later prophecies which lead him to destruction.27 In contrast, in the later versions, he alters this into “weird sisters”.28 Before Shakespeare’s tragedy, witches and weird sisters were clearly differentiated; the former had “dealing with the devil or evil spirits”, and performed supernatural acts such as sorcery or enchantment, whereas the latter, who were “regularly equated with the Roman Parcae”, had “the power to control the fate or destiny of human beings”.29 Thus Bellenden’s equation of these three women with witches is a deliberate one. Again, it seems likely that Bellenden’s rendition in MS M was instigated by his concern about his main reader, James V. He hesitates to give a positive image to the three women who encourage Macbeth to usurp the crown, and thus describes them as witches. In the later versions, however, he gave his own interpretation to them and called them weird sisters. One possible explanation of these formulations would be that Bellenden was not as concerned about James as a patron-reader in the later versions, which were targeted at a much wider audience than that of MS M. Bellenden must have realized the potential for a wide circulation of the printed edition, which could reach a readership considerably beyond the royal court.30 There is evidence, from the fifteenth century onwards, of non-royal literary patronage by magnates, clerics and the burgesses. The manuscript of the Kingis Quair, MS Arch. Selden. B. 24, for instance, was made for the Sinclairs of Roslin, and Gavin Douglas dedicated his translation of the Aeneid to Henry, Lord Sinclair.31 Bellenden himself had a non-royal patron, James Douglas.32 Thus, in fifteenth- and sixteenth-

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century Scotland, there were works that were “potentially princely” intended to “send a signal to the king”, but which were also designed “to make a more popular appeal” (MacDonald 2003, 170). The Chronicles, especially the printed version of it, can be regarded as one of those works. This is endorsed by the fact that the preface addressed to James V, which precedes the entire history in MS M, is placed after the history in the printed version.33 By placing the preface before the history in MS M, Bellenden demonstrates that it is mainly directed at James V. In contrast, by placing it after the entire history in the printed version, he deliberately downgrades James V from the main audience of his work. It is necessary, therefore, to bear in mind the different contexts in which each type of textual alteration was made. The removal of Banquo’s name and the equation of the three women with witches in the first manuscript version were made for the sake of James V. From a related perspective, the evolving prominence given to the idea of “empire” in the later versions cannot be regarded as articulating simply Bellenden’s ideological sympathy towards the Stewart monarchy. These versions are designed for a wider audience. The imperial ideas, which articulate the indomitability and the wholeness of the Scottish nation, were not incompatible with public feeling. The Scottish political community concurred with Bellenden that Scotland was unified under the rule of the Scottish king, and owed its independence from foreign overlordship to a powerful king who would defend the nation from foreign enemies. At the same time, however, the replacement of Banquo’s name in the conspiracy and the favourable description of the three women and their prophecies also reflect another facet of the political community’s attitude towards kingship. They believed that, in certain extreme circumstances, and where better government was concerned, kings could be replaced. The national identity of Scotland which emerges from Bellenden’s Chronicles, especially the printed version, is of a unified nation under the rule of the king in cooperation with his people.

Notes 1

For example, Mapstone (1998) scrutinizes the transmission of the scene containing the dialogue between Malcolm and Macduff in Book 12 from Boece through MSS M and A to the printed version, and demonstrates that Bellenden actively revises his text in several stages. See also Harikae 2009, 42–139. 2 At least eleven manuscripts are extant, and five of them, including MSS M, C and A, date from c.1531 onwards. For a detailed description of the extant manuscripts, see Sheppard 1937, 107–43, and Harikae 2009, 11–20.

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For a detailed discussion concerning the date of publication of the Chronicles, see Harikae 2009, 21–22. 4 See, for example, Royan 1998, 140. She compares Boece’s Latin with Bellenden’s translation in the first manuscript version, and claims that Bellenden cannot be “considered a translator, but rather a writer of his own version of events”. 5 For a detailed discussion of Bellenden’s translation of Livy, see Harikae 2009, 209–23. 6 Royan admits (1998, 137; 1996, 308–10) that “Boece may have contributed to the corrections of factual error for the printed version of Bellenden’s text”, but claims that “other revisions of the translation are not in character with the Latin text or its author”. She also argues that as Bellenden does not seem to have had access to “the two, further, unprinted, books of the Scotorum Historia, which Boece left incomplete on his death in 1536”, it is unlikely that Boece and Bellenden were “in regular contact over translation”. 7 For a detailed description of Boece’s political attitudes, see Royan 1996, 35–46. Royan (1996, 115) notes that Boece’s political philosophy was “attuned to reality, where it was dangerous to attempt radical changes in government, and therefore made more sense than a utopia”. Burns (1996, 91) claims that for Boece, “a concept or image of kingship [was] an institution rooted and grounded in the ‘mystical body’ of the community”, and thus, though he also endorses hereditary succession, it remains “a constitutional or limited authority”, which can be resisted or put an end “if it is intolerably abused by an incorrigible tyrant or an alien usurper”. 8 Burns (1996, 87) has shown how Boece’s narrative concerning the dispute for the crown between Robert Bruce and John Balliol is altered by Bellenden according to his own perspective concerning kingship. He argues that in Boece’s version there is the implication that kings can be deposed if they abuse their authority. Bellenden, on the other hand, seeks to diminish that and to celebrate Robert Bruce, a heroic ancestor of James V. Balliol’s standing as a king is reduced to “a mere creature of Edward I”, and, inversely, Bruce’s claim to the crown is reinforced by the statement that he was the “nerist be proximite to the crowne of Scotland” (“nerest air be proximite of blud to the crowne of Scotland”; fol. 207v). Bruce’s kingship is not confirmed by any constitutional process but by his own hereditary right. In conclusion, Burns claims (1996, 89): “Bellenden, more particularly in the revised and expanded version of his Hystory, resolved the ambiguities in Boece’s account in such a way as to minimize the ‘constitutionalist’ theme, while at the same time presenting Bruce in a less equivocal light as the upholder both of Scottish independence and of essentially hereditary kingship”. 9 In late fifteenth- and early sixteenth-century Scotland, for instance, many ecclesiastical buildings were built with arched imperial crowns. Mason (1998, 130–31 and 1999, 77–80) following David McRoberts’s argument (1968), claims that these imperial crowns on ecclesiastical architecture are linked to the pursuit by the Stewart monarchy of authority over the national Church. 10 There was adamant insistence on England’s suzerainty over Scotland in late medieval and early modern England. Thus the imperial concept was especially

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effective to show Scotland’s independence from English overlordship. See Mason 1998, 82–83, 134; Ferguson 1974, 35–37. 11 Ferguson (1974, 38) claims that this use of the imperial term “antedates its first appearance in English statute law, which occurred in the 1530s during the Henrician Reformation”. A silver groat with a portrait of James III wearing an arched imperial crown was issued in 1484. See Mason 1998, 130; Thomas 2005, 179. For a detailed account of the coinage in the reign of James III, see Stewart 1967, 57–67, plate VIII (nos. 107 and 119); Seaby 1985, 206–07 (plate 269). James IV did not follow his father and his coinage “reverted to the use of the stereotyped king’s head wearing an open crown” (Thomas 2005, 179). See, for example, Stewart 1967, plate IX, nos. 123–26. On the occasion of her marriage to James IV in 1503, however, Margaret Tudor was gifted an illuminated Book of Hours, now Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS Codex Lat. 1897, which was probably commissioned by James IV. The Book of Hours includes portraits of Margaret and James IV at prayer, both wearing arched imperial crowns (fols 24v and 243v), as well as a full plate of the royal arms with an imperial crown (fol. 14v). 12 For a detailed account of the coinage in the reign of James V, see Holmes 2006, 1–3. Four types of silver coins with a portrait of James wearing a closed imperial crown, which were minted between 1526 and 1538, are reproduced as nos. 42–134 in the plates. For the coronation of Mary of Guise in 1540, James refashioned the crown and “gave it the form which it retains to this day” (Mason 1998, 137). It is not certain exactly when the king’s crown was closed with “imperial” arches. Thomas (2005, 195) suggests that this was in May 1532, when the crown was repaired and remodelled. 13 Presumably, as Mason argues (1998, 133), this wide spread of the imperial ideas is partly indebted to humanist education. It produced “an embryonic lay legal culture” which encouraged “commitment to a uniform code of law and to a value system in which submission to the king’s justice was a hallmark of civilised behaviour”. 14 It is possible that Sir David Lyndsay, who had become senior herald by the time the Chronicles was published, was involved in, or responsible for, the design of the new woodcut. See Edington 1994, 38–39; Hadley Williams 2003, 191; Mason 1998, 136. Davidson employs the same woodcut for the title page of The New Actis and Constitutionis of Parliament Maid Be the Rycht Excellent Prince James the Fift King of Scottis (1542). 15 Many of the woodcuts in Davidson’s stock were second-hand ones; he is known to have acquired at least four woodcuts from the Antwerp printer Jan van Doesborch. It seems that the woodcut of the coat of arms and that of his printer’s device are instances of a few woodcuts newly commissioned by Davidson from the Continent. See Beattie 1948–55, 34–44; Watry 1992, 98; Harikae 2009, 15–16. 16 In contrast, in Book 1 of the Chronicles, where the founding of the Scottish nation is narrated, Bellenden employs the imperial idea to demonstrate the invincible independence of the Scottish king within the Scottish nation. Thus Bellenden’s way of employing the imperial idea is itself multifold.

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All citations from Boece’s Scotorum Historia are taken from Hector Boece, Scotorum historiae a prima gentis origine libri xvii (Paris, [1527]), and all abbreviations are silently expanded. All the translations of quotations from the Scotorum Historia were originally made with the assistance of Professor Michael Winterbottom of Oxford University. 18 All quotations from MS M are from New York, Pierpont Morgan Library MS M. 527. In order to follow the scribe’s intention, the original punctuation and capitalization are retained. 19 See MS C, fol. 245v and MS A, fol. 239. 20 All citations from the printed edition of the Chronicles are from Boethius 1977. 21 MSS C and A have the almost same readings. MS C reads: “king dauid to resist thir Jniuris gaderit ane grete power with deliuerit purposs oþir to expell Jnglismen out of all boundis pertenand to his empire / or ellis all at anis to de” (fol. 263). MS A has the same reading except that “deliuerit” is deleted. See fol. 254. 22 For the corresponding parts in MSS C and A, see fols 263 and 254 respectively. 23 Although the Scotorum Historia was also dedicated to James V, Boece does not hesitate to claim that Banquo was involved in the conspiracy. This might be attributable to the fact that the Scotorum Historia was written in Latin, with which James V was not conversant. I am grateful to Dr Nicola Royan of Nottingham University for sharing her ideas on this point. 24 The corresponding parts in MSS C and A have the same readings. See fols 247 and 240v. 25 See also MS M, 402–03 and 408. 26 This notion can be endorsed by one revision Bellenden makes in Book 12, ch. 3. In Boece, the chapter starts with the passage “Accidit autem haud ita multo post res noua atque admiranda quae statum regni perturbauit” (fol. 257v). [Not very long after that, a strange and wonderful thing happened which introduced confusion to the situation in the kingdom.] In the printed version, Bellenden renders this with a slightly different implication: “Nocht lang eftir hapnit ane vncouth and wounderfull thyng. Be quhilk followit sone ane gret alteration in þe realme” (fol. 173). Bellenden maintains that after the prophecy was given to Macbeth, there occurred a drastic change in the realm of Scotland. 27 Bellenden once employs the term “weird sisters” and identifies “witches” with “weird sisters” in MS M: “becaus all thingis come As þir wiches divinit / The pepill trustit þame to be werd sisteris” (402). Boece differentiates these three women from the other supernatural beings who appear in the latter half of Macbeth’s reign, “haruspicibus” (fol. 261), prophets, and “mulierculae” (fol. 261), a little woman; the prophecy that Macduff will rebel against Macbeth is given by the former, and the prophecies about Birnam wood and Macbeth’s invincibility are given by the latter. In both MS M and the printed version, Bellenden calls them witches. 28 In the intermediary versions, Bellenden almost invariably uses “weird sisters” except in one case where he writes “thir weches”. The most plausible explanation for this last formulation is that when Bellenden made corrections in the early stage of his revision work, he overlooked this instance. It remained in the intermediary manuscripts, but later, in the printed version, Bellenden corrected it. It is likely that

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Bellenden is indebted to Andrew Wyntoun’s Original Chronicle (1420s) for the nomenclature of the weird sisters. In the Original Chronicle, Macbeth is given the first prophecy by the “thre women” who appear in his dream. Wyntoun calls them “thre werd sisteris”. Nevertheless, the prophecy about Macbeth’s invincibility is given by his father, “a deuill”. The prophecy about the Birnam wood is mentioned, but it is not clarified who gives it. See Wyntoun 1903–14, VII:274, 278. 29 OED, weird sisters, witch, and DOST, werd sisteris. See also Simpson 1995, 11 and 17. 30 For a detailed description of the actual readership of the Chronicles, see Harikae 2009, ch. 5. 31 See Boffey, Edwards and Barker-Benfield 1997, 21–22; Bawcutt 1976, 93; MacDonald 2003, 169; Mapstone 1991 and 2007. 32 For a detailed description of the relationship between Bellenden and James Douglas, see Sheppard 1937, 30, 113–14; Harikae 2009, 4–8. 33 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, writers introduced their works with dedicatory letters or epistles in order to “prescribe a book’s readership”. See Brayman Hackel 2005, 103.

SOVEREIGNTY, SCOTTISHNESS AND ROYAL AUTHORITY IN CAIMBEUL POETRY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY WILSON MCLEOD

Over the course of the sixteenth century the Caimbeul earls of Argyll played a central role in Scottish politics and government. This article will look at the ways these chiefs are depicted in the Gaelic poetry of the period, studying in particular the patterns of rhetoric. Although the surviving corpus is not large, the presentation of the Caimbeul chiefs, known also by the traditional Gaelic patronymic MacCailein (Mòr), varies considerably from poem to poem, most strikingly in terms of their role as political leaders within Gaeldom, Scotland and Britain. Literary and genealogical material relating to the Caimbeuls provides an unusually clear demonstration of the ways in which identities and alignments could be strategically rejigged over time; in particular; the putative “British” antecedents of the Caimbeuls came to have new resonance and usefulness in the changing political context of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Gillies 1999; Gillies 1994). For a number of reasons it is difficult to contextualize these works, some of which were composed by trained professional poets (filidh, sing. file; vernacular Scottish Gaelic filidhean, filidh) in strict metres (dán díreach) and in Classical Gaelic, and are thus classified as “bardic” poems, and others composed by bards of inferior standing using looser metre and vernacular Scottish Gaelic.1 There are no surviving poems to Caimbeul chiefs from before the start of the sixteenth century (although there are earlier poems to a number of other noble Gaelic families, especially Clann Domhnaill), and all the surviving sixteenth-century poems are anonymous or effectively anonymous and the circumstances of their composition are usually uncertain. In addition, as is typical of late medieval and early modern Gaelic poetry, evidence of reception by audiences tends to be weak or indirect, although it is obviously not without significance that the poem(s) “An Duanag Ullamh”, discussed below, survived in oral tradition for more than two centuries and was preserved in no fewer than six

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manuscripts and books from the late eighteenth century, or that a eulogy to a Caimbeul chief, “Maith an chairt ceannas na nGaoidheal”, was transcribed in two separate manuscripts written by MacMhuirich poets in service to the MacDhòmhnaills of Clann Raghnaill (Black 1976–78, 329–30). More has been written about the earliest surviving Caimbeul poem,2 an anonymous text which opens with the line “Ar sliocht Gaodhal ó Ghort Gréag [The race of Gaels from the land of Greece]”,3 than about any other bardic poem in Gaelic. In particular, scholars have disagreed about the circumstances of its composition. The dominant view, recently re-argued (with rather different approaches) by Pía Coira (2008)4 and Màrtainn MacGriogair (2010), connects the poem to the battle of Flodden in 1513, so that it is sometimes referred to as the “Flodden poem”. MacGriogair has offered a detailed and plausible scenario for its composition, suggesting that it may have been composed by a professional poet patronized by Gill’Easbaig Caimbeul, second earl of Argyll, and presented to Gill’Easbaig in connection with the visit of the Ulster chief Aodh Ó Domhnaill, an ally of King James IV, in mid-1513, some months before the disastrous battle of Flodden, where James, Gill’Easbaig and other “Flowers of the Forest” were killed (2010, 31–33). An alternative interpretation, advanced by the late Máirtín Ó Briain (2002, 247–54) and Stephen Boardman (2006, 280–82), dates the poem slightly earlier and places it in a very different political context, proposing that the poem was composed c.1501–02, possibly by a poet working for Torcal MacLeòid of Lewis, in connection with efforts to persuade Gill’Easbaig to support a rising on behalf of Dòmhnall Dubh MacDhòmhnaill, grandson of the last Lord of Isles, following the forfeiture of the Lordship in 1493. Most recently, Silke Stroh (2011, 65) has analysed the poem from a postcolonial perspective, arguing that it shows an “ambivalence between ethnic or regional loyalties on the one hand and loyalty to nation, Crown and central government on the other”. Determining the context for “Ar sliocht Gaodhal” is important because of the striking political rhetoric used in the poem. The poet refers again and again to the Goill (sing. Gall) and urges the Gaels (Gaoidhil, sing. Gaoidheal)5 to rise against them. The semantics of the term Gall therefore comes into question. If the association with Flodden is correct, then the term Goill must refer to the English, and (seemingly) all Scots, Highlander and Lowlander, are to be understood as Gaels, and engaged in a collective “national” struggle. Conversely, if the association with the Domhnall Dubh rising is the right one, then the Goill must be the Lowland Scots, with the term Gaoidhil reserved for Highlanders.

CAIMBEUL POETRY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY Is dú éirghe i n-aghaidh Gall, nocha dóigh éirghe udmhall; faobhair claidheamh, reanna ga, cóir a gcaitheamh go h-aobhdha. Ré Gallaibh, adeirim ribh, sul ghabhadar ar ndúthaigh; ná léigmid ar ndúthaigh dhínn, déinmid ardchogadh ainmhín, ar aithris Gaoidheal mBanbha, caithris ar ar n-athardha.… Cuir th’urfhógra an oir ’s an iar ar Ghaoidhlibh ó Ghort Gáilian; cuir siar thar ardmhuir na Goill, nach biadh ar Albain achrainn.… [athroinn] Na fréamha ó bhfuilid ag fás, díthigh iad, mór a bhforfhás, nach faighthear Gall beó dot éis, ná Gaillseach ann ré h-aisnéis.… Léig le h-uisge a luaithre sin, i ndiaidh loisgthe dá dtaisibh; ná déan teóchroidhe a beó Gall, a eó bheóghoine anbhfann.

It is right to rise against [Goill], no bungled strike do we anticipate, but swords’ edge, spears’ tip, rightly plied with spirit. Against [Goill], I tell ye, before they have taken our country, let’s not throw away our land, let us make no gentle warfare; in imitation of the Gaels of Ireland, let us watch over our fatherland…. Send your summons east and west to the Gaels of the field of Leinster; drive the [Goill] west over the sea, so Scotland may not be in conflict… [suffer no (re-)division] 6

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WILSON MCLEOD The roots from which they grow, destroy them, great their propagation, after you let no [Gall] be found alive, nor foreign [Gallda] bitch to be counted. Send their ashes down the stream after the burning of their corpses, show no pity to a single [living Gall] you mighty death-dealing salmon. (McLeod and Bateman 2007, 238–45: ll. 5–14, 39–42, 45–48, 53–56)7

At different points and in different contexts the term Gall was used to refer to Scandinavians, English and Lowland Scots, in addition to its original (and little-attested) meaning “Gaul”. Thirteenth-century eulogies by Irish bardic poets tended to refer to their Hebridean patrons as Goill (see, for example, McLeod and Bateman 2007, 78: ll. 44, 50, 52; 86: l. 58), and the term Fionnghall (literally “fair foreigners”) was used as a term for the Hebrides and Hebrideans in poems by both Scottish and Irish bardic poets from the early sixteenth century to the early eighteenth (McLeod 2002). This usage is of course preserved in the Gaelic name for the Hebrides, Innse Gall. In Ireland, usage of the term Gall with reference to the Anglo-Norman incomers seems to have begun not long after their arrival in the twelfth century (Coira 2008, 141–42), and in turn Irish annalists of the fifteenth and sixteenth century labelled Lowland Scots as Goill, in contradistinction to the Gaels of Scotland (Freeman 1944, 410–11 (s.a. 1411), 717–18 (s.a. 1540)). Nevertheless, the meaning of the term Gall in sixteenth-century Scotland was clearly somewhat unstable and variable. Sometimes it appears to refer to Lowlanders, sometimes to the English. In his dedicatory poem at the start of his Foirm na n-Urrnuidheadh (1567), the Gaelic version of the Book of Common Order, Seon Carsuel refers to England as “gort Gall [the field [land] of the Goill]”, which he distinguishes clearly from “Alba” (McLeod and Bateman 2007, 44: ll. 5–8); Thomson 1970, 13). Indeed, the term Gall may be used with the meaning “English” as late as 1633, in an elegy on Cailein Dearg MacCoinnich, first earl of Seaforth, by Cailein Dubh MacCoinnich of Kilcoy, in which Cailein is described as being “air ruaig [am] measg Ghall [driven away among the Goill]”, as having “grasped a bow in the bounds of London [ghlac thu bogha sa chrìch Lunnainnich]” and as “fhir chuspair nan Gall [beloved of the Goill]”.8 Possibly the references to Goill here are to Lowland Scots rather than the people Cailein would have encountered in London, which he

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visited more than once and where the king apparently praised him as the finest archer in Britain (Matheson 1968, 155), but there is nothing else in the poem relating to Lowland Scotland or Lowland Scots. Coira (2008, 149) has cut this Gordian knot by suggesting that the term Gall in poetry may not refer to any specific group but may be “merely theoretical, somewhat vague and abstract”, a “customary convention representing the chief as the defender of his territory and people against foreign intrusion”. This is particularly the case when a poem contains only “passing references” to the Goill rather than a concrete, developed argument. This interpretation challenges the strong view propounded by John MacInnes (1989, 38–39; 1976–78) that the Gaels drew a sharp and unambiguous distinction between Lowland Scots and English, using the term Gall for the former and Sasannach for the latter. MacInnes’s presentation is based on the totality of Gaelic tradition, but particularly the ideas expressed in vernacular material composed from the early seventeenth century onwards and collected from the mid-eighteenth century onwards. A key unresolved issue here is how and when this particular interpretation of Scottish Gaelic identity and self-location was constructed; it is unfortunate that historians—too few of whom have expertise or interest in matters Gaelic—have not given more attention to the problem.9 The ideology and interpretations described by MacInnes probably developed gradually and incrementally over the course of centuries, based on a variety of deliberate positionings and repositionings in light of shifting circumstances. One important element in this realignment was the strategy through which Hebrideans of mixed NorseGaelic stock came (beginning perhaps as early as the thirteenth century) to downplay their Norse heritage and magnify their sense of Gaelic identity and their connection to Scotland and Scottishness. A different kind of forgetting and reimagining was required in relation to “Lowland” Scotland, where language and culture shift during the later medieval period meant that Gaelic identity faded almost entirely, so that people whose forebears had spoken Gaelic for several centuries could be now marked as Goill. The main point to take from this debate is the necessity to avoid overinterpretation. Even if “Ar sliocht Gaodhal” could be interpreted without hesitation as being connected to the battle of Flodden,10 it nevertheless could only represent the perspective of a single poet working for a single patron at a particular historical juncture. We do not know the poet’s name and have no further knowledge of his background, training, works, predilections, prejudices or aspirations. This single poem cannot possibly be taken as an expression of the Gaels’ views of Scotland and Scottishness

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through the centuries. Some historians, however, have made too much of this isolated text, with Steven Ellis (1998, 262) arguing that “given the greater cohesion of the Scottish kingdom” in comparison to Ireland, this poem expresses “a more developed, political sense of national identity and the national territory among Scottish Gaeldom”, while Michael Lynch (1992, 68) has described the poem as expressing the unchanging worldview of “Highland society” and “the most remarkable example of Scottish patriotism between the Declaration of Arbroath and the seventeenth century”. When we turn to the poem, or pair of poems, that comes next in chronological order within the Caimbeul corpus we see how variable the political rhetoric of Caimbeul poetry can be, and thus how unsafe it is to read too much into particular formulae or expressions. This poem, known as “An Duanag Ullamh [The Finished (or Prepared) Verses]”, has actually come down to us in two separate versions, and the two are sufficiently different that it is more useful to consider the later version a separate composition, reworked and updated, rather than a mere variant of the earlier one. It is very difficult indeed to untangle them; William Gillies (1976–78, 287–88) has suggested “that the surviving versions of the poem all post-date an early contamination between two similar compositions in the same snéadhbhairdne metre”. The first version, which is found in several eighteenth-century manuscripts and was first published in 1770,11 is apparently addressed to Cailean Malach, third earl of Argyll (†1529), and was probably composed in the late 1520s.12 The second version, which is preserved in only one manuscript, again from the eighteenth century, is apparently addressed to his son Gill’Easbaig Ruadh, fourth earl of Argyll (†1558), and was probably composed in the mid–1550s (McLeod and Bateman 2007, 380– 87 and 518). Unlike “Ar sliocht Gaodhal”, “An Duanag Ullamh” is not a classical bardic poem; the language is vernacular Scottish Gaelic, albeit with a few classicisms (including the repeated use of the negative particle ní rather than the vernacular cha), and the form of the snéadhbhairdne metre used here is relaxed somewhat from classical stricture.13 According to oral tradition the poem (or at least the Gill’Easbaig version) was composed by the bard to MacGill’Eathain,14 with “bard” here understood in the technical sense, that is, a professional poet of a grade inferior to the trained file, with the poem being prepared (ullamh) for a special occasion, most likely the wedding in 1557 of Eachann Òg MacGill’Eathain of Duart and Seònaid, daughter of earl Gill’Easbaig (see Matheson n.d.).15 The Cailean version contains twenty-five quatrains and the Gill’Easbaig version twenty. The core of each text is the same: a detailed and powerful description of the earl’s fleet and their warrior crews. With

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regard to the remainder of the poem, ten of the quatrains in the Cailean version are not found in the Gill’Easbaig version, while the Gill’Easbaig version contains five quatrains not found in the Cailean version.16 The material included in the Cailean version but not the Gill’Easbaig version has the overall effect of presenting earl Cailean as a loyal officer of the king of Scotland while the Gill’Easbaig version depicts him more as a traditional Gaelic warlord, making no mention at all of the king of Scotland. Yet in no circumstances could it be argued that Gill’Easbaig was not as involved in national affairs as Cailean had been; both were at the very forefront of the Scottish nobility, centrally involved in national politics (Campbell 2002, 1–44; Dawson 2002). Stanzas 5 and 12 give a good illustration of the divergent rhetoric. There are considerable similarities in the two versions of these stanzas, but their cumulative impact is very different, with earl Cailean depicted as a saviour of Scotland and servant of the king and earl Gill’Easbaig as a fearsome Gaelic cattle-raider: Cailean version Mar leòmhann neartmhor, nimhneach, làidir, An àm trioblaid thu; ’S beag nach deachaidh Alb’ air udal Gus na theasraig thu… ’N deagh shluagh lìonmhor fo làn armaibh, O ’m barcaibh reamhra, Air a dheas-làimh daonnan neart nan Guibhneach, Aig Rìgh Alba… Like a lion, baneful, mighty, powerful are you in time of trouble: Scotland almost in jeopardy before you saved her… The good host, coming armed and thronging from their stout galleys: Caimbeul strength always on the right hand of the King of Scotland… Gill’Easbaig version Dias abaich chruithneachd ’s i lomlàn Am measg seagail: ’S beag nach deachaidh Alba air udal An àird air th’eagal…

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WILSON MCLEOD Do shluagh lìonmhor leathann armach Air bhàrcaibh reamhra: ’S mairg air ’n dèanadh feachd Uí Dhuibhne Creach na Samhna… Ripe wheat-ear, full to bursting, among the rye-stalks: Scotland almost in jeopardy at the height of your anger… Your hosts, armed and numerous, on sturdy galleys: woe on whom the men of Clan Caimbeul17 make their Hallowe’en plunder…

Stanzas 17–20 of the Cailean version describe, albeit rather obliquely, the earl’s royal offices and duties. The reference to Cailean’s role as “àrdbhreitheamh” (lit. “high-judge”) appears to relate to his 1528 appointment as Justiciar General of Scotland; “guardian and defender of the far border” may refer to his appointment as Lieutenant of the Borders and Warden of the Marches in connection with the suppression of the Douglas rebellion.18 Fhuair thu siud on rìgh ’s gum b’ airidh Bhith d’ àrd-cheannard, Air fearaibh Alba, ’s bhith d’ àrd-bhreitheamh Nithe ’s anama. Atà thu d’ àrd-fhear coimhid is glèidhidh Air a’ chrìch thall; Ràinig, ’s bhuadhaich air ar nàimhdean, ’S fhuair sibh sìochaint. Air àrd-chomhairle na h-Alba, ’S tu stiùir uile, Do cho-mhath nì ’n d’fhuaras ’n seanchas O linn Uilleim. Ualas, flath nam fear gun choimeas Am measg dhaoine; Cailean na dhòigh-sin gun choimeas, An t-Iarl’ Aorach. The king made you, quite rightly, high commander of the men of Scotland and a justiciar of church and state matters.

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You are the chief guardian and defender of the far border; you came, won over your enemies, and achieved concord. Of all on Scotland’s high council, you’re the helmsman; your match I’ve not heard of since the time of William. Wallace, prince without equal among the people, Cailean likewise without equal, Earl of Inveraray.

Another important feature of the Cailean version is the reference to William Wallace, the archetypal Scottish national hero. This reference is utterly extraordinary in Gaelic poetry of this period; the established pantheon and frame of panegyric reference consists of ancient semimythological Irish warrior-kings, and there is almost no role for figures like Wallace (or indeed Bruce, who is apparently not attested at all).19 Indeed the invocation of Wallace here is so extraordinary that it might even result from some kind of later interpolation; it is worth recalling that the earliest manuscript source for “An Duanag Ullamh” was written almost 250 years after it was (ostensibly) composed. “An Duanag Ullamh” is among the very earliest surviving poems in vernacular Scottish Gaelic, and in the cases of some other poems dated to the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries it is doubtful whether these texts are in fact as old as claimed, or whether the surviving version accurately reflects the original composition.20 Stanzas 16–18 of the Gill’Easbaig version are very different, with Gill’Easbaig a fearsome warrior holding Scotland, Ireland and France in tribute, with no reference to the king or Gill’Easbaig’s official role as an agent of the king. Tigidh gu lìonmhor gu d’ bhaile Le ’n sluagh daoine: Leat a bhì Alba air a h-àlach, ’S an Fhraing bhraonach. Cìos as uaisle aig fearaibh Albann, Feachd is loingeas: ’S leat-sa sin gu h-umhal tairis ’N tùs gach conais.

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WILSON MCLEOD Thig thugad cìos Thìre Conaill A bhith bheò-chalma Conn a-rìs, bu chruaidh a chuibhreach Le a shluagh meanmnach.

There comes crowding to your homestead with their armies: yours was Scotland and her oarsmen and dewy France; The noblest tribute of the men of Scotland, troops and galleys: those are yours, obedient and pliant, in the vanguard of every conflict. To you comes Tirconnell’s tribute, o lively energetic one, you are a second Conn—hard his bondage— with his spirited army.21

The significance of the reference to France here is not entirely clear; it may be a nod to the purported Norman ancestry of the Caimbeuls (Gillies 1976–78; Gillies 1994) or it may reflect earl Gill’Easbaig’s diplomatic activity in the French court (Coira 2011, 339). The reference to Tirconnell (Donegal) is best understood as an allusion to the contractual payments made by An Calbhach Ó Domhnaill (†1566), chief of that territory, pursuant to an agreement of 1555 by which earl Gill’Easbaig agreed to provide An Calbhach with men and a powerful cannon.22 Finally, the apparent analogy between Gill’Easbaig and Conn Céadchathach (“Conn of the Hundred Battles”),23 one of the greatest warrior-kings in ancient Gaelic (pseudo-) history, is distinctly different from a comparison to the Lowland champion William Wallace. One final point of significance concerning the Cailean version is an apparent usage of the term Gall to mean “Lowland Scot”, though in a complimentary sense: Beannachd gach aon duine ad chuideachd Ghall is Ghàidheal. All in your retinue give you their blessing, both Gall and Gael.

(ll. 91–92)

This alliterative phrase “Gall is Gàidheal” evidently has something of a formulaic quality, and is attested elsewhere;24 even so, its integrative

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quality is rhetorically more suited to the Cailean version than the Gill’Easbaig version. The important differences between these two texts provide a clear warning of the dangers of over-generalization with this material, and taking everything at face value. The Cailean version of “An Duanag Ullamh” gives us a vision of “Scottishness” that is significantly different from the depiction we see in a very similar poem composed for his son just thirty years later. The most impressive Caimbeul poem of the sixteenth century is the 204-line, multifaceted and verbally exuberant classical eulogy “Maith an chairt ceannas na nGaoidheal [The headship of the Gaels is good charter]” (McLeod and Bateman 2007, 140–53, 505–06). It is not possible to date the poem precisely or determine the circumstances of its composition. The subject is named as Gill’Easbaig, but it is unclear whether this is the fourth (1530–38), fifth (1558–75) or seventh (1584–1638) earl of Argyll. It may be the work of a member of the MacEoghain family, who served the Caimbeuls as hereditary poets during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (McLeod 2004, 70–73), but this is by no means certain. “Maith an chairt ceannas na nGaoidheal” presents Gill’Easbaig as a traditional Gaelic chief, manifesting all the characteristics of traditional sovereignty and just rule, including the superfluity of natural bounty:25 Ar tteacht dó ’na dheisi chatha ní chongbhuidh cách a ghort ghliadh; ní éir ó shin aon ’na aghaidh do bheir taobh ré cabhair chliar. Ar ngabháil ceannais gach cinnidh ceangluidh síothchain ’na síth bhuain; congbhuidh ó shin reacht is riaghuil, do-bheir ceart gan iarraidh uaidh. Ceanglaidh sé gan cheilg da chéile curadh uaisle Innsi Gall; léigthear do thoil géill a geimhlibh: ní fhuil dréim ri oighribh ann… Ré linn leómhuin Locha Fíne fiodhbhuidh lúbtha ó chnuas na ccrann; tig do ’n teas air thí a thadhaill nach bí eas ar abhainn ann. Táinig d’iomad iasg na n-inbhear gan úidh duine ar déanamh lín;

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WILSON MCLEOD lór d’a mholadh, mana reachta, toradh mara ag teacht a ttír. When he has donned his dress of battle none can sustain his field of fray; thenceforth no-one will rise against him who has respect for poets’ praise. When he has gained each clan’s headship he makes a treaty of permanent peace; thenceforth he maintains law and order, dispenses justice by them unsought. Without treachery he binds them together the hero of the lords of Innse Gall [the Hebrides]; at his will, sureties are released from shackles, no-one attempts to rival his heirs… During the lion of Loch Fyne’s era trees are bent from the branches’ fruit; as a result of the heat wherever he treads no waterfall is found on any stream. The fish of the estuaries are so abundant that no man thinks to make a net; sufficient his praise, a portent of his fitness: the produce of the sea swimming to shore. (ll. 165–76, 181–88)26

At the same time, the poem contains powerful rhetoric in relation to the specifically Scottish Gaelic concept of “ceannas nan Gàidheal [the headship of the Gaels]”,27 and more interestingly still, indirect references to Gill’Easbaig’s service to the king of Scots. The rhetorical framework of the poem is almost entirely Scottish, or indeed British, with only a single reference to Ireland (l. 32). The poet refers three times to Gill’Easbaig’s rightful claim to “ceannas nan Gàidheal”,28 framing it successively in terms of Scotland, Gaeldom, and Britain: “Ceannas Ghaoidheal Mhoighe Monaidh”,29 “Ceannas Ghaoidheal maicne Míleadh”,30 “Ceannas Ghaoidheal …ag aoinfhear d’fhéin Bhreatuin”, “Ceannas Ghaoidheal oiléin Alban” (ll. 5, 9, 20, 29).31 Although in most respects the poem’s panegyric rhetoric presents Gill’Easbaig as an independent ruler in the traditional Gaelic mould, he is described, in an echo of stanza seventeen of the Cailean version of “An Duanag Ullamh”, as “ardbhreitheamh ós Albain” (l. 49), literally “high-judge over Scotland”, apparently an oblique reference to his appointment to the royal office of Lord Justiciar of Scotland.32

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The poem includes another example of the term Gall being used with the meaning “Lowland Scot”, again in a positive sense, at the beginning of the section of the poem describing the “allies”33 that flock to MacCailein: An uair goirthear a ghairm thionóil teguid uime gasruidh Ghall; gairg fhir ó chrích ghairbh na nGaoidheal, gan díoth airm ar aoinfhear ann. When his mustering call is sounded Lowland lads gather round, fierce men from the Gaelic Rough Bounds, with not one man lacking in arms.

(ll. 61–64)

The last poem to be considered here, “Dual ollamh do thriall le toisg [It is customary for a high-poet to journey on an embassy]”, presents MacCailein in a very different light, as a saviour coming over the sea to rescue Ireland, described as “buaidhreadh Gall is Gaoidheal [vexation from both Gall and Gaoidheal]” (l. 22), with the term Gall here referring to the English in Ireland. The anonymous, unpublished poem (NLS, Adv MS 72.2.2., fols 8v, 10 11r), composed in deibhidhe metre and 180 lines long, seems to be the only surviving composition to a Caimbeul chief composed by an Irish poet, and as with other texts in the Caimbeul corpus the circumstances of its composition are not clear. The patron addressed is Gill’Easbaig Gruamach, seventh earl of Argyll,34 who held the title from 1584 to 1638, and it may well have been composed c.1595, when Caimbeul intervention in the Ulster wars was being sought (Campbell 2002, 118–20). The ollamh (high-poet) explains that he has come from Ireland on a mission, to summon Gill’Easbaig to assist Ireland. The onomastic landscape presented in the poem is almost entirely Irish: the poet refers to Ireland at least fourteen times, using no fewer than ten different poetic bynames, naming two great Irish power centres (Cruacha and Tara) and two Irish rivers (the Boyne and the Boyle), while referring to Scotland only twice (using a single poetic by-name, Magh Monaidh) and naming only a single place in Scotland (Argyll itself, in referring to Gill’Easbaig’s earldom).35 A good deal of the political rhetoric in this poem is entirely conventional, and it has much in common with a roughly contemporary poem composed to Seumas (mac Aonghais) MacDhòmhnaill of Knockrinsay (†1626), “Bí ad mhosgaladh, a mheic Aonghais [Awake, o son of Aonghas]”, in which Seumas is urged to return to Ireland and succour her (Bergin 1984 [1970], 161–66, 287–90). There are some significant

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differences in the rhetoric used in the two poems, however. Seumas is urged to seize the high-kingship of Ireland; this is a very common motif in poems to Irish chiefs belonging to various families but in the surviving Scottish poems it is only used in poems to members of Clann Domhnaill of Islay and Antrim,36 and this does not feature in “Dual ollamh do thriall le toisg”. Conversely, there are some distinctly Caimbeul aspects, especially the references to the family’s purported British pedigree and connection to King Arthur (Gillies 1999): the poet uses the remarkable label “Breat-Ghaoidheal” (literally “Brit-Gael”, l. 122) and refers to Arthur’s sway over Ireland in ancient times (ll. 33–40). The ollamh also refers to Gill’Easbaig with more traditional Gaelic honorifics, twice describing him as “rí (na n)Gaoidheal [king of the Gaels]”, ll. 48, 120) and twice as “iarla Gaoidheal [earl of the Gaels]”, ll. 129, 140, but, in contrast to “Maith an chairt ceannas na nGaoidheal”, there is no reference to the king of Scots and MacCailein’s subordinate role: his sovereignty in Scotland is presented in terms of him being the bulwark of Scotland: “tá bac ag Albain ort / ar mhéad do chlú ’s do chumhacht [You are Scotland’s support / From the greatness of your fame and your power]”, ll. 73–74. This micro-study of a small corpus of poems suggests that Gaelic poets of the sixteenth century could draw on a surprisingly diverse “panegyric code” when addressing their patrons, even in the case of a single aristocratic family. There is considerable discontinuity from poem to poem, most obviously the two versions of “An Duanag Ullamh”. Making sense of this material requires sensitivity and a keen awareness of usage and convention, and there is an obvious risk of over-interpretation, particularly as there are so many gaps and discontinuities in the surviving corpus, and any evidence of reception and reaction is so refracted.37

Notes 1

This seemingly contradictory nomenclature is now irrevocably established. Poetry composed by bards is not classified as “bardic poetry”; this term properly refers only to work that was not composed by bards, but by poets of a higher grade and with a different title; see McLeod and Bateman 2007, xxxiv–xxxv. Matters are not helped by the fact that bàrd, formerly a specific term, became the general unmarked word for “poet” in verncular Scottish Gaelic, and bàrdachd the word for “poetry” in general. 2 The earliest surviving poem to a Caimbeul chief, that is; the Book of the Dean of Lismore (1512x42) contains several poems by, rather than to, Caimbeul aristocrats (including an earl of Argyll) from the late fifteenth century or very early sixteenth century; see McLeod 2004, 80–81.

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Classical bardic poems do not have titles per se and are conventionally referred to by their first lines. The opening verses of this poem are missing, however, so that the first line of the surviving text, which is preserved in the Book of the Dean of Lismore, is not in fact the actual opening. For the edited text, see McLeod and Bateman 2007, 238–45 and 510–11 (trans. Meg Bateman), and Watson 1937, 158– 65 and 290–91 (trans. W. J. Watson). 4 See also Coira’s major study, By Poetic Authority (2012), which appeared as this article was going to press and which includes a detailed analysis of the rhetoric of Caimbeul poetry (pp. 122–48). 5 The forms given here are the standard nominatives in Early Modern Gaelic, but note that singular forms do not actually appear in the text. Gàidheal (plural Gàidheil) is the standard spelling in modern Scottish Gaelic. 6 There has been some editorial disagreement among scholars concerning this line. W. J. Watson preferred athroinn (literally “re-division”) while Angus Matheson (following Osborn Bergin) preferred achrainn “strife, difficulty”; see McLeod and Bateman 2007, 510–11: l. 42n. Coira (2008, 153) has presented a useful explication of the term athroinn, describing this as “a well-developed topos referring to the various political and geographical divisions undergone by Ireland over time”. 7 It appears that the text as quoted here is incomplete. As bardic verse was structured in quatrains, it seems that two lines of the second verse quoted are missing, and that the third line there is actually the start of a new quatrain. The content of the missing half of the second quatrain may well have been significant. Note also that the translation of the second line of the incomplete quatrain has been revised slightly to make it reflect the original text more literally. My thanks to Prof. William Gillies for these observations. 8 “Gur tric teachdair’ bhon eug”, ll. 7–9, 22–27 (published in Matheson 1968, 155– 56) (author’s translation)). Matheson suggests that the poem was probably composed upon news of the earl’s illness but before his actual death. 9 For a slightly fuller discussion of these issues see McLeod and Bateman 2007, xx–xxviii. My thanks to Dr Alex Woolf (one of the few Scottish historians with expertise and interest in issues of language shift and linguistic identity) for his thoughts on these problems. 10 The loss of some material from the beginning of the poem also stands as a barrier to definitive interpretation. MacGriogair has argued (2010, 34: n.1) that the part of the poem missing from the beginning is probably small in size and essentially prefatory in nature, but it is obviously impossible to be certain. 11 In a pamphlet (MacBhraine 1770) cited in early bibliographies of Gaelic publications but apparently now lost. The earliest surviving published version is found in the so-called “Eigg Collection” (Macdomhnuill 1776, 253–57). A reedited text, with translation, is given in McLeod and Bateman 2007, 374–81 and 518. 12 Three early manuscript sources (the Macdhiarmid manuscript, written in 1770 and now held in the Department of Celtic and Gaelic, Glasgow University), 36; Glasgow University Library McLagan MS 187 (MS Gen 1042/187), 2 (c.1770– 80); Edinburgh University Library MS 3096.1 (A) (MacNicol MS A), 36, probably

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written in the 1770s or 1780s) give the date of 1528 for the poem and give a substantially identical summary of the circumstances of its composition. In the MacNicol manuscript a later hand has emended 1528 to 1578, while the Eigg Collection gives the date of 1569. Derick Thomson (1974, 106), however, suggested a date somewhere between 1516 and 1525. 13 The most fundamental feature of snéadhbhairdne, which is maintained in “An Duanag Ullamh”, is the alternation between eight-syllable and four-syllable lines, both ending in a disyllable. There are additional requirements in terms of internal rime and alliteration which are not fully observed. See Knott 1994 [1928]), 17–18. 14 Note, however, that the three early manuscript sources of the Cailean version (Macdhiarmid, McLagan, MacNicol) all ascribe it to “McLean’s bard”, perhaps in confusion with the traditional account concerning the Gill’Easbaig version. 15 My thanks to Domhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart for providing me with a copy of this paper. 16 Or arguably nine and four; the fifth quatrains of the two texts are substantially, but not entirely, different. 17 The translation here obscures slightly the fact that l. 3 of the Gill’Easbaig version refers more directly to the earl himself rather than the clan as a collectivity: “feachd Uí Dhuibhne” means literally “the force of Ó Duibhne”, with Ó Duibhne representing a traditional Gaelic byname for the chief of the Caimbeuls (alongside the more c13ommon MacCailein Mòr). 18 See Edinburgh University Library, MS 3096.1 (A) (MacNicol MS A), 36; Glasgow University Library McLagan MS 187 (MS Gen 1042/187), folio 2; Campbell 2002, 12. 19 See McLeod 2004, 113–26. One isolated reference to Wallace can be found in a mid-seventeenth century Irish bardic poem, Somhairle Mac an Bhaird’s elegy on the Donegal chief Aodh Buidhe Ó Domhnaill (†1649), in which the poet compares Ireland’s suffering after Aodh’s death to the tribulations of Scotland following the loss of Wallace (Mac Cárthaigh 1999, ll. 37–40). 20 Examples here include the so-called “Harlaw Brosnachadh”, supposedly composed to incite the Clann Domhnaill forces before the battle of Harlaw in 1411 (see McLeod and Bateman 2007, 228–33, 510) and “Cumha Mhic an Tòisich” (“Mac an Tòisich’s Lament”), supposedly composed c.1520 (McLeod and Bateman 2007, 408–11, 520). 21 The translation here is slightly more literal than the version in McLeod and Bateman 2007, 385). My thanks to Prof. William Gillies for his suggestions here. 22 See MacKechnie 1953, 94–102. In the “allies” section of the Gill’Easbaig version the poet also names (in l. 57) another chief of the period, Seumas nan Ruaig MacDhòmhnaill of Dunyveg and the Glens (†1565), while the Cailean version does not identify any actual individuals. 23 The meaning (and indeed the syntax) here is not entirely clear. One of the poem’s editors, W. J. Watson (1959, 341: n. on l. 6937) suggested that this might actually be a reference to Conn Bacach Ó Néill, first Earl of Tyrone (†1559). 24 It is used in the opening verse of two slighter later (c.1638–44) bardic poems to Gill’Easbaig, eighth earl and first marquis of Argyll (†1661), probably both composed by Niall MacEoghain, where Gill’Easbaig is described as “iarla Gall is

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Gaoidheal” and “fear cabhra Gall is Gaoidheal” (“earl of Gall and Gael”, “aider of Gall and Gael”). “Triath na n-Gaoidheal Giolla Easbuig” (“Lord of the Gael is Gill’Easbaig”) and “Rug eadrain ar iath nAlban” (“He has made an intervention on Scotland’s soil”, l. 3), published in Watson (1931, 142, 152). Coira (2008, 146 and 148: n. 42) contends that this formula “is a commonplace” and “no particular signification should be attached to it”. 25 The poem is thus repeatedly cited by Damian McManus (2006) in his magisterial article on sovereignty and just rule in classical Gaelic verse. 26 The translation here is slightly more literal than the version in McLeod and Bateman 2007, 151–53. My thanks to Prof. William Gillies for his suggestions here. 27 For an explication of this concept in Gaelic poetry, see McLeod, 2002, 43–44. 28 Although the abstract noun ceannas “headship” corresponds to the concrete nouns ceann “head” and indirectly to the vernacular Scottish Gaelic ceannard “leader”, the title “Ceann nan Gàidheal” does not appear to be used in surviving poetry. Gill’Easbaig is, however, addressed with a functionally identical phrase, “codhnach Gaoidheal [leader of the Gaels]”, “Maith an chairt ceannas na nGaoidheal”, l. 34. 29 Magh Monadh (“The Plain of Monadh”) was a poetic by-name for Scotland; see McLeod 2004, 138–39. 30 In Gaelic pseudo-history Míl (Easpáin) was the legendary ancestor of all the Gaels, father of the brothers Éibhear and Éireamhón, the first Gaelic settlers in Ireland; see McLeod 2004, 118. The reference here can thus be read as including Irish Gaeldom as well as Scottish, but this may be an overinterpretation. 31 The significance of the term Alba, which originally referred to Britain, changed over time and came to acquire the more limited meaning “Scotland”. In classical poetry, Alba can therefore mean Scotland in some contexts and Britain in others (just as the term Gall is somewhat polysemous, as explained above); see McLeod 2004, 126–28. Here, the characterization of Alba as an island requires it to be understood as a reference to Britain. 32 There are three other usages of the term rí in this section of the poem (ll. 51, 56, 60), but they are somewhat elliptical and it is less clear that they refer directly to the King of Scots. 33 “The motif of the allies”, to use John MacInnes’s term (1976–78, 448–49), is a conventional feature of Gaelic poetry, both classical and vernacular. “An Duanag Ullamh” contains this feature as well, and there are some interesting differences between the specific allies listed in the two versions. 34 As indicated by a dedicatory verse, following the main text, to the seventh earl’s first wife, Lady Ann Douglas. 35 In his recent edition of a poem composed by an Irish poet to the last Lord of the Isles, Míchéal Ó Mainnin (2009) questions whether the poem could have been composed in Scotland given that only four Scottish places are mentioned in the text. The example of “Dual ollamh do thriall le toisg” suggests that this factor is not necessarily determinative. 36 See Dewar 2006, 50–51. It should be emphasized, however, that almost all the surviving bardic poems to Scottish or arguably Scottish chiefs were composed for

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members of this family, with only a handful for other patrons, with some of these composed in the early thirteenth century, when the “high-kingship” motif was not as well developed; see McLeod 2004, 223–30; cf. The Bardic Poetry Database (http://bardic.celt.dias.ie/), motif 390. 37 I am very grateful to Prof. William Gillies for his comments on an earlier draft of this paper.

EXPERIENCE AND THE COURTEOUR: READING EPISTEMOLOGICAL REVOLUTION IN A SIXTEENTH-CENTURY TEXT JUANITA FEROS RUYS

Sir David Lyndsay’s Ane Dialog betuix Experience and ane Courteour, a didactic poem of over six thousand lines, was first published in 1554. This places it at a moment in history when ideas about the epistemological application of experience were undergoing a revolution. A medieval distrust of curiosity and an association of learning by experience with the pursuit of forbidden knowledge were giving way to early-modern experimental sciences founded on experience (Dear 1995) and the increasingly prevalent discourses of curiosity and wonder (Daston and Park 1998; Benedict 2001). As Neil Kenny (2004) has outlined, however, these developments were by no means linear, but highly conflicted and often dependent upon local concerns and goals, with a major distinction appearing between theological and scientific approaches to and acceptance of the issue of experience. The didactic genre, as a genre of instruction in moral and spiritual formation, naturally tends towards conservatism. One of its standard forms is the dialogue, often depicted as taking place between a master and a student, or a parent and a child (Ronquist 1990). Perhaps the most striking aspect of Ane Dialog is that the concept of experience, which at this time in the mid-sixteenth century was still relatively new to the didactic genre (Ruys 2008; Ruys 2005, 211–14), here takes centre-stage in personified form as the key means of instruction—the figure of “Experience”, depicted as an elderly man with a flowing beard.1 How and what Experience teaches his enquiring student, the Courteour, allow us to read Lyndsay’s Dialog as offering an insight into the changing epistemological role of experience in the early-modern world. The Courteour, whose speaking voice begins the poem, awakens in a melancholy mood and sets forth into nature to clear his mind. Entering a beautiful garden he comes across an old man. Asked his name, this figure tells the Courteour: “I am…Experience” (l. 319).2 At once the Courteour

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recognizes the didactic authority of experience: no sooner has the old man introduced himself than the Courteour asks him for advice: Than, Schir (said I) ‫܌‬e can nocht faill To gyff ane desolate man counsaill. ‫܋‬e do appeir ane man of faime; And, sen Experience bene ‫܌‬our name, I praye ‫܌‬ow, Father venerabyll, Geue me sum counsell confortabyll.

(ll. 320–25)

Fig. 1. “Experience and the Courteour”. Cambridge, Cambridge University Library, Syn.7.56.40, Lyndsay 1566, fol. 4v. Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library.

Also evident here is the immediate recasting of the relationship between Experience and the Courteour as one between a parent and a child. The Courteour addresses Experience as “Father”, and not long after, Experience accepts the role and names the Courteour as “Sonne” (l. 358). These terms of address then recur between the two throughout the poem.3 This is not

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surprising in terms of medieval didactic literature. By the later Middle Ages, the concept of the parent-child didactic text had become naturalized to the point where instructional texts were cast in this form regardless of their real origin (Mustanoja 1948, 30, 45). What is surprising in Lyndsay’s Dialog, however, is that the father-son relationship has been formulated so that it is the still novel and contested concept of Experience which functions in the paternal role. Even more significant is the setting of the dialogue between Experience and the Courteour in a beautiful garden. The Courteour makes it clear that this is the realm, and indeed the creation, of Dame Nature: “Intyll ane park I past, for my plesure, / Decorit weill be craft of dame Nature” (130–1). The Courteour’s lyrical praise of its beauty clearly renders it a classical and medieval locus amoenus. In the midst of this beauteous park the Courteour finds Experience resting beneath a tree: Into that Park I sawe appeir One ageit man, quhilk drew me neir, Quhose beird wes weil thre quarteris lang. His hair doun ouer his schulders hang, The quhilk as ony snaw wes quhyte; Quhome to behald I thocht delyte. His habitt Angellyke of hew, Off culloure lyke the Sapheir blew. Onder ane Hollyng he reposit, Off quhose presens I was reiosit.

(ll. 300–09)

This is all very traditional in terms of medieval evocations of enclosed gardens and aged figures of advice, yet there is an important revisionary subtext at play: the Garden of Eden was also a beautiful natural environment in the centre of which stood “experience” in the form of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The Genesis story reads: For the Lord God had planted a paradise of delight from the beginning in which he placed the man whom he had formed, and the Lord God produced from the earth every tree beautiful to the sight and sweet for eating. He also placed in the middle of Paradise the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (Gen. 2:8–9).

God then specifically forbade Adam and Eve to eat from the latter, “and he commanded them saying: ‘Eat from every tree in Paradise; but do not eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil; for on whatsoever day you eat of it you will die your death’ ” (Gen. 2:16–17). It was here in the midst of the Garden that the Serpent then tempted Eve with the Fruit of the

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Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil: “But the serpent said to the woman: ‘In no way shall you die. For God knows that on whatever day you eat of it, your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods knowing good and evil’” (Gen. 3:4–5). From the early Fathers on, the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, which led directly to the Fall, was identified with experience or experiential knowledge. The chief authority here was Augustine,4 but a similar alignment of experience with knowledge of evil can be traced in the exegetical accounts of the Genesis story of numerous other influential medieval writers such as Isidore of Seville, Anselm of Canterbury, Peter Abelard, Andrew of St Victor, and Peter the Lombard, whose Books of Sentences (Sententiae) came to constitute the standard “textbook” of medieval centres of learning. Lyndsay is deliberately recasting this originary scene. To begin with, the curator of the Garden is Dame Nature, a secularization and naturalization of the Creator God from the biblical story. Second, the tree which grows in the middle of the garden is not now the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, but a Christianized “Hollyng” (holly) which Janet Hadley Williams has identified as “a symbol of Christ’s crown of thorns, and the wood of the tree, sometimes believed to have been used for the cross, as an instrument of the Passion” (Lyndsay 2000, 324). Finally, seated beneath the branches of this tree is not the Serpent who tempted Eve, but Experience; and this Experience is not the experientia mali (experience of evil) of medieval exegesis, but a kindly old man of clearly Christian nature, as identified by his “Angellyke” habit of blue, which Hadley Williams has noted as “a symbol of heaven and heavenly love, associated with truth” (Lyndsay 2000, 323). In this single scene, therefore, Lyndsay has written a powerful recuperation of the idea of Experience. Moreover, the parkland setting naturalizes the concept of experience. Thus we find here an alignment of experience with Nature, which in turn suggests the naturalness of experience as a teacher. In addition, because Experience immediately takes on a paternal role in this garden setting, we also find a naturalization of the idea of parent-child didactic relationships as based on experience, or, a developing one-to-one correspondence of parenthood with authorized experience. To Experience’s enquiry as to his occupation, the Courteour replies that although he has been “Sen I could ryde, ane Courtiour” (l. 329), he is now thinking about renouncing the transitory things of the world for the sake of his immortal soul:

EXPERIENCE AND THE COURTEOUR Bot now, Father, I thynk it best, With ‫܌‬our counsell, to leif in rest, And frome thyne furth to tak myne eais, And quyetlie my God to pleais, And renunce Curiositie, Leueyng the Court, and lerne to de.

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(ll. 330–35)

This renunciation of “curiosity” is particularly significant, since this term marks a divide between the medieval and early-modern sensibility with regard to learning by experience. In the Middle Ages there was a great suspicion of curiosity, which was associated with intellectual pride. This was powerfully argued by Augustine in his Confessions (Bk 10, ch. 35) where he declared that “the mind is also subject to a certain propensity to use the sense of the body, not for self-indulgence of a physical kind, but for the satisfaction of its own inquisitiveness. This futile curiosity masquerades under the name of science and learning” (Augustine 1961, 241).4 Similarly, in his Liber de gradibus humilitatis et superbiae Bernard of Clairvaux could write in the twelfth century that curiosity was the first rung on the ladder of pride.5 Yet this sense of curiosity—a drive to know, to learn, to discover—is precisely what powered the scientific revolutions of the early-modern era. It is in this period that new definitions and understandings of curiosity began to be discussed, although the term “curiosity” would not attain a relatively stable sense of a reputable seeking after (rightful) knowledge until the eighteenth century.6 At the time Lyndsay was writing, the term “curiosity” was still heavily invested with its medieval sense, and the Courteour’s desire to “renunce Curiositie” and retire to a life of contemplation is one that would not be out of place in the description of a monastic conversion. The Courteour’s suspicion of curiosity here, at the commencement of the poem, is reinforced by a strong critique of curiosity at the end of the poem voiced by Experience himself (discussed further below), so that the poem as a whole is bookended by powerful boundaries set upon ways and means of knowing. Moreover, in association with this renunciation of “Curiositie”, the Courteour states his desire to “lerne to de”. Treatises known by variations on the title Learn to Die (such as Scire mori, Disce mori, Ars moriendi, Ars bene moriendi, Ars sciendi mori) were part of a genre which developed in the later Middle Ages from the early fourteenth-century texts by the mystic Henry Suso (Suso 1989, Pt. II, Ch. 21, 268–74; Suso 1994, Bk II, ch. 2, 242–57), and the third part of the early fifteenth-century Opusculum Tripertitum of Jean Gerson, the chancellor of the University of Paris (1966, VII, Pt 1, no. 332, 404–07). They became widespread in early-

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modern English translations and adaptations, such as Thomas Hoccleve’s Lerne How to Dye in his Series (c.1421–6) in Hoccleve (2001, 196–233), and William Caxton’s The Arte and Crafte to Know Well to Dye (1490) in Atkinson (1992, 21–35).7 The Courteour’s evocation of these artes moriendi in his stated desire to leave the world of the court marks the kind of didactic guidance he desires from Experience as traditional and, indeed, medieval, focused on preparation for the life after this one—advice that is far removed from the early-modern world of personal experience. The “learn to die” theme is continued by Experience as he explains that: All men begynnis for tyll de The day of thare Natiuite, And Iournelly thay do proceid Tyll Atrops cute the fatell threid.

(ll. 370–73).

The Courteour then laments that “werst of all, quhen we leist wene, / The creuell deith we mon sustene” (398–99), and this basic tenet of the ars moriendi genre forms the basis for his reiterated request to Experience, now addressed in his paternal role, for guidance: “Geue I ‫܌‬our Fatherheid durste demand, / The cause I wald faine vnderstand” (400–01). The ars moriendi genre thus motivates the ensuing history that Experience relates to the Courteour, and this is explicitly confirmed at the conclusion of the poem in the words chosen by Experience to express his final “Exhortatioun”: My Sone, now mark weil in thy memory, Of this fals warld the trublus transitory, Quhose dreidfull dayis drawis neir ane end. Tharfor, call god to be thi adiutory, And euery day my Sonne Memento Mori, And watt not quhen, nor quhare that thow sal wend. Heir to remane I pray the nocht pretend, And, sen thow knawis the tyme is verray schort, In Christis Blude sett all thy hole confort.

(ll. 6267–75)

In erthlye materis tak the no more cummer. Dreid nocht to dee, for deith is bot ane slummer.

(ll. 6299–300)8

If these references to the ars moriendi tradition mark a distinctly late medieval sensibility to this poem, so does the Courteour’s initial request to be taught by the figure of Experience, but not by the knowledge of experience, as he asks instead for advice that is exemplary:

EXPERIENCE AND THE COURTEOUR Schaw me sum trubbyll gone afore, That, heryng vtheris Indigence, I may the more haif patience.

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(ll. 403–05)

Experience at once responds to the Courteour’s request with a topos of humility: Quod he: efter my small cunnyng To the I sall mak answeryng

(ll. 408–09)

and this topos recurs throughout the poem.9 This is hardly the identification of experience with long-attained ability and expertise that one would expect from a text situating the figure of Experience centrestage as a teacher. After all, the Courteour had explicitly asked Experience for advice because of his status as expert, “And, sen Experience bene ‫܌‬our name”: I praye ‫܌‬ow, Father venerabyll, Geue me sum counsell confortabyll.

(ll. 324–25)

Experience’s modest refusal of that status sets him at a remove from the providers of advice in the early-modern period who were at pains to construct themselves as experts, detailing their qualifications and recommending that attention be paid to their counsels. As Natasha Glaisyer and Sara Pennell (2003, 9) note: “A rhetoric of utility went hand in hand with a conception of the authors of these texts as equipped with the expertise to dispense appropriate knowledge…. [E]xpertise was to be understood not only as knowledge of a skill but also as experience of that knowledge”. If anything, the sort of humility displayed here by Experience, who is strikingly defined at this moment by the Courteour as “Father”, is precisely that evident in the maternal advice manuals of the early seventeenth century, where maternal authors uniformly adopted a topos of humility, justifying and excusing their recourse to print on the basis of their biological role as adviser to their children.10 Experience’s modesty also matches the lack of expertise claimed by Lyndsay himself for his poem in his “Epistil to the Redar”: Go hence, pure Buke, quhilk I haue done indyte In rurall ryme, in maner of dispyte, Contrar the warldlis Variatioun: Off Rethorick heir I Proclame the quyte. (ll. 100–03)

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A similar distinction recurs at the end of the poem where Experience brings an end to the discourse once the sun has begun to set. The Courteour remarks: “Thus I departit frome Experience” (l. 6329), and describes how he returned home to write down what Experience had taught him, begging: “All gentyll Redaris hertlye I Implore / For tyll excuse my rurall rude Indyte” (ll. 6334–35). At the end of the poem, therefore, Lyndsay stands distanced from both Experience and expertise. Having been asked, then, by the Courteour to offer some examples by which he might learn, Experience immediately refers himself, in standard medieval wise, to written auctoritas. He begins: “the Scripture hes concludit…” (l. 434). When the Courteour repeats his request to understand Adam’s fall more “cleirlye” (l. 522), Experience again rehearses his humility theme and points the Courteour in the direction of written authority: My Sonne (quod he) wald thow tak cure To luke on the Diuyne Scripture, In to the Buke of Genesis That storye thare thow sall nocht mis. And alswa syndrie cunnyng Clerkis Hes done rehers, in to thare werkis, Off Adamis fall full Ornatly, Ane thousand tymes better nor I Can wrytt of that vnhappy man. (ll. 526–34)

Throughout his long recount of the history of humanity, Experience adduces a host of auctoritates—classical, patristic, medieval, and early modern. He explicitly cites such traditional sources as Herodotus (l. 3626), “Cthesias” (l. 3029),11 Livy (ll. 3574–75),12 Lucan (l. 3662), Diodorus Siculus (ll. 1993– 94, 2000, 2719, 2736, 2810, 2845–46, 2856, 2897, 2917, 2921–22, 3190, 3231–32, 3346), Valerius Maximus (ll. 5123, 5127), Josephus (ll. 1644, 1731, 3952, 3960, 4082–83), Eusebius (ll. 3380–81), Augustine (l. 5370), Jerome (ll. 5318–19, 5462, 5478, 5604, 5612),13 Orosius (ll. 1240, 1644, 1745, 1747–48, 1815, 3484), Avicenna (= ibn-Sina, l. 4918), Bernard of Clairvaux (l. 5894), canon law (ll. 4332–33, 4343), Boccaccio (ll. 2247–51), Fasciculus temporum (l. 5282), Cronica cronicarum (l. 5283), an English life of Alexander (ll. 3654–55), Palmerius (= Matteo Palmieri, ll. 4561–62), Johannes Carion (ll. 3521, 3616, 3621, 4505–06, 5286–87), Polydore Vergil (ll. 5146–47), and Erasmus (l. 6252). In a more general way he also refers to the authority of “the Scripture”, “the Bibill”, “cunnyng Clerkis”, “divers Doctouris”, “divers Auctouris”, “Gret Clerkis of Antiquiteis”, and “myne Author” or “Sum Author”.

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Experience explicitly defines his advice as based upon the authority of written works rather than personal knowledge and views his role as one who rehearses the appropriate auctoritates. Thus he tells the Courteour in conclusion: Now haue I done declare, at thy desyris, As thow demandit, in to termys schort, And quhow began the principall impyris, As Cronicle and Scripture dois report.

(ll. 4126–29, my emphasis)

This is a very traditional way for experience to teach. Experience’s construction of his advice as text-based becomes particularly evident when he has to discern between competing accounts. In such cases, he shows himself always loyal to scriptural authority first and foremost. Thus on the question of the ages of the world, he says he will do as Carion does in following the prophecies of Elijah, “And lattis the vther Bukis go hence” (l. 5291). Similarly, in his description of Nimrod, he notes that the Bible offers little detail, “Bot vtheris Clerkis Curious, / As Oroce doith, and Iosephus, / Discryuis Nemrod at more lenth” (ll. 1643–45). Here the term “curious” marks Experience’s uneasiness with authors and texts that profess to know more than the Bible on any topic. Yet there are emerging signs of newer modes of knowledge. Several of Experience’s authorities are writers who were contemporary with Lyndsay, which is not typical medieval practice, and reveals the willingness of early-modern writers to find authority in writers whose works are intellectually or practically compelling, even if not yet sanctioned by long use. Thus Experience cites Matteo (Matthæus) Palmieri (1406–75), Opus de temporibus; Johannes Carion (1499–1537), Chronica; Polydore Vergil (c.1470–1555), On Discovery; and Erasmus (1466/69– 1536). Both the works of Palmieri and Carion cited here are chronicles, or universal histories,14 which can help account for the shape of Experience’s narrative. Palmieri’s Opus de temporibus has been described as having a focus on “the empire and the papacy” (Carpetto 1984, 69), and it is indeed with regard to the papacy (specifically, the worldly wealth left behind by Pope John XXII) that Experience cites it. Interestingly, Experience’s use of the chronicle form, to show the role of God in history, is a more traditionally medieval use of historiography, and so differs from the more humanistic view of history manifest in Palmieri’s Opus de temporibus (Carpetto 1984, 74–75). Thus Experience is here citing an up-to-date text, but incorporating it into an older schema.

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Carion’s Chronica would have been very new at the time Lyndsay utilized it in his Dialog. It was first published German in 1532, and later translated into Latin by Philipp Melanchthon and published in 1572; Lyndsay would have known it, however, from the English translation of 1550.15 Yet although this text was perhaps the source closest in time to the creation of Lyndsay’s poem, it retains, nevertheless, an older historiographic sensibility: “It encompasses the period from the Creation to AD 1532 and builds on the idea of four world-monarchies…. History is interpreted as a collection of ethical illustrations and as the concrete proof of the truth of the Biblical prophecies” (Ekrem 1998, 168). Unlike Palmieri’s more humanistically oriented Chronicle, therefore, it fits Experience’s purposes much more readily. The text of Polydore Vergil cited by Lyndsay is On Discovery, a popular work first published in Latin in 1499 in three books, with five more books added in 1521, and which rapidly went through a number of editions thereafter (Vergil 2002, vi–viii). Douglas Hamer argues that Lyndsay would not have known this work in its Latin original, but rather through the first English translation and abridgement of the whole made by Thomas Langley in 1546 (Lindsay 1531–36, III:442). Polydore’s work combines an early modern sense of wonder, discovery, and invention, with a classicizing approach that focuses heavily on ancient inventions and authorities. Yet Polydore’s work, and its English abridgement, do include some references to datable “modern” inventions and phenomena such as the printing press of Johannes Gutenberg, and guns, cannons, and gunpowder (Vergil 1546, Bk II, Ch. VI, fol. xlviv, image 52; Bk II, Ch. VII, fol. xlixv, image 55). Thus the reference to Polydore’s work sounds a (faintly) early modern note in Experience’s chronicle, imbuing the concept of “experience” with a sense of invention and early-modern science. The reference to Erasmus is more problematic, since both Laing and Hamer are unable to trace it in Erasmus’s works (Lyndsay 1879, III:215– 16; Lindsay 1931–36, III:481). Context here probably provides a clue. When Experience cites Erasmus, he does so in terms of the Last Days: And, moreattour, all dede thyngis corporall, Onder the Concaue of the Heuin Impyre, That now to laubour subiect ar, and thrall … Wissing that day, that thay may be at rest, As Erasmus Exponith Manifest. (ll. 6246–48, 6251–52)

Moreover, Experience then proceeds directly to his “Exhortatioun” on the theme of “Memento Mori” (l. 6271), which picks up the Courteour’s stated

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desire at the beginning of the poem to “lerne to de” (l. 335). Since we are clearly here in the literary world of the ars moriendi, it may well be that Experience’s reference to Erasmus is intended to suggest Erasmus’s own ars moriendi treatise, Preparatione to Deathe. This was published in 1538, and was an English version of Erasmus’s widely popular earlier Latin tract De praeparatione ad mortem, written in 1533 for Sir Thomas Boleyn and printed in 1534.16 If this is the meaning of Experience’s reference to “Erasmus”, then again it marks Experience’s archaizing approach even to his most modern sources. That is, even when Experience cites texts which are recent authorities, he either uses ones which employ a more medieval approach to his theme (such as Carion’s Chronica) or he adapts them so that they do (Palmieri’s Opus de temporibus). This instance is no different. Not only does Erasmus’s ars moriendi text express “a distinctly medieval attitude” (Atkinson 1992, xiv; Beaty 1970, 55–56), it also proceeds by the argument of example, which was a medieval mode of instruction that preceded the rise of experience as a learning tool in the early-modern era: Examples haue a great virtue and strength to moue mens myndes, for they shew, as it were in a glasse, what is comely and what is otherwise…. But there shall no example be founde more perfyte than that whyche the Lorde expressed vnto vs in him self (Erasmus 1992, 65).

Moreover, Erasmus’s well-known treatise on the liberal education of the young, De pueris instituendis, composed 1509, first published 1529 (Erasmus 1966, 23–28), and which was published in an English translation by Richard Sherry (Erasmus [1550], Image 49),17 explicitly considers the value of experience as a learning tool, and concludes that the precepts of philosophy constitute a much safer manner of learning: [I]t is an equally serious mistake to believe that we can become wise through practical experience, without the benefit of education.…Varied experience over a long period of time is, of course, quite useful, but only to the wise man who has been thoroughly imbued with the precepts of philosophy….You might also ponder the fact that philosophy can teach more within the compass of a single year than the most diverse range of experience stretched over a period of thirty years. Moreover, the guidance of philosophy is safe, whereas the path of experience leads more often to disaster than to wisdom (Erasmus 1985, 311).18

Thus although Erasmus was a name to conjure with in early-modern Europe—a foremost humanist and pedagogue—as with the citations of Palmieri, Carion, and Polydore Vergil, Experience’s reference to him here is of ambiguous status in terms of a history of experience.

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On the whole, “experience” does not appear to be a key instructional mode in Experience’s monologue. He mentions the term in passing a few times, without particular emphasis, when he calls the Courteour to acknowledge the veracity of his pronouncements according to his own observations, in phrases like “As, be experience, thow may knaw” (l. 1041), “Quhilk, be experience, ‫܌‬e may se” (l. 1063), and “Thow may se, be experience” (l. 4503). These are unconvincing examples of the verifying power of experience, especially since, in this last case, this personal experience is in fact sourced from the authority of a written text: Thow may se, be experience, The popis Princely preheminence, In Cronicles geue thow lyst to luke Quhow Carion wryttis, in his buke, Ane Notabyll Narratioun.

(ll. 4503–07)

Indeed, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that at times the phrase “by experience” simply offers Lyndsay a convenient rhyme rather than an ideological statement on the basis of knowledge: “As may be sene, be experience, / Quhow, throw the watteris violence…” (ll. 1565–66). More telling from the point of view of the developing epistemology of experiential knowledge is Experience’s claim that there are some things that experience cannot know or teach. Thus the Courteour asks Experience to relate details about the Day of Judgment: Father (said I) with ‫܌‬our Lycence, Sen ‫܌‬e haith sic Experience, ‫܋‬itt one thyng at ‫܌‬ow wald I speir. Quhen sall that dreidfull day appeir Quhilk ‫܌‬e call Iugement Generall?

(ll. 5254–58)

Although the Courteour makes an explicit invocation of experience here (“Sen ‫܌‬e haith sic Experience”), the figure of Experience makes it clear that there are some things which cannot be known in this world, but which remain matters of faith and holy will; there are some things, in other words, that are beyond the ability of “experience” to know or describe: (Quod he) as to thy first questioun, I can mak no solutioun: Quharefor, perturbe nocht thyne intent To knaw day, hour, nor moment. To God allone the day bene knawin, Quhilk neuer was to none Angell schawin.

(ll. 5262–67)

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Nevertheless, despite this disclaimer, Experience does subsequently describe in quite detailed terms the Last Judgment, although he makes it clear that the source for his narration is not himself (that is, not first-hand experience), but rather scriptural auctoritas: “as Clerkis sane” (l. 6032), “As menith the Apostill Iohne” (l. 6059). We can note, however, despite his repeated claims of lack of expertise, that Experience’s skill in abridging the whole of human history from Creation to the Last Judgment in a few thousand lines, does in fact in one sense qualify him as an earlymodern “expert” whose task was to offer a complete yet compendious overview of his subject.19 Experience then immediately launches into a diatribe against the vanity of human knowledge in seeking to know what it should not, and this discourse constitutes a very medieval critique of human curiosity, quite at odds with the new early modern focus on questioning, investigation, and discovery: Quharefor preis nocht tyll vnderstand, Quhowbeit thare to thow haif desyre, The Secretis of the heuin Impyre. … Rychtso latt no man sett thare cure To Sers the heych Diuyne Nature. The more men studye, I suppose, Salbe the more frome thare purpose. To knaw quhareto sulde men Intend, Quhilk Angellis can nocht comprehend? Bot, efter this gret Iugement, All thyng tyll ws salbe patent. … Full humilye he techeit ws, Nocht for to be to curious, Quhowbeit men be of gret Ingyne To seik the heych Secretis Diuyne, Quhose Iugementis ar vncersiabyll, And strange wayis Inuestigabyll, (That is to say) past out fynding, Off quhome no man may fynd endyng. (ll. 6081–83, 6086–93, 6096–6103)

It is therefore surprising to find Experience subsequently stressing the physical nature of Heaven and detailing the role that our five senses will play in our experience of it—“Amang the rest, in all thare wyttis fyue / Thay sall haue sensuall plesouris delectabyll” (ll. 6129–30)—since a focus on sense perception was the foundation of early modern experimental

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science which relied precisely on human curiosity as a means of gaining knowledge (Dear 1995, 43, 23). Yet again, Experience offers this insight not on the basis of his own sense perception, but on the basis of written authority: “And, more attour, as Clerkis can discryue, / Thare maruellous myrthis beis incomparabyll” (ll. 6127–28). Experience then elucidates the experiential nature of Heaven, moving through the senses of sound (“The heuinlye sound, quhilk salbe Innarrabyll, / In thare eris continuallye sall ryng”, ll. 6131–32), sight (“And with thare Spirituall Eis salbe sene….”, l. 6141), smell (“And, mairattour, thay sall feill sic ane smell / Surmountyng far the fleure of erthly flowris”, ll. 6155–56), and taste (“And, in thare mouth, ane taist, as I heir tell, / Off sweit and Supernaturall Sapowris”, ll. 6157–58). It is surprising that sight is not the first sense mentioned here, since it often bore primacy in texts of the five senses from the ancient Greeks through to the early-modern world of experimental science.20 The sense of touch is described in more detail in terms of the ability of bodies in Heaven to move in ways impossible on earth; for instance, to pass ten thousand miles in an instant (l. 6164) or to pass through solid walls like light through glass (“Siclyke as doith the Sone baime throw the glas”, l. 6173). This last metaphor is telling because it so perfectly places Lyndsay’s narrator, Experience, on the indistinct divide between the medieval and early modern worlds of experience: the metaphor of light shining through glass was employed in the medieval world to explain the virgin conception of Christ (the Son/Sun) by the Holy Spirit through Mary’s unbreached hymen, while the refraction of light through a glass prism was one of the defining experiments of the early modern scientific method. But by far the most significant aspect of the poem with regard to understanding the value and nature of experience is the way the Courteour and Experience discuss the Fall, or the eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden. Over several hundred lines, Experience recounts the eating of the forbidden fruit and its aftermath, reverting to this foundational moment in human history on several occasions, each time drawing out slightly different aspects of the motivation and guilt of the first parents. In the first instance, the tree is described only as “forbiddin”, and Adam’s sin is characterized as pride (“wylfull arrogance”) and disobedience (“Inobedient”): …the Scripture hes concludit Men frome felicite wer denudit Be Adam, our Progenitour, Umquyhle of Paradyse possessour; Be quhose most wylfull arrogance

EXPERIENCE AND THE COURTEOUR Wes Mankynd brocht to this myschance. Quhen he wes Inobedient, In breking Godis commandiment. Be solystatioun of his wyfe He loste that heuinlye plesand lyfe. Etand of the forbiddin tre, Thare began all our miserrie.

263

(ll. 434–45)

Throughout the poem, additional references likewise focus on the tree as “forbidden” and on the sins of pride and disobedience, as was common in early-modern approaches to the Genesis story.21 So Experience declares: That first Originall syn, Concupiscence, Quhilk we, throuch Adamis Inobedience, Hes done Incur, and sall indure for ever.

(ll. 4879–81)

Off dolent Deith this sore sentence Wes gyffin throw Inobedience Off our Parentis: allace tharefore.

(ll. 5064–66).22

In his most detailed exegesis, however, Experience becomes much more specific about the two trees in the Garden of Eden, identifying the “forbidden” tree as the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil: In to that gardyng of plesance Two treis grew, most tyll auance … The one wes callit the tre of lyfe, The vther tre began our stryfe, The tre to knaw boith gude and euyll, Quhilk, be perswatioun of the Deuyll, Began our misarie and wo.

(ll. 739–40; 743–47)

When the serpent comes to tempt Eve, she replies that she must not eat of the forbidden fruit because she has been warned that she will die, but the serpent argues that in fact she will gain omniscience, including of good and evil: Beleue nocht that (said the Serpent) Eit ‫܌‬e of it Incontinent. Repleit ‫܌‬e sall be with Science, And haif perfyte Intelligence, Lyke God hym self, of euyll and gude.

(ll. 921–25)

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Having eaten herself, Eve then tempts Adam specifically with the power of knowledge (Harrison 2001, 267):23 Sche pullit doun the fruct belyue, Throw counsall of the fals Serpent, And eit of it, to that intent, And patt hir Husband in beleue, That plesand fruct gyf he wald preue, That he suld be als Sapient As the gret God Omnipotent. Thynk ‫܌‬e nocht that ane plesand thyng, That we, lyke God, suld euer ryng?

(ll. 928–36)

The word “preue” (l. 932) here is also significant: as a term it belongs to the new vocabulary of experimental science and sense-perception, and highlights Lyndsay’s ambivalence regarding the concept of knowing through experience. Again the sins of pride and disobedience are highlighted in Adam’s fall: He, herand this Narratioun, And be hir solistatioun, Mouit be prydefull ambitioun, He eit, on that conditioun. The principall poyntis of this offence War pryde and Inobedience, Desyring for to be Equall To God, the Creature of all.

(ll. 937–44)

Experience then breaks his narration to the Courteour in order to rebuke Adam directly, arguing that Adam’s free will meant that he should have been able to exercise discernment: Quhy brak thow Goddis commandiment? Quhare wes thy wytt, that wald nocht flee Far frome the presens of that tree? Gaif nocht thy Maker the fre wyll To take the gude and leif the euyll?

(ll. 966–70)

This brings Experience to the Augustinian position of distinguishing between “prudentia boni” (wisdom of good) and “experientia mali” (experience of evil). Lyndsay thus has the figure of Experience rehearse the traditional Augustinian line on the inappropriateness of experience as an epistemological mode. Lyndsay then finally takes us to the nub of the problem: the figure of Experience describes the loss of joy and the shame

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that Adam and Eve felt following their consumption of the forbidden fruit as a direct function of experience, arguing: Bot in the stait of Innocence Thay had none sic experience, Bot, quhen thay war to Syn subiectit, To schame and dreid thay war coactit.

(ll. 987–90, my emphasis)

God then enters the poem as a speaking voice, seconding Experience’s conclusion and addressing the fallen humans: “Thow had none sic experience, / Quod God, quhen thow wes Innocent” (ll. 996–97, my emphasis). Here innocence is directly contrasted with experience and experiential knowledge in the ultimate authorizing voice of God himself. This is a powerful critique of the concept of experience, ventriloquized by Lyndsay through the figure of Experience. But we should not be surprised to find in the mid-sixteenth century a figure named “Experience” rehearsing so faithfully a biblical story that is condemnatory of experiential knowledge. The academic and moral recuperation of curiosity, although underway at this time, was far from pervasive, and the epistemological lessons of the story of the Fall continued to resonate for decades to come. For instance, although Francis Bacon has been credited with profoundly reinterpreting this Edenic story and recasting the human desire for knowledge—as noted, for instance, by Daston and Park (1998, 306)—this is not exactly the case. In the Preface to his Great Instauration of 1620, Bacon makes a distinction between two modes of experiential knowledge that marks him as still inhabiting, to some extent, the mental universe of Augustine, Lyndsay, and Lyndsay’s narrator Experience. Bacon argues that: it was not that pure and spotless natural knowledge, by which Adam gave names to all things according to their kind, that was the origin and occasion of the Fall, but that ambitious and headstrong greed for moral knowledge—of telling good from evil—so that man might desert God and make his own laws, that was the ground and manner of this temptation (Bacon 1994, 15; Bacon 1862–1901, I:132).

He may have undertaken here to recuperate the investigations of natural science with his description of a guiding “pura et immaculata scientia naturalis”, but his alignment of the “cupiditas” of wanton curiosity specifically with the desire to be able to know both good and evil (“de bono et malo dijudicantis”) reveals the same grounding in Augustinian theology and Genesis symbolism of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and

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Evil that we find in Experience’s arguments to the Courteour. It would take decades of debate and philosophizing upon the boundaries by which licit and illicit curiosity could and should be demarcated,24 before this overarching Tree and primal story could be banished entirely from discussions of experiential knowledge.25 In his study of Lyndsay’s depictions of sexuality, R. James Goldstein has described Lyndsay as a “culturally pivotal writer” who “offers a unique glimpse of a world in transition” (2000, 363, 349). Clearly the same can be said of Lyndsay with regard to the epistemology of experience and experiential learning. Multiple and not always mutually consistent understandings and depictions of experience jostle each other in Lyndsay’s Dialog: Experience is an elderly Christian man reposing in a garden beneath a holly in deliberate recasting of the scene of the Fall in Genesis; Experience teaches the Courteour like a father would teach a son; Experience teaches through auctoritas and example rather than through experience; Experience claims to have little expertise; Experience claims that some knowledge is beyond him yet seems to possess it anyway; Experience deals directly with the eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, adopting a markedly Augustinian line on Adam’s sin. In explaining these contradictory depictions of experience, we must remember that Lyndsay was dealing with these issues thirty years before Michel de Montaigne would write his defining essay “On Experience” (1585–88), which would argue for the self as an authorized locus of knowledge: Whatever we may in fact get from experience, such benefit as we derive from other people’s examples will hardly provide us with an elementary education if we make so poor a use of such experience as we have presumably enjoyed ourselves; that is more familiar to us and certainly enough to instruct us in what we need. I study myself more than any other subject. That is my metaphysics; that is my physics.26

Lyndsay was also writing almost a century before the first publication of Descartes’ Principia philosophiae in 1644, with its manifold references to the verifying or validating power of experience. Yet the epistemological change latent in Ane Dialog was gathering momentum. Lyndsay writes at almost the last moment where notions of experience and experientiality could be so fluid, so contradictory, and so contested as we find them in his poem. Even fifty years later in James VI and I’s Basilikon Doron (1598–1603) we find evocations of experience that match the usage we would make of it today.27 And by the 1640s at the

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latest, a century after Lyndsay’s text, the concept of experience had become a standard trope in—and in the titles of—increasing numbers of didactic texts. Lyndsay’s old man in the garden had become naturalized indeed.

Notes 1

Katherine McClune (2010, 49) notes that at this time, “[t]he history of Experience as a personification is relatively brief”, and that “Lyndsay’s is the first recorded usage in Scotland”. 2 Reference throughout is to Ane Dialog betuix Experience and ane Courteour, off the Miserabyll Estait of the Warld, in Lindsay 1931–36, I:197–386. 3 See lines 330, 388, 402, 426, 456, 483, 512, 516, 526, 857, 1135, 1187 (“Prvdent Father Experience”), 1261, 1593, 1617, 1636, 1810, 1889, 1971, 1973, 1982, 1984, 2127, 2188, 2243, 2279, 2743, 3047, 3053, 3068, 3265, 3268, 3382, 3598, 3716, 3722, 3794, 3797, 4130, 4236, 4242, 4245, 4251, 4343, 4371, 4375, 4401, 4403, 4449, 4463, 4739, 4743, 4746, 4974 (“Prvdent Father Experience”), 4984, 5036, 5040, 5050, 5054, 5083, 5172, 5192, 5254, 5418, 5428, 5510, 5546, 5890, 6108, 6267, 6271, 6293, and 6323; the Courteour also addresses Experience as “Maister” at line 1629, “Schir” at lines 1807, 1945, and 2191, and “sweit schir” at line 2123. 4 Augustine 2002, 364–65; see also Pépin 2002. 5 Bernard of Clairvaux 1963, 38–40. 6 See Kenny 2004, 4: “whereas from antiquity through the sixteenth century curiosity had most often—but not always—been a vice, especially from the seventeenth century onwards it was often morally neutral or positive”. 7 On the genre as a whole see Atkinson 1992; Beaty 1970; Kurtz 1923; and von Nolcken 1993. 8 Additional references to the ars moriendi tradition are found in Experience’s advice at lines 5050–57 and 5092–93. 9 See lines 785, 863–64, 1591–92, 2918, and 4122–24. 10 See Poole 1995; Jaffe 1997; Anselment; and Ruys 2005. 11 This has been identified as Ctesias Cnidos by Laing 1879, III:196. 12 On the Scottish translation of the first five books of Livy’s history of Rome by John Bellenden (published 1533), see MacQueen 1990, esp. 11–19. 13 Note however that Experience declares he will not believe Jerome over the Bible: ll. 5318–19, 5322–23, 5325: “Quhow that Sanct Iherome doith indyte, / That he hes red, in Hebrew wryte, / … / Off sum of thame I tak no cure, / Quhilk I fynd nocht in the scripture. /… / First wyll I to the Scripture fare”. 14 According to Carpetto 1984, 69, the “universal history” is a “fundamentally medieval genre”. 15 See Lindsay 1931–36, III:239–42. 16 See O’Malley 1998, xxvi-xxvii: “This turned out to be one of Erasmus’ most popular works. It ran through some twenty Latin editions in six years. During that same period it had a number of vernacular printings—four in French, two in Dutch and Spanish, and one in each of German and English. Even as Erasmus’ reputation

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declined, this treatise continued to be popular, achieving possibly as many printings as any single work he produced”. Atkinson (1992, 37–57) provides an abridgement of the early-modern English text; for a complete modern English version: Erasmus 1998. 17 Image 49 has the annotation: “That children oughte to be taught and brought up ge[n]tly in virtue and learnynge, and that euen forthwyth from theyr natiuitie: A declamacion of a briefe theme, by Erasmus of Roterodame”. For the influence of Erasmian pedagogic ideals generally on English schooling, Erasmus 1966, 104–05. 18 For the Latin, see Erasmus 1966, 401/03. Note also that, in Erasmus’s Praise of Folly, Folly claims learning through experience as part of her realm (Erasmus 1989, 27: “The man of learning hides behind the volumes of the ancients, and derives nothing from them but empty verbal formulas. The fool, approaching the problem directly and venturing upon it boldly, acquires true prudence from his experience”. On the appearance in Scottish literature of Erasmus’s depiction of experience, see McClune, 2010, 58 and 61, n.14. 19 Glaisyer and Pennell 2003, 9: “The effective didactic text was one that successfully controlled much wider fields of information that otherwise threatened to become unbounded and unwieldy, without further digestion…. The rhetorical premise of many didactic texts was thus one of judicious excerpting and summary.” As Experience himself declares to the Courteour, he has fulfilled his request “in to termys schort” (l. 4127). 20 Augustine assumed the primacy of sight in his condemnation of senseexperience; speaking of curiosity he argued in his Confessions that “since it derives from our thirst for knowledge and sight is the principal sense by which knowledge is acquired, in the Scriptures it is called gratification of the eye” (1961, 241). See also Summers 1987, esp. Ch. 1: “The Primacy of Sight”, and Ch. 8: “Optics and the Common Sense”. 21 See, for example, Harrison 2001, 267: “Curiosity, along with pride and disobedience, was thus implicated in the first sin and in the subsequent fall of the whole human race”; and Almond 1999, 193: “There was virtual unanimity in the belief that the prohibition on eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was to test the obedience of Adam and Eve. Luther and Calvin followed Augustine and Chrysostom on this”. 22 See also lines 1347–50. 23 As to its motivations, curiosity was prompted by pride, vanity, or the desire to be like God. 24 See, for instance, Kenny 2004, esp. 47–59 (Figures 1.2 and 1.3); 51: “Thus were spawned numerous elaborate typologies of curiosity…. Almost all provided ways of distinguishing bad from good curiosity”. 25 Harrison 2001, 283: “In this new map of the relationships of the sensibilities, curiosity was distanced from the vices associated with the Fall and thus began its liberation from the burdens imposed upon it by sacred history”. 26 Montaigne 2003, III :13, 1217; Montaigne 1988, 1072. It is worth noting in this regard that Montaigne’s essay “To philosophize is to learn how to die” (I:20) departs from the ars moriendi tradition espoused by the Courteour and Experience

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in this poem, instead counseling a more secular, humanist, and indeed personal approach to impending death. 27 See Basilikon Doron: “But in this, my ouer-deare bought experience may serue you for a sufficient lesson”; “[a]nd for conclusion of this point, I may also alledge my owne experience”; “I haue found by experience…” (James VI and I 1994, 22, 23 and 25).

“HIS GUIDIS AND GEIR”: THE INVENTORY OF ESTATE OF SIR DAVID LYNDSAY JANET HADLEY WILLIAMS

Factual documents can be invaluable in the attempt to understand the imaginative world a writer creates and the everyday world that writer inhabits. In the case of David Lyndsay, some investigation of this relationship is possible; a range of material with Lyndsay associations survives. For instance, a “Da : lin[d]esay” is recorded as nomina incorporatum of the University of St Andrews in 1508 (Anderson 1926, 208). Regrettably, there is insufficient evidence to be certain that this refers to the poet and herald, and thus permit some observations about Lyndsay and his writing based on a firm knowledge of his education. Another record seems to offer more certainty. A notarial instrument of 1513, which acquired sasine (possession) of a tenement on the south side of Edinburgh’s High Street on Lyndsay’s behalf, places the poet at the heart of the city in which he spent so much of his career (Wood 1941, 168:886). Yet the document does not tell what this purchase meant to Lyndsay; plausible as it might be, his residence there has not been proven. One letter in Lyndsay’s own hand is known, and offers some insights into his work as herald and in diplomatic negotiation (Hadley Williams 2000).1 This, like his armorial manuscript (Edinburgh, NLS MS 31.4.3), is not a personal document so much as a semi-official record. What can be gleaned from either of them about Lyndsay the man or his writing is hard won (Lawson 1957; Edington 2004, 37–41; Hadley Williams 1996b, 223–26). Official foreign and domestic records of Lyndsay are more numerous and forthcoming. Many entries reveal a detail about the nature of Lyndsay’s heraldic duties. These are worth noting, since there is a heraldic aspect to his poetry, most obviously in the poem recording the planned entry into Edinburgh of James V’s queen, The Deploratioun of the Deith of Quene Magdalene.2 Yet many such official records simply confirm that a meeting at which Lyndsay acted in his heraldic role was carried out according to diplomatic protocol. This is all too evident, for example, in

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Ralph Sadler’s report to Henry VIII after his visit to Scotland in the late 1530s. Sadler noted that, at a certain point, David Lyndsay had gone to Marie de Guise, “and spoke to her I know not what, and then came to me and said, ‘That the King had appointed me then to salute the Queen, according to my request the day before’ ” (L&P Henry VIII XV:248). Other entries are of payments to Lyndsay. There are unique and revealing ones—such as those made to Lyndsay by the French treasury in support of the herald’s official travels at the time of the marriage negotiations for James V.3 Those of Lyndsay’s regular fees are also informative of, among other things, his career path and who were his peers.4 Even a passing reference in the Scottish Accounts to Lyndsay’s wife, “Item to Jenet Dowglas, spous to David Lindsay maister Ischare to the King for sewing of the Kingis lynnyng claithis” (TA V:196), provides a glimpse of what must have been a striking couple at the Scottish court. These Accounts records, and those in the Registers of the Great and Privy Seals of the 1530s and 40s, noting the gifts of land and money the pair received gratis from the king, show that, in observable terms, the two servitors were favoured as both individuals and partners.5 Yet there remains a tantalizing want of less publicly-documented material, and thus of how Lyndsay’s personal world might be related to his poetic works. This lacuna gives a particular interest to the comments on Lyndsay by his contemporaries, but not many survive. Those written even ten years after Lyndsay’s death, such as William Bullein’s in his Dialogue against the Feuer Pestilence, give Lyndsay a retrospective leading role in the processes of Protestant reform and peaceful Anglo-Scots unification (Bullein 1888, 18:7–34). Bullein probably had not met the Scotsman. George Buchanan’s allusions to the poet are potentially of more importance, for he had known the herald in the 1530s, although his remarks were published later. In his Rerum Scoticarum Historia of 1571, Buchanan mentions that Lyndsay was present in the chapel at Linlithgow on the eve of the battle of Flodden, when a venerable old man appeared to James IV, warning him not to proceed with the battle, then disappearing into the crowd before the king could question him. Crucially, Buchanan names Lyndsay as his source, calling him (as Aikman translates): “a man of unsuspected probity and veracity, attached to literature, and during life, invariably opposed to falsehood”, then adding, “unless I had received the story, as narrated, vouched for truth, I had omitted…it, as one of the commonly reported fables” (Buchanan 1827, II:250–51). His approving assessment of Lyndsay, it must be assumed, was widely endorsed, at least by the 1570s. Yet Lyndsay’s ostensible part in this vividly theatrical episode does not provide an individualized portrait.6 It makes Lyndsay a

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type, a symbol of honesty, in order to present with more conviction a political point of view in which war with England was seen as undesirable.7 These and other factual records are valuable, yet also either all-toostrictly to the point, inconclusive, or biased. They report almost exclusively on Lyndsay in his official duties and as a public figure.8 In this less than pefect context, an inventory in the Register of Acts and Decreets, NRS CS7/15/1, folios 78v–79v, has more than usual value, allowing scholars a little access to Lyndsay’s domestic concerns. John Warrack appreciated this, briefly noticing the document in his 1919–20 Rhind Lectures (74–75). The inventory has been dated 1557 (Lindsay 1936, IV:xxxix) and transcribed, with a very few inaccuracies, by Douglas Hamer (Lindsay 1936, IV:275–77). It contains details of Lyndsay’s “heirschip goods”; that is, the inventory does not refer to Lyndsay’s heritable property (such as buildings), but to certain items of movable property that fell to the heir.9 It was drawn up in support of the case put forward on behalf of Lyndsay’s niece, Elizabeth, by her tutor dative (a guardian appointed by the court), George Newtown, suing Lyndsay’s executors, a younger brother, also David, and James Carruthers, a burgess of Cupar, for Elizabeth’s share of Lyndsay’s goods. This challenge includes matters relating to land and unentailed rents that are worth separate study.10 Of present interest, for what they might help to disclose of Lyndsay’s world as a private individual, are the “guidis and geir…at the tyme of his deceiss and in speciall with thir guidi[s] …claythis and ornamentis vnder specifiit pertening to the…air foirsaid” (16, 19–20).11 The value of the goods is not listed, nor are precise locations given for any of the items, yet the groupings of goods and gear are mostly systematically recorded, as if items were noted during a progression from room to room and place to place at Lyndsay’s home and farm.12 Personal clothing and jewellery are listed first, then household goods, including those for the dining hall or main room, the kitchen and bedrooms, before those items that might have been found in the stable and barn. The list begins with a splendid garment, “ane gown of fyne blew purpure veluet lynit with pwdeueiss” (24). The “blew purpure” colour of the velvet signals that this is a most valuable piece of clothing.13 A contemporary anonymous poem of advice to the king, “Be gratious ground and gate to sapience”, emphasizes the noble associations of the colour when it examines the symbols of kingly office—sceptre, crown, and “royall rob so riche of purpure blew” (Ritchie 1928, II:221–24, l. 41). The lining of Lyndsay’s gown, a material called “pwdeueiss”, almost certainly

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a type of fur (compare DOST, peudenite, n.), suggests that this is a winter garment. Placed over doublet, coat, and hose, the gown is likely to have been worn on important occasions. It does not appear to have been part of the Lyon Herald’s official robes, about which experts in the subject disagree (Stevenson 1914, I:53–57, pl. 3, 4, 5; Innes 1932, 199). Next is a “coit of rid crammasie weluet with slevis” (24–25), “crammasie” (DOST, cramase, a.) here referring to the colour crimson. This was also of high quality, for James V’s wardrobe contained a similar coat in 1529 (TA V:361). Lyndsay would have worn his coat over the “dowblet of fyne crammase satyne” (24–25) and the “pair of blak stemmene hois [black stockings of woollen or worsted cloth]” (26) also noted in the inventory. Garments similar to this satin doublet and stockings also appear in the king’s wardrobe (TA V:369, 418; V:361), but velvet and satin were more widely available than these details would suggest. They appear frequently among goods imported into Scotland (Halyburton 1867, 37, 43, 50, 55). At the entry of Marie de Guise in 1538, the provost, magistrate and council of the burgh of Edinburgh required so many of each craft to be “cled in Fransche clayth to thair gownis, with dowbletts of veloutt, satyne, dammes, or silk, [and] honest hois” (Edin. Recs II:89). Thirty-seven others, including, the instruction implies, David Lyndsay, who was prominent in the devising of this royal entry, were required to be “on horsback with fute mantill, veluos harnesing” (Edin. Recs II:91). The velvet harnessing mentioned in the burgh record would have been enhanced by the next-listed item in the Lyndsay inventory, “ane belt of weluet with ane quhyn‫܌‬ear” (26), or short sword. A reference to another “swerd” follows (27), with no further details, suggesting that it was a workaday weapon rather than heavily ornamented. The next two entries: “ane pair of brotekynnis”, or high boots, and “ane pair of butis” (27) are also related to riding (cf. TA V:196; Cunnington et al. 1960, 29). Then follows “ane silkin hat with ane tergat” (27–8),14 or precious metal ornament, probably circular, that was pinned to the hat. Lyndsay had another for the “blak bonat” (29) appearing slightly later in the inventory (Bennett 1983, 546–49). Lyndsay is depicted wearing a bonnet, with a feather decoration, in the woodcut illustration on the title page of the 1558 French quarto edition of Ane Dialog (STC (2nd ed.) 15673). A long loose cloak of velvet called a “cassikin” (see OED, cassock, n.), and a “ryding cloik of cullour de roy begareit with weluet” (28–29) are next on the list. “Cullour de roy”, king’s colour, was tawny (purple or brownish) (DOST, colour-de-roy, n.). The cloak made of it was perhaps for ceremonial occasions; in 1542 James V had a version, not trimmed with velvet like Lyndsay’s, of the same coloured material (TA VIII:81).

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The last of these related items is a “cappiedosie of weluet” (29–30). DOST (capidosé, n.) notes usefully that the word derives from the Middle English capados or hood, which suggests that Lynday’s garment was to protect the head and back of the neck during outdoor duties. Lyndsay’s jewellery is grouped together next, beginning with a “chen‫܌‬e of gold” (30). This was not the chain of a special order, such as the Garter or Golden Fleece, usually called a collar, but a male adornment of longstanding popularity: David Sinclair of Swynbrocht mentions his “goldin chen‫܌‬e the quhilk I weair dailly” in the early 1500s, and Master Adam Colquhoun his in 1542 (Thomson 1855, III:109; McRoberts 1971, 25; Marshall 1996). The same applied to Lyndsay’s gold “signit” ring (30), a finger-ring containing a small seal for practical use. Many such signet seals, imported from the continent, were engraved with the owner’s arms and were used to authenticate documents; others had a stone embedded for the engraving (see DOST, Signet, n.1 1 and 6). A “tablet” (30), a flattish ornament worn on a chain or ribbon, is the next item. These pendants were among the pieces of jewellery given by James V as New Year gifts: the royal Accounts reveal this in the details of payments to the goldsmiths Thomas Rhynd and John Mosman in 1538 (TA VII:123). In the Lyndsay inventory the item is not described. It could have had a variety of insertions. In his Court of Venus, Rolland refers to “[t]abletis of gold, bayth quadrate and round. / With Saphiris set” (1884, Bk I:139–40), and a letter included among Patrick Waus’s correspondence, from the Countess of Cassillis to her daughter, contains a request for the purchase of a tablet in the “best fassone” with a “just dyackle”—an accurate compass—in it (Waus 1882, 92). The “sark”, or shirt, worn next to the body, and the “naipkin” (DOST, napkin, n., neckerchief or handkerchief) that are listed after the tablet on the next line (31), seem out of order.15 A clue might be that, like the tablet, they were items that could be owned by either women or men. The item next noted, “ane pair of braislettis of gold” (31) hints more strongly at feminine ownership. Bracelets were given as gifts to women, so it is men, as buyers or as those who had them mended, who are often associated with them in record (TA VII.123, 265, 400–01, 408). From the pictorial evidence, bracelets were worn by men only in the later decades of the sixteenth century (Marshall 1997). The fact that the quality of the sark in the Lyndsay inventory is not mentioned is a little ironic; Janet Douglas made sarks for the king of fine linen from Cambray in Flanders, embroidering them with silk and gold thread (TA VI:19–20, 86, 180, 251, 282, 297–98, 380–81). The blunt entry is better matched by the allusion in Lyndsay’s Complaint of the Kingis

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Auld Hound callit Bagsche, when the irascible hunting dog, no longer in court favour, displays misdirected pride by boasting: “Find me ane dog, quhare euer ‫܌‬e found / Hes maid sa mony bludie sarkis!” (ll. 87–88). Those particular sarks were more likely to have been owned by Bagsche’s rivals, or, in the court world, the new (male) favourites of James V, but a woman’s sark is pivotal in another of Lyndsay’s poems, The Historie of Squyer Meldrum. At Carrickfergus the young squire rescues a fair lady whose clothing has been taken by soldiers as plunder, leaving her “naikit as scho wes borne” (l. 109). The victorious squire demands the immediate return of her sark; the lady herself asks only for that garment (l. 129), although her additional comment, “let thame [the robbers] go hence, with all the lave” (l. 130), shows that she does not forget the rest of her beautiful clothes. In the preceding lines they have been carefully described, including the gold head garland and the belt and brooches of silver. Lyndsay here uses the sark to show both the squire’s honourable behaviour and the lady’s modesty, prized by her more than outward show of wealth—although it must be added that this sark is said to be “taftais” (DOST, taffitie, n.), taffeta, a kind of glossy silk. Three items of fine tableware appear next: “ane coupe of gold, ane goblet of gold [and] ane maischir of siluer” (31–32). Drinking cups were usually shared, as in Douglas’s account of Dido’s banquet for the Trojan visitors (Eneados I.xi. 85–87, 91): “…the cowpe with the riche wyne / Apon the burd scho blyssit, and eftir syne / With hir lyp first tharof tuke bot a taist /… / Syne al the nobillis tharof drank abowt”. Lyndsay’s mazer of silver is not described. These vessels often contained a “print”, or circular plate, in the bottom of the cup, engraved with biblical or classical quotations and the arms of the owner (Eeles 1920–21; How 1934; Stevenson et al. 1930–31). The inventory’s next item has considerable interest: “ane pair of bedis of siluir with gawdeis of gold of pareiss werk” (32–33); that is, a rosary of silver, with ornamental gold beads of Paris workmanship (DOST, gaudé, n.).16 It is tempting to infer that Janet Douglas and David Lyndsay bought the beads in Paris at the time of the marriage of James V and Madeleine de Valois (TA VI:455; 456; VII:16). This highly ornate type of rosary was seen by at least some at this time as an investment (McRoberts 1971, 25; McRoberts 1972, 81–82), and the rosary’s appearance in the inventory among the gold and silver vessels suggests that this one was in that category. Lyndsay’s ownership of such an item is not at all incongruous. He is critical in his writing of the misuse (not the use) of the rosary, since he argued for the urgent reform of the church from within. He satirizes the practice of ritual devoid of meaning in the Testament of the Papyngo when

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he gives to the birds of prey, gathered all-too-closely about the dying parrot, the words: “And we sall syng, about your sepulture, / Sanct Mongoies matynis… / And syne devotely say, I you assure, / The auld Placebo bakwart and the beid” (ll. 703–06). In Ane Dialog, Lyndsay describes how pilgrims behave on arrival at saints’ shrines, “With offrand and with orisoun / To thame [saints] aye babland on…beidis” (ll. 2318– 19).17 Lyndsay questions purposeless and meaningless ritual associated with the rosary beads, but he does not necessarily also question the place of the rosary in devotional practice. Dunbar did the same in his poem “Ane murelandis man” (B 2), in one of his many examples pointing up the difference between appearance and truth, observing: “Sum pattiris with his mouthe on beidis, / That hes his mynd all on oppressioun” (ll. 18–19). Essential accoutrements of riding are listed next: a “broun hors with a fransche sadill harnessing coverit with weluet” (33–34), “a fute mantill (or footcloth for a riding horse) of pareiss blak” (34), “ane maill”, or travelling bag (DOST, male, n.3), possibly a saddle bag (34–35), and “ane bonat cace” (35). From these entries, it is possible to reconstruct how Lyndsay might have responded to royal demands that required travel at a moment’s notice. This is sometimes briefly glimpsed in the royal Accounts, as, for instance, via the payment “to ane boy send furth of Falklande for Lyoun Herolde” (TA VII:123). Lyndsay knew what he was talking about when he describes how Meldrum “raid that day and all the nicht” to reach the the Lennox region (Historie of Squyer Meldrum, l. 1085), where Makfagon and his barons were attacking the property of the squire’s lady. The words Lyndsay gives to the exhausted squire, “Madame I you assure / That worthie Lancelot du Laik / Did nevir mair for his ladies saik” (ll. 1078– 80), lightly combine the world of chivalric romance with that of Lyndsay’s own everyday Scotland. A “lokit comptar burde with ane sewit [sewn] covering” (35–36) is the first in a cluster relating to Lyndsay’s hall. This useful counting table cum lockable bureau was a common piece of furniture (Edin. Recs I:92, 161, 230; II:39). Other items are all to do with the table and formal dining; first “ane dowble covering of dornik” (36), or a double-fold tablecloth of the Tournai linen favoured for table cloths; “ane dusoun of schiruiettis of dornik” (36), that is, small towels or table-napkins (DOST, serviet(t), n.); “ane copburdclayth” (37), or cloth for setting upon a board or table, upon which cups and other plate were displayed (DOST, attrib. copburde, n. 3); and “ane towell of dornik werk” (37). These items, together with the “pareiss blak” of the footmantle mentioned earlier (34), and the “flanderis tyke [ticking]” (47) mentioned later, reveal in passing the longstanding influence of European textiles in Scotland.

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After the various cloths comes table silver. First is “ane basing of siluer” (37). Guests would have used this basin, with the linen towel, to wash before the meal, a formality Lyndsay mentions in Squyer Meldrum (l. 872). Next are “a dusoun of siluir spunis havand the armes of the said vmquhyle schir dauid thairon” (38–39). These are worth special notice; spoons, essential for the making and eating of the sauces, broths, and potages of the time, were more often made of horn, wood, or pewter (Hodgett and Smith 1972). The precise location of Lyndsay’s arms on the spoon is not described and surmise is difficult: ownership marks on early spoons have been found at the junction of the stem and the pear-shaped bowl, on the back, and on the front (Gask 1940).18 More utilitarian vessels follow: “ane chargeour” or platter (39); “ane trunscheour” (39), or trencher (DOST, trun(s)cheour, n.), which was a round or square plate of wood or metal for the cutting of meat; “ane gairding” (39), or protective mat or plate, usually brass, for placing under hot dishes at table’ (CSD, gairding, n.); “ane salt fat [small tub, cellar] of siluir” (39–40), which would be set to the right of the host in front of the principal guest (Marks et al. 2003, 311); and “ane luggit [handled] dische of siluir” (40). In the dark rooms of the time a single-stick candleholder was the minimum requirement; the listed “grete brasin [brass] chandillar” (40)— the word “greit” suggesting something capable of holding a number of lights—would have been more useful. Such a chandelier was not excessive; in 1542 the manse of Stobo was lit by two “siluer chandillaris” in the hall, and another “hingand schandillar” in the bed chamber (McRoberts 1971, 23–24). Large numbers of these multiple-branch brass chandeliers were imported from Flanders during the fifteenth- and sixteenth-centuries, but few survived the Reformation (Caldwell 1982, 116, F23). Next in the inventory are standard measuring vessels—quarts, pints, chopins (or half pints), all made of tin (41). Then come an “yrne chymlay” (41–42), or movable grate (DOST, chimnay, n.); a “cruik” (42), or metal hook that would be used in conjunction with this grate; “twa standand rackis of yrne” (42), or sets of bars used to support cooking utensils, and “ane pair of tangis [tongs]” (42–30). All were essential kitchen equipment, similarly included, for example, in a list of heirschip goods of 1548: “ane irne chymnay with rakkis cruke tangis and speitt” (Edin. Recs II, 136). They are followed in the Lyndsay inventory with further cooking implements: a “bief [beef] pott”; “spete [spit]”; “pan”; “frying pan of brass” (43–44), and a “chaffer” or chafing dish for keeping cooked food warm (44). A “grise pan of irne” also listed was perhaps a pan set aside for

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cooking fat (see OED, grease, n.1b), or perhaps could have been for the cooking of young pig (DOST, grys(e, n.). At the end of the list of kitchen-associated items comes “ane bed staf of brass” (44–45). While this pole could be used as a bed support, it could have other functions. It was quite a sturdy item, even if it was not made of the hardest of the metal alloys, and it was to hand when the soutar’s wife, annoyed by her husband’s friendliness towards the homeless young woman called Chastitie, caught up with her husband: “With my bedstaf that dastard beirs ane dint” (Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis, l. 1345). The inventory then lists less multi-purpose furniture, including a “chyre” (45), often associated with the principal person or head of the household (TA VI.435; van Buuren 1997, 461) and a “lang furme” (45), or form for communal sitting at the dining table. There are also various storage cupboards. The “meit almery syloreit” (45) was a food cupboard with a canopy or screen (OED, silour, n.; DOST, sylour, n.).19 There is a “cop almery” (46); and a “lansadill” (46) or, long wooden bench with a back and sides, normally with a locker beneath the hinged seat (DOST, langsadil(l, n.1). The “langsadill” might now be kept in a hallway, but was then a valuable possession. When George Dune, canon of Holyrood, gave a langsadill (and two cupboards) to his brother in 1489, he had his gift recorded before witnesses in a notarial instrument (Young 1941, 75, no. 321). A best bed is not mentioned in the Lyndsay inventory, unlike that of a Dundee craftsman whose sister wanted that particular bed after his death (Maxwell 1884, 583–84). Nonetheless the first of the two Lyndsay beds listed was of “carvit werk” (46), suggesting that it was not a lowly piece of furniture. It was probably a “stand bed”, or four-poster, with hangings and a ceiling (Edin. Recs II, 136). The other noted was a “down bed with ane flanderis tyke” (46–47), that is, a bed with a mattress of soft feathers and ticking made from strong linen or cotton. These beds were very common; both Margaret, James IV’s queen, and John Wilson, Dunfermline burgess, slept on them (TA III.50; R.R. 1895, 18). There were also a pair each of blankets and sheets (47). Other more personal items for bedroom use follow, the first a “nycht curtchie” (48), or large folded handkerchief, which was tied around the head in bed at night. The Scottish kings wore these too (TA II:202; VII:92, 187). Also listed is a “nycht bonat” (48), again a common piece of clothing. It was worn also by women (TA I:37). James V owned several, his of fine black velvet from Lucca (TA VII:128). Next is a “sewit covering with hingeris” (48), or embroidered wall hanging. This again seems modest when set beside the parson of Stobo’s

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“dozene of hingaris of arrowis [arras or French tapestry] werk” (McRoberts 1971, 24; Swain 1994). In this cluster, the Lyndsay inventory also lists two “coddis”, or cushions (49), a “wairstaw of carvit werk” (49) or large wooden storage cupboard with carving (DOST, war(e)stal(l, n.); a “watter pott of pewder [pewter]” (49–50) and “a greit schryne” (50). This last was not a shrine of the kind Lyndsay condemned, but another storage container, chest or coffer, which was used for books, papers, money, or household goods (DOST, s(c)hrine, n.); Sanderson 2002, 93). A most important item in a pre-Reformation context is next listed: “ane byble in Inglis” (50). Many in Scotland had Latin texts (Durkan and Ross 1961, 88, 97, 111, 140); not many had English translations at this time, although the Sinclairs owned a Wycliffite English New Testament that was probably in Scotland by 1538 (Lawlor 1897–98, 107; Mapstone 1996, 3). If Lyndsay’s volume was the entire bible, then it was likely to have been acquired after the passing of the 1543 legislation, permitting the reading of “the haly write baith the new testament and the auld in the vulgar toung in Inglis or scottis” (APS 2.415). The first edition of Miles Coverdale’s bible, an English translation of the complete work published in Antwerp in 1535, thus is a possible edition (Daniell 2004). The more likely bible, however, because access to it was easier, is the The Great Bible, Coverdale’s revision (loosely speaking, since Tyndale was also involved) of “Matthew’s” Bible. It was published in England in 1539, and in six successive editions (Davidson 1926, 79–81; Edington 1994, 149– 50). The suggestion that Lyndsay’s volume was one of these editions is strengthened by Coverdale’s connections with Scotland, through his Scottish wife, Elizabeth Macheson and her sister, Agnes, who married the former Domenican friar and reformer, John Macalpine, in 1540. Macalpine probably met Lyndsay during the herald’s mission to Denmark in late 1548, a stay lengthened by several months because of the wreck of the ship on which Lyndsay was returning to Scotland (Christensen 1983, 68–69; Greaves 2004). Lyndsay’s opportunity to observe Macalpine’s efforts to translate the bible into Danish at this time might help to explain why the Scotsman’s formal call for wider access to the scriptures in English may be similarly dated (Ane Dialog, ll. 538–684; Lyndsay 2000, 313–14). Utensils for brewing are next listed: “ane leid” (50) or large cauldron (DOST, lede, n.); “ane maskin fatt”, or mashing vat for malt (51); and “ane gyle fat”, or vessel for fermenting wort, “with all necessaris pertenning therto” (51).20 Lyndsay associates James V with these large smelly vats in his Answer to the Kingis Flyting, recalling to the king an unofficial closeencounter: “Remember how, besyde the masking fat, / Ye caist a quene

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ouerthort a stinking troch [trough]?” (ll. 52–53). He also laughingly mentions the aftermath—how he and the woman involved knocked over the vat, causing dregs and swill to “Come rudely rinnand doun about your luggis” (l. 55). Knowledge of the brewing vessels allows Lyndsay to speak entertainingly yet damningly of the inappropriateness, for both the individual man and the realm, of the king’s behaviour. Implements now noted give some sense of a working farm: “ane yok [pair] of oxin” (52); “ane pleuch” (52); “ane yok [yoke]” (52); “ane cowter” (52), or iron blade fixed in front of the ploughshare (DOST, culter, n.); “ane sok [ploughshare]” (52); “ane irne schire” (52), another type of ploughshare (OED, share, n.); “ane harrow with teith of irne” (52); “ane furnesit wane” (52–53), or wagon with all accessories (recalling Douglas’s reference to the Ursa Major constellation as the “Charlewane”— Charlemagne’s Wain, or the Plough—in The Palice of Honour, l. 1845). Lastly comes “ane schod carte” (53), a cart with wooden wheels “shod” with iron nails (Fenton 1970, 178, 186). The “schod carte” appears to be described further, as “of coit of armour” (54), but this is a rare scribal slip, a replacement of the correct “ane” by “of”. Once separated from the cart item and amended as “ane coit of armour”, the article is still ambiguous, but the word “coit” suggests “cote-armour” (OED, armour, n. 10). This was not defensive armour, but ceremonial dress. In his Buke of the Howlat Richard Holland alludes to it when he describes the pursuivant-woodpecker, “That raid befor the empriour / In cot-armour / Of all kynd of colour” (ll. 334–37). It is also mentioned in the Testament of Meldrum, among those things that are to hang above his tomb: “My bricht harnes, my scheild, and als my speir, / Togidder with my courtlie coit armour” (ll. 191–92). The item in the Lyndsay inventory appears to be another such vest of rich material embroidered with heraldic devices for use by a herald in ceremonial or official settings and by knights over their armour on the battlefield. The next inventory item is perhaps related: a pair of “schone” (54), or footwear lighter than boots. There are also “pantownis of weluet” (55), even softer shoes, that were close to the modern slipper (DOST, panto(u)n, n.). The inventory recorder’s removal to another room, perhaps a storeroom, barn or stable, is suggested by the following item: a “windo clayth” (55). This is not a cloth to clean a window—although Lyndsay mentions a special “wyndo” on Noah’s ark that was “closit with christall cleir” (Ane Dialog, l. 1387). This was a winnowing sheet, a broad piece of cloth used for separating the chaff from the matter (DOST, window claith, n.). The next item, a “sek” (55), or sack, seems proper company for it. There is a “girdill” (griddle), the circular iron plate used for baking bread

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and cakes (55) (DOST, girdill, n.2). Then come “sokkis” (56) and “spurris” (56), often grouped together, as in the royal treasury Accounts (VIII:371). The “ait riddill” (56); the “quhit [wheat] riddill” (56–57), the “wyde seif [sieve]” (57) and the “small seif” (57) complete this part of the inventory. Even if the Lyndsay inventory of heirship goods had included valuations, it would be hazardous to draw precise conclusions from them about the poet’s wealth. From her careful study of inventories of heirship goods, Dr Sanderson has found that these lists were incomplete, more often containing only “the best of every category of household and personal belongings” (1999, 148; Burgess 1990, 15). Nonetheless there is a marked difference in the quality of the goods listed in the Lyndsay inventory and those noted, for instance, in the Leges Burgorum as “thyngis pertenand to the burges ayre” (Innes 1868, 56–57). Both lists contain similar items—the latter incudes, for instance, “a leyd with a maskfat, a gylfat…a chymnay…a cruk”—but Lyndsay’s listed goods, even if the inventory is selective, are more numerous and more costly. The “tuelf spunys” required for the burgess heir, for instance, were not specified to be the silver of Lyndsay’s; nor were gold and silver vessels among burgess items. From a different perspective, Lyndsay’s inventoried goods are far from luxurious. His few silver items do not compete with the many, including “xxiiij siluer spunis”, and the “ij siluer chandillaris” previously mentioned, in the hall at the manse of Stobo in 1542 (McRoberts 1971, 22–23). To make a judgement from the evidence of the inventory, Lyndsay was not in want at the time of his death. His goods as listed were sufficient and solidly worthy, yet not ostentatiously so.

Notes 1

See, for comparison, the information to be gleaned about Gavin Douglas or the Campbell family from their letters: Bawcutt 1996 and Dawson 1997. 2 Quotation of Lyndsay’s poetry, unless otherwise noted, is from the edition by Hadley Williams, Lyndsay 2000. 3 CAF 1896, VII: Second supplément. Actes non datés, nos. 28885 and 29149 (A.N. J 9618, No. 52 (anc. J962, No. 182), and A.N. 9618, No. 105 (anc. J962 No. 182)). 4 See, for instance, ER XV:473, noting an annual payment to Lyndsay of £15; ER XVI:90 recording an increase of the same annual payment to £40. 5 Gratuitous gifts did not require the payment of a “compositioun”. See RSS II:998, 1693, 1889, 4378, 4821, 4910; RMS III:1781, 2529, 2748. These records are gathered conveniently in Lindsay 1936, IV: Appendix I, nos. 73, 88, 98, 104, 114, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136.

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For perceptive consideration of the interaction of eye witness and a variety of textual witnesses recording public events, see McGavin 2007. 7 For additional reasons why Buchanan might have wished, at some remove, to further the idea that Scotland’s war with England was an error: Durkan 1986, 32. 8 On Lyndsay’s role as deviser of Madeleine’s entry into Edinburgh, for example, see Edin. Recs 1871, II:89–91. 9 I am grateful to Dr Athol L. Murray for his helpful discussion of the document (pers. comm. 30 March 1979). 10 In the interim, see Innes 1938–45, 408; Ewan 1992, 37. 11 Numbers in parentheses refer to lines in the original document; abbreviations have been silently expanded. 12 Professor Elizabeth Ewan kindly confirmed that these inventories were produced in this way (pers. comm. 18 June 2008). 13 While all heralds wore the royal arms, only Lyon was permitted to wear velvet (Stevenson 1914, I:38, 54). 14 James V’s sons had four such silk hats to wear with their riding cloaks in 1541: TA VII:427. 15 They were often grouped together in lists of this kind: TA IV:419; IX:45. 16 The form of the rosary gradually became standardized into groups of ten beads for reciting the Ave Maria prayer, separated by one bead for the Paternoster, thus long rosaries could be several “decades”; for an illustration: Foster 2003, 343. 17 For all quotations from Ane Dialog, see Hamer’s edition, Lindsay 1931, I:198– 386. 18 Four of the medieval spoons found at Abberley, Worcestershire in 1964, now in the British Museum, have such markings. See: http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/highlight_objects/pe_mla/f/five_ silver_spoons.aspx 19 Hamer’s erroneous transcription, “sylomeit” (Lindsay 1936, IV:276), should be corrected to “syloreit”. 20 On how this activity fitted into the household, see further: Spence 2008, 10–14.

PART III: LATER SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES

SPECTATORSHIP IN SCOTLAND JOHN J. MCGAVIN

On the face of it, the time seems ripe for a proper analysis of early spectatorship in Scotland. Archival work on play records, historical reenactments of drama, and theories of both action and reception, which began in parallel in the last quarter of the twentieth century, have recently converged.1 The Records of Early English Drama volumes have now substantially extended and diversified our understanding of what constituted performance, and the kinds of context in which it might be viewed. The assumption that we do not, and cannot, know much about audience response is being challenged by new discoveries, such as Sarah Carpenter’s work on Vives, which has found vivid description of audience response in, of all places, an early sixteenth-century Latin commentary on St Augustine (Carpenter 2009b). Other studies assert a link between what was seen on the medieval stage and the neuro-physiological responses of spectators (Stevenson 2010). Collaborative performance experiments, such as “Staging the Henrician Court” (Betteridge 2010), have carried forward earlier re-enactment projects to focus modern critical attention firmly on reception over and above the practicalities of performance. Audience composition is now an essential feature in any analysis of early theatre companies (Munro 2005). And as scholars understand the social functions of play better, claims about the likely responses of audiences achieve greater nuance. In addition, recent work on medieval optics is proving valuable, especially when allied to analyses of ceremonies such as public confession, as in Dallas G. Denery II’s study of the intromissory theory of vision, which emphasized as the origin of sight the cognitive power of the viewer rather than the capacity of the object to be seen (Denery 2005). Denery shows how this led to a late-medieval acknowledgement of different audiences; of viewer psychology affecting how something is seen; of clerical self-consciousness, and awareness of one’s appearance to the spectator. Recent archival research on play offers supportive evidence for such claims. For example, one finds awareness of the spectator pointedly, if

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figuratively, expressed in a London Statute for Residentiary Canons of 1399–1400: “personeque ecclesiastice quasi signum ad sagittam posite aliis esse debeant [ecclesiastics should be placed for others as if a target for an arrow]” (Erler 2008, 21; trans. Abigail Ann Young in Erler, 327). However, the contribution which medieval or early-modern Scotland can make to a study of spectatorship is deeply paradoxical. This is a country which has left few plays from the period and which had no dedicated commercial theatre but, nevertheless, had a long history of public dramatic performance, shows evidence of intimacy with the theatrical traditions of other countries, and has left an outstanding example of mid-sixteenth-century drama in Lyndsay’s Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis. Scotland’s most ubiquitous cultural activity through the early-modern period was the performance of music rather than drama, but until the invention of the gramophone this was indeed a spectatorial as well as an auditory experience. Furthermore, although there may be few plays, an astonishingly rich history of theatricality in public life emerges from Scottish memoirs, letters, chronicles, didactic texts and administrative material, and accounts of such scenes were a characteristic motif of Scottish historiography long before and after the early-modern period. It is thus in the area of non-literary spectatorship that Scotland has most to offer (McGavin 2007). But even in this respect, Scotland’s contribution is paradoxical, for Drummond of Hawthornden has left a uniquely extensive record of an early-modern spectator’s experience of drama in his synopses of the plays which he saw in Bourges in 1607 (Drummond, n.d., VII, fols. 69[r]–81[v]). One benefit of the cultural enigma which is early Scottish performance history is that it insists that those theoretical perspectives provided by our contemporary critical turn from performativity to spectatorship should accommodate the textuality of historical data. The struggle to identify evidence inevitably highlights the shaping effect of text—the genres and literary affinities, styles, assumptions, intended audiences, and the acknowledged and unacknowledged functions of the documents from which spectatorial response can only be indirectly or inferentially derived. One can see this in miniature in the case of the London “Statute for Residentiary Canons”. The text argues that clerics should offer an example of proper words, behaviour and dress to the laity, but the simile which supports this, stating that “ecclesiastics should be placed for others as if a target for an arrow” (Lam. 3.12), is strange and unsettling, full of other implications: of lay aspiration, competition, possible enmity, and separation of the cleric from those to whom he ministers, of martyrdom, and of drawing the attention, not just providing an example. The model of

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spectatorship implied by this image is far from simple. Scottish records of performance demand this kind of analysis not least because the cultural matrix within which they must be located is so patchy. The purpose of the present study is to demonstrate through four case studies the range and complexity of Scotland’s records of spectatorship within a short period of thirty years (1588–1618), with particular attention to the textual challenges which these records pose. Three of the studies reflect Scotland’s richness in public non-literary theatrical action, both political and religious. In these cases, the spectators were in part “figured” by the provider of the spectacle: even if some were actually present and personally known to the deviser of the spectacle, others were imagined as spectators of the future who would access the spectacle through oral or written report. The fourth case study, William Drummond’s play synopses, is a personal record of dramatic spectatorship, recorded as far as one can see for future personal use, but also constituting evidence of someone attempting to learn about dramatic spectatorship in reality, having come from an environment where such opportunities were infrequent outside educational circles. Early-modern Scotland no less than other societies offers powerful instances of management of the self as a spectacle for influencing potentially contending groups of spectators. That such episodes were recorded at the time argues the effectiveness of such actions and the genuine interest of spectators in interpreting and transmitting them. Sometimes, as in the following example, the very style of the record points towards the original spectator’s understanding of the event, and is intended to guide the original reader towards the same conclusions. This striking instance of recorded spectatorship in a political context can be found in a letter of Sir George Dundas to his son on July 24, 1588. Dundas writes, Thair suld haif bein ane conventioun of ye Nobilitie ye xxj of this instant, but hes bein stoppit be the mariage of huntlie with abeunis dochter ye dukis sister at yat conventioun we will see quhat wilbe done with ye said Maxwell The dukis sisteris arryvit in leithe quhen ye kyng was at lochmaben. huntlie was maryit with ye eldest of ye dukis sisteris [of] ye xxj of Iulij in the Abbaye the sermond in frenche maid [ye] be ye grand Archeuesque de S. andros on e avoit beaucoup de la Noblesse louer accoustreis a la francoyse. My lord bodwell was set round about with Mirrouris, becauss he wald nocht yat ony suld secund him and cheiflie at yat tyme thair was sik triumphe thair as was nocht in thair partis this long ago (Dundas 1588, fol. 1v)

The occasion was the marriage of the fifteen-year-old Henrietta Stewart, sister of Ludovick Stuart and daughter of the late Esmé Lennox. She had

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been brought over from France to marry George Gordon, marquis of Huntly, at a ceremony at least a year in the planning. The letter itself is intent on recounting the news in general—what had not happened as much as what had, such as the postponed action against Maxwell, and, in a part not quoted, the ambassadors who were unable to see the king because of the wedding celebrations. Consequently, it is easy to miss in the flow of factuality that passing reference to the earl of Bothwell; the relatively unpunctuated text does not help either. The archive catalogue reads that during the ceremony, Bothwell had himself set about with mirrors so that none should “secure” him. I think the MS reads that he did not wish anyone to “second” him, meaning either to “stand behind” him or “upstage” him.2 The question arises whether Bothwell had mirrors set round him for personal safety or for personal display. Possibly he did one under the pretence of the other. But there are two other questions which bear on the full significance of the episode. Firstly, should one punctuate the last sentences with a full stop after “tyme” or after “secund him”? The alternative meanings are very different in implication: My lord bodwell was set round about with Mirrouris, becauss he wald nocht yat ony suld secund him and cheiflie at yat tyme. Thair was sik triumphe thair as was nocht in thair partis this long ago. My lord bodwell was set round about with Mirrouris, becauss he wald nocht yat ony suld secund him. And cheiflie at yat tyme thair was sik triumphe thair as was nocht in thair partis this long ago.

And secondly, what was the reason for Sir George’s sudden and temporary shift into French when describing the ceremony? Admittedly, it might have been mere textual colouring to give a sensation of the foreign styles at the event, but a more significant explanation seems possible. Dundas’s own syntactic style suggests that the first of the two punctuations above is the intended one, and his sequencing of ideas suggests a link between that sentence and the French. Dundas’s son was to infer that the Protestant Bothwell was determined not to be out of the spectator’s eye at the very time when the marquis of Huntly was the centre of attention at a ceremony redolent of the Catholic country from which the bride had come, and which represented Huntly’s true religious leanings, even if he had apparently embraced reform. Dundas’s slide first into French and then to commenting on Bothwell’s behaviour, and the phrase “chiefly at that time” suggest, without being explicit, that both letter writer and receiver suspected that Huntly’s conversion was a matter of policy rather than faith, though Sir George

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evidently felt that he could not, or did not need, to come out and say so to his son. Whatever Bothwell’s primary intention in surrounding himself with mirrors—to see who was hidden behind him, or to display himself, or both—the effect would have been that any spectator, especially those viewing the event laterally, would have received a remarkably reduplicated, almost emblematic, image of a man who was the king’s first cousin, and who was identified with the Protestant cause, while the supposed centre of attention, Huntly, was a not very crypto Catholic, whatever his public professions. From the thirteenth century onwards mirrors fascinated optical theorists for their reduplicating powers and for their capacity to reveal what is hidden (Denery 2005, 75).3 Even if Bothwell’s sole intention was to check up on anyone standing behind him, the scene which he created with his mirrors would still have given spectators a powerful reminder of division in the court, and would have imputed that division to the untrustworthiness of the Huntly faction. Either way, it seems likely that Bothwell was intent on fixing his own image, and what he represented, in any memory the spectator would have of the event, and the Dundas letter shows that he achieved this. The world of public theatricality inevitably entails the spectator as the (usually implied) final cause of the event. When a spectacle is staged or prevented, the likely effect on the spectator is the reason, and therefore one should not omit searching for the spectators when one interprets a performance record, regardless of how little explicit information about the spectator is included. Admittedly, there is a danger of fashioning an ideal spectator to reflect one’s own interpretative emphasis. But, nevertheless, there is a place for the “constructed” spectator—not as a figment of the modern scholar’s theory but as a figure imagined at the time by those who sought to create or control the visible, as Bothwell was doing here. Always implicit in the actions of a dramaturgical society, the imagined viewer was the force which helped to shape public events. One could go further, however, and claim that the “performativity” evident when people create their own identities by behaviour in the public sphere necessarily entails projection of a particular imagined spectator for, with, or against whom that identity will be fashioned, and this recognition should surely inform our historical analyses of public culture in early Scotland, deepening our understanding of events by identifying not just their character or effects but the suppositions about spectators which seem to have underpinned them. Dundas’s letter is testimony to the imagined power of the spectator in the mind of the provider of spectacle; the extremes to which an individual could go in seeking to manage that power; to Bothwell’s success in this instance, and to the spectator’s desire to pass on the

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information to others so that they could also be spectators in their imaginations. The next case study of spectatorship develops this last point more fully. At 2 am on 31 March 1618, the Rev. Patrick Simson died—as Adam Simson, his son and biographer put it, at the time of the “full sea”, that is, the high tide (Simson 1619 [Edinburgh, University Library Dc.3.83], 87). Patrick Simson had been minister at Stirling for twenty-seven years, through the difficult period of the Scottish Reformation when Presbyterian ministers were, on the one side, battling the forces of Catholic nobility and, on the other side, negotiating with the Episcopalian king, James VI. At times in his last fever the Rev. Patrick Simson was delirious, claiming that he had been up all night directing his presbytery clerk, the Rev. James Duncanson (whose hand is most prominent in the Stirling Presbytery Records), “to take Summonds to Linlithgow to excommunicate them”. Simson’s son writes “Whether he meant Papists or my Lady Lithgois [Linlithgow] or the two Arch-bishops that came out of that College of Lithgow I cannot tell” (Simson 1619, 77), but over the years there had been quite a few varied targets to explain what his biographer called this “holy raving” in his last hours. More significantly, however, the kirk had latterly lost the opportunity even to influence the absent king directly, and James had been steadily removing the independence of the kirk’s General Assembly. Adam Simson’s account of his father’s last days was designed to fill this void with something memorable and enduring, with a tradition which could not be sidestepped by the vagaries of political movements, and which would create a spiritual spectatorship, a posthumous congregation as it were, for what his father represented. However, on examination, Adam Simson’s account appears to have been only the last stage in a process by which spectatorship was created. The reader is effectively invited in the imagination to enter the bedroom of the dying Patrick Simson. While the text on the surface looks like a chronological narrative of a life, it was actually shaped not by a recitation of events but rather by the need of the writer to persuade, encourage and touch the reader. Dedicated to lady Mar and the countess of Erskine, it included Simson’s role in bringing them to the true religion shortly after his arrival in Stirling, and the dedicatees would have been flattered by association with Simson’s early mission. But it was their future imaginations that Adam aimed to serve, ensuring for them and for any subsequent reader or listener, that the death, which is the climax of this account, would constitute an intensely vivid, unified scene. He created this effect even though Simson’s mortal illness occurred over several weeks, including a short time when relatives thought he was recovering.

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This manuscript text, though directed initially at a limited readership, was establishing a visualizable scene of exemplary action, adding to a genre of Scottish reformist deathbed narratives begun by John Knox’s secretary, Richard Bannatyne, when he reported Knox’s last days. Adam Simson’s account aimed to strengthen lay piety by establishing an ineluctable history grounded in compelling scenes for future spectators of his father’s death. At the centre of this scene is the dying man himself, surrounded by kinsfolk and by the multitude who have come for his blessing or for guidance on current events, and to one of whom Simson replies in Greek. Simson was known for his learning, and had taught himself Hebrew in his fifties. The manner of his dying appears to have been stage-managed in reality, as much as in Adam’s reporting of it, to ensure that the history of the Reformation would be grounded in a memory of this quality. The most striking feature of the whole account is thus a strange (and possibly to our eyes, unsettling) unity of purpose, which the original participants evidently shared, linking the physical environment, the action taking place in it, and the narrative which records it. Round the walls of the dying man’s bedroom were painted images of symbolic creatures and objects, such as we encounter in Renaissance emblem books—an Armenian white mouse, which hunters cannot catch unless they defile the entry to her hole with dirt and then she would rather expose herself to capture than put up with the filth; a hawk, which is the only bird to fly straight upwards towards heaven; and, painted on the window, a torch, which always burns upwards whatever angle it is set at. These images appear to have come from a text (no longer extant) of the late-third-century presbyter Pierius of Alexandria, which Patrick Simson’s brother also had with him in the bedroom. His brother asked Patrick to interpret the emblems for everyone. This may well have been a therapeutic act designed to keep the old man going by engaging him in an activity he loved, but these were not any old images, they were images from whose interpretation a final spiritual truth could be fashioned by a dying man, with the connivance and encouragement of his brother, for the present and future edification of spectators. “Such a Mouse was Daniel and the three Children and Eleazar”, says Patrick; people should imitate the hawk’s straight course towards heaven, but not its fierceness, he advises. Simson was known for his moderation, so eliciting this particular interpretation from Simson seems designed by his brother to fix Patrick’s future reputation in that regard. “Always the Torch is painted with the Head upward & downward. Yet always burning upward. So should Christians

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either in Prosperity or Adversity (says he) set their Heart to Heaven” (Simson, 1619, 66–67). Everyone, including the dying man himself, was contributing to this communally theatrical enactment of education for those around and for those who would view it through the lens of text in the future. The brother kept the seminar bubbling along over the weeks, moving Patrick’s attention from the paintings on the wall to strange beasts, and asking him to explain to everyone the significance of the Cynocephalus (or dogheaded man), the Salamander, which can walk through fire, and the Crane. We may find this scene potentially comic, and distrust its “manufactured” nature, though it appears less alien if one considers the staginess of modern public life—the “consultations” which are really expositions, and “debates” which are highly managed. But the action in Simson’s bedroom was being driven by that core impulse towards prophecy which arose from the reformers’ belief that they were living in immensely significant times: they were playing their parts in the theatre of the world beneath the eye of God, the ultimate spectator, and for the eyes and ears of later generations. In other words, their performance really mattered in the now and the future. In a prophetic history, the present fulfilled the past and the future would fulfil the present. Although such public non-literary theatre aiming at both present and future spectators had been a characteristic motif of Scottish historiography from medieval times, it thus gained power through the Reformation. The son, as custodian of this emblematic scene of prophetic, spiritual education, had a duty to make his narrative memorable and coherent. Accordingly, we find him choreographing it to increase coincidence between the context of the original events and the meaning which could be drawn from them. He writes that his father died at the “full sea”, and no doubt he did (there were many people around who could have corrected Adam if he had misrepresented this), but the tide Adam was figuratively referring to, and which he knew readers would infer from his choice of phrase, was the high tide of his father’s spiritual life. In Adam’s account reality and meaning are thus made to coincide in a way which draws life closer to art. When the brother moves Patrick on to explain the Bestiary, Adam ensures that the reader will sense a connection between the explanations Simson gave of the animals and the personal context in which they were given: we learn that Simson gave his explanation of the cynocephalus at the time that the moon was changing (presumably from full to new), and indeed that very time proves to have been coincidentally appropriate to the beast itself, just as the cynocephalus turns out to be both like the dying Patrick, and as Patrick himself points out, demonstrably

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unlike him. “It is true”, Simson said, that “that Beast at the Change of the Moon…lies down on the Back Stirring as though it were in the Pains of Death. It is [so] moved at the defect of a natural Light that it is stupified”. He then adds by way of contrast, in case the similarity might appear to threaten reformed spirituality, “We are not moved at the Defect of a supernatural Light in this Land’ (Simson 1619, 71; my emphasis). The interpretation of the salamander is described as happening when Patrick had put on his clothes because of the cold and, of course, the interpretation is to do with heat and cold since the feet of the salamander are cold as ice and can quench coals of fire. The whole scene, almost certainly as it was originally acted out, and as it is recalled for the reader, is one of signifying action and significant words, a crafted, unified, theatricalized scene for the memory, designed to give outward and visible signs of Patrick’s ingrafting into Christ, and to permit present and future spectators, whether they saw the event with their bodily eye or in their mind’s eye, to gain reassurance through contemplating it. Thus the room becomes a stage set, and dying becomes a representation of how to die. This does not divest the actions of sincerity; if anything, the underlying desperation to believe oneself saved, and to help others to this confidence, imparts a powerful reality to what is actually a staged life, and in this case was a “staged” death. At the most intimate moments one senses even greater emotional force because it is all happening before and for the spectators, present and future: shortly before the end, though still apparently in public view, “his wife came to him and said ‘And are you going from me my Heart?’; he answerd, ‘Yes, I change for the better.’ ” It is impossible to read Adam Simson’s account and be unaffected by its scenes and images, which, as they were intended to do, turn the reader into an empathetic spectator despite distance from the original event. In this case the imagined viewer was certainly the force which shaped the record, but it seems probable that that force was also felt by the community of the reformed as they managed the event itself. My next case study shows, firstly, how the two sides of spectacle, the original event and spectatorship, can have different relative value depending on the purposes of the record, and secondly, how the contest for political power in early-modern Scotland ensured that spectatorship itself was not neutral, but a form of action. One of the memorable things the Rev. Patrick Simson had done in his early career at Stirling, according to his son, was to speak out publicly against the notorious murder of David Forester. The date was June 24, 1595, and it is described in the Historie and Life of King James the Sext ([Colville?] 1825, 347):

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The Historie is anonymous, though it has been thought the work of a contemporary, John Colville. If it was Colville, he was here adjusting the story to the genre in which he wrote. This version tells of a romantic rivalry gone wrong, a tale of emulous families, in which an innocent member of one of them suffers as a consequence of youthful passions. If it was Colville, he also got the date wrong in the text of the Historie, which puts the June murder into July—a surprising error given his familiarity with the event. Colville was also communicating another version of events, for he was an intelligencer for the English, and regularly wrote for the information of Elizabeth I’s chief advisor, William Cecil (Colville 1858). Colville lived near, and he pops up in the Stirling Presbytery records on 23 July 1595, the very day that this case was to be discussed, with a bit of unconnected, and probably wholly manufactured, business to justify his presence at the meeting. The clerk of the Presbytery, the Rev. James Duncanson, evidently did not know him, leaving a space in the record for his full name to be filled in later. Compeirit (blank) coluill fear of ester wemis and ernistlie desyrit that ye parochinnaris of Tullicultrie may have Mr Alexander simsone Minister of Alvayth to preich to yame in yair kirk of Tillicultrie at sic tymes as ye brethir sall think meit Sing thais twa parochinnis ar to be vnit in ane and ane [commone] ňnewʼn kirk to be bigit for yame bayth in ane commodius roum (Stirling Presbytery Minutes, unfol.)

His letters of intelligence give a darker, politicized, rather than romantic, explanation. They report a rumour that the killing was foisted onto the young Bruces and Livingstones, essentially delegated to them, because James’s queen, Anne of Denmark, the Chancellor, the Master of Glamis and nameless others wanted to discredit the youthful but powerful lord, John Erskine, earl of Mar, who had care over the young first-born prince,

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Henry Frederick (Colville 1858, 162). Mar’s credibility as royal guardian would be undermined by the murder of someone who, as well as being a baillie of a town very much in the earl’s area of influence, was also a special servant of his. It was a clever plot because the high-level connections of the murderers would prevent Mar from meeting the challenge adequately without resorting to the illegality of force, which would also weaken him. What Mar did to regain the upper hand was what generations of Scots before him had done: he employed the theatre of public ceremony, to instruct but also to challenge spectators. Mar’s response was to adjust the traditional ceremonial language of aristocratic funerals, right down to the level of geography, creating a hybrid event which combined the funeral of his servant, self-advertisement, and an outright challenge of war to opponents. He also ensured that Forester’s funeral and its meaning would never be forgotten. The Historie and Life of King James the Sext ([Colville] 1825, 347) duly reports this scene of memorable public theatricality: And becaus he was a speciall servand to the Erle of Mar, it was concludit that he sould be bureit with solemnitie in Sterling, althoght he was slayne in his passage nar to Edinburgh; and from that place he was careit to Lithgw. The Erle of Mar assemblit manie of his freynds, and came with displayit baner, in feir of weare, upon the 12 day of that moneth, from Lithgw to Sterling, and careit the corps throw the lands of Levingstoun and Bruce, and cawsit mak the picture of the defunct on a fayre cammess, payntit with the nomber of the shots and wounds, to appeare the mair horrible and rewthfull to the behalders, and this way thay compleit his buriall; and be reason this forme is rare, and was never usit in Scotland before, I have insert the same for the novaltie thareof, and that the rather, becaus I suppose sum certayne revenge sall ensew tharupon.

What was new was not the image with its depicted wounds or its construction after the procession, or the gathering of friends. These things had been used three years before in the same part of Scotland in relation to the murder of the earl of Moray (Calderwood 1842–49, 5:145). What the author of the Historie must have meant by “novelty” was the generic mixing of actions associated with funeral and war, which showed itself in the manner in which their banner was displayed, and particularly in the route taken by the funeral, so far from what would be expected. These elements made the massing of Mar’s friends into an ambiguous statement, conveying grief and support for their lord at a funeral, but also the strength of arms he could muster. Mar showed himself a willing and skilled master of ceremonies: someone who could use the language of public performance with dexterity, subtlety, but also force. With outright war

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inadvisable, Mar went to the edge of what ceremony would permit, ensuring that the details of his action would be memorable and so find their way into the written history of the time, as they did through the Historie and Life of King James the Sext. Colville’s letters to England, however, focus on spectatorship rather than the form of the event itself, because it is from this angle that the episode had its political significance. After all, the ceremony was designed not only to assert Mar’s status with the general public, but specifically to challenge the aristocratic families of the murderers. Colville reported in a letter of 14 July 1595, that Mar with five or six hundred men “came to Lynlithgo and brought away the corps of the murthered persone. Many terroris were given”. But what he emphasizes in his English correspondence is the identity and strength of the opposition who were the projected spectators of this public theatricality: “the Lord Home, Cessfurd, Bacleugh at Edinburgh, and the Lordis Leviston [Levingstone], Fleming, and Elphynston [a family related to the Bruces] our nychtbouris, warned and convened many frendis”. All was in place for a major conflict between the Mar faction and the potent lords of Lothian and the Merse; “bot”, Colville goes on, “blessed be God, thai wer not sein” (1858, 165). This is a strange claim: hundreds of Mar’s men marching through Livingstone territory and presumably a substantial number convened on the other side under these named lords, but somehow they just missed each other! Although the run of the text suggests that it was Mar’s men who were not seen, Colville does not specify, and in a deeper sense the pronoun could refer to both factions. But what Colville treats as a blessed chance must have involved quite lot of planning. A visible spectatorship had to be avoided by Mar’s opponents. It was vital that the intended audience of Livingstones and Bruces and their powerful supporters, even though they were present mobhanded, should not be seen, either by Mar’s faction or by the general public, to be watching the funeral, because then their honour would have been impugned by the open challenge it made, and bloodshed would have had to follow. The Livingstones and the Bruces may have seen the funeral as it wound its way across their lands, but they could not be seen to have done so, since this would have, literally, given it countenance. Mar’s device was brilliant because it transferred the burden of maintaining honour and the law from the actors to the spectators, who either had to keep their heads down or go for a full confrontation. This episode shows that while the formal novelty of a striking event might commend itself to a chronicler, the realpolitik of public, non-literary theatre was more determined by spectatorship—invited or declined, overt or covert.

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Although discussion of early spectatorship in Scotland has to include its substantial records of non-literary spectacle, the well-known metaphors of play and theatre (“all the world’s a stage”), applied as they were to real life and real politics, could only be so applied because everyone knew that, in the last analysis, such public theatricality was not play and should not be regarded as such. Plutarch’s line “the boys throw stones at frogs in sport, yet the frogs do not die in sport but in earnest” had its Renaissance avatar in Raleigh’s wry recognition that thinking of the whole world as a stage had its limitations: “Thus march we playing to our latest rest, / Only we die in earnest, that’s no Jest” (1984, 55, ll. 9–10). The importance of studying spectatorship in early Scottish culture is increased precisely because identifying the difference between play and reality was a constant demand on the late medieval and early modern spectator; was regarded as a gauge of the observer’s judgement; and was an ethical imperative placed on the participants in action. Contempt for behaviour which breached decorum in this regard, or which blurred the boundary between play and reality in the public sphere, brought criticism in just the same way as one nowadays despises things done solely “for the camera”. It was the spectator whose presence ensured that public non-literary theatre could never be just a performance. Failures to police the borderland of play and reality might supply the substance of damaging criticism, as when Calderwood records a letter of James Melville which accused James VI of “playing Rex, scorning all and taunting all, boasting the poore, and bragging the riche; triumphing over the ministers, and calling them lownes, smaikes, seditious knaves, and so furth” (1842–49, 4:366). Melville had a keen spectator’s eye for such things, and his original criticism was probably directed at the forcefulness of James’s behaviour, but in Calderwood’s text, this “acting up” is intended to imply a failure of judgement reminiscent of that failure to distinguish between the real and the counterfeit which was Calderwood’s recurring accusation against James’s mother and other enemies of the kirk. It is highly unlikely that James was doing anything that he had not carefully calibrated to the circumstances, but the spectatorial sensitivity implicit in Calderwood’s accusation is revealing. More revealing still is the fact that failure to distinguish between play and reality, which was so central to the ethics of this non-literary theatricality, was also a source of pleasure to the man who has given us the most developed record of dramatic spectatorship in the period. William Drummond of Hawthornden collected an identifiable group of jests relating to such moments, when by accident or design the line was crossed, either because of the naivety and incompetence of amateur actors whose

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anxieties led them to forget the fiction of which they were part or, conversely, because the skill of professional actors enabled them to draw the real world into the fictional one through improvisation: a comedian on the stage asked another where they should dine hee seing a man haue his hand in a woman’s spare [slit in the gown] told him at the Signe of the Hand in the Placat / the gentleman withdrew his hand / the comedian / Pray Sir hold it still else wee shall lose our Signe (Drummond, n.d., VIII, fol.42[v]).

Though light-hearted, Drummond’s pleasure in this transgression of the fictive correlates with the serious play of politically managed theatre, and had developed from a long-established cultural connection between the two realms. A century had passed since Sir Thomas More made the point that poor “lookers-on” should not meddle in politically-managed spectacle any more than actors should forget the fiction and address each other by their real-life names, for such public political events “be ‘kynges games’, as it were stage-playes, and for the more part plaied upon scafoldes” (1999, 578). More’s wit is intended to point up the apparent similarity of the realms of play and theatricality but to remind the reader of their grim difference. While More and other political operators like Melville and Calderwood were fascinated by the ways in which the real could be playlike, Drummond of Hawthornden was interested in the mechanics of mimesis and its effect on the spectator. Consequently his record of his experiences watching Italian and French plays at Bourges constitutes a vital witness to early-modern spectatorship of drama. It is paradoxical but in a deeper sense understandable that such a uniquely detailed account of spectatorship should have come from the citizen of a country which has left limited evidence of formal theatre and few play texts, but who was encountering dramatic riches abroad while still studying. Drummond’s synopses of these plays were discussed by Robert H. MacDonald (1970) forty years ago, but his emphasis was heavily on identifying, contextualizing, and judging the nature of the plays.4 He did not use them in any systematic way to study Drummond’s capacities as a spectator, though MacDonald does evince a slightly disparaging opinion of this, in particular regretting what Drummond could have told us about but did not. This approach now seems in need of revision, not simply because Drummond said more than MacDonald chose to demonstrate, or because silences about one’s theatrical experience can be as eloquent as the things one comments on; rather records are made for a reason and have to be understood in relation to the goals they were serving. This account of spectatorship needs to be seen in context. First, however, it is worth

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establishing in a bit more detail what Drummond was capable of discerning from live theatre. Though known mostly as a poet, Drummond was indeed alert to the specifically theatrical.5 For example, his Bourges records suggest that he gained understanding of a play from the structuring effect of characters’ entrances. While he does once use the phrase “the next ac[t]” it is the entry of a character, when and how they “presented” or “showed” themselves to the sight of the audience, which controlled the experience as a whole for him. His later writing of pageants for the Edinburgh entry of Charles I would thus not have seemed a shift of mode from drama to the paradramatic, but rather an opportunity to shape what was already for him as a spectator the core dramatic moment. Appearance in the dramatic space, or sometimes more specifically on the “scaffold”, did not only have a structuring function, but deserved comment for being comically effective, as one knows it can be from modern farce. Thus he notes that a character being chased, escaped his pursuers “efter he had tuyse presentit him self” (fol. 79[v]). One senses the magic of these reappearances for Drummond, but also that, confronted by especially striking dramatic action, he needed to fix it imaginatively in his mind by using a memorable poetic image: the pursuers were “al lik a sworme of bees bursting vt of ther heuves making a brut”. He is responsive to moments of intense action, such as the beatings which punctuate and occasionally climax the plays, but also to gestures which convey meaning without language: this is especially true of the sixth day’s comedy, where he notes that a woman who received news of her husband’s death “fel thryse to the grund” (fol. 77[r]). Drummond tends to note when things happen thrice, thus enabling us to define a significant difference from modern theatrical taste, in which such repetition would reduce the emotion felt. He notes a woman presented with her own ring by a suitor “semet to froune at him & then to blussh’ (fol. 77[r]; my emphasis). One presumes that the blush must have been signified by an appropriate action since, unlike a frown, it could not be recreated facially. One character seems to threaten; another to comfort. Reading the meaning of silent action is evidently an important art of his spectatorial role, and this reflects the international language of theatrical gesture (which we know of from Renaissance books on such matters). He records comic gestural motifs, as when the eighth day’s comedy ends with a captain “demonstrating to his head vith too fingers” (fol. 81[v]), that is, showing his antagonist to be a cuckold. He also has the ability to read what he sees through comparison with other iconography, commenting, for example, on one wicked queen’s exit “she herselff hardlie escaping be diuels as Medea on her dragons” (fol. 72[r]). Reading the semiotics of theatre means that he

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is also attentive to stage props, especially where they have plot or iconographic significance: a poisoned chain, guns and swords, a ring, a purse, the bow and staff which two shepherds carry, Mercury’s wand. He records that one character pretending to be mad came in with bladders and his clothes decorated with cards, and he spots that a Prologue presented himself with a cloak “efter the Grecian fason” (fol. 69[r]), and a cobbler was displayed mending his shoes. This is hardly evidence of a particular skill in Drummond as a spectator. After all the whole point is that the spectator should be enabled to discern meaning from what is presented, whether that is by mime, gesture, parallels with other performances, properties, iconographic appearance, or whatever. The interesting thing is that Drummond’s accounts are a record of him making those inferences, and thus they constitute a rare record of self-conscious dramatic spectatorship. Why should he have done this? Undoubtedly, he wanted to understand the plots of the plays he was watching and to do so he had to read the theatrical signs he was given, but that does not explain the painstaking writing of them down, or indeed the fact that he took the trouble to write up his synopses from notes (some errors are clearly the result of eye-skip). This was not part of his formal education: he was in Bourges to study law. He might have expected that he could use this knowledge when he returned to England and saw plays there. But he was also, in a sense, fixing the experience for future use by writing it down, as one might wish to take holiday photographs for use in later times when one is less carefree. Cultural acquisition and memorialization seem to have been the main goals of Drummond’s synopses, but he does seem to be doing more than this. He is not only giving plot synopses but is also collecting the range of devices through which theatre communicates, from the ones I have mentioned to special effects. He is deriving from the theatrical experience the constituent parts of the grammar of theatrical communication together with nuggets of effect, event, and meaning which he could carry away and might be able to reuse. At one point, Drummond comments that a fake shoulder wound was “cuninglie doune be a sponge” (fol. 66[r]), which suggests a curiosity about means as well as appreciation of the effect; he notes that the metamorphosis of a woman into a dog was done by a painted cloth, and that characters were sometimes represented by disembodied voices calling from behind a wall, which might represent a bedroom or a prison. He was struck by moments when a high voice was used or there were evident signs of rage. At the least his noting these things suggests that, while acquiring theatre-based knowledge, he was also alert to the distinctive modes by which such knowledge could be acquired. However,

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the records of his dramatic experiences suggest that the spectatorship he has so uniquely recorded while abroad was only part of his interest in drama, and, however important to him at the time, could not be his main interest after he had returned to Scotland. Even in Bourges Drummond’s interest in drama’s varied effects is balanced by fascination with the contents of speech (rather than, for example, the manner of its delivery). For example, he is attracted to moments of direct speech which might be quite irrelevant to the way the plot turns out but are funny enough in themselves for him to have translated them from French to Scots. This impulse to record, even in oratio recta, the content of speeches is especially strong when a linguistic conceit is involved: one farce plays continually on a word which was identical in Scots and French: “ane” meaning ass: “A poor fellow entered quho vent abut the skoffold seeking his ane, but finding him not said he saw manie ther lik him but not his” (fol. 75[v]). This joke against the audience is given a variety of turns, and may have caught Drummond’s attention because it comically transgressed the barrier of fiction. But Drummond was here not recording drama at all, but wit, and such conceits, as much as the theatrical signs which enabled him to understand what he saw, were investments in the bank of information which Drummond would take away with him. The impulse which drove Drummond to record drama or, when he returned home, to copy out literally scores of pages of extracts from contemporary or near-contemporary English and French drama, was not necessarily a love of drama and its nuances. Although we might now find in these texts important witnesses to what a spectator noticed or, indirectly, to what pleasures might be obtained from drama, and although Drummond was evidently collecting the different semiotic devices which were available in plays, possibly even recording his learning how to spectate, one has to acknowledge his texts for what they were: part of a cultural economy of acquisition and transformation. Drummond noticed what he thought might be reusable later; not necessarily what he thought was characteristic of a particular genre. That is probably why he did not pass on any information about what the continental audiences enjoyed, a lack specifically lamented by MacDonald. That is probably why he was content in his writings to use the broadest of generic categories for classifying plays, at one point apparently using the term “comedy” for any modern vernacular play (including The Maid’s Tragedy) which did not follow classical models. And that is why there are distinct areas of overlap between what Drummond chose to include in the synopses of the plays he

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saw and what he excerpted from the plays he only read.6 It is not an overlap in the area of how drama works on spectators. His continental synopses and his substantial excerpts from English plays acquired for reading share an appreciation of plays as repositories of poetic definition, conceit, and wit: definitions of types of people, particularly women, apt similes and metaphors, jest narratives, which he might be tempted to copy out as a whole. An interest in seeing the world culturally divided into types on stage—cobblers, old women, captains, pantaloons—led to Drummond’s painstakingly copying out definitions of flatterers, inconstancy, grace, compliment, women, etc., from the plays he read. The medium of the play, whether seen or read, provided a taxonomic guide to the world. Admittedly this guide reflected decisions, possibly oldfashioned ones, already made about what needed to be known about the world, and it was itself transient, ever-changing as new plays were written, but its guidance was not considered a fixed model of reality: rather it offered an ever-increasing resource which one might be able to draw on in the future. In this enterprise of acquisition, one had to be alert to the dramatic mode of communication to gain the benefit of what was said, but that was not itself the goal. When he excerpted a dramatically powerful speech, Drummond’s attention might have been first drawn to it by sensitivity to its power in context, but the point of excerpting was specifically to remove this wit, the literary quality, from its setting so that it could constitute part of his own developing cultural awareness, and perhaps be transformed later for his own use, in poetry mostly, in letter writing certainly, in the texts of his theatrical work, to a degree even in his historical writing, and probably most commonly in his civilized conversation. Evidence for early Scottish spectatorship is rich in showing how lookers-on were manipulated for non-literary acts of public theatricality, but poor on literary spectatorship at home; unique in providing Drummond’s extensive personal record of being a spectator, albeit qualified by his evident desire to acquire other kinds of information, possibly because he knew there would be few opportunities to enjoy live theatre of a sophisticated kind in early seventeenth-century Scotland. However, while the bulk of evidence is inferential, indirect, and contingent, it is nonetheless amenable to textual analysis, revealing a society extraordinarily active in nuancing what was seen or avoided, and what should be transmitted for others to see imaginatively. Spectators themselves may have often remained silent about their experiences, but early Scottish records are nevertheless eloquent about them. A full study is

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yet to be done, but it is getting easier to locate Scotland’s probable contribution to the current spectatorial turn in criticism.

Notes 1

Film studies has been a leading driver of theory in this area, from early work on the male gaze (Mulvey 1975) through Linda Williams’s work on film spectatorship (Williams 1994) to contemporary audience studies (Brooker and Jermyn 2003). 2 These proposed meanings are based on the following definitions: OED, second, v.1 1c. “to follow, attend, accompany” and 7. Obs. rare, “come second to”. In this latter instance, I regard Dundas’s letter as implying “(make him) come second”. DOST, secund, v, also allows for the meaning “?accompany”. Both meanings are exemplified from 1600–1601. The main contemporary meanings for “second”, i.e., “support”, “back up”, “assist”, “encourage”—make no sense in context. 3 That large mirrors were readily available for aristocratic purchase is proved by the inventory of goods of William Fowler, burgess of Edinburgh (and merchant) for his testament dative, 13 August 1575. It included five mirrors at 5/- each, and three greater mirrors at 8/-. Fowler also had fifteen other mirrors priced in franks, and therefore possibly French imports (Laing, n.d., p. 10). 4 All quotations of the synopses are taken from Drummond n.d., VII, fols. 69[r]– 81[v]. 5 Michael Spiller’s excellent entry in the ODNB, for example, is relatively light on Drummond’s dramatic interests (Spiller 2007). 6 These extensive excerpts constitute the bulk of the same volume of Miscellanies as the synopses (Drummond n.d., VII).

MEDICAL ADVICE FOR THE MASSES? SCOTLAND’S FIRST PRINTED VERNACULAR MEDICAL WORK KAREN JILLINGS

This article discusses Scotland’s first printed vernacular medical text, a plague treatise written by the Aberdeen physician Gilbert Skene and published in Edinburgh by Robert Lekpreuik in 1568. A tradition of medical writing on plague had developed in England and on the continent from the time of the Black Death, and beliefs about disease causation and transmission changed little until the seventeenth century. While neither medical theory nor practice regarding plague altered significantly during this period, the dissemination of knowledge and information about the disease did radically change with a sharp increase in the production of medical texts in the vernacular, making information on the causes, symptoms and treatment of plague and other diseases accessible to a wider readership. This article will examine the textual significance of Skene’s Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest by situating it within the context of early modern vernacular medical printing, and will suggest that Skene only partly achieved his professed intention to offer medical advice to the masses through the particular medium he used. In terms of content his treatise is unremarkable, yet its status as Scotland’s only contribution to plague discourses, the earliest Scottish printed medical work and the first such text to be written in the vernacular, makes it a text of considerable bibliographical importance. In England the production of vernacular medical texts had grown sharply from the late fifteenth century until they far exceeded those written in Latin, “the international language of scholarship” (Wear 2000, 40). This was an output accelerated by factors that also had a bearing on the production of Skene’s own treatise, such as the advent of printing and the rising demand for accessible medical works from an increasingly literate society. Consumers wished to have the ability to discuss matters relating to health with their medical practitioner on a more mutual footing, particularly when it came to tackling such a frightening and intractable

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disease as plague. In 1485 the first vernacular plague treatise had been printed in England, and during the century or so after the appearance of the Litill Boke attributed to Canutius (1485), over forty editions of twenty different plague tracts were published to help English society cope with continued outbreaks. This output particularly rose after the middle of the sixteenth century, making plague one of the most popular medical topics.1 Vernacular medical literature made an important contribution to the patient-practitioner relationship and provided a more accessible alternative to the existing body of Latin copies of medical works by both Greek and Arabic authoritie (Slack 1979, 260). Before the publication of Skene’s vernacular treatise readers in much of Scotland seeking medical information had been reliant on these Latin texts, which were brought back by students returning home after completing their medical training on the continent.2 While theoretically provision had been made for the teaching of medicine at each of Scotland’s three universities (St. Andrews, Glasgow and Aberdeen), in reality it was negligible, forcing prospective medical students to complete their education abroad. Gilbert Skene was a typical example of this. He received basic medical instruction at his local university, King’s College, Aberdeen and then furthered his education at the continental medical schools of Louvain and possibly Paris, before returning to King’s in the early 1560s to become the university’s third professor of medicine, a position known as mediciner (French 1983, 136; Durkan 1980, 272, 276; Innes 1854, lxxxi; Anderson 1893, 35). Although the establishment of this post under the patronage of King James IV in 1497 makes it the first royally endowed Chair of medicine in the British Isles, this did not result in active or sustained medical teaching at King’s (Jillings 2008). In fact, during Skene’s employment the university was attended by only “fiftene or sixteen scollers”, none of whom appeared to have studied medicine (Comrie 1927, 140), and he probably combined his professorial role with operating a private practice in Aberdeen. This was a situation that would have allowed him time to work on his composition of Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest. A particularly severe epidemic had broken out in 1563 and over the course of the following three years ravaged communities from London to Edinburgh.3 The devastation it caused saw a surge in the production of plague treatises in England, including William Bullein’s Dialogue against the feuer Pestilence, a particularly popular work first published in 1564. Even though this epidemic did not reach Aberdeen, it may have been the virulence of plague in Edinburgh and the south that prompted Skene to write his treatise. By the time the disease next broke out it was late in 1568 and the Breve Descriptioun was issued

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by the king’s official printer Robert Lekpreuik’s press,4 situated in Edinburgh where plague had once again struck with severity.5 The outbreak killed almost a fifth of the city’s inhabitants and those struggling to cope with its devastation wanted to know both how and why this had occurred, and how best they could safeguard their own health in the face of such imminent and overwhelming disaster (Shrewsbury 1970, 209).6 Skene sought to unravel the mysteries of the disease he termed a “cruell miserable tiran & manslayar” (Skene 1568, 8) through a comprehensive yet straightforward analysis of its causes, symptoms, treatment and cure. His treatise is divided into eight chapters of varying length. It begins by describing the nature and causes of plague and advising how best the disease might be recognized, before moving on to discuss the environmental and physiological conditions conducive to infection. It concludes with several chapters explaining in particular detail how it might be avoided, treated and cured. This reflects the intended purpose of his book. Plague treatises catered to a captive market and were produced as convenient, usually pocket-sized self-help manuals for everyday use by both patients and the practitioners who attended them. These manuals were designed as easy reference guides, relatively jargonfree and to the point. While some writers offered longer expositions— Humfrey Lloyd’s translation of The Treasuri of Helth attributed to Pope John XXI being one notable example7—most plague treatises were focused on providing straightforward, practical guidance in prevention, treatment and cure. The majority were between twenty and seventy pages long (Wear 2000, 278), so Skene’s own Breve [brief] Descriptioun, at forty-five pages, was of average length. As with all plague treatises his book was couched in terms that assumed a familiarity among its readers with the humoural theory that dominated clinical understanding. Ideas about the prevention and treatment of plague were based on classical assumptions about the workings of the human body and the way that disease attacked it, and Skene acknowledged the influence on his own writing of Greek and Arabic authorities including Avicenna, Galen and Hippocrates, whom he called the “Prince of medicinaris” (1568, 8). Skene's views on plague were typical, and his treatise was comprehensive in its discussion of how to recognize, prevent and treat the disease. Most of his comments are easily identifiable in other treatises produced both before and after his own. The vast majority of works on plague were derivative and therefore unremarkable, and some were identical translations of foreign texts. Thomas Lodge’s A Treatise of the Plague of 1603, for example, has been judged the “most comprehensive English work on plague to that date” (Kassell 2005, 104), but it was

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essentially a direct translation into English of a little-known French treatise from 1566 (Roberts 1978). Rather than being largely derived from an earlier, foreign work, Skene’s own treatise was an “original” composition, bearing in mind that this is something of a misnomer when discussing sixteenth-century plague tracts. Traditional views about the causes, prevention and treatment of plague were very long-lasting, and were not seriously challenged until the later seventeenth century (Wear 2000, 349). Plague was believed to be a particularly malevolent and deadly disease generated by environmental corruption and spread both through polluted airborne vapours and by contact (both direct and indirect) with sources of infection. Innovations in plague discourses, such as they were, concerned controversial aspects including the efficacy of prayer and the morality of flight by physicians and clerics (Kassell 2005, 103). Skene advocated the importance of prayer, believing plague to be “ane scurge and punischment of the maist iust God” for society’s sins (1568, 5). The “principal preseruatiue cure of the pest”, therefore, was “to return to God, quha is maist puissant with ane affectionat and ardent will and hart, to imploir the support of his Maiestie…to pacifie his wrathe aganis vs” (1568, 17). This did not preclude him emphasizing the importance of temporal preventative measures against plague, not least of which was taking flight. The ethics of flight was a particularly fiercely debated issue, though most physicians recognized that the best way to avoid polluted air was to flee from it; as Gideon Harvey succinctly put it in his Discourse of the Plague, “Flee quick, Go far, and Slow return” (1665, 326). Skene likewise advised his readers to “[remove] thame self fra cuntrey, town, and Air, infectit or suspect” (1568, 18); during the mid-1540s (when he may have been a student at King’s College) a fairly severe plague epidemic had occurred in Aberdeen which had led many wealthier citizens to flee.8 Flight was considered less acceptable for citizens with particular responsibilities, with most commentators believing that both magistrates and clergy ought not to take flight. Perhaps not surprisingly, there was general agreement that it was acceptable for physicians themselves to flee, with one defence being that their duty of patient care had been fulfilled sufficiently through their medical writings (Wallis 2006, 4–10). In addition to deriding fleeing magistrates, Skene scorned those physicians who fled, asserting that they were “mair studious of thair awine helthe nor [than that] of the commoun weilthe” (1568, 15). It is worth noting that he was able to take the moral high ground because plague never broke out during his time in Aberdeen, so he never had to face the dilemma of flight himself.

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As a plague treatise of Scottish origin Skene’s Breve Descriptioun had no precedent. While sources such as chronicles and burgh records provide written evidence for both localized and nationwide earlier outbreaks, the written medical response to plague within Scotland before Skene appears to have been limited to several translations into the vernacular of the celebrated plague text written by John of Burgundy around 1365.9 Closeknit monastic communities were particularly susceptible to high fatalities from plague and manuscripts of John of Burgundy’s treatise, called in translation Ane Tretyse agayne the pestilens, are known to have been owned by three Scottish abbeys—those of Kelso, Paisley and Inchcolm. Those belonging to the latter two were appended to mid-fifteenth century manuscripts of the chronicler Walter Bower’s Scotichronicon, which itself recorded notable epidemics including the notorious Black Death, which Bower reported as having killed twenty-four canons of St Andrews (Murray 1885; Bower 1996, XIV:272–73). It was recognized that Latin works naturally had a very limited readership and Skene’s treatise was written at a time when the production of vernacular texts, not least those concerning medical beliefs, was rising sharply making them more widely accessible. An important consideration in the process of vernacularization concerns what has been termed “the politics of open access to knowledge” (Pahta and Taavitsainen 2004, 16). Like other medical writers Skene was clearly very proud of his academic training in medicine, boasting that he had spent his entire youth “in the Sculis” and he noted that it would have been particularly becoming to his learned background for him to have written his treatise in Latin (1568, 3). He was, however, conscious that his audience in Scotland had no vernacular medical work of its own available to illuminate the principals of bodily health, let alone one that concentrated specifically on such an immediate and frightening disease as plague. He recognized that Latin medical texts had “bene nothing profitable to the commoun and wulgar people”, and so he “thocht it expedient and neidfull to express the sam in sic langage as the vnlernit may be als weil satisfyit as Masteris of Clargie” (1568, 3–4). This apparent desire to inform society at large, expressed by many writers of English vernacular medical texts, drew criticism from within the medical profession. Writing in the mid-sixteenth century, John Caius “thought it beste to auiode the iudgement of the multitude, from whome in maters of learning a man shalbe forced to dissente”; indeed, he asserted that “the common settyng furthe and printig of euery foolish thyng in englishe, both of phisicke unperfectly, and other matters undiscretly, diminishe the grace of thynges learned set furth in thesame” (1552, fol.

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4v). Likewise, James Primrose argued a century later in his Popular Errours or the Errours of the People in Physick, translated from his Latin De vulgi in medicina erroribus libri quatuor by Robert Wittie (1651), that making medical works more widely accessible diluted the information they contained, and devalued the money and effort that physicians had invested in their medical education. What was the point in investing so much time and finance into studying the subject at university if vernacular texts enabled anyone—even “pouchemakers, threshers, ploughmen and coblers”—to practice medicine?10 Despite these objections vernacular medical writers professed a desire to better inform the general population about matters pertaining to their own health, believing that to write in Latin served only to “haue the people ignoraunt”, as Thomas Phaer put it.11 Gilbert Skene himself emphasized the philanthropic impetus for writing in the vernacular and stressed how the physician worked for the “aduancement of the commoun weilth”, particularly the poor, the social group with which plague was by then the most firmly associated (1568, 3). This echoed earlier vernacular writers on plague such as Thomas Moulton, whose This is the Myrrour or Glasse of Helth (c.1531), as he states in chapter one, was “set in printe in Englysh [so] that euery man both lerned & lewde ryche and pore may the better understande it”. To a large extent, however, such sentiments were rhetorical. Even with the relative rise in literacy the evidence from England indicates that the vast majority of readers of medical works were medical professionals and the social elite; therefore “the statement of the ‘unlearned’ as the target audience…cannot be taken at its face value” (Taavitsainen and Pahta 1997, 75). This is particularly evident given the bilingual nature of Skene’s treatise. In spite of his grand claims to benevolence he followed many vernacular medical texts and wrote his recipes and instructions for administering them in Latin, maintaining that they could not “goodly be put in vulgar language” (1568, 17). Such bi- or multi-lingualism was a strategy employed in many medical works from the period, particularly in conveying what might be regarded as the more technical aspects of medicine such as the names of medicines which English vocabulary could not adequately express; Humfrey Lloyd, for example, noted in his introduction to The treasuri of helth that “in the natures of herbes and symples…we be eyther ignorant or destitute of Englyshe names for a great sorte of them” (1556). As a practical handbook, the sections on the treatment and cure of plague amounted to a significant proportion of Skene’s treatise, in which Latin prescriptions were interspersed throughout the later chapters with comment written in the vernacular on the treatment

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and cure of plague. In writing most of his handbook in the vernacular but his recipes in Latin, Skene’s rationale appeared to accord with many of his English counterparts who “helped to create a medical culture that was based on the transformation of learned medicine into a popularly accessible medicine, whilst still preserving the impression that there was a learned medicine, a higher level of expertise” (Wear 2000, 45). As the only plague treatise of Scottish origin, it might be expected that Skene’s work would contain certain elements that would be explicitly identifiable to his Scottish audience. However, these are not greatly in evidence. It can be assumed that his text was written while he was mediciner at King’s College, Aberdeen and he may also, like at least one of his predecessors, have been employed as city physician by the local council. His preface implies he sought permission from the magistrates of what he calls “this Noble Burgh” to write the Breve Descriptioun and notes that “this present plaig and maist detestabil diseise of Pest, be laitlie enterit in this Realme”. By inclusively addressing a nationwide readership (and also acknowledging Aberdeen) he might have been attempting to attract potential readers living outwith the central belt, particularly with his treatise being printed in Edinburgh. Skene also claimed that his work was prompted by what he had then witnessed himself within “the burgh”, by which he presumably meant Aberdeen, and made particular reference to the shameful treatment of the poor upon whom suspicion fell during times of plague. But this was almost certainly a rhetorical device that was commonly employed by medical writers, whose claims to possess empirical-based knowledge which substantiated classical authority gave relevance and justification to what they wrote. In Skene’s case this seems particularly likely given the fact that no epidemics occurred in Aberdeen during his time as mediciner there. Nor did the ingredients of his remedies make any concession to local or nationwide availability, being based, as was typical, on classical authority. Nevertheless, as a plague treatise of Scottish origin, Skene’s Breve Descriptioun occupies a unique place in vernacular medical print culture. It should be noted that medical works comprised only a small fraction of the total number of texts printed in sixteenth-century Scotland. The subject matter of these, written in either Latin or in the vernacular and numbering just over four hundred in total, ranged from devotional and confessional works to parliamentary proclamations, poetry and grammar books.12 Of these, only two are concerned with matters of health—the Breve Descriptioun and a treatise called Ane Breif descriptioun of the qualiteis and effectis of the well of the woman hill besyde Abirdene, extolling the medicinal virtues of a healing well at Aberdeen, published anonymously,

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but probably also authored by Gilbert Skene, twelve years later. From the turn of the seventeenth century a number of popular English medical texts were printed north of the border, making them more accessible to a Scottish audience.13 Other works associated with health and healthcare composed and printed in Scotland during the early part of the seventeenth century included a treatise on the virtues of tobacco and several texts praising the healing properties of various Scottish spas (Barclay 1614; Barclay 1615; Barclay 1618; Anderson 1618). The only other work specifically on plague to be printed in Scotland was issued by the official Edinburgh University printer James Lindsay’s press in 1645 during what was to be the nation’s final epidemic, and its most severe since the Black Death of the mid-fourteenth century. The text, entitled Medicines against the pest. Or An advice set down by the best learned in physick within the kingdome of England, was a short compendium of octavo size that had originally been authorized by James VI and I during a nationwide outbreak in 1603 across each of his kingdoms, and as the title makes clear, it obviously had an English origin. This work contrasts sharply with Skene’s in its narrow focus on practical measures for self-preservation from plague particularly as it articulated much more effectively the Breve Descriptioun’s apparent altruistic intention to advise the poor of society, by eschewing inaccessible Latin remedies and providing specific alternatives aimed at those with limited finances. In making some concluding remarks on the place of Skene’s Breve Descriptioun in vernacular print culture it is first necessary to draw a distinction between audience and readership. As plague was of universal concern the potential audience for Skene’s vernacular treatise was restricted only by the extent of literacy or aurality, and was heterogeneous in terms of social status, education and profession, including both lay readers and medical professionals of various levels.14 However, the issue of who actually did read his text is rather different; unfortunately, explicit evidence of possession or purchase, “the real test of readership”, is nonexistent (Slack 1979, 258). It is not known how many copies were even printed and only one has been preserved; octavo plague tracts were relatively few in number and were rarely bound which lessened their ability to survive (Slack 1979, 247). The Breve Descriptioun was not reprinted, nor was it listed in the inventories of any other booksellers in Scotland aside from that of the printer himself, Robert Lekpreuik. The issue of affordability is similarly problematic but the evidence for comparable texts in England indicates that, although Skene promoted his work as offering medical advice on plague to the unlearned, the treatise

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itself would most likely still have been beyond the financial means of the majority of society.15 So, can Skene’s Breve Descriptioun accurately be described as offering medical advice for the masses? Its bilingual nature ensured that some of the primary prophylactic measures he advocated could be appreciated only by the most learned of his readers. However, his professed altruism in producing a vernacular work would seem to suggest that it was certainly intended for the masses, in theory at least, and it remains the case that “vernacular medical literature is of wider interest than its limited circle of readers might suggest” (Slack 1979, 273). Even if its ownership was restricted to the wealthiest urban households, the information and advice it contained would have circulated amongst both citizens and magistrates within Scotland’s burghs, and probably informed subsequent measures taken to prevent plague at both the individual and communal level. The publication of the Breve Descriptioun did bring Skene some fame, and probably played a part in his subsequent move to Edinburgh and in his appointment as royal physician to James VI (RSS VIII:58–59).16 By the time of his death in 1599 Skene’s treatise had found its way to London, being listed (without a price) in the bookseller Andrew Maunsell’s Catalogue of English Printed Bookes of 1595.17 London’s social elite would have found its information about plague useful, if familiar. As a plague treatise of Scottish origin and the first medical work to be printed in Scotland, Gilbert Skene’s Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest made a unique contribution to the growing corpus of vernacular discourses on plague, which itself constituted a significant part of early modern printed medical writing.

Notes 1

Forty-two editions of these twenty-three separate titles were published before 1605, with plague the most popular subject matter after anatomy and surgery, reflections on theory and practice, and herbals (Slack 1979, 239, 243). 2 The notable exceptions to this were the Gaelic-speaking areas of the nation, which fostered their own tradition of medical theory and practice with the help of translations into Gaelic of classical medical works (none of which discussed plague). 3 This is contextualized in Wear 1985; Shrewsbury 1970; Creighton 1891. 4 Lekpreuik, who had been appointed royal printer in January 1568, became critical of the government and was imprisoned for several years from 1574; see Edinburgh, NLS, Scottish Book Trade Index: http://www.nls.uk/catalogues/resources/sbti/lawson_locky.html.

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The epidemic forced Edinburgh’s government authorities to implement legislation designed to curb the outbreak (Edin. Recs 1875, III:253–56). 6 About 2,500 people were said to have died out of a population of almost 15,000. 7 Lloyd had however explained in his preface that “I dyd adde before euery chapter as brefely as I coulde, the causes and sygnes of the sycknesses, and diseases, trusting therby both to gratify and somwhat ease the paynes of the reader” (Lloyd 1556). 8 Their departure led to a shortfall in tax contributions which concerned the city’s magistrates throughout the epidemic, exacerbated by the financial burden of supporting increasing numbers of paupers; Aberdeen City Archives CA/1: Council Registers, 18:544–19:228 [12 Oct 1545–48 Oct 1546], passim. 9 This text has been called “probably the best known medieval treatise in English on the subject” (Rand 2006, 295). 10 Securis thought similarly: “…if Englyshe Bookes could make men cunnying Physitions, then pouchemakers, threshers, ploughmen and coblers mought be Physitions as well” (1566, fol. B.iir). 11 Phaer 1546, 3: “wolde [writers in Latin] haue no man to knowe but onely they?” 12 Information complied from the National Library of Scotland, Scottish Books, 1505-1640 database: http://www.nls.uk///catalogues/resources/scotbooks/index.html. 13 These included part of the fifth edition of Robert Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy 1635? (STC 4163), and a 1664 edition of the celebrated herbalist Nicholas Culpeper’s classic work Medicaments for the Poor, or, Physick for the Common People (Wing C7538), both printed at Edinburgh; see Clough, 1969). 14 Pahta and Taavitsainen (2204, 15): “the question of readership is central to vernacularisation…[and] the basic facts of literacy provide the essential background for vernacularisation”. 15 Its possible price tag of four to six shillings is substantially greater than the average price of a books sold on the Scottish market during the 1570s (1s 5d). A day labourer’s daily wage at this time was around 2s. See Mann 2000, 205, 208. 16 Skene was appointed 16 June 1581. 17 My thanks to Dr Alastair Mann of the University of Stirling for this information.

THE PRESENTATION OF THE FAMILY IN MAITLAND WRITINGS JOANNA M. MARTIN

It has long been recognized that the two poetic manuscripts associated with the Maitland family of Lethington in East Lothian, the Maitland Folio and Maitland Quarto (Craigie 1919–27; Craigie 1920),1 have their origins in family pride, affection and collaborative literary activity apparently involving both the men and women of the household (Bawcutt 2005a, 196). The manuscripts, now in the Pepys Library, Magdalene College, Cambridge—where they are MSS 2553 and 1408 respectively (Knighton 1981, 10, 68)—contain poems by Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington (1496–1586), lawyer and lord of session from 1554 (Spiller 2004), and much other important Older Scots verse (Martin and McClune 2009). Julia Boffey has recently suggested that the Maitland Folio, which was compiled between c.1570 and c.1586, is best defined as a family or household book, akin to manuscripts such as Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Arch. Selden. B. 24, a Chaucerian anthology associated with the Sinclair family; or London, British Library, Royal MS 18 D. II, a collection of works by Lydgate, which was expanded to include texts related to its owners, the Percy family of Northumberland (Boffey 2001, 40–41). The Maitland Folio’s identity as a family book, Julia Boffey argues, emerges not just in the insight it offers into the literary tastes of the Maitlands, and the place it gives to poetry written by or addressed to Richard Maitland and his children, but also through the presence amongst its pages of informal notes on family events; and the fact that it remained in the family’s possession until the seventeenth century (Boffey 2001, 41). The Maitland Quarto Manuscript, copied c.1586 apparently as a carefullyordered selection of material from the Folio with additional poems, is also a kind of family book. It was apparently intended as a commemorative volume for Richard Maitland, celebrating his life and commemorating his death in 1586, a date which appears twice on the manuscript’s title page (MacDonald 2001, 139). It begins with a dedicatory sonnet to Maitland and an uninterrupted sequence of thirty-three of his poems, which follow a

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rough chronological order, and which relate to major political events of his lifetime (Martin and McClune 2009, 253–54). A further ten of his poems appear later in the manuscript, and the collection concludes with epitaphs for Sir Richard and his wife and a poem in praise of his son John Maitland, Chancellor of Scotland (d.1595). The manuscript also contains works of family significance attributed to a small number of other writers including Alexander Arbuthnot, an associate of Richard Maitland, and Alexander Montgomerie,2 and many unattributed works, including two which, on the evidence of the Maitland Folio, are by John Maitland (XLIII and XLIV).3 Also anthologized are poems LXIX and LXXXV, which refer to Sir Richard’s daughter Marie (d.1596). Her name appears twice on the Quarto’s opening page, and it is likely that she was the owner of the volume, and perhaps its editor and scribe.4 Marie’s potential as a poet (“a plesant poet perfyte sall ye be”, l. 14) is mentioned in one poem contained in the Quarto and it is not impossible that the manuscript contains some of her poems anonymously (Newlyn 2004; Dunnigan 1997). The existing scholarly accounts of the origins of the Maitland manuscripts, and their role as family books, are convincing. However, the way in which the texts within the manuscripts explore the theme of family,5 and relate to other contemporary genres such as family history writing, has received less critical attention.6 It should be acknowledged that the very act of compiling manuscript collections was expressive of the Maitlands’ sense of status at a time when participation in such literary activities was considered the proper pursuit of the educated elite (Marotti 1995, 19). The Folio and Quarto manuscripts thus explicitly represent the family’s aspirations: although the Maitlands were not of magnate class, they were nonetheless significant land-owners in East Lothian, with possessions in Haddingtonshire, Roxburghshire and Peeblesshire, and were closely linked to powerful local families, notably the Setons. The family produced important royal administrators, active in border politics (Sir Richard was twice appointed commissioner to settle border disputes) and national affairs in the sixteenth century, the most distinguished of whom were Richard Maitland’s sons William “Secretary” Lethington, and John Maitland (Brown 2000, 219–26; Bawcutt 2005a, 194). This essay examines how the values of the Maitland family, and its identity as a “noble…race” (LVIII, l. 18), are constructed and communicated through texts in the Maitland Quarto. Its poems on family are discussed in the context of Richard Maitland’s History of the House of Seytoun (c.1561) which he composed for his kinsman, George fifth Lord Seton (d.1586).7 The way in which these Maitland texts evince a concern with how the family establishes its place in the landscape and political

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community, especially how it represents its identity through that landscape and through building (particularly with reference to the Maitland seat at Lethington, and its possessions at Thirlestane and Blyth), is a particular concern of this essay. Perhaps the most important exploration of Maitland family identity in the Quarto Manuscript is a unique unattributed poem in praise of Lethington, “Virgil his village Mantua” (poem LXVIII). This poem, and its relationship to other works in the Quarto, deserves more attention than it has hitherto received (MacDonald 1997, 85–86; MacDonald 1991, 24– 25). It begins by identifying the traditions to which it is indebted, with homage to classical writings in praise of the country estate: Virgil’s praise of Mantua in the Georgics; Catullus’s commendation of Sirmio, Lake Garda, in poem XXXI, and Ovid’s praise of his birthplace, Sulmo, in Fasti 4 and Amores 2:16. The narrator then ponders why “dark silence” (l. 38) should shroud the magnificence of “our…countrie” (l. 31), when Scotland’s towns and towers merit eloquent praise. The poem evokes in detail the tower-house design of Lethington (now part of Lennoxlove), just south of Haddington, East Lothian, which had been given to the family by royal charter in 1345. The narrator invites the reader to imagine Lethington’s geographical location, on the banks of the Tyne, and then to examine its architecture. Attention is drawn from its “tour and fortres” (l. 57), to its “voltis” (l. 63), and its high “alryne” (l. 67), a stone pavement behind the battlements, and to the beauty of its setting in the landscape. The narrator reports the great endeavour of building the house; the fearlessness of the man who planned its extraordinary proportions; the good taste of he who furnished it; and the “gud cheir” (l. 110) Lethington gives its visitors and passing travellers. In lines 79–88 and 119–135 the narrator extols the pleasures of Lethington, and recalls his experiences within its orchards, alleys, and archery butts, before concluding the poem with praise of “the Maitland bliud” (l. 141). Although the formal praise of the family occupies only the last twenty lines of the poem, it is clear throughout that, for the narrator, Lethington reflects and publicizes the values and political credentials of the Maitlands: the poem is designed to do more than just put the house in “dew rememberance” (l. 56). Its towering walls mentioned early in the poem, and the boldness of the family that constructed them, are recalled in the poem’s close when the narrator emphasizes the “nobill fame” (l. 147) of the Maitlands who have made “all England to quaik” (l. 152). The specific locations of Lethington’s woodland and pastures are extended in this conclusion to embrace the whole of Scotland which the Maitlands are said to have made renowned.

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A. A. MacDonald (1998, 85–86) has commented on the poem’s similarities to the seventeenth-century country house poem, which it certainly anticipates in combining praise of architecture and topography, with commendation of the virtues of a building’s owners, especially their hospitality (McClung 1977, 18; Fowler 1994; 1–29; Spiller 1974, 110– 30).8 The poem also has earlier analogues amongst other kinds of writing on family lands, including the country house, which emerged during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in England and Scotland.9 The mention of Darnaway (“Ternway”) at the end of The Buke of the Howlat (l. 1000), for example, though brief, is important to the poem’s exploration of Douglas identity. Literary homage to family seats, and their intimate connection to family values, is made in the early sixteenth-century copies of proverbs from the walls of the Percy family homes at Wrexill and Leconfield in Yorkshire in British Library MS Royal 18 D. II (Edwards 1997, 29–30). The Lethington poem is, as previously noted, explicitly connected to classical traditions of writing on the country estate which were being revived in sixteenth-century England before the emergence of the country house poem. Geoffrey Whitney’s praise of Richard Cotton’s estate at Combermere in “To Richard Cotton Esquire”, printed in his 1586 A Choice of Emblemes, is one such near contemporary example (Hunter 1977).10 Sixteenth-century chronicle writing also evinces an interest in the connection between place and family identity. John Leslie, Bishop of Ross, emphasized the importance of the rural estate to his countryman and the way in which it articulates their gentle virtues such as kinship and hospitality: The noblemen had rather dwell in the fields, where not only are palaces but castles of strength and towers, which each has according to his substance; here I say they had rather dwell than in the towns… With glad will and freely they use to lodge kin, friend and acquaintance—yea and strangers that turn into them (Hume Brown 1893, 171).11

The Quarto poem’s closest analogue, however, is Thomas Maitland’s elaborate Latin poem in praise of his father’s house, “Domus Ledintona” which was printed in Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum (1637),12 and which reflects the taste for neo-Latin poems on country estates which flourished on the continent (especially in the Netherlands and Italy) from the 1560s (Fowler 1994, 12; Wilkinson 1969, 297).13 Like its Scots equivalent this poem is an extended apostrophe to Lethington, taking in its peerless architecture, the nobility of its builders, the hospitality it offers visitors, and the evidence it provides of the family’s fortitude against the English (Maitland 1830, 144–48).

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“Virgil his village Mantua” intersects closely with the other texts which focus on the significance of family in the Quarto. The work is found at the beginning of the largest group of anonymous poems in the manuscript and follows what would appear to be its principal sequence of texts, consisting mainly of those attributed to Maitland and a few other notable writers. The sequence of unattributed works contains poems which celebrate faithful love and friendship (Farnsworth 1996, 57, 58; Newlyn 2004, 95), and several which lament the pain of separation from loved ones. There are two poems in this sequence which mention Marie Maitland. One of them, “Intill ane morning mirthfullest of may” (LXIX),14 immediately follows the Lethington poem. Reading the praise of Lethington in its manuscript context makes its affectionate as well as celebratory emphasis more apparent, and perhaps also offers some clues about its authorship. The poem is written to suggest its narrator’s close association with, and feelings of gratitude towards, Lethington (which in Scots nomenclature equates the estate and its owner, Richard Maitland of Lethington). The narrator tells us that he would “Jngrat be & vnkynd” (poem LXVIII, l. 46) if he remained silent about the house’s virtues, and part of the poem is dominated by the recollection of pleasure experienced there. This does not necessarily suggest authorship by a family member:15 indeed, the narrator anticipates fresh desire for the place on the occasion of his imminent departure, and seems to distinguish himself from “that race / to quhome thow [Lethington] dois pertene” (ll. 139–40), the Maitland blood, who can dwell there untroubled—a rather poignant observation, given that Lethington was confiscated from the family in 1571 on account of the support of Sir Richard’s sons for the Queen’s party, and was not restored until 1584. The narrator’s stance is therefore different from that of Thomas Maitland’s narrator of “Domus Ledintona”, who anticipates his return to Lethington as a homecoming, albeit now as a guest from foreign shores (Maitland 1830, 144). Furthermore, although later country house poems were often composed in networks of patronage, the Scottish work seems less a bid for favour than a gesture of friendship from a member of the wider Maitland circle, and thus provides some insight into the importance of coterie-based composition and transmission of texts to the Maitlands’ literary activities (Boyd McBride 1991, 11). The Lethington poem’s intersection with the Quarto’s contents and its construction of family identity emerge in other ways too. An important part of its praise of the family is its allusion to Richard Maitland’s poetic skill, which is attested widely in the Quarto (MacDonald 1972). In the poem Sir Richard’s literary talent is shown to be intimately associated with Lethington. Every poet, we are told, “hes sum place / to prayse & to

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commend” (ll. 9–10): this place inspires his verse and so helps disseminate his “renoun honour & name” (l. 15). Lethington has inspired the narrator of “Virgil his village Mantua” too, but his protestation of a lack of poetic skill (ll. 51–56) discreetly distances him from the greater accomplishments of Richard Maitland and those family members whose talents are attested or mentioned in the manuscript. The poem on Lethington also enters into a dialogue with some of Richard Maitland’s own poems placed earlier in the Quarto. Many of Maitland’s works lament the disintegration of loyal bonds previously strengthened by “Neirnes of bluid” and “affinitie” (poem XXVIII, l. 18),16 the unpredictability of contemporary court life, and turmoil of contemporary Scottish politics, as well as local disorder in Lothian.17 The Latin tradition of praising a country estate, or rural life more generally, and the vernacular poems which come from this tradition such as Wyatt’s “Mine own John Poyntz”, often serve to highlight the dangers of public life which the poet seeks to escape. This is central to Maitland’s “At morning in ane gardein grein” (poem XIX), which explicitly juxtaposes the peace of the private estate with the disorder of the commonwealth. Thus similarly the praise of Lethington, with its emphasis on the house’s strength as a reflection of its owners’ ability to make “Scotland renoumit” (poem LXVIII, l. 151), provides a consoling response to the poems on civil war and political turmoil earlier in the manuscript, and figures the Maitlands as loyal protectors of the nation. “Virgil his village Mantua” therefore presents Lethington as an emblem of the family’s legitimacy and honour, and importance to Scotland. The centrality of buildings and land to family identity is marked in other poems in the Quarto which lament the loss or despoiling of Maitland family estates.18 One poem by Maitland, “Thocht that þis warld be verie strainge” (poem XX), relates to the confiscation of Lethington. Here Maitland, with self-deprecating humour in the face of adversity, tells how “houss…landis and…geir” (l. 12) are withheld from him, and then transforms the image of his lost house into a metaphor for his lost youth. Maitland’s punning lyric “Blind man be blyithe thocht þat thow be wrangit” (poem XIV) is, according to the note which follows it in the Folio (Craigie 1919, 44), about an English raid on the lands of Blyth in 1570. The poem mourns the loss of “gud and geir” (l. 9) from the house, but triumphantly states that the raiders could not make off with the land: “‫܋‬it haue thay left lyand still the land / Quhilk to transport wes not in thair power” (ll. 10–11). Happily—blithely—Blyth can be replenished and, unlike the wrongful trespassers, Sir Richard can anticipate “eternall blyithnes” (l. 8) in heaven. An anonymous poem entitled “Ane Consolatore

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Ballad to Sir Richart Maitland of Lethingtoun knicht” (poem XLVI), offers piety and family history as comforts for such hardships. Throughout, the writer plays on the possible meanings of “hous” as family line, household and building.19 Like “Virgil his village Mantua”, the poem emphasizes the longevity of Sir Richard’s “hous” or “lustie linage” (ll. 113, 107), which can withstand every misfortune. Maitland is reminded how his namesake, “Renowned Richard of ‫܌‬our raice” (l. 105), in his old age, had to witness how “his hous hang be a hair” (l. 113), until his brave heir “vpheld” it for future generations (l. 117). The poem exploits metaphors of building in confirming the Maitlands’ virtues. Sir Richard must bear his own troubles patiently, secure in the knowledge that his “hous” (lineage) “is build” (l. 145) on piety, and that God is the “ground” (l. 148) or foundation from which it will grow to be great once more, as if a physical monument erected to his virtue and God’s grace: he will ‫܌‬our hous in honour ‫܌‬it vphauld A monument of mercie to remaine from hence furth ay as it hes bene of auld.

(ll. 190–92)

The importance of land and building for family identity and for the publication of its values features prominently in Richard Maitland’s History of the House of Seytoun (Maitland 1829),20 the history of his mother’s family to 1559, which he addressed to his kinsman, the prominent supporter of Mary Queen of Scots, George fifth Lord Seton (d.1586).21 The History is presented to Lord Seton with a didacticism which resonates with many of Maitland’s poems. Maitland’s dedicatory epistle and prologue urge Lord Seton to be a pious and loyal subject, a good steward of his lands, and good neighbour to local families. He is to “keip societé peax and cherité wyth [his] nychtbouris, and hurt thame nocht in thair same bodie nor gudis, nor provoik thame nocht to yre” and to treat those in his “cure wyth meiknes and mercy” (p. x). These sentiments closely echo those of Maitland’s poem “Gif thow desyire thy hous lang stand” (poem LVII), in which the reader is urged to “keip cheritie” (l. 6) with his neighbours, avoid wrongful conquest of another’s lands, and support the poor. In the History Maitland insists that he “desyr[s] non vther recompenss” but that his reader will follow his “maist honorable predecessouris…and eschew all thingis contrair to [his] honour…” (p. ix). Through knowing of the origins of his family, Seton will be able to “conserve and mantene the hous that his forbearis hes conqueist” (p.xi). The History is largely comprised of accounts of how Setons distinguished themselves during the Wars of Independence or in diplomatic service to

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subsequent monarchs. Its opening focuses conventionally on the family’s legitimacy, which for Sir Richard is evinced by the surname it was given by King Malcolm connecting it to its lands which “ly hard vpon the Sey cost” (p. 15), which had been “broukit” (enjoyed) by the family “lang befoir that tyme” (p. 16). This emphasis on a family’s long association with a geographical location (in this case “thir partis of Lothyane”, p. 16) being important evidence of its legitimacy, also underpins the Lethington poem discussed earlier, and is foregrounded in Maitland’s “Gif thow desyire thy hous lang stand” where the reader is instructed to “allya ay in sum gud place / With noble honest godlie race” (ll. 17–18). When Maitland turns to more recent generations of the Seton family, he includes amongst their “gude actis” their extension and civilizing of these Lothian lands. This aspect of the History appears not to be based on Maitland’s chronicle sources: it is often claimed as first-hand knowledge. Many of the family’s building activities recorded by Maitland are pious. For example, Jonet Hepburne, widow of George, third Lord Seton who was killed at Flodden, outlived her husband by forty-five years, time which she dedicated to securing her children’s futures, but also to acts of local charity which simultaneously attested to family honour. Most notably she “biggit the north corss yle of the collage kirk of Seytoun”, making the church “ane perfyt and proportionat croce kirk” (p. 39). Although Maitland castigates her funding of two chaplainries and gifts of plate to the church as superstitious and idolatrous—interesting given Lord Seton’s commitment to Catholicism—she is nonetheless presented as exemplary in her devotion to the family and its reputation: she gives “occasioun till all ladyis in tyme to cum…in the said hous, or ony vther hous, to follow the said Ladie…in kyndness and liberalite to the hous quhamto thay ar allyat, and quhamof thay haue thair leving” (p. 41). In addition to these pious works, Maitland also records secular building projects which represent family power and sophistication. George second Lord Seton is variously praised by Maitland as “cunnyng in dyuers sciences, as in astrologie, museik, and theologie” (p. 34), and castigated for his love of “voluptie and plesour”, through which he “hurt his heritage” (p. 36) (McGladdery 2004). Yet his building works are described in admiring detail: He biggit the haill place of Wintoun, wyth the yard and garding thairof. In the quhilk gardin I haue sein fyve scoir torris of tymber, about the knottis of the flouris; ilk ane twa cubite of hicht, haveand tua knoppis on the heid, ane aboue ane vther, als grit everilk ane as ane row-boull, overgilt with gold (p. 35).

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As in some of the poems contained in the Folio and Quarto, the damage done to family property as a result of cross-border unrest is recorded in the History, and Maitland also demonstrates how the Setons express defiance of the English raiders through rebuilding their property with ever greater strength and sophistication. Thus, George fifth Lord Seton, the intended reader of the History, restored his palace after its virtual destruction during the “Rough Wooing” (Merriman 2000). He: biggit ane grit dyk and wall of stane about the yarde and grit orcheart of Seytoun; and als biggit ane pretty hous vpon the gardin syd thairof, besouth the grit tour, and reparallit the foir werk thairof, brint by the Inglismen’ (p. 44).22

The modernity of his project is emphasized, particularly in its innovative arrangements for the supply of water to the house, and there is admiration in Maitland’s account despite his note of the “costlie” nature of the renovations:23 be the quhilk reparatioun and translation, thair wes lytill or nathing, or effect, left of the auld werk; sua that the biggin, reparatioun, and translatioun, wes mair costlie to the said Lord nor he had biggit the samyn fra the grund vp (p. 45).24

Despite the growing prominence of the Maitlands in the late sixteenth century, and despite Sir Richard’s interest in genealogy, it is striking that apparently no prose history of the Maitland family was commissioned or composed. However, the poems contained in the Maitland manuscript collections, the Quarto in particular, perform a similar function to such histories. These poems, like The History of the House of Seytoun, show a profound interest in family identity, and in how the family expresses its values and legitimacy through its buildings and lands. George first Lord Seton is said by Maitland to be “ane grit hous halder, and al gevin to nobilnes” (p. 32), a description which sums up the dependence of family honour on building and maintaining lineage, household, and a physical presence in the community. Through expounding an ethics of good stewardship, and through imaging buildings and lands as emblematic of family honour, the Maitland texts discussed here are an important, but seldom-considered, part of the early modern fashion for country estate and family history writing in the British Isles.

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Notes 1

Poems in Craigie 1919–27 and Craigie 1920 are referred to in this essay by the numbers given in these editions. 2 Poems LXIII and LXIV relate to the marriage in 1582 of Margaret Montgomerie to Robert Lord Seton, and thus into the family of Richard Maitland’s mother. 3 On the possible family associations for poems LX–LXII see Martin and McClune 2009, 249. 4 W. A. Craigie states that the italic and secretary scripts used in the manuscript appear to be the work of “the same hand” (1920, vi). On italic and secretary elements in the Ker Manuscript (and the work of Margaret Ker, lady Yester) see Parkinson (Montgomerie 2000, 1–3). The extent of women’s training in secretary is difficult to determine and it was more common for them to be trained in italic. See Marotti 1995, 25–26, 39; Dawson and Kennedy-Skipton 1960, 10. 5 Family is defined here as those descended from a common ancestor, and related by marriage, but also those who owe obligations to one “head” of the family, including extended family and servants, possibly but not necessarily living under one roof. See Houlbrooke 1984, 18; Brown 2000, 157. Also see MacKinnon 2008, 37. 6 On Maitland’s favoured poetic topics see MacDonald 2001, 146. 7 On Seton see Lynch 2004; on family histories see Brown 2000, 222–34. 8 Spiller claims Mackenzie’s 1667 poem as the “first Scottish example” of the genre (1974, 110). 9 Alastair Fowler notes the danger of treating English country estate poems as “isolated innovations, without antecedents or connections”, and the genre as homogenous (1994, 1). 10 It has been claimed that Whitney’s Choice of Emblemes (1586) was known in Scotland, and that images from it were painted onto the ceiling of Rossend Castle; see Apted and Robertson 1971–72, 226. However, more recently see Bath 2003, 43–52. Bath proposes other sources for the paintings at Rossend. 11 Also compare John Stewart’s near-contemporary poem “Of Ane Symmer Hous”, which addresses a “bonie bour”, the precise location of which is not named. See Stewart 1913, 166–67. 12 Thomas Maitland died in Italy in 1572; see Spiller 2004. 13 On the evocation of place personal to the author in neo-Latin Scots and European writing, see MacDonald 2009, 133–35. 14 Marie’s name is encoded at the beginning of stanza six (ll. 41–42). 15 Contrast McKean 2001, 265. McKean does not explain his attribution of the poem to Richard Maitland, and I see no convincing grounds for it. 16 Compare Quarto poem XXIII, “Sumtyme to court I did repair”. 17 See Quarto poems III, l. 19 and XXXIV, l. 5. 18 A major preoccupation for Maitland is, more generally, the injustice of the wrongful acquisition of land, particularly from a neighbour. See Quarto poems XXVIII–XXX. 19 See DOST, Hous, n.

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Maitland also wrote a “History of the House of Douglas”, which is kept at Lennoxlove, Bundle 2098. 21 Seton’s interest in the projection of his own image and of that of his family is evidenced by the two surviving portraits of him, both in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. One of them is the “earliest family portrait in Scotland: see Brown 2000, plate 22 and Thomson 1975, 32–33. 22 On the interest amongst Scottish nobles in creating garden retreats see Brown 2000, 210–11. 23 The newly refurbished Seton Palace received Mary Queen of Scots soon after her return to Scotland. It was also where Mary of Guise spent her last New Year of 1559–60. See van Heijnsbergen 2008, 118–20. 24 Seton Palace attracted admiration from later travellers. In his 1598 account (published in 1617) the English student Fynes Moryson describes riding from Haddington “to the ancient and (according to the building of that Kingdome) stately Pallace of the L. Seton beautified with faire Orchards and Gardens, and for that clime 4pleasant”. Sir William Brereton’s account of his travels of 1636 also made note of the Earl of Winton’s house: “a dainty seat placed upon the sea. Here also are apple-trees, walnut-trees, sycamore, and other fruit-trees, and other kinds of wood which prosper well, though it be very near unto, and within the air of, the sea”. See Hume Brown 1891, 82, 136.

JOHN STEWART’S ROLAND FURIOVS KATE MCCLUNE

King James VI’s Scottish court is often identified by critics as a pivotal location in Scots literary history. James, poet-king, instigates a “forwardlooking renaissance”,1 encouraging a band of poets supposedly based at court, to produce translations and adaptations of major European works. In 2001 Bawcutt dismantled received opinion that the group—whose putative “members” are usually identified as Alexander Montgomerie, William Fowler, James and Robert Hudson, John Stewart of Baldynneis, and James himself—comprised a literary “brotherhood”, and that this group was “called”, “styled”, and “proclaimed”, both by themselves and their contemporaries, “the Castalian Band” (2001a, 259). Though various poets were intermittently present at the court, Bawcutt argues that assuming that they were self-consciously defined as a tight-knit, fraternal band results in an over-simple reading of Scots poetic relationships at James’ court. Furthermore, the tendency to use the phrase “Castalian Band” in a general way “deflects” critical examination of the complexity of such relationships (259). But despite Bawcutt’s timely reconsideration, “Castalian Band” continues to be used without qualification by some critics,2 and it is particularly problematic because of certain presumptions that almost inevitably follow its usage. Perhaps the most persistent is the oft-expressed notion that the compositions and translations were produced in a courtly context, and virtually to order. Purves (1946–48, 74) states explicitly that James “assigned to each member of the group a particular task of translation or adaptation”.3 Critics cite the importance of James’ short poetic treatise, the Revlis and Cavtelis,4 and propose that various translations result from the combined influence of the treatise’s poetic instruction and James’ own demands: Jack argues that James “formed and acted as patron to what was called his ‘Castalian Band’ of poets” (1997, 67–68) in order to nurture a Scots vernacular renaissance, and that among their achievements were Montgomerie and Polwarth’s Flyting, John Stewart’s Roland Furiovs, Fowler’s Trionfi, Hudson’s Judith, and James’ Vranie and Seconde Sepmaine (1988b, 132). The most recent editor of Stewart’s Roland,

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Donna Heddle, suggests that “they [Montgomerie, the Hudsons, Fowler, and Stewart] enthusiastically fell in with James’ policy of translating French, Italian, and Latin texts into Scots” (Stewart 2008, 14). In general terms, such findings may seem convincing: James’ treatise can be interpreted as having “a nationalistic bias” (Stewart 2008, 33) in its defence of Scots as a literary language; various poets with connections to James in the 1580s and 90s were indeed producing a number of translations and adaptations of major (and minor) European texts. However, problems arise if it is assumed that all of the texts were created in identical circumstances, and that they represent the outpourings of a courtly coterie, written according to the Revlis, and expressly to satisfy the king’s desire for a Scots literary renaissance, hostile to the native literary past.5 Of the works most commonly identified as forming part of this endeavour, only Thomas Hudson’s Judith refers directly to an apparent commission (1941, 4): …it pleased your Maiestie (amongste the rest of his workes) to assigne me, The Historie of Iudith, as an agreable Subiect to your highnesse, to be turned by me into English verse…. [my emphasis]

Fowler’s Il Principe is dedicated to the Laird of Buccleuch and his Trionfi to Lady Jean Fleming; neither refers to King James.6 Stewart’s Roland Furiovs looks to James in its introductory matter but Stewart never suggests that Roland responds to the king’s request, direct or otherwise, and the nature of his adaptation indicates that while traditional Scots literary preoccupations may have been important to him, positioning Scotland as part of a “forward-looking” European culture was less so. While I do not deny the importance and authority of James and of his Revlis, it is necessary to follow Bawcutt’s lead, and adopt a more nuanced approach to these writings: the general concept of “coterie poetry” at James VI’s court demands re-evaluation. In this article, I deal with one work often identified as illustrative of the nascent literary nationalism at James’ court, John Stewart of Baldynneis’ Roland Furiovs. In focusing on the “Scottish renaissance” angle, critics often neglect the extent to which Roland, although responsive to continental tradition, grows out of an identifiably Scots concern with the importance of balance and measure. It is unlikely that Roland was composed in response to the literary trends of James’ Scottish court. Furthermore, the assumption that James’ Revlis provided the catalyst for Stewart’s composition is questionable. I propose that Stewart’s particular preoccupation was with the dangers of excess: rather than attempting explicitly to promote the vernacular,

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Stewart’s translation reframes Roland’s adventures within a subtly—and recognizably Scottish—advisory context.

Orlando Furioso to Roland Furiovs Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso (1516) was unquestionably popular.7 The final edition, corrected and augmented by Ariosto, was republished sixteen times between 1532 and 1540; from 1540 to 1580 at least one hundred and thirteen editions were produced (Javitch 1991, 10). The first recorded copy of the book in Scotland was owned by Mary, Queen of Scots (Sharman 1889, 90–91), and the National Library of Scotland holds twelve versions (nine Italian, two French, one Spanish) printed between 1545 and 1587, as well as many later prints.8 Translations, continuations and sequels were popular in France, and in 1572, Philippe Desportes’ free translations and adaptations of particular events in Ariosto’s original were published as four discrete episodes (Desportes 1936); two of these episodes, Roland Furieux and Angélique, partially inspire Roland Furiovs. The poem prompted responses in Britain too. Harington’s 1591 translation was the first complete published English translation,9 but it was preceded by Stewart’s “abbregement of roland / furiovs translait ovt of / Ariost” (1913, 1).10 Roland is contained in Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Advocates Manuscript 19.2.6,11 a poetic manuscript dedicated to James VI and probably compiled between 1585 and 1588. The contents represent the known literary output of John Stewart of Baldynneis, a minor nobleman whose family seat of Redcastle is located in Angus in northeastern Scotland.12 The propensity to classify Stewart’s Roland as part of the sixteenthcentury Scots renaissance results primarily from the perceived influence upon it of James VI’s poetic treatise, the Revlis and Cavtelis. Printed in Edinburgh in 1584 by Vautroullier as part of James’ Essayes of a Prentise in the Divine Art of Poesie, the Revlis embodied James’ endeavour to redefine Scottish poetics. Because Stewart references the Essayes in the dedicatory matter to his manuscript—“Sir, haifing red ‫܌‬our maiesteis maist prudent precepts in the deuyn art of poesie, I haif assayit my sempill spreit to becum ‫܌‬our heines scholler” (3)—the critical inference has generally been that James’ “manual” directly influenced Stewart’s poetry.13 Stewart may have been familiar with the Essayes when writing the dedication to his manuscript, but the possibility of the Revlis directly influencing Roland is slight. The work was printed in 1584, when James was eighteen; McDiarmid (1948, 14) convincingly posits a likely dating of 1576–84 for the Roland. Stewart, then, could have begun his task around

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James’ tenth year. Precocious as James may have been, it is unlikely that the youthful ruler instructed Stewart in the art of translation (although it is possible that the Revlis circulated in manuscript form prior to the 1584 print). Perhaps more importantly, there are no references to the Essayes within the poem proper, and the only direct references to James himself come late, in cantos 8, 9, and 11.14 This would suggest that composition of the main body of Roland was undertaken prior to the Revlis’ publication. The allusion in Stewart’s dedication, which introduces the whole manuscript, not just Roland, establishes only that the manuscript was compiled after the publication of the Essayes; identifying compositional dates of individual poems is more complicated. The dedication should not then be used to reinforce the argument that Stewart’s work is inspired by James, although Jack (1972, 57) positions the poem within a compositional framework of literary nationalism, while Heddle refers to the “specific technical ways in which Stewart has followed the ‘Reulis and Cautelis’ [in Roland]” (Stewart 2008, 33).15 Dating issues notwithstanding, if the translation had been allocated to Stewart by James, explicit reference to such a commission might be expected, as with Hudson’s statement in Judith. As well as dedicatory poems, Stewart includes an address to James that recalls Hudson’s, but there is no indication that the poem responds to James’ direct request. Instead, it allegedly results from his “haifing red” James’s work: an important distinction. Stewart had evidently begun the task of writing Roland before his reading of James’ instructions. Probably, this address was added onto a translation already virtually complete by 1584. Interestingly, Stewart also seems to take care to avoid allusions to the obviously “Scottish” aspects of Ariosto’s work, though one might expect these to be included if the translation was part of some kind of patriotic endeavour. The story of Olympia, abandoned in Orlando on a barbarous island off the Scottish coast,16 is a notable omission, and one which appears to have been a conscious choice: Stewart was familiar with Olympia’s story. He alludes to her rescue: Go, reid the histoir, ‫܌‬e sall vnderstand Quhow from distres Olimpe he [Roland] did restoir first to hir Croune, And nixt quhan he hir fand Round quhair ane monster cam hir to devoir. (Canto 4: 149–52)

The reader is firmly advised to read Ariosto for further information, one of numerous reminders that the full text, complete with conclusion, is accessible elsewhere for the desiring reader. This indicates that Stewart

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saw his task not as an accurate Scottish translation of an Italian classic, but as the production of a distinctive and independent text. The distancing of his work from the supposedly patriotic undertones of contemporary Scots translations is even more apparent when one considers the other “Scottish” aspects of Orlando which Stewart omits. More prominent (and positive) than the Olympia and Ginevra episodes is the depiction of Ginevra’s brother Zerbino (also absent in Desportes).17 Ariosto’s Zerbino is a princely paragon. His first description details his knightly prowess: when Ginevra faces death, Zerbino is unable to assist because he is performing brave deeds abroad (V. 69. 4); he “surpasses Nature’s laws” (X. 84. 5), is “the fairest, noblest man on earth” (XIII. 7. 8), even his opponent recognizes him as the “very flower of knighterrantry” (XXI. 11. 8).18 Proponents of the “patriotic” motive might explain Stewart’s decision to omit the stories of Olympia and Ginevra by alluding to their rather negative depictions of Scotland; the reasons for excising Zerbino are less obvious. The omission cannot be attributed to ignorance. Stewart refers— briefly—to the history of Zerbino in canto 8, which also contains one of the few specific mentions of James VI, as well as a nod to “Ariost my author” (canto 8: 114), invoked merely as a reference for readers who wish to verify Stewart’s description of the physical features of the brigands who abduct Isabella. Indeed, that reference is preceded by tacit criticism of Ariosto’s lengthy work: “It var prolixt gif I at lenth vold tell / Quhow his [Roland’s] miraculus mycht did weill restoir / The pudic lustie virgin Isobell” (canto 8: 106–08). Isabella’s and Zerbino’s stories, then, are used only insofar as they reinforce Stewart’s depiction of Roland’s strength and bravery (noteworthy because canto 8 also details his madness). He rescues Isabella from the brigands, and “saift the val‫܌‬ant ‫܋‬erbin from the deed, / Doune dompting all that multitude as schort, / Quhilks buir this Strong renownit knycht at feed” (canto 8: 118–20). Invoking Ariosto identifies a tradition with a more prominent Zerbino: on reading Stewart’s synopsis of Zerbino’s adventures there is some sense that, to learn more, Ariosto must be read; despite the lack of explicit instruction to do so. Stewart’s Zerbino is depicted or alluded to only in situations of semi-failure, from which he is rescued by Roland. His eminence is hence blurred, his two major attributes (nationality and bravery) ignored. If the Scottish angle was important to Stewart, why nullify to this extent the idealized Scottish character? Arguably, his lack of focus on Zerbino is because the character does not mesh with his intention: Stewart is not interested in the polished perfection embodied by Zerbino.

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Extremes in Roland Furiovs In Roland, Stewart investigates the effects of emotional extremes on a noble knight, guiding his reader to recognition of such dangers. Inclusion of a figure like Zerbino, already perfect, impervious to hazardous excess, achieves little. Highlighting Roland’s madness allows Stewart to depict a public figure whose ethical balance is skewed by overwhelming desire. Emphasis on the dangers of internal lusts, particularly when embodied by one who wields public power, whether martial or political, is a familiar theme in Older Scots literature, and this may explain why although the translation was probably not undertaken at James’ behest it is placed in a position of prominence at the manuscript’s opening. The poem’s capacity for subtle instruction could beneficially be aimed at any reader—including a king. There is a paucity of explicit references to James in the poem, but there are multiple allusions to various fictional or historical regal figures (particularly in canto 11) who are not always depicted in a positive light. Perhaps the reason for the rarity of unambiguous addresses to James stems from Stewart’s awareness of the poem’s problematic nature when included in a manuscript directed to the king. The internal struggle for dominance between reason and passion is violent enough in the ordinary man; it assumes added urgency when the man is king. The ruler incapable of subjugating his desires to his rational faculties risks the security of himself and of his nation, and this hazard is most threatening during youth, as explored in King Hart.19 Sixteenth-century Scotland had endured the unsettled minorities of James V, Mary Queen of Scots, and James VI himself, so the concern is understandable. An examination of the portrayal of kingship in Roland shows that, like many other Scots poets, Stewart was preoccupied by the subject. In canto 11, which probably underwent a degree of revising in order to incorporate references to James at lines 21–26 and 53–56, Stewart inserts original references to both Alexander the Great and King Alexander III of Scotland, revealing as regards dating and thematic focus. Tales detailing the growth and development of the former’s career were popular with late sixteenth-century Scottish readers: Martin (2008, 77–78) records a number of different texts focusing on Alexander and circulating in the late sixteenth century. References to Alexander the Great invoke a work in which Alexander is originally cast “idealistically as a wise and chivalrous young monarch”, but whose rule culminates in “bloodshed and disorder” directly attributed by the author to Alexander’s “misplaced passions” (Martin 2008, 61, 73). The presentation of Alexander of Scotland in close proximity to one of the James references is similarly loaded, stressing the

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powerlessness of the ruler or subject, self-controlled or not, in the face of objective fortune, by citing Alexander as an example of Fortune’s variance. Despite “the prudence quhilk did in him scheine”, he “could not eschew the rigor of thy [that is, Fortune’s] teine” (canto 11: 73).20 The reference assumes resonant political connotations given James’ circumstances around the period when Stewart’s poem was probably being prepared for inclusion in the manuscript. Alexander the Great asks for “counsall, / Sen he was ‫܌‬oung” from his lords, men of “perfyte age” and “hie prudence”, but in the period leading up to 1582, James VI’s dependence on one particular counsellor, his father’s French cousin Esmé Stewart, led him into a dangerous situation, resulting in the Ruthven raid, where a group of nobles seized and imprisoned him from August 1582 until June 1583.21 Arguably it was James’ inability to recognize the perils of allowing excessive personal feelings to influence his political decisions that caused the abduction. Esmé arrived in Scotland when James was thirteen; his assumption of power directly resulted from his relationship with, and influence upon, the young king: within two years, he had schemed for the execution of the powerful James Douglas, earl of Morton, for his role in Darnley’s murder. James’ close relationship with Stewart—whose conversion to Protestantism was suspected by many at the court of being feigned—was a major factor in James’ kidnapping. His captors carefully persuaded James of Stewart’s disobedience and betrayal; a letter from the English ambassador in Scotland in 1582, Robert Bowes, to Sir Francis Walsingham, records the “great change and alteration in his [James] conceit and favor towards the duke” (Wortham 2002, 195). Reading Roland within this particular historical and political framework adds resonance to its treatment of kingship, and the dangers of unfettered passion.22

Excess in Roland Furiovs From the outset, Stewart’s abridgement concentrates on a society in which established, secure bonds are threatened. The depiction of Roland as successful soldier is tempered by the narratorial decision to relay to the reader the tale of the “subtill smyling boy”, Cupid, and his punishment of Roland, before the description of Roland’s martial prowess. The implication is that military strength results from desire for Angelique, rather than battle practice. Like various gods, his power is ineffectual against Cupid:

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KATE MCCLUNE Neptunus, dompter of the raging seis, And prudent Pluto, both he hes constrynd: Lord Ealus for all his haughty mind, And bludie Mars, be Cupid beine supprest: Grayt Iupiter he monie tyms hes pynd: So Roland, randert vincust vith the rest…

(canto 1: 11–16)

Roland is carefully established as simultaneously all-powerful and completely subject, aligned with the gods only insofar as all are victims of excessive desire—all defeated by a mere boy. This undermines the cataloguing of Roland’s battlefield successes and the animalistic rage with which he vanquishes his foes; Cupid makes him “thrall for all his mundan mycht” (canto 1: 7). Mundan (earthly) neatly establishes both seat and limitations of Roland’s power, also providing an early indication of the worldly desires to which he has fallen prey. Identification of Roland “as mychtie Monarck rair” (canto 1: 20) introduces another dimension. According to DOST, monarch carries a very specific meaning; “the sole and absolute ruler of a state”. Stewart’s phrasing here is carefully organized: Roland is not a monarch, rather “sum did him prayse” as if he were king. The reader is presented with a portrayal of a pseudo-“monarck” whose behaviour does not display the measured good judgement required of an ideal ruler. The comparative is important, because if Roland were ruler, the subsequent description of his violent excess, where he behaves like a “lyon louse” (canto 1: 37), and a “lustie falcon” (camto 1: 53), becomes even more damning. The lion and the falcon may be noble creatures, but the comparison nevertheless bestializes Roland. His foes are the “terrefeit haeir, that rins the honds befoir” (canto 1: 49), “sillie Scheip”, while he is “the volf” (canto 1: 41). Further descriptions emphasize Roland’s transgression of the boundaries between man and beast: a bloody image is explicated, his “armeur, hands, his vapnis, and his face, / [Were] Bebathd in bluid…” (canto 1: 61–62). The decline into animalism is disturbing enough in a great warrior, the earlier indication that many see him as a kinglike figure accentuates how much more serious such degradation would be in a ruler. Roland’s impending deterioration is thus prefigured in a canto superficially unequivocal in its praise, the parallels drawn between his deeds and the bestial violence that makes them so successful recalling the ethically flawed beasts of Robert Henryson’s fables. That the canto is intended to direct us towards a negative reading of Roland is unquestionable: Dunlop (1914–15, 306) notes that some of canto 1’s language appears early in Desportes’ version of the poem, but not until canto 12 of Ariosto’s. Stewart may have recognized in Desportes’ opening a scene more appropriate to his own

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theme than that presented by Ariosto. His desire to emphasize Roland’s dual nature as at once omnipotent (in an earthly context at least) and a victim is manifest in his expansion of the list of gods subdued by Cupid, which has no equivalent in Ariosto or Desportes.23 In canto 2, Stewart’s analysis of measure and control expands, incorporating a description of the turmoil surrounding an actual ruler, Charlemagne, whose carefully gathered army faces ruin. The supposedly exemplary ruler is shown using his powers of judgement to control the dangerous passions threatening his army, ostensibly a secure structure. It is “ane band, Of hardie men, the best in onnie land”, “conveind” by the great Charlemagne (repeatedly identified as “King Charlemaine”; for example, canto 2: 48) in order to “revenge the former feed” (canto 2: 28–29, 30). “Conveind” is telling; it implies a coming together, fulfilment of common purpose. The presentation is of a cohesive group of men, united by a universal cause, but stability is undercut by the reference to the “former” feud, with its attendant connotations of perpetual and unresolved hostilities. Roland is greeted “Vith na les myrth alacretie and Ioy” (canto 2: 36) than Hector entering Troy, or “Mychtie Cesar vith his laurels greine” (canto 2: 37): ambiguous analogies. Despite transitory glory, both men died ignominiously; Hector’s bloodied corpse was dragged around the walls of Troy by Achilles, while Caesar’s own men betrayed and killed him. Both Charlemagne’s great army, and his greatest knight, are already tainted by association. The breakdown of order is swift, resulting not solely from the inappropriate intrusion of the female Angelique into the masculine preserve of the army, but also from Charlemagne’s misguided decision to treat her as a prize, and award her to the “victor and the best” (canto 2: 57) of his men, post-battle. The band’s affinities dissolve, a breakdown mirrored by narratorial perspective shift, as his focus moves to individuals, rather than the group. The resulting intractable rivalry between Roland and Rennault has dangerous repercussions. Their martial prowess is tested by Angelique—Rennault is “vincust cleine” by her—and their enmity threatens the army as immediately as the imminent battle with the pagans, if not more so: the enemy is barely mentioned. This scene also appears in Ariosto; Stewart’s decision to retain it is noteworthy, precisely because it is a scene of unwise rule. The king, instead of quashing illegitimate yearning, sanctions it by attempting to transfer it onto the battlefield, and the result is complete chaos and internecine rivalry amongst his men. Continually, Stewart reiterates the dangerous results of ungoverned passion. Canto 2 also depicts the grief of Sacripant, the “Circassian king” and his willingness to give up everything for Angelique. He states:

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Desire for a woman causes this king voluntarily to reject utterly his regal obligations, apparently unable to identify the conflict between his anomalous self-classification as “Circassian king” and deferential “Seruiteur”, desiring Angelique above “all erdlie thing”. Such amorous excess in a king is particularly perturbing, and the narrator highlights this in his summary: This pitius Plaint In Ampill sort vas meed Bie Sacripant, The pert And puissant Prence Of Circassie, Quhom vehement luif did leed From Orient far, Almaist deprywed of sence. (canto 2: 257–60)

His astute reading of the situation verbalizes and reinforces the tension. Love leads Sacripant far from his land and subjects, and “almaist” deprives him of his senses. After his defeat by Pradament, we are told that “…almaist he Raidgeing deis, / Because ane maidin raueist hes his gloir” (canto 2: 413–14). In fact Angelique has already “beraif” his brain: the real defeat is not martial, but personal and romantic, amatory intemperance jeopardizing both regal ability and soldierly strength. Despite Sacripant’s ability to analyse and poeticize his situation, he cannot remedy it, for his recognition of the problem does not extend to a comprehension that might provide a solution. In this sense, Sacripant’s plight mirrors Roland’s, whose epitomizing of ideal knighthood is compromised by his “raidge”. “Raidge” indicates irrational passion more related to the amatory field than the battlefield. Rennault and Sacripant fight “Vith ardent raidge” (canto 3: 30); Roland is “raidgeing for his ladie deir” (canto 2: 27). The passion-inspired violence continues: Heeds, spalds, arms, thies, and legs, dissouerit flew from metelit bluidie bodies tumbling doune. (canto 8: 63–64)

Coming in the context of a description of Roland’s supposed glorious deeds this is ambivalent praise, particularly given its proximity to Stewart’s stated intention to “compact [Orlando] in ane mass” (canto 8: 13), and the correspondingly compressed depiction of Roland’s heroism. His degeneration is connected to his denial of the Christian ethical sphere

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which, as Charlemagne’s knight, he should represent. Instead, he “blasphems the heawens, the stars, and gods deuyne” (canto 11: 412). Fixed ethical codes are abandoned, passion for Angelique negates prior oaths of fealty: “quhy vas I than so friuoll And so vaine / To rander the [Angelique] althocht he [Charlemagne] did command?” (canto 4: 43–44). Roland’s rejection of his vows of loyalty to Charlemagne is momentous because it emphasizes the futility of Charlemagne’s attempt to redirect passionate excess rather than curbing it. A leader, it appears, must not only control his own desires, but must look to those of his followers. Is this, perhaps, the message that Stewart wishes to express to James? The poem’s warning against the dangers of excess is most prominent in canto 9, one of the three that refer explicitly to James. It consists of only seventy-six lines, and alludes to various literary sources, in the process highlighting narratorial selectivity and bias. He requests we “excuise this ladie [Angelique]” (canto 9: 7); the narrator knows of “exemples monie” (canto 9: 17) of individuals who have fallen from prideful positions. Rather than reveal them to the reader, he elects to “pass” them by. The self-conscious censoring of the material deemed fitting to share with his audience culminates in a cryptic generalization, where he notes that though “one thair be quho sits in hichest mast, / Ane trane may cum to mak his flycht discend” (canto 9: 23–24). Finally, James is indirectly invoked as “Brycht Apollo”.24 Earlier, in “The Derectione To His Bvik”, James was identified as one who would “correct” Stewart’s work, resulting in poetic fame. That hvictain is notable for betraying a rather negative view of literary success, the implication being that the royal seal of approval confers fame upon the poem regardless of literary quality, and this mood is also present in the invocation of Apollo in canto 9. The sense of the translation as a joint endeavour, requiring the active input of the reader before the text is fully formed, is familiar from Chaucer and Henryson, but Stewart goes further. His narrator attempts to jettison responsibility for the poem by reminding himself that his regal dedicatee will “vith proper gillit pen correct” (canto 9: 32) the “vrigling werse” that may offend. The import of his role as translator of Ariosto is downplayed: he is simply transmitting a source to which he must remain faithful (nominally, at least), but ultimately he has no control over his text’s meaning, because his words will be physically corrected by his audience. James is thus placed within the identifiably Scottish tradition of the Henrysonian active reader who will access the “morall sweit sentence” underlying the “subtell dyte of poetry” if he or she reads in an ethically informed fashion. In canto 11, Stewart depicts the dangerous ramifications

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of inadequate reading via Roland’s viewing of Angelique’s and Medor’s “text”. Obsessive love clouds his moral faculties: intentional misreading results. But despite his attempts to read it “contrarie”, the reality it propounds increases until the poem, written in a “langage Roland rycht expertlie knew” (canto 11: 252), causes him such grief that he is “almaist void of his vittis all” (canto 11: 260). Total madness results, and in his only direct speech of the poem (worth comparing to his animalistic inarticulacy, when he makes only “syndrie sounds”), he states his allegiance to non-rationality, his semi-self-awareness paradoxically resulting in total self-negation: Bot quhom am I in quhom sic raidge dois grow? am I that Roland quho hes vonders vrocht? No. Roland treulie in his grafe is brocht (canto 11: 465–68).

He realizes grief is “[q]uhat euerie ane may hoip for till attaine, / Quho thrallit in the links of luife dois go…” (canto 11: 473–74), and this brief clarity precedes the depiction of “Raging Roland” (canto 11: 566), leaving us with an unfulfilled potential for self-knowledge. The implication that James himself represents an ideal reader is contrasted with this portrayal of Roland’s insanity, and is further tempered by the earlier reference to the man occupying the “hichest mast”. It is a position one would expect for the king; the reminder that all men can fall from a privileged post assumes added resonance, given its positioning just before the direct citation of James as “editor”. The lines thus take on a new meaning, enforcing a retrospective consideration of canto 8’s opening reference to the “perturbit Prence Opprest vith pansiwe paine”, ostensibly Roland. That phrase enjoys twofold significance; “prince” simultaneously signifying both Roland and James (supported by the nearness of a more specific allusion to James in ll. 9–10, and Stewart’s propensity to identify James indirectly as “My Prence”, for instance, canto 11: 22). James is in a position of absolute power as reader and corrector of the poetry, but the inevitable precariousness of his situation as a young king ruling over potentially rebellious nobles is acknowledged. Indeed, the poem’s repeated emphasis on fragile bonds of loyalty sharpens the focus upon destabilized kingship. It is significant that, of the strands of Ariosto’s “historie all Interlest” (canto 5: 9), Stewart’s decision to isolate Roland’s and Angelique’s tale ensures that he can investigate the undermining of vows of fidelity on a multitude of levels. By isolating the amatory strand from the original, but simultaneously referring occasionally to excised events, Stewart does two things. Repeated allusions to the source text regularly remind the reader that this

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is a selected aspect of a greater whole: such selectivity cannot be objective. Second, Stewart’s emphasis upon the apparatus of composition, translation and interpretation, with the layers of introductory matter which precede the poem, the subjective narrator, the wealth of literary allusions which do not appear in Ariosto and Desportes, and the weight placed upon ideas of reading and interpretation: all of these issues combine to reiterate the illusory nature of the poem, perhaps divesting Stewart the author of some of the responsibilities which might accrue to one with the temerity to depict, however elliptically, situations of flawed leadership and lack of self-control in a text dedicated to his ruler. This is intensified by Stewart’s decision not to “…expone in ilk degrie / The histoir veill As it at lenth is pend” (canto 11: 629–30). Ariosto’s ship metaphor is used to imply fidelity to Ariosto’s course, suggesting that Stewart has attained the balance necessary to guide the “boat” to shore: “fast throch the deip vnto the port I tend” (canto 11: 1). Yet this is undercut by his refusal to show a means of attaining this balance embodied in Roland’s unresolved state. The omission of explicit redemption suggests an apparent reluctance to reconcile passion and reason, comprehensively demonstrating the insoluble conflict that results from amatory excess. By ending the tale inconclusively, Roland’s redemption referred to only as hearsay by a narrator who regularly displays propensity for omitting details, Stewart leaves the reader in a similar state of uncertainty. The nature of Stewart’s text suggests that it is unlikely that he was attempting to produce a faithful, accurate translation of Ariosto’s work. Rather, he was asserting his adherence to an older tradition, one in which literary texts could perform functionally as advice manuals. A portrayal of a young king allowing his emotions full sway would have been controversial for a poet seeking support. Stewart’s distancing of the theme, by dramatizing it in the relationship between an ageing ruler (Charlemagne), not subject to his own emotional excess but unable to control that of his knights (particularly Roland), ensures that the conflict between reason and passion is at one remove from James’ own situation. Such ambivalence permeates the text: references to James, probably inserted after the overall translation was complete, may appear to align him with the poem’s amorous figures, but are equally likely to be an attempt to alert him to the excess desires of those over whom he rules. Such subtlety is unsurprising in a poem that is the work of an astute individual craving patronage and protection. The political dimension of the translation is thus not nationalistic, but rather a subtle study of the nature of kingship, good judgment, ethics, and wise rule. The work is most usefully analysed not within a courtly matrix or as part of an attempt to

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engender a Scottish literary renaissance, but rather as a piece where the work and anxieties of Stewart’s literary predecessors, both native and European, are identified and engaged with.

Notes 1

Jack 1972, 54–70 (ref. 54). See also Jack 1988a, 132. Recent examples include Lynch 2003, 230–1 and Heddle, in Stewart 2008, 12– 14. 3 Purves here identifies Hudson’s Judith, Fowler’s Trionfi and Il Principe, and Stewart’s Roland Furiovs. 4 For the text of the Revlis, see James VI and I, 1955–58, I: 65–83. 5 Jack (1972, 55) asserts that James’ Revlis displays “nationalistic bias and opposition to older verse”. Heddle (Stewart 2008, 33) echoes his findings, while Fleming (2002, 125) suggests that James’ real preoccupation was with issues of poetic control: he was “determined to ensure that the poetry produced during his reign was to his own design”. Petrina (2006, 342) points out that James’ “option seems to be dictated by aesthetic rather than political considerations”. 6 See Fowler (1914–40), 310 for the dedication to Mary Beaton; clv for that to the Laird of Buccleuch. 7 See Hainsworth and Robey 2002 and Brand 1974, 165. 8 NLS 1970, 21 and the online catalogue of the NLS, http://main-cat.nls.uk/. 9 Harington’s work, which was undertaken as a penance for circulating at Queen Elizabeth’s court his lewd story of Giocondo (from Ariosto’s Canto 28), was preceded by Peter Beverley’s The Historie of Ariodanto and Ienevra, daughter to the King of Scottes, in English verse (1566–68), interesting in this context because of its focus on a “Scottish” episode of Orlando Furioso that is excised by Stewart. This text survives in only one full contemporary print held by the Huntington Library, and fragmentarily in Kansas. For an edition, see Prouty 1950. See also STC (2nd ed.) 745.3 and 745.5. The Kansas fragment, 745.3, is bound with Elyot’s The Bankett of sapience: this may explain why both Prouty (1950, 67) and Purves (1946–48, 65: n.3), state that only one copy is extant. 10 Stewart identifies Ariosto as his source, but Jack (1972, 59–63) points out that he could also have been using one of the thirteen reprints released before 1582 of Jean Martin’s French translation of 1543, which was extremely close to Ariosto’s text. 11 All references are to Stewart 1913. See also Stewart 2008 and McClune’s forthcoming STS edition. 12 For more on Stewart see, in addition to works already cited, Dunlop 1914–15; McDiarmid 1950; Nelson 1968; McClune 2006 (63–123), and 2010; Spiller 2010, Fleming 2010, Jack 2010. 13 See Heddle 2008, 33–39, for the argument that the Revlis was “the most immediate and pervasive influence on the style of ‘Roland Furious’ ” (33). 14 “In the saif conduict of his Grace to pass” (Canto 8: 10); “Gif I do veil my Brycht Apollo pleis, / Quhois plesand speitche My Propos may vpreis” (Canto 9: 2

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28–29); “‫܋‬it sen the burding dois on me remaine / To sport my Prence…” (Canto 11: 21–22); “His maiestie hes pouer in this cace / Vith sueit regarde Thy sournes till assuadge, / Quhois Royale feit Maist humylie I Imbrace” (Canto 11: 53–55). Canto 8 contains the narrator’s declaration he will “compact” Ariosto’s poem, and the solitary reference to Zerbino. Canto 11 lists various fallen kings and queens. 15 This is a possibility if the Revlis indeed circulated in manuscript, but the supposed intimacy of the relationship between Stewart and James has never adequately been proven, hence it is difficult to demonstrate that Stewart would have had informal access to the work. 16 The supposition that Stewart was a kind of official translator of Ariosto is perhaps further complicated by the existence of Fowler’s roughly contemporary partial translation of Olympia’s lament (canto 11 in Ariosto), “the lamentatioun of the desolat olympia furth of the tent cantt of Ariosto. To the right honoll Ladye Marye Betoun Ladye Boine”. (Mary Beaton was one of Mary, Queen of Scots’ “four Marys”, and married Alexander Ogilvie, fourth laird of Boyne in 1566, dying before 1599.) Fowler’s twenty-line translation, extant in the Hawthornden Manuscripts, appears to be a preface to a proposed translation of—at least—that canto. If both poets were in the circle of James VI, and he had instructed Stewart to translate Orlando, why should Fowler also make an attempt (albeit fragmentarily)? See Fowler 1914–40, III: cxviii. 17 Sharman (1889, 90) asserts that Orlando “would naturally be found [in Mary’s library] containing, as it is supposed to do, the adventures of her father, James V under the name of Zerbino, Prince of Scotland”. There is nothing in Ariosto to verify Sharman’s hypothesis; possibly Sharman makes the connection himself because James was on the throne during the time that Ariosto was composing his work: it is a somewhat shaky assertion. 18 All quotations from Ariosto 1975–77. 19 For an excellent analysis of this literary trend, see Martin 2008. 20 Stewart’s presentation of Alexander III as a victim of fortune contrasts with his depiction by other authors, for example the accounts by Bellenden and Leslie, which imply that he was responsible for his own demise. For a detailed discussion, see McClune 2006, 100–05. 21 The “raiders” were led by the first Earl of Gowrie and the Master of Glamis, among others. See Donaldson 1998, 178–81. McDiarmid’s posited dates for Roland’s composition suggest that Stewart was composing at least part of it during the period of the king’s captivity, or immediately afterwards (1948, 14). 22 Stewart also refers to James’ “The Phoenix”, written in honour of Esmé Stewart. See Stewart 1914, 8 (l. 23). 23 In Desportes, Roland is merely “comme un nouveau Mars”: see Desportes 1936, 6 (l. 51). 24 The linking of James with the mythological bringer of light was common; other examples include Montgomerie’s dedicatory sonnet in the Essayes and James’ own sonnets in the same volume, particularly Sonnets 2 and 3. See Dunnigan 2002, 162–63.

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Of course Machiavelli was never “at” the court of King James—he had died forty years before James was born—but his ghostly shade stalked the corridors of power throughout Europe from the appearance of his treatise Il Principe in the early sixteenth century, and it would be foolish to doubt that Scots were any less aware of his writings than were their contemporaries in England and Europe. There were likely to be two means of transmission: “the Machiavelli legend, hatched in France among the Huguenots under the rule of Catherine de’ Medici” (Praz 1958, 90–92)1 derived either from the original or from a French translation,2 and the “shorthand” version, the notion that Machiavelli advocated illegality or immorality to achieve the desired end, from which the satirists of the Congregation, such as the writer of the poems known as The Sempill Ballates (Sempill 1872), derived their epithets. Indeed, William Maitland of Lethington, Secretary to Mary Queen of Scots, was commonly characterized as “Machiavel” or “a Machiavellian”, indicating that the concept, if not the substance, of the Italian’s writing was by then in Scotland a byword for unscrupulous statecraft. During the regency of Morton, with the growing prosperity of the country gentry and merchant classes, culture began to spread from the aristocracy to the bourgeoisie, which included a taste for things Italian even before Petrarchist poetry was introduced into James’s court towards the end of the century by William Fowler, secretary to Queen Anne.3 Fowler is an interesting and somewhat shady character. After graduating from St Andrews University in 1578, he went to France, where he appears to have become embroiled in the religious controversies among the expatriate community. In his first published work, An Ansvver to M. Io. Hamiltoun (1581), he describes having to flee France pursued by papists. It is hypothesized that he was dragged from the Collège de Fortet where he was then based, to face Hamilton, who was then Jesuit professor of philosophy at the Collège de Navarre (Petrina 2009, 71). He subsequently fell under the patronage of Francis Stewart, first Earl of Bothwell, who had been a contemporary at St Andrews. Through his mother, Janet Fockart,

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Fowler had an association with the French Catholic Esmé Stuart, who became such a dangerous favourite of the young James VI that the Ruthven lords forced him to leave Scotland. There is a dispute among historians regarding Janet Fockart’s role in the intrigues surrounding Mary Queen of Scots, then imprisoned in England, but it is clear that she was an influential person who had a very wide circle of acquaintance.4 On a trip to England in 1582, ostensibly to collect a debt owed by Mary Queen of Scots to his late father, Fowler contacted the French ambassador to London, Michel de Castelnau, seigneur de Mauvissière, at whose residence he may have met John Florio and Giordano Bruno, as they were both there at the time. Mary Queen of Scots was in correspondence with Mauvissière at this time, which could put Fowler in contact with the intriguing and plotting which was to result in Mary’s execution in 1587. It is known that from October 1582 to July 1583, while in England, Fowler was an intelligencer for Francis Walsingham, and that he offered to continue to report to Walsingham on his return to Scotland, while also working for the Earl of Leicester of the opposing faction. Fowler’s entry to the court and its literary circle was achieved when he returned to Scotland in 1583, and he wrote commendatory sonnets for James’s Essayes of a Prentise and Thomas Hudson’s Judith, both published in 1584, showing familiarity with and acceptance by the group. Although it was not published, his own work, the Petrarchist sonnet sequences The Tarantula of Love, A Sonnet Sequence and Of Death probably followed soon after.5 His translation of Petrarch’s Trionfi as The Triumphs of Love was completed in 1587 and dedicated to Jean Fleming, Lady Thirlestane, wife of John Maitland of Lethington, who was an enemy of Francis Bothwell, Fowler’s erstwhile patron (Fowler 1914–40, III:civ). His abilities, possibly particularly in the linguistic field, were recognized by his being chosen in 1589 as negotiator for James’s marriage to the Danish Princess Anna, his appointment as Master of Requests and deputy secretary to the Queen in 1590, and his elevation to full secretary probably in 1593. Before taking up his secretarial duties, and still playing both sides in terms of patronage, he journeyed to Italy in company with Walter Scott, the Laird of Buccleuch and stepson of Francis Bothwell. Fowler and Buccleuch enrolled in the University of Padua in 1592. Fowler exhibited his zeal for the Petrarchist in his sonnet sequences and his proficiency in translation from the Italian in his Scots version of Triumphs of Love. It appears that these works were written in what has been characterized as the white heat of the Castalian smithy, where courtier poets and musicians were encouraged by the young King James to enrich the Scottish vernacular culture through translation and adaptation

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from the highest European sources, with the aim of building national identity through language and political power.6 Fowler was the only courtier to work exclusively from Italian texts, although John Stewart of Baldynneis, using a French translation as an intermediary text, had previously produced a Scots version of Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso for presentation to James. Did the future secretary-poet deem the Italian secretary’s explosive work suitable to add to the store of translations of major European texts which James had encouraged his literary entourage to render into Scots for the enrichment of the language and the culture of Scotland? Fowler dedicated his translation of The Prince to the Laird of Buccleuch, making clear that the Laird had sufficient competence in Italian to appraise the work.7 Unfortunately, it is not clear when Fowler might have written his translation, although his editor, Meikle, seems to put it sometime in the final decade of the century, perhaps when thoughts of the English succession were concentrating Scottish minds.8 Certainly, interest in Machiavelli’s work was intense during the closing years of the century, most likely because of the animosity on both sides of the religious divide: Machiavelli was denounced by both Puritans and Huguenots, and was censured by Rome. The growing inevitability of James’s imminent “conquering” of his large neighbour perhaps brought the Italian into closer perspective. However, it would be very wrong to imagine that Fowler intended this to be read in Scots, as Machiavelli clearly intended the original to be read by his Italian dedicatee, as a manual for rulers in the speculum principis tradition. Fowler would know James’s thoughts on kingship, although given the putative dating of the work it is unlikely that he would have had access to The Trew Law of Free Monarchies and/or Basilikon Doron before writing. He certainly did some secretarial work on the English edition of Basilikon, as is attested by his notes (Fowler 1914–40, III:xxxi). On the other hand, James, in his determination to avoid foreign wars through diplomatic and matrimonial strategies, was skilled at playing the wily fox advocated by the Italian, despite the more conventional tendencies shown in his advice to his own son.9 So, what was the context in which Fowler translated his Prince? Scotland from the fifteenth century had seen itself as an integrated power, freed of the constraints of feudal superiority either to the pope or to the Holy Roman Emperor. In 1469, an act of parliament declared Scotland an empire, abolishing the power of the Holy Roman Emperor to create notaries, one of the five chief marks of sovereignty claimed by medieval

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emperors.10 At this time, cooperation between the king and the magnates was the norm, rather than the exception.11 The obligation this placed on the king to deal justly with the magnates is illustrated by Sir David Lyndsay, in his advice to James V in The Testament of the Papyngo: Trait ilk trew barroun as he war thy brother, Quilk mon, at neid, the and thy realme defende: Quhen, suddantlie, one doith oppresse one vther, Lat Iustice, myxit with mercy, thame amende. Haue thov thare hartis, thov hes yneuch to spend: And, be the contrar, thov arte bot kyng of bone, Frome tyme thyne hereis hartis bene from the gone. (Lindsay 1931–36, I:66, ll. 332–38)

Courtly literature of the fifteenth century proliferated advice to princes in various forms, admonishing them to live chastely, administer justice, defend the weak, listen to good counsel and avoid flattery. The most seminal texts are John Ireland’s The Meroure of Wyssdome (1490); through De Regimine Principum Bonum Consilium (also known as Ane Buke of Gud Counsale to the King, and “The Harp”) (1508); Lancelot of the Laik (ll. 1600–56) (mid- to late-fifteenth century); The Thre Prestis of Peblis (ll. 456–62, concerning the young king who does not wish to have old and wise men around him, and is concerned only with “lichtnes”) (early sixteenth century); Gilbert Haye’s The Buke of the Gouvernaunce of Princis (1456); Lyndsay’s Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis (1552); Buchanan’s De Jure Regni apud Scotos Dialogus (1597); and finally James VI’s Basilikon Doron (1599). In the fifteenth century, the responsibility of the king for the common good (bonum commune) and the prevailing assumption that kings were morally responsible for the community’s welfare, literally for the commonweal, is seen in the political vocabulary used, which tends to concentrate on the ethical rather than legal terms, or responsibilities rather than rights. The debate in the sixteenth century, however, centred on the concept of absolutism: whether the king held empire in his own realm, owing no obedience to a superior. James III, James IV and James V had already exploited the concept of rex in regno suo est imperator (the king is emperor in his own kingdom). Mary Queen of Scots continued the practice, adopting the imperial title “majesty” rather than “grace”: parliamentary statutes referred to “the quenis majestie” after 1563. Owing to her place in the English succession, Mary did more to advance the cause

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of absolutism in Scotland than might be credited. She regarded herself as legitimate as Elizabeth in the English succession, and actively pursued relations with France and Spain (Goodare 1999, 72). The brake on Mary’s ambitions was the religious difference with the Reformed faction of the nobility, who took the traditional view that they had the right to advise the monarch. John Knox in his writings exploited this right to appeal to the “lesser magistrates” or the “nobilitie and estates” who had a recognized position within the state and thus could legitimize resistance to the monarch. George Buchanan took this further, in De Jure Regni apud Scotos Dialogus, citing earlier accounts of magnates censuring and deposing unsuitable kings, arguing that the just deserts of bad kings were meted out by the estates. Buchanan’s dialogue is most often grouped with other texts generally known as “Calvinist resistance theory”, encompassing both the “monarchomach” ideologies of the English Marian exiles of the 1550s and the French Huguenot writers of the 1570s (Buchanan 2004, xlvi). The Huguenot Vindiciae Contra Tyrannos (which was published as if in Edinburgh, 1579) subtitled “concerning the legitimate power of a prince over the people and of the people over a prince” written by “Stephanos Junius Brutus, the Celt” but probably actually by Philippe Duplessis-Mornay, first appeared in 1574 in the aftermath of the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre, asserting that the cause of the current “calamities and destruction in Gaul” were the “evil arts, vicious counsels and false and pestiferous doctrines of Niccolò Machiavelli, the Florentine” (Duplessis-Mornay 1994, 8). Other publications of the time accused Catherine de Medici of teaching her children Il Principe: Henri III’s letters sometimes echoed the Italian’s precepts and even phrasing as Garnett notes (Duplessis-Mornay 1994, xxi). Why was the Vindiciae published “in Edinburgh” and why in 1579? Banned works continued to be printed, the printers protecting themselves by falsifying the place and date, and sometimes removing the author’s name. George Garnett, the latest editor of the tract, thinks this was an oblique reference to current events in Scotland at this time: James VI had approved the execution of Morton and was coming under the influence of Esmé Stuart. Also the dereliction of the marriage of Elizabeth to the Duc d’Anjou made it less likely that the English queen would produce her own heir. The book is addressed to the reader by L. Scribonius Spinter, the Belgian, as an anti-Machiavellian treatise, although the Italian is mentioned obliquely only once: “A despiser of the gods, known by the name of Poxy Pelt, an Etruscan buffoon, a long-winded sophist, the gravest pestilence to Christians, instituted harpies of the people and savage tyrants by evil artifice” (Duplessis-Mornay 1994, 7).

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The political tract at the centre of this paper, Machiavelli’s Il Principe, was not published in the writer’s lifetime, although it had circulated in manuscript copies from the time of its composition in 1513–14. The dedicatory letter to Lorenzo de’ Medici makes it clear that the purpose in writing is to allow his readers to benefit from his experience in princely courts over the years: to read his eyewitness accounts of contemporary events and compare them with the accounts of classical historians such as Herodotus, Thucydides, Sallust, Livy, and Tacitus—men who wrote historia as it was, not as it ought to be (Coleman 1995, 46–47). Both medieval and Renaissance approaches assumed that the world to be experienced is stable, which enables men to perceive certain conditions in the present and judge them to be similar to those in the past, and thus, to learn from past reactions how best to deal with the present contingency. The men who were more ready than others to meet the needs of the times were those who became “great” through their ability to deal successfully with the situation.12 Historia is the narrative representation of appearances, preserving reputations of men, what they appeared to be and do and not what they were (which is an interesting contradiction of what Sir Philip Sidney said (1962, III:3–46) of the differences between history and poetry: that the former presented men and events as they were, without any tempering by questions of ethics or morality, while poetry could present men as they should be.) In Machiavelli’s universe, the prince institutes the law, and he participates himself in this universe in which law is necessary. Thus a parallel appears between princes who are freed from all kinds of restraint and the unfettered multitude on the one hand, and the prince born into a constitution and a people following the rules on the other. Politics is therefore, for Machiavelli, not the putting into practice of the will to power, but the institution of citizenship mediated by obedience to the law. Politics is the institution of the law where it did not exist before; it confers on a man a dimension which transfigures his individual, isolated dimension; by reciprocal virtuous acts, the nation is engendered (Duvernoy 1974, 102–05). Augustinian politics put God at the head of all, with the prince as lieutenant. In this world view, the concept of “nation” fell in favour of the notion of orbis, the human universe with Jesus as monarch, of whom the pope was the representative. Political authority was not an imperium; it descended to the rank of auctoritas, derived authority. However, under the Augustinian framework the prince can be judged by the people and found wanting: “the right to revolt” (Duvernoy 1974, 90). Machiavelli’s astonishing account of this is to say that “A people is wiser and more

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constant than a prince”. If the prince is born under a Constitution, he “conserves” the state or “reforms” it: he receives and gives the law. If he institutes a state, he gives law without having received it previously. In both cases, the prince must act within the law himself. Machiavelli cites Savonarola’s foundation of Florence and his violation of his own rules.13 A further question has to be asked: why were Machiavelli’s works, and commentaries on his works, published and promulgated at this particular time? The Reformation had breached the ideological structure of Christianity, and the question had to be asked: if religion, demonstrably, is not the ultimate determinant of human conduct, what is? Machiavelli, confronted with the spectacle of a secular papacy, and steeped in the political thought of an un-Christian ancient world, had a ready answer. In I Discorsi, he had made clear that religion was to be maintained and the founders of religion honoured, because religion is the prime means by which the stability of a state is preserved, its power increased, and the designs of its leaders fulfilled: a potent weapon in the statesman’s armoury (Raab 1964, 87). In Elizabethan England the “turning of the pulpits” made men conscious that religion had temporal as well as spiritual use, but “politick religion” was a barrier to many (Raab 1964, 100–01). Machiavelli’s contention is that men and their experiences and actions, rather than an inscrutable providence or God, determine the course of politics. This was of importance in fifteenth and early sixteenth century Italy, a country subject to upheavals from foreign invasion and from alternations of princedoms and republics in cities, most notably in Florence with its revolutionary changes in government (Coleman 1995, 55). It is tempting to hypothesize that this was the reason that Fowler decided to make the translation at this time: thinking about the upheavals in his own country during the time of Mary and James’s minority, with his knowledge of English politics through his work as an intelligencer for Walsingham. Although Machiavelli and other Italian writers were read in the original by many in England, the English printer John Wolfe, being responsible for reprints of I Discorsi, Il Principe, Istorie fiorentine, Arte della Guerra and L’Asino d’oro between 1584 and 1588 (illustrating that there was a demand),14 the work tended to be mediated through commentaries which took a polarized view of the Italian’s precepts. Reginald Pole and Roger Ascham were horrified at Machiavelli because he did not acknowledge God. Henry VIII’s Secretary, Thomas Cromwell, was seen as Machiavellian (and Satanic) by Pole.15 Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, who after 1603 was to become one of James’s advisors, wrote on monarchy influenced by the natural law theory of Jean Bodin: the

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royal monarch would obey the laws of nature and of God and secure the persons and “propriety” of his subjects. On Machiavelli, he opposed the Italian’s advocacy of “seeming”: “Machiavell supposeth that it is enough for Princes to putt on an outward Maske of Conscience and religion however they bee otherwise affected Inwardly” (Peck 1991, 150–51).16 The popular Elizabethan reaction was horror, perhaps explained by the theatre’s preoccupation with the Machiavellian villain, an aspect which continued well into James’s rule. The stage villain tended to be associated with atheism, while the real Machiavelli’s politics were a-theological rather than anti-theological. Although it is difficult to establish definitively the nature and extent of Machiavelli’s influence on the political thought of Tudor and Elizabethan England, it appears that Wyndham Lewis’s assertion that he was at the back of every Tudor mind is too extravagant, and E. M. W. Tillyard’s contention that hardly anyone knew him is too narrow. Many people knew or knew of Machiavelli’s writings: some were attracted, some repulsed, some indifferent (Raab 1964, 61). To a much greater extent than in England, in sixteenth-century France the Reformation served to destroy the political consensus which had derived from a common religious belief. An alternative basis was sought for the foundation of a political authority, which could then develop its own autonomy. As both parties of the religious divide appealed to the king for validity and authority it was therefore necessary to separate religion from politics, which became the task for jurists such as Michel de l’Hospital and Jean Bodin. The problem was how to institute a new form of royal authority which did not depend on the support of a nationally established church. Both de l’Hospital and Bodin proposed the disestablishment of religious belief such that it became the concern of individuals rather than of the state, and relieved the king from his position as head of the church. The difference between Machiavelli and Bodin is that the former sees the Italian political order being created entirely anew, ex nihilo; while the Frenchman sees the king within the framework of a monarchic order already existing (Duvernoy 1974, 85–86). The 1553 French translation of Il Principe by Gaspard d’Auvergne, dedicated to James Hamilton, duke of Châtelherault, Earl of Arran, and Governor of Scotland in 1542 (not entirely the political product placement it might appear, as Gaspard was an official of the duchy) had praised Machiavelli’s “positive spirit”, that implied the necessity for falsehood and lies, an aspect on which a number of translators concentrated.17 D’Auvergne emphasizes Il Principe’s status as a manual of practical politics: “ceste sorte de present vous deuoir estre aggreable, comme à personnage occupé en continuelle expedition des armes”.18 If the people

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were foolish and ungrateful, the ruler should be severe and cruel, exercising ruses and maintaining his position through every means available, especially through crushing enemies (Cherel 1935, 49–50). Jean de Taille’s Prince Nécessaire, dedicated to Henri de Navarre, took a similar line in preferring fear to love in the ruled, and advocating the crushing of the magnates’ families in a conquered country. However, he points out that religion must be the base of the prince’s actions, virtue is essential, his given word must be inviolable, he must prefer peace to war and religiously abstain from unjust wars (Cherel 1935, 52). This appears to be taking a middle line between the two Machiavelli camps, but emphasizing the religious grounding of statecraft. Pierre de Ronsard, in “Institution pour l’Adolescence du Roi Très Chrétien Charles IXe de ce nom” (1561), emphasizes the same morality: Sire, ce n’est pas tout, que d’estre Roy de France, Il faut que la vertu honore vostre enfance; » Un Roy sans la vertu porte le sceptre en vain, » Qui ne luy est sinon un fardeau dans la main.

(ll. 1–4)

[Sire, to be King of France is not all: virtue must encompass your growth; a King without virtue holds a vain sceptre, which serves but as a burden in his hand.] (Ronsard 1993–94, II:1006–11).

The disestablishment of the church does not imply that the king may disregard the teaching of the church in his rule, according to this latest speculum principis exemplar. When the king is merciful, fair, generous, and concerns himself with the good of his country and commonwealth, he will be loved: S’il vous plaist vous garder sans Archer de la garde, Il faut que d’un bon œil le peuple vous regarde, Qu’il vous aime sans crainte: ainsi les puissans Rois Ont conservé le sceptre et non par le harnois.

(ll. 137–40)

[If you wish to defend yourself without guardsmen, the people must look on you with respect, must love you without fear: thus powerful kings maintained their rule; not with constraints.]

Machiavelli is not named, but is clearly behind Ronsard’s thought (Cherel 1935, 55).19 While the doyen of French poets of the sixteenth century wrote in the conventional speculum principis tradition, taking account of the new politics of his time to proffer sage advice to the young king, in Scotland

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poetry was used for the most scurrilous attacks on Mary and her faction and then on James’s advisors. The jibes “Machiavel”, “Machiavellian” or Buchanan’s “Mitchell Wylie” were freely applied to Mary’s Secretary, William Maitland of Lethington, by 1570. In “The Bird in the Cage”, ascribed to Robert Sempill, he is dubbed “A Scurvie Scholler of Machiavellis lair” for his part in Anglo-Scottish negotiations (1872, 107): A Scurvie Schollar of Machiauellus lair, Inuenting wylis anoyntit Kingis to thrall… Ane flattiring face, with outwart shaw serene; Sour Aloes with bitter gall commixt; Ane luiring bait fond fischis to wirk tene, Not spying deith till thay on lyne be fixt.

(ll. 8–9; 22–25)

Secretary Maitland makes no reference to Machiavelli in his writings, but that did not prevent his detractors (including, again, the “R. S” who wrote “The Legend or Discourse of the Lyfe and Conversatione and Qualiteis of the Tulchene Bischope of Sanctandrois”) of allying him with the Italian (Sempill 1872, 200): Maitland, Melwill, and Matchevellous Learnet never mair knaifrie in a scholehous…

(ll. 39–40)

And indeed, there are similarities in their thoughts: both saw statecraft as a secular activity, not necessarily bounded by precise moral considerations, and religion as a check on men’s evil and anarchic tendencies. Maitland asserted belief in Providence but did his best to keep preachers out of Scottish politics, opposing John Knox’s populist imperative. Both were patriotic. The test of expediency determined action for both: “Will this action produce the desired result?” rather than “Is it right?”, but Maitland stopped short of doing anything that was really wrong. Both looked at things as they were, not as they ought to be. Neither paid any attention to the medieval concept of natural law. Both made distinctions between the morality of politics and that of private life. Thomas Maitland, in a cleverly-contrived “Pretended Conference”, has Knox and five of his intimates taking counsel with the Regent Moray shortly before the latter’s murder in 1570, the contents of which conversation illustrate the obsession the Reformers had with the “shorthand” type of Machiavellianism.20 It could be suggested that this was a reason for Fowler’s decision to make his translation: in the secular sphere to emulate the Reformers’ rejection of the need for a mediator for

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God’s word by ensuring that Machiavelli’s own words were made available directly to the people. If it can be assumed from the circumstantial evidence that Fowler made his translation in the late 1580s or early 1590s, it was done before James produced either of his tracts on kingship; but there is no evidence that James (or indeed anyone else) had read or responded to the Italian work in his own writing. Fowler’s Prince as we have it is not complete. Whether the missing chapters, from the end of chapter four to chapter ten, have been lost, were censored or were never translated in the first place will probably never be established: but Alessandra Petrina, in her 2009 edition of the translation, thinks that it is more than likely that, as is the case with a great deal of Fowler’s writings, they have simply been lost.21 Much of the instruction in these missing chapters relates to the acquisition and subjugation of new states and nations, which would appear to relate well to James’s situation as foreseen in the 1590s. This would give one cause to believe that Fowler would not deliberately have omitted them. On the other hand, James was very conscious of his weakness as a head of state in comparison to Elizabeth, and depended on her financially as well as politically for support until he could come into his kingdom. James had a strong sense of the limitations on what he could do, however much he insisted that his theoretical power was unlimited (Goodare 1999, 298). James VI was in a unique position, as a writer on kingship who could actually put the precepts into practice. James used three distinct sets of arguments: from the Bible, from fundamental laws of the kingdom, and from the laws of nature. It was axiomatic that monarchical government was of divine institution, as is seen in the dedicatory sonnet of Basilikon Doron (James I 1616, 137): “God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vain…” referring to 1 Sam. 8:9–20 as the critical text for writers on both sides of the argument. Despite what appears to be the contrary assertion, James did not believe that the king was above and unbound by the law (princeps legibus solutus est), but was bound by his coronation oath to uphold religion and existing laws. However, he was accountable for this only to God, not to the people as he states in his Trew Law of Free Monarchies (1616, 203): “The king is above the law, as both the author and giver of strength thereto: yet a good king will not onely delight to rule his subjects by the lawe, but even will confirme himselfe in his own actions thereunto.” His very position made the king even more highly obligated to God than all other men, and more subject to divine punishment were he to slip from grace. Both the Trew Law and Basilikon Doron were primarily written for James himself, to order his own thoughts. Even the “presentation copy” of

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Basilikon is interpolated with deletions and amendments as James continued to refine and define his thoughts. James knew that Basilikon would upset the Melvillians, whom he characterized as “vaine Pharasaicall puritaines” (1616, N4r; 1971, 151), but saw it as his duty to make his position clear vis-à-vis the Reformed Kirk. Although only seven copies of the original text were made in 1599: for Queen Anne, Prince Henry, Henry’s tutor, the Marquess of Hamilton and the three Catholic Earls of Huntly, Erroll and Angus, the reprint in London of 1603 could have extended to as many as 16000 copies, although it does not appear that the books so eagerly bought were as avidly read and circulated.22 Unlike the Trew Law, which is a political tract, and which exemplifies James’s view on kingship and practical absolutism, Basilikon Doron is addressed to Prince Henry as a practical exercise of royal authority, realistic, moderate and compromising; demonstrating James’s style of kingship to his new subjects. It is emphatically not the book about absolute monarchy that those who have not read it say it is. It is also as different from Il Principe as could be, building most of its premises and advice on the precepts of the Dutch humanist, Erasmus, in The Education of a Christian Prince (1516). James saw kingship in traditional terms. Justice, he believed, was the greatest virtue that properly belonged to a king’s office, and he advised his heir (1616, 156): “Hold no parliaments but for necessitie of new lawes, which would be but seldome; for few lawes and well put in execution, are best in a well-ruled common-weale”. This reference to the commonweal is important, as it confirms that the government of the state is primarily for the universal benefit. People learned to obey the central government because it was acting in their interests and not just through fear. They also used the government and sought to promote their interests through institutions focused on the crown. Historians have sometimes given the impression that absolutism meant the king imposing his will on recalcitrant magnates. What actually happened is that government tended to become the full-time business of some of the nobles, while the others trusted them to get on with it (Goodare 1999, 99). So we return to the original question: why did William Fowler translate one of the most notorious Continental texts into Scots? Perhaps that was why: such a seminal text, which had been part of one of the greatest debates of the century, simply had to be available to Scots readers, to enable them to be part of the still-ongoing debate. I had thought originally that the similarity in Machiavelli’s and Fowler’s political and professional roles could have been a reason for a sense of affinity, but have relinquished that view as I read further. Fowler was, in contrast to the Frenchified majority of James’s courtiers, the most steeped in Italian

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literature, and thus the most likely to wish to ensure that the most important Italian texts were translated or imitated. The Hawthornden manuscripts show a text in a continual state of correction and revision, and clearly not ready to be presented to a readership. As it was never printed, it could not be said to form part of the cultural production of James’s court, which in any case was pretty much completed by 1590. Petrina has suggested that Fowler used the translation as a means of improving his own knowledge of Italian, perhaps by using the parallel text method of Italian and French side by side. As Machiavelli’s language was praised for its purity of style, this would make a great deal of sense.24 It would also sit well with the other high-style Italian texts which Fowler wished to bring to a wider audience: Petrarch’s Trionfi for the highest poetic forms and the sonnet styles of the quattrocento and cinquecento seen in The Tarantula of Love.

Notes 1

Mary Queen of Scots was a member of this court from 1548–61 and did possess some books in Italian (see Sharman 1889, 69–71, 72–73, 75–76, 79–80, 86, 88– 90), although Il Principe is not mentioned. 2 There were at least three known French translations: by Jacques de Vintemille (1546), Guillaume Cappel (1553) and Gaspard d’Auvergne (1553) before Pope Paul IV put the book on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum in 1557. Sylvester Telius’s Latin translation was printed in 1560. 3 Forster (1969) distinguishes “Petrarchan”—related to Petrarch’s life and writing—from “Petrarchist”—relating to his later imitators, whose style became increasingly ornamented and stylized. 4 Petrina (2009, 72) cites the opposing arguments, that her house was virtually an alternative court of Marian supporters, or merely a debating chamber for the opposing views of the time. 5 Verweij (2007) has argued persuasively for the dating of the sonnet sequences to the earlier half of the 1580s, when Fowler was newly returned to Scotland. 6 Bawcutt (2001a) has argued that the name and even the concept of “the Castalian band” is a later invention bearing little relationship to the actual situation at court, but the fact remains that there was a considerable output of new material in the vernacular in the 1580s, whatever the actual impetus. 7 The two were in Italy together in the early 1590s, and enrolled in the University of Padua in 1592. The dedication is entirely conventional: “Right honorabill sir, if to any for regard of wisdome, bloode, vertew, sight, reno[w]ne, or worthines this worke might be dedicated . as obleshed in dewtye…yow ar he to quhome the honour of the first, and I he to quho[m]e the obligat[i]on in the second suld…respects, and therfor, sir, lat it stand with your . and bontefull curtesie to receave these my travells translated and writtin at sondrye interupted houers, and at your leiseur censure and exam[in]e theme, quha, being mair perfyte and pro[m]pter

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in the italien tongue then I be, sal make my self graced by your correctioun”; Fowler 1914–40, III:clv. 8 On the other hand, Petrina (2009, 91–92) thinks that it might be considerably earlier than that, as it is noted in the list of works in Hawthornden MS 2063, fol. 107r–v, as the first title under “proses”, and there is no mention in that list of the masque Fowler wrote for Prince Henry’s baptism in 1594, a text of which Fowler would be expected to be proud. This would situate the translation possibly after Trionfi, but before the stay in Padua. 9 Although, interestingly, Erasmus’s Education does not figure in James’s library, he does seem to follow the Dutchman’s precepts in his advice to his son. 10 The others were that the crime of lèse-majesté could be committed only against the emperor; that he was the only authority able to issue binding laws; the only authority able to legitimize bastards, and that appeals lay from kings to the emperor (Goodare 1999, 11 n. 3). 11 I am indebted to the work of Jenny Wormald, Roger Mason and Julian Goodare for my background reading. 12 As those whose character suited the times, each acting from his own free will rather than with special help from God, Machiavelli cited (2005, 120) Moses, when the people of Israel were enslaved in Egypt; Cyrus, when the Persians were tyrannized by the Medes; or Theseus, when the Athenians were a disparate people. 13 Both these contentions are found in Machiavelli’s Discourses on Livy (1997, 116, 140–45) rather than The Prince, but they are perfectly in tune with the later tract. 14 All these prints were ostensibly European productions, to hide their provenance, as there was a ban on printing them in England: see Fowler 1914–40, III:cxxx. 15 Henry Parker, Lord Morley, recommended Machiavelli’s work to Thomas Cromwell, the Principe in particular: “Surely a good thing for your Lordship and our Sovereign lord in Council”. Philip Sidney commended the works to his brother Robert, and mentions them familiarly in a Latin letter to Pietro Perna, printer of the first Latin version of Il Principe, and in his Defence of the Earl of Leicester (1584– 85). Gabriel Harvey talked in letters to Edmund Spenser of the fame Machiavelli was achieving in Cambridge. All references from Petrina 2009, 16–18. 16 Northampton in this passage was praising Elizabeth’s honesty. 17 According to Purves (1938), this was the first knowledge of Machiavelli in Scotland. 18 “This kind of gift must be useful, when given to a person frequently involved in armed expeditions [Dedication]”. All translations are my own. 19 It derives ultimately from the classical theme also expressed by Erasmus. Machiavelli says: “…a prince who has a strong city and does not make himself hated cannot be attacked” (2005, 72). This is part of the missing section in Fowler’s translation. 20 Lord Lindsay is reported as saying (Maitland 1827, 38): “My Lord, make us quite of thir Matchewillians and bangster Lordis, that will circumvene yow with thair policie, and wraike yow with force”. A little later, James M’Gill, Clerk Register, concurs (49): “I grant, all thame that ar of Matchevelis doctrine will say, that thai haue done your grace guid seruice, but the Clerk Blair said, Nay,

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Matcheivell is an ewill buik…”. A slightly amended version of the same text appears in Calderwood 1842–49, II:515–25. 21 Petrina (2009, 99) points out that the missing chapters and parts of chapters amount to entire folia, and that there has been no attempt to edit the mutilated text, as might have been expected if the omission were politically motivated. Loss is far more likely. 22 Wormald (1991, 51), discussing the number of copies still extant, comes to this conclusion. Her account suggests that people bought the book, read it once, and then shelved it, meaning that although a best-seller, it was certainly not a bestreader. 23 Guillaume Cappel admired the beautiful and clear prose of the Italian: “ i’ay bien voulu faire epreue de mon stile en la traduction de ce liure”. John Florio included “All the works of Niccolò Machiavelli” in Queen Anna’s New World of Words, his Italian-English dictionary printed in London in 1611. Machiavelli’s Italian was considered pure and classic. (Petrina 2009, 11 and 6).

MONTGOMERIE’S SOLSEQUIUM AND THE MINDES MELODIE JAMIE REID BAXTER

Alexander Montgomerie is one of the most musical of all Scottish poets. The actual music for a large number of his lyrics has survived, and many of his songs are available in recorded form.1 “Lyk as the dum / Solsequium”, the metrical and verbal tour de force that is the starting point of this essay is “perhaps the most ubiquitous Montgomerie song” and “also the most ubiquitous of his poems”, according to David Parkinson (2005, 508). He notes that this song-text was so thoroughly appropriated by musically literate Scots that only its incipit is provided in most music manuscripts. Of this and other popular song-texts, Parkinson comments that “[a]ppropriation does not guarantee stability: increasingly open to variation, the lyric may drop away when another comes along to fit the tune” (2005, 507). In the case of the “Solsequium”, a surprising number of new lyrics were written to fit the tune, most of them around 1600, with a later example printed in 1631. This essay will review the origins and impact of Montgomerie’s lyric, before focussing on the most extended application of the melody and its demanding stanza-form, namely the anonymous sequence of Scriptural paraphrases entitled The Mindes Melodie, published at Edinburgh by Robert Charteris in 1605 and reissued in 1606. Montgomerie’s source for the stuff of his “Solsequium” was Ovid’s tale of Clytie,2 a nymph infatuated with the sun god Apollo (also referred to as Phoebus and Titan). The god’s heart had however already been won by Leucothoe, with whom Apollo began a secret love-affair; when the jealous Clytie betrayed the secret to Leucothoe’s father, the latter buried his daughter alive. Unsurprisingly, the heart-broken Apollo’s affections were not transferred to Clytie, and so she pined away and turned into a flower. Rooted to the spot ever since, this flower gazes endlessly on the sun-god as he traverses the heavens, her head turning to follow him—the “solsequium” or sun-follower, lifting its head and spreading its leaves when the sun shines on it, and drooping listlessly when the sun “goes out

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of sight” (l. 4).3 “Solsequium” evolved into souci in French, the marshmarigold, and in Ronsard’s ode “Le Souci”, Montgomerie’s selfidentification with the flower is prefigured.4 The lovesick Ronsard is the flower, his “Maistresse” is “mon beau soleil”, and line 48 ,“Un seul Soleil te donnant mort et vie [One and the same Sun giving you death and life]”, neatly sums up the paradox that will drive Montgomerie’s poem. We do not know what particular kind of heliotrope or sunflower Ovid had in mind, but Montgomerie’s, like Ronsard’s, is a marigold.5 A Scottish precedent is Buchanan’s epigram to James VI’s father Henry Stewart (Buchanan 1982, 174–75: 33): Caltha suos nusquam vultus a sole reflectit, illo oriente patens, illo abeunte latens: nos quoque pendemus de te, sol noster, ad omnes expositi rerum te subeunte vices. [The marigold nowhere turns its face away from the sun; when he rises, she opens, and when he departs, she closes; we too depend on you, our sun, exposed as we are to all the vicissitudes you undergo.]

The flower’s powerless dependency on the sun makes it a fine symbol of a courtier, and not least a courtier of the poet-king James VI: the sun-god Apollo is also the father of the Muses, and hence of poetry, and James was regularly compared with Apollo (or Titan) by his court poets. At one level, Montgomerie’s “Solsequium” is an autobiographical poem about the poet’s own dependency on the king’s attention and affection. The poem’s general popularity is proved not only by the number of extant manuscript copies, but by the fact that poets from all over Scotland echoed it. Montgomerie’s words can be clearly heard in the last stanza of James VI’s own “Complainte of his mistressis absence” (1955–58, II: 81): Bot houpe beginnes to hoise me on her wings Euen houpe that presence absence shall amend. Bot what my Muse, how pertlie thus thou sings Who rather ought Solsequium like attend With luckned leaues till wearie night take end. Haste golden Titan thy so long’d returne To cleare the skies where now we darckned murne.

(ll. 57–63)

Alexander Craig of Rose Craig in Banff begins The Pilgrime and Hermite (apparently written in the 1590s)6 with unambiguous allusions to Montgomerie’s first stanza:

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When pale lady Luna wt her lent light Threw ye dawing of ye drigh day wes driven to depart Quhen Christall and clear Skys compassed ye night As may morning reid rose from the right airt Ere Phaeton fond fool wt whyt whip in hand From his slight sleep ascended to loup or the land. (ll. 1–6)

Also from the North-east are these obvious allusions to Montgomerie’s poem in the Aberdonian Alexander Gardyne’s Scotland her Grief at his Maiesties going into England (presumably of 1603), printed in A Garden of Grave and Godlie Flovvres, 1609. Here, the whole land is the pining marigold: For lo thy golden Sunne into the south he shines While thou Solsequium-lyke for thy abstracted Titan tynes perishest …And next that mightie Mobile Thy mover is remov’d (ll. 97–100)

From the other end of the country, the Galloway-born poet Patrick Hannay (d.1630) produced an unimpressive paraphrase of the poem as Sonnet X of his volume of works (1622, 230): As doth Solsequium louer of the light, When Sol is absent locke her golden leaues, And sealed mournes, till it regaine his light, Whose flaming raies soone counteruailes it's griefes. Far more thy absence me of rest bereaues, The hoped-Morne the Marigold doth cherish: But when my Sunne this blest horizon leaues, Hopelesse of light my ioyes in darknesse perish. Stay then my Sunne, make this thy Zodiacke, And moue, but make my armes to be the sphere: Make me thy West, with me thy lodging take, Moue to my brest, and make thy setting there. So shall I be more glad of thy decline, Then Phoebus-floure when he begins to shine.

Both the very different neo-Latin poets who felt moved to pay tribute to Montgomerie’s lyric had strong north-east connections: the prolific Fr. Thomas Duff, OSB (before 1594–after 1636) was “of Maldavit”, near Cullen, west of Banff along the Moray Firth coast (Dilworth 1965; Dilworth 1974, 235–36). Fr. Thomas presumably made his contrafactum sacrum, “ț‫׉‬ʌȠȚį‫ش‬Į de Solsequio / ad Jesum solem de praesepio ortum [A

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cradle-song about the Solsequium / to Jesus the Sun risen from the Manger]”, employing elegiac couplets, in his Benedictine house at Würzburg, where he professed in September 1616. Johannes Leochaeus Celurcanus (John Leech of Montrose) was an Aberdeen graduate of impressive poetical skills and range (Leask 1910; Money 2004). The “Eroticon” section of Leech’s Musæ Priores, sive Poematum pars prior (1620, 109) includes, as Elegy III in the sixth book, an expansive and entirely secular “Heliotropium Montgomerii ʌĮȡĮijȡȐıȠȞ”. Far removed from the dancing syncopations of the Solsequium tune and stanza, the elegiac couplets chosen by the poets reflect the Ovidian origins of the tale of Clytie’s metamorphosis.7 The foregoing all testifies to the appeal of Montgomerie’s “Solsequium”, which would enjoy a very long shelf-life indeed as one of the lyrics attached to prints of The Cherrie and the Slae. These lyrics are largely spiritual, and Parkinson has drawn attention to the spiritual reading of the “Solsequium” itself as “an allegory of longing for Christ’s presence, through diurnal sureness into nocturnal doubt and back again” (2005, 498– 99). And the poem’s wonderful melody and complex verse form led to the creation of several overtly sacred lyrics for singing. Montgomerie himself made a masterly paraphrase of the First Psalm to fit the tune; we can at least speculate that the poet sensed an ironic contrast between the endless changefulness of the marigold’s condition in the love-lyric, and the utter certainty of the blessedness of the man “Be grace that can / Esheu ill Counsell and the godles gait… His Actionis all / Ay prosper sall”.8 Montgomerie’s psalm-paraphrasing, clearly aimed at the ordinary worshipper, is quite different from Sir Philip Sidney’s, and was probably inspired by the example of French poets. The complete French Huguenot psalter, first issued in 1562, with 125 separate (“proper”) tunes for the 150 psalms, is a masterpiece of fine verse in many different metres, begun by Clément Marot and completed by Théodore de Bèze. It was so successful that to combat it, Catholic poets made their own metrical paraphrases, intended for singing. Jean-Antoine de Baïf (1532–89), the friend of Ronsard and of King Charles IX, made two vernacular versions of the complete psalter, one in quantitative verse (vers mesurés) completed in 1573, and one in rhyme, completed in 1583.9 Philippe Desportes brought out a complete metrical psalter in instalments between 1575 and 1603. Several Scots poets, according to the presbyterian polemicist and historian David Calderwood, offered to provide the country with a complete new metrical psalter to replace the (profoundly unpoetic) official psalm book the Kirk had adopted in 1564 as part of The Forme of Prayers (Reid Baxter 2006/2007). The extent of Montgomerie’s involvement is unclear,

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as Lyall (2005b, 285–86) demonstrated when discussing Calderwood’s claim that Montgomerie “translated bot a few [psalms] for proofe, and offered his travells in that kynde to the kirke”. Montgomerie’s offer could have been as late as 1596, when the possibility of a new psalter was discussed at Perth. By then, the Catholic Montgomerie was in a beleaguered position, and could have been seeking to ingratiate himself with the Kirk. There is no doubt that his two extant paraphrases are well suited to congregational singing; the vocabulary is kept simple, and Montgomerie’s gift for matching words and music is as evident here as in any of his many lyrics for which musical settings are extant (Sweetnam 2009, 152–53, and 156, but see also McClure 2012, 116–18). No later than autumn 1596, another musically-inclined poet, the Fife minister, James Melville, took up the idea of paraphrasing further psalms “to the tune of Solsequium”, namely Psalms 23 and 121. These appear as part of the paratext at the end of his Fruitful and Comfortable Exhortatioun anent Death (1597, 111–12), but when George Bannatyne later inserted Psalm 23 into his Draft MS (pp. 51–52), he ascribed it to Montgomerie.10 This has caused much confusion (Montgomerie 2000, II: 172; Lyall 2005b, 291), despite the presence of a dialectal rhyme quite uncharacteristic of Montgomerie but standard in James Melville: “Kindnes and grace / Mercy and peace” (1597, 111: “The Lord most high”, [l. 17]). Melville, moreover, draws attention to his debt to Montgomerie—he specifies that his paraphrase is to be sung “to the tune of Solsequium”— and then prints his own initials, “I. M.”, after the text. It is hardly credible that in Montgomerie’s lifetime, Melville would be so foolish as to lay public claim to the maister poet’s work and thus incur the wrath of “auful Alexander” with his tongue “lyk the Lyons vhair it liks” (Montgomerie I: 131). Placed at the end of his Exhortatioun, Melville's Psalm 23 is a comfortable gift on the threshold—comforting in the sense of strengthening and encouraging: Though I suld stray, even day by day, in deadly way, Yet wald I be assurd, and feare none ill: For why thy grace, in every place, dois me imbrace, Thy rodde and Sheep hirds cruke, comforts me still. ([ll. 11–14])

The phraseology deliberately echoes the metrical paraphrase (by William Whittingham) used by the Kirk and printed in The Forme of Prayers: “Yet would I fear none ill / For by thy rod and shepherds crook / I am comforted still” (ll. 14–16).11

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Melville has the same comfortable purpose in following Psalm 23 with Psalm 121. The Geneva Bible version opens, “I will lift mine eyes vnto the mountaines, from whence my help shall come”, and the Kirk’s metrical version (again by Whittingham) begins, “I lift mine eyes to Sion hill, from whence I do attend / that God me succour send”. But like George Buchanan (and the Tremellius-Junius Latin version of the Old Testament used by protestants), James Melville the Hebrew scholar interprets the psalmist as contrasting the certainty of help from God with the pointlessness of a pagan’s hoping for help from the mountains: When I behold, These Montaines cold, Can I be bold, To take my journey through this wildernes ([ll. 1–2])

Melville’s whole first stanza is devoted to a negative extrapolation of the single word “hills”, and foreshadows the harsh landscapes of Ane Godlie Dreame (1603) by Elizabeth Melville, Lady Culross. Only God, as James Melville states in the second stanza of his paraphrase, can convey us safely through the dark glen of earthly life”: This God will take thy part, thy course to rinne, He will thee guide, Thou sall not slide, Thy feet sall stedfast stand in the right way, He will thee keepe, he will not sleepe: Nor suffer foes to catch thee as a pray. ([ll. 16–20])

Lady Culross herself wrote an undated Scots lyric to the Solsequium tune, “Ane Thankisgiving to God for his Benefeitis”, in no fewer than twelve impressive stanzas demonstrating her accustomed metrical mastery (Melville 2010, 23–34). Her inspiration may well have been James Melville’s psalm-paraphrases, but in an untitled manuscript poem beginning, “As hairts full fant”, she clearly echoes Montgomerie’s original “Solsequium”, with its mention of Phoebus, “dauing of my long desyrit day / … / My noysome nicht of Absence worne auay”, “O happie day / Go not auay / Apollo stay / Thy Chair”, “I wish in vane / Thee to remane… / … / …thy wane / Turn soon agane” (ll. 36, 40, 49–52, 59–60, 62–63): That day of joy that sall distroy the deidlie darksum nicht, that day of glore that evirmore sall schyne lyke Phebus bricht: O glorious day

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go not away! O blissed day remaine! O happie day for evir stay least nicht returne againe! (Melville 2010, 8–9, ll. 192–204; Reid Baxter 2005)

In 1631, James Melville’s Exhortatioun inspired another Fife minister, William Morray of Crail, to publish A Short Treatise of Death. Morray’s emulation of his model included the presence of a postliminary poem in the Solsequium stanza, paraphrasing and expounding Ecclesiastes 12—in abominably bad verse which sings most ungratefully (and ludicrously) to the tune (Melville 1597, 15; Reid Baxter 2005, 157–58). Very different is the anonymous publication of 1605, reissued in 1606, The Mindes Melodie. Contayning certayne Psalmes of the Kinglie Prophete David, applyed to a new pleasant tune, verie comfortable to everie one that is rightlie acquainted therewith.12 In this eminently singable exploitation of the “Solsequium” tune and verse-form, Montgomerie’s Psalm 1 and Melville’s Psalms 23 and 121 are found as part of a whole sequence of psalms, ending with the Song of Simeon (Nunc dimittis) and a trinitarian doxology. The purpose and authorship of this volume have never been established. David Parkinson excludes The Mindes Melodie from Montgomerie’s works (2000, II: 5). Helena Mennie Shire considers that “two of these versions for certain, and probably all” were by Montgomerie (1969, 115). She suggests that the book comprises an “apposite selection” made by the poet’s friends “to commemorate the death of the poet in mourning ceremony” (115:n.2, 116). Of this suggestion Ronald Jack (1985, 68) observes that “the gap of seven years and the failure to name him at any point in the publication leave room for doubt”, but he agrees that the paraphrases are “likely” to be Montgomerie’s work. Roderick Lyall (2005b, 295), for whom Psalm 23 is “quite probably by Montgomerie”, endorses Parkinson’s exclusion of the anonymous paraphrases, commenting that if Montgomerie “was responsible for any of the additional psalms in The Mindes Melodie, then it is a below-par Montgomerie we are reading”. Jack (1985, 67) is more enthusiastic, referring to a “sustained quality” only achievable by a “writer of Montgomerie’s class and using Montgomerie’s methods”.13 Shire (1969, 143) notes that “the phrasing of the title-page is important, and may be cryptic”. She suggests that the description, “verie comfortable”, mentioned in the work’s title, “appears to mean that the versions fit the tune featly if you know the ‘right way’ of the tune”.

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Wisely, she adds that the words at the same time “may refer obliquely to the whole solace offered by the sequence of the chosen psalms”. In an earlier chapter (1969, 116), Shire describes The Mindes Melodie as “a carefully selected and meaningful sequence, the voice of a man persecuted for truth, sorely distressed yet praising God, calling down His wrath upon the godless nations, seeking deliverance from fierce and subtle enemies, in hiding in a cave like ‘the chief musician’, asking judgment and revenge on his cause, calling on all nations to praise God and lifting up his eyes to the hills. Last comes the ‘wedding psalm’, speaking eloquently of the poet who ‘died untimely’, a monk in intent”. Shire does not note that the paraphrasist is not looking to the hills for divine help, but as we shall see, she is right that the “meaningful sequence” concerns persecution for truth, sore distress, and deliverance from subtle enemies. The subject is not Alexander Montgomerie, however. The key to The Mindes Melodie is the year of publication. In July 1605 King James launched a major assault on the presbyterian party within the Scottish Kirk.14 The king hated the presbyterian model of ministerial parity, with ultimate authority vested in the General Assembly of the Kirk; he wanted a Kirk run by bishops, appointed by and answerable to himself. He had said so in Basilikon Doron in 1599 (48–52), a book much reprinted in 1603. Now James was energetically pushing for the complete and perfect union of his two realms, without consulting the Kirk at all; there had been no General Assembly since 1602. Those committed to presbyterianism, like James Melville, were thoroughly alarmed, and decided that the meeting of the General Assembly scheduled for July 1605, in Aberdeen, would take place as appointed. Presbyteries duly sent ministers north. At the last possible minute, however, the king had countermanded the holding of the Aberdeen Assembly, and so those gathered merely constituted themselves an Assembly, which then immediately dissolved itself without having discussed any issues. But on the grounds that the ministers had committed treason by ignoring a royal decree and constituting an Assembly at all, the king had seventeen of the most militant of them arrested and imprisoned. The prisoners, who enjoyed widespread support, included the fiery minister of Ayr, John Welsh. During his close detention in Blackness Castle, Scotland’s state prison, Elizabeth Melville, Lady Culross, wrote an acrostic sonnet addressed to him, which alludes to the castle’s name: “Once sall you see the wished day appear. / Now it is dark, thy sky cannot be clear” (Melville 2010, 66). Years later, Lady Culross would remind another prisoner of conscience that “the darkness of Blackness is not the blackness of darkness” (Tweedie 1845–47, I: 342), an ironic allusion to

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verse 12 of the Epistle of Jude, and the fate of those enemies of God for whom “is reserued the blackeness of darkeness for euer”. James Melville was equally alert to the irony of the prison’s name. His lengthy “Apologie for the Prisoners of the Lord Jesus”, of September 1605, called for the prisoners to be given the utmost support by their “fellow brethrein” in the ministry, lest the same brethren “heare that doome, ‘Take this unfaithfull servant, bind him hand and foot, and cast him in the dungeon of utter darknesse’. That will be a Blacknesse” (Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 321).15 Close analysis of The Mindes Melodie reveals that the paraphrases contain a surprising number of references to light, including some not to be found in the Geneva or any other Bible, but deliberately introduced by the paraphrasist, as in Psalm 15, l. 5. Melville’s impassioned “Apologie”,16 which ends by quoting the Book of Revelation and making overt reference to martyrdom, throws much light on The Mindes Melodie. In the latter, martyrdom and its heavenly rewards, in a highly apocalyptic context, form a persistent underlying theme, which grows stronger as the psalmsequence unfolds. The paraphrases contain a huge number of quotations from and allusions to both the Geneva Bible prose psalms and the Kirk’s metrical versions, and also to the former’s explanatory headings and marginal notes, as well as to the short prayers printed after each psalm in Henrie Charteris’ metrical psalter of 1596. The phrase “verie comfortable to everie one that is rightlie acquainted therewith” in the carefully-worded title of The Mindes Melodie does not really refer not to the tune at all, but to the psalm-paraphrases themselves. These were designed to comfort and strengthen a very specific group of people in Scotland in 1605—people capable of grasping the import of all the quotations and allusions, because they knew the Book of Psalms off by heart, both in the Geneva Bible’s prose and the Kirk’s metrical versions; people who could read between the lines of these ostensibly innocuous Scriptural poems, and who, in 1606, when the book was reissued, still needed comforting and strengthening—namely the imprisoned ministers in Blackness Castle, their families and their many supporters. The manner in which the psalms are paraphrased had been exemplified by Montgomerie’s version of Psalm 1, which, as befitted a “trailer” for a complete new metrical psalter for use in kirk, used plain language and incorporated sufficient of the established metrical psalter’s wording to ensure that it would not seem unfamiliar: Montgomerie himself must have sung the metrical psalms often enough before his conversion to Catholicism (Sweetnam 2009). Furthermore, his pun on “godles gaits” in line 34, meaning both godless ways and godless goats, is persuasive

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evidence that he knew the “prayer upon the first psalme”, either in the original French of Augustin Malorat, or in the Charteris psalter,17 which asks “that quhen thy Sone Iesus Christ shall appeir to deuyde the gaitis from the scheip, we may be accounted amangis the number of them that are redemit be his blude” (1596, 5). It is noteworthy that The Mindes Melodie reinforces this reference to the Last Judgement by having “godles gates” twice, in lines 4 and 34, whereas in the Ker Manuscript, the plural appears only in line 34. The opening lines, “Weill is the man, ‫܌‬ea blissed than” have also been changed to “Blest is the man, / Yea, happie than”, to bring them closer to the metrical psalter’s, “The man is blest”. There are other minor emendations, and the last line is rewritten. Poetically, these changes are not improvements; Montgomerie’s original opening is considerably more striking, highlighting “blissed” as it does, while the seat18 of his line 8 has had to multiply in order to rhyme with the now plural “gates”. Montgomerie’s smooth “trie / Quhilk plantit by the running river grouis” has become “tree / Fast planted”, in order to echo the metrical psalter. At the close, the “godles gaits” that God so hates shall not merely “doutles perish and decay alway”, but—to make things absolutely clear in a positively homiletic manner—“Shall quite die, perish, and doubtelesse decay”. The Geneva Bible/metrical psalter intertextuality practised by Montgomerie is found in Melville’s Psalm 23 (and less prominently, Psalm 121), and in every single one of the Mindes Melodie psalm versions. These virtuosic musical paraphrases were meant to ring all sorts of familiar and comforting bells with those who were “rightlie acquainted” with this material. The existing Psalms 1, 23 and 121 fit perfectly into the scheme—“Though I suld stray, even day by day, in deadly way” has been amended to “stay”, like the captive ministers in prison facing possible execution. These “comfortable” paraphrases offer not only encouragement, but also numerous denunciations of self-seeking lack of solidarity: many of Scotland’s clergy did not support the prisoners. There is interlinear criticism of the behaviour of King James and his Scottish privy councillors, particularly in Psalm 101; Psalm 8 even introduces an unwarranted reference to those who “slay the innocent” in line 18, in a context of babes and sucklings—thus potentially equating King James with King Herod. The ministers in Blackness thought, as did their supporters, that they were likely to be executed, accused of treason as they were. On 18 November 1605, they wrote:

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we…darre not, against the light of our consciences, willinglie sinne, and so fall in the hands of the living God. …if our imprisonment, if our banishment, yea, if our lives may redeeme the peace and unitie of God’s kirk, may appease the wrathe of our gracious soveraine, we did not refuse, nather doe we refuse. (Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 372)

The Greek word ȝȐȡIJȣȡȠȢ literally means a witness, and martyrdom is the ultimate way in which a Christian can bear witness to his or her faith, in obedience to the Lord’s final command before his Ascension (Luke 24.48, Acts 1.8). Martyrdom is not a dread prospect for Christians: the Book of Revelation (7.4 and 14.11) shows the exalted status of the martyrs, already present in heaven before the Last Judgement. In his “Apologie” for the prisoners, James Melville had written in September 1605 that: obedience and faith in the Sonne of God is wisdom and blessednesse. To… stand for the honour of Christ the King, and the libertie of his kingdom, against all suche as seeke to beare doun and deface the same, or usurpe or encroache therupon; yea, to suffer with him, that they may raigne with him, is greater wisdome than to conqueis all the kingdoms of the earth. (Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 321–2)

Melville then ended by quoting Revelation 2.9–10: …the devill will cast some of you into prisoun, that yee may be tryed; and yee sall have tribulation ten dayes. Be thou faithfull unto the death, and I will give thee the crowne of life. Come, come, Lord Jesus. Amen. (Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 322)19

For true believers, martyrdom is a joyful prospect, and to sing The Mindes Melodie to the joyous, highly rhythmic Solsequium tune is to envision the prisoners of Blackness dancing their way towards death and eternal life: “there shalbe no night there…for the Lord God giueth them light, and they shall reign foreuermore” (Rev. 22.5). Written throughout in the same verse-form, The Mindes Melodie can be read satisfyingly as one single long poem that passes through many moods. The final psalm, 128, is the wedding psalm, which in this context celebrates “the marriage of the Lambe” to His bride “arraied with pure fyne linen and shining” (Rev. 19.7–8) like the white-robed martyrs of Revelation 6.10–11 and 7.4, 9–17. And then the sequence culminates radiantly—quite literally—in the Song of Simeon, with its vision of the face of God, the “light to be reveiled to the Gentiles” (Luke 2.22). The paraphrase of the Scriptural phrase “the glory of thy people Israell” is pointed and apocalyptic:

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JAMIE REID BAXTER In speciall, Thine Israell To rid from thral, and saue them by his might; That he their glore, For euer more On Sion hill may shine in beautie bright.

([ll. 31–36])

“Israell” is the Chosen People, that is, the True Church of the Elect, and the paraphrasist’s addition of “on Sion hill” evokes the white-robed martyrs and elect standing on Sion with the Christ the Lamb, in a conflation of Revelation 7.4, 9–17 and 14.1. It is also a promise that the Kirk, the city set on a hill which cannot be hidden, will one day be set at liberty. The closing doxology, “Gloria Patri”, hammers home the apocalyptic note with its opening words, “O King of Kings”—the title of Christ in Revelation 17.14, where the kings who have given their power and authority to the Beast “shall fight with the Lambe, and the Lambe shall ouercome them: for he is Lord of Lords, and King of Kings, and they that are on his side, called, and chosen, and faithfull”. The application to 1605 needs no drawing out. The epithet is repeated in Revelation 19.16. The doxology’s acclamation of the Godhead as “Fountaine profound” ([l. 13]) has many Biblical associations, for example Psalm 36.9, “For with thee is the well of life, and in thy light shall we see light”, but here, the reference is above all to Revelation 22.1 and the “pure river of water of life, cleare as chrystal, proceeding out of the throne of God, and of the Lambe”. In such a context, even the paraphrase’s epithet, “That Prince of glore” ([l. 16]), refers to Revelation 1.5, “Jesus Christ…that Prince of the Kings of the earth”, with all that Christ’s overlordship of earthly kings meant to the presbyterians; and likewise, the rhyming, “Did vs restore” ([l. 17]), could here be understood as referring specifically to the means of restoration spoken of in the continuation of Revelation 1.5, “vnto him that loued vs, and washed vs from our sinnes in his blood, And made vs Kings and Priests vnto God euen his Father, to him, I say, be glory, and dominion for euermore, Amen”. On 1 April 1606, the ministers in Blackness Castle wrote a substantial letter to “their brethrein at home”, which ends: Neither are we feared that our innocencie sall want witnesses. For although there were none among men, yitt sall our verie bloode speeke with Abel’s; and the dust of the earth that receaveth it sall cry to the Lord…incace our lives be spoiled for this actioun, under the pretence of the shadow of justice, innocent blood doeth ly upon it. (Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 401, 419)

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They were not executed, but banished in November 1606. James Melville himself, the most likely candidate for authorship of The Mindes Melodie,20 fell foul of King James’s new ecclesiastical authoritarianism when he and Andrew Melville were summoned to London in August 1606 (Melville 1842, 707–11). Andrew’s satirical epigrams attacking the “popery” of the royal chapel landed him in the Tower; he would later be exiled to France. James was never allowed to return to Scotland, and would die in exile in Berwick. There, he wrote a pair of autobiographical sonnets about himself and his uncle (NLS, Adv. MS 19.2.7, fol. 4). “Melvins Martyrdome” states: Then should not be alon a martyre maid Who for his Christ indur’s to death the pain, But also he whom Christ’s spirit so dois laid That for his sake he lightlies ease and gane.

lead scorns

Even more explicit is the short verse which follows in the manuscript: Opprest For Christ Melvins ar Martyrs then indeid Exyll and prisone chusing To warldly wealth preferring neid And Bishopricks refusing So long So strong.

And the ensuing sonnet “[Melvins] Preferment” ends: [In w]arlds conceat we liue abject in wa woe as banished men far from our kirk and sol ground, land [b]ut blessèd be our Christ it is not sa, [Sen] with contentment we are neir the pol. pole, heaven In honour hich, exalted far abone Baith Bischop’s chair and Princes regall throne.21

Like many other poems by James Melville, these lines allude to the presbyterian conviction that earthly princes are merely ordinary members of the Kirk of the King of Kings. If James VI and I ever read The Mindes Melodie, he will have understood its import. He may even have admired its deployment of Montgomerie’s Psalm 1 and the way the anonymous author had brazenly employed the services of Charteris, “Printer to the Kings most Excellent

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Maiestie”—complete with an engraving of the royal lion rampant surmounted by the closed crown and the words “cum priuilegio regali” on the title-page. The government could do nothing about the publication; a book of Scriptural paraphrases could hardly be banned. But like the arguments of the presbyterian party, it could be ignored. After 1606, while Montgomerie’s “Solsequium” continued to lift and droop its tuneful head for at least another hundred years, The Mindes Melodie fell silent, shrouded in darkness.

Notes 1

All the melodies, though by no means all the texts that could be sung to them, are recorded on CD GAU 249. On CDK, tracks 19 and 21 are ‘Lyk as the dum Solsequium” and “What mightie motion” respectively. 2 See Ovid, Metamorphoses, IV, 190–270, and particularly 256–70. 3 All quotations are from Parkinson’s edition, Montgomerie 2000. 4 Ronsard 1993–94, II: 733. First published in 1569; in the 1584 edition of Les Poèmes, it forms part of the Premier livre, which is dedicated to Ronsard’s beloved Marie Stuart, Queen of Scots and opens with a whole series of poems addressed to her, repeatedly describing her as the sun. 5 Parkinson notes parallels in poems by Stewart of Baldynneis and James VI (Montgomerie 2000, II: 44) 6 I quote from the manuscript version: NLS Adv. MSS 35.4.14, fols 108v–113r, at 108v. The revised version printed in 1631 does not eliminate these allusions; see further, Michael Spiller’s essay in this volume. 7 For my edition and translation of both poems, see: http://www.philological.bham.ac.uk/heliotrope/ 8 Montgomerie also paraphrased Psalm 2, to the quite different tune of his own love-lyric, “In throu the windois of myne ees” (2000, I: 2–3, 14–15); here, there is a parallel between the folly of the poet who has challenged the god Cupid, and that of the “Heathin”, “peple” and “Kings on earth” who oppose “the Lord and Chryst”. 9 It remained in manuscript, but its existence can have been no secret; Baïf worked on it for twenty years. He also made an unpublished metrical version in Latin in the mid-1580s; see Augé-Chiquet 1909, 376–83, 480–83, 565–68. 10 Bannatyne’s text reads more like Montgomerie’s work than does the text printed in 1597; Montgomerie could easily have seen Melville’s printed paraphrase and retouched it. 11 But where Whittingham has, “And though I were even at deaths door” (l. 13), Melville returns to the Hebrew for his equivalent wording, “stray…in deadly way”. 12 STC (2nd ed.) 18051 and 18051.3. In the Glasgow University copy of the 1606 edition the melody is copied out by hand, underlaid with the first verse of Psalm 1. For a text with line numbers, see Cranstoun’s edition, Montgomerie 1887, 243–69. 13 Neither Jack nor Shire was aware of the existence of James Melville’s Psalms 23 and 121, or of Lady Culross’s “Thankisgiuing”.

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For the whole process, see MacDonald 1998, 101–23. Melville 1842, 593–612 contains a far from identical text; in a footnote on p. 593, Pitcairn says he would rather have had “a more perfect transcript”. 16 See also his letter to the Scottish Privy Council; Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 335– 38. 17 Malorat’s “collects” featured in French metrical psalters from 1561 to 1674; Maunsell (1595, 86) records a lost English translation of 1571. The Scots version appeared only in the 1596 Charteris print. 18 Singular in the Geneva Bible, metrical psalter, Vulgate and Tremellius-Junius versions. 19 Melville’s last five words are in fact the penultimate verse of the Bible, Rev. 22.20. 20 He unquestionably had the necessary burning motivation, ecclesio-theological convictions, Biblical scholarship, musicality and metrical mastery required. His characteristic Fife-Angus “grace / peace” rhymes are found throughout. 21 Folio 4 has suffered slight loss of text. Melville had rejected the offer of a bishopric on 8 October 1607; see Calderwood 1842–49, VI: 684–85. 15

FOUND IN THE FOREST: THE MISSING LEAVES OF ALEXANDER CRAIG’S THE PILGRIME AND HEREMITE MICHAEL R. G. SPILLER

The student of the poetry of the court of James VI and I who is curious about the quite considerable output of Alexander Craig of Rosecraig (1567?–1627?) will certainly refer to the Poetical Works edited by David Laing for the Hunterian Club in 1873: if he or she perseveres through much poor and pedantic verse—with occasional glimpses of real merit— there will appear the text of a long, posthumously-published poem, The Pilgrime and Heremite: In Forme of a Dialogue. The poem was first published in Aberdeen in 1631, in quarto and mainly in black letter, by the University printer, Edward Raban. Here is a bibliographical curiosity: the poem runs to its original thirty-six pages in Laing’s scrupulously accurate reprint (black letter being replaced by roman type), but of these eight are entirely blank, save for the running title and page numbers. No other editor that I know of has done this, but Laing (Craig 1873, 21) explained his difficulty: A posthumous poem, “The Pilgrime and Heremite” in form of a dialogue, was printed at Aberdeen in 1631. In the dedication to William Forbes of Tolquhon, the editor, Robert Skene, says: “Having collected the dispersed, and long neglected Papers, of this subsequent Poësie, the Posthumes of a worthie Penne, for preserving them from perishing, for the Perfections of the Departed, maker [or poet] of immortall memorie…” But for all this pious care, the poem ran no small risk of utter oblivion, as only one copy of it has been discovered, and that one deficient of four leaves.1

The unique and unfortunately defective copy which Laing conscientiously reprinted is now in the Huntington Library, via the Britwell Sale of 1923,

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still lacking quire B, and remains the only known copy. The poem has about 1150 lines in mixed verse forms, but the staple stanza form is the dizain, and it is possible to estimate that about 420 lines are missing. While researching the life of Alexander Craig for his entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, I was fortunate enough to come across an entry in the sheaf catalogue of the Advocates MSS in the National Library of Scotland, “Alexander Craig, the Pilgrime and Hermite. Copy c.1712 by 1631”.2 To anticipate a little the account given below of this, the NLS does indeed hold a manuscript of the complete poem, but despite its being dated 1631, the year of the poem’s printing in Aberdeen, it is not the manuscript from which Raban printed, but a copy of a slightly but significantly different version of the poem. It is not difficult to slot into Laing’s blank pages (one hopes he would approve) the “missing stanzas” from the manuscript version, and the result makes continuous sense; but any future edition would have to respect the differences and reproduce both texts. Before I discuss the manuscript with its tantalizing date, a brief account of Craig’s life and publications is in order. (Sources of information are listed in Spiller 2004.) He was born about 1567 in Banff, son of one of the burgesses of the town, took a degree at St Andrews in 1586, whence he was known as Master Alexander Craig. It was probably a law degree, because he subsequently appears as a notary in Banff, in one reference dated 1598. He then took up employment with one of the southern Scottish families, the Humes or Homes, and went south to London about 1603 in the wake of James VI and I in the household of Sir George Hume, later Earl of Dunbar, who became James’s Lord Treasurer. Almost immediately, in 1604, he published in London a volume of poems, The Poeticall Essays of Alexander Craige, Scotobritane, mostly sonnets, with a complimentary sonnet by Sir Robert Ayton, whom he probably knew at St Andrews. He was able in this and his subsequent volume to address poems to the King and Queen, whom no doubt he saw regularly while working at Whitehall as a “servitor” of Sir George Home, a Privy Counsellor and reckoned very close to the King. His second volume of miscellaneous poems, The Amorose Songes, Sonets and Elegies of M. Alexander Craige, Scoto-Britane, followed in 1606, published in London like the first, with poems addressed to ten different aristocrats. Then Craig seems to have decided to retire: in 1607 he obtained a pension with official recognition of the “gude, trew and faithfull service done to his highness” (Craig 1873, 4–6) as a legal secretary to the Lord Treasurer, and in 1609, at the age of over forty, he went back to Banff, purchased his house at Rosecraig near the Castle there, and married Isobel Chisholm, by

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whom he had one son who survived him. He published a third volume of verse, The Poeticall Recreations of Mr Alexander Craig of Rosecraig, in Edinburgh in 1609, printed by Thomas Finlason, the royal printer, and then a fourth volume, mainly of epigrams, followed in 1623, this one published in Aberdeen by Edward Raban, the Town and University printer, rather oddly using the title of his 1609 volume for different poems. Craig died probably in 1627, and his son James was served his heir in that year. Isobel Craig remarried almost immediately to Dr Alexander Douglas (probably a relation of her son’s wife Mary Douglas), to whom she bore two daughters in 1628 and 1630. She died sometime after 1653, all of which suggests that she was very much younger than her first husband. The life records are very scanty, and we don’t know why Craig gave up his legal and court career, and also his possible success as a court poet, to bury himself in Banff, but he did, and stayed there for the rest of his life. But in 1623 when he published what was really a very flimsy volume of epigrams dedicated to George Lord Gordon, Earl of Enyie, one of the aristocrats of the Gordon family, he did say that he had something more substantial to offer;3 and so when we find his executors and friends publishing in 1631 his largest poem, The Pilgrime and Heremite, one might fairly guess that Craig was working on this after 1623 (the papers were “dispersed and long neglected” according to Robert Skene, who dedicated the volume), and if his heir and assigns knew this, that might be a motive for posthumous publication, duly undertaken by Skene, who dedicated the work not to the Gordons, but to William Forbes of Tolquhon.4 To turn now to what is as far as we know the only complete version of the poem, in the National Library of Scotland’s MS Adv. 35.4.14 referred to above: it forms part of a huge commonplace book associated with the family of Thoirs of Muiresk, a settlement twelve miles south of Craig’s home town of Banff. This book consists of a number of “quares” (so described in the Indexes included in the book) which are sheaves of paper of different sizes on which various scribes have copied details of books, pamphlets, poems, songs, accounts and other family items over a period of time that seems to run from 1685 to about 1720, amounting in all to about 1250 densely written pages. The Pilgrime and Her(e)mite5 is the fifth item in its “quare”, and because the scribe was economical with paper, starting new items on blank half pages or on the verso of a completed item, we can be sure of the order of copying, and also verify that an item was indeed copied, not pasted in. Publication dates of the printed items detailed in the commonplace book range from 1613 to 1724, but at four leaves’ distance preceding our poem is a copy of “A godlie Ballad to the tune of

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Lillibulero: Printed at London 1688”, which gives a terminus ante for the copying of The Pilgrime and Hermite. The whole commonplace book deserves further study for the insights it gives into the intellectual interests of a North-East Scots family 1680–1720; but the range of material is so wide as to furnish no clue to the family’s motive for copying the manuscript of Alexander Craig. The scribe used a quite crabbed secretary hand, with fine italic for proper names, and copied the very informative superscription of the manuscript as he started: and famous poet

The pilgrime and Hermite Composed be the learned K Ja 6 poet

Mr Alexander Craige of Rosecraig Banffa Britanniae first copied out of his Manuscript the penult day of febry 1631 by Mr J Kennedy agent 1631

Since we have only the handwriting of the Muiresk copyist, it is impossible to tell whether the inserted phrases “and famous poet” and “K Ja 6 poet” were in Kennedy’s manuscript or are later inserts: the first phrase “and famous poet” seems like an insert for publication purposes; the second looks like a reminder to the putative reader in 1631 or 1689 of who Craig was. The dating of the copying is unusually precise, as is its speed: the poem is a long one, and to copy it in a single day suggests great urgency. The phrase “first copied” reads like an attempt to establish primacy for this version of the poem, which we know is not the one that was being printed in Aberdeen in that same year, and given that the manuscripts of the poem were in a mess, as Skene alleges, it is possible that the family were trying to clarify what was there by getting Craig’s versions sorted out into clear copies—to the differences between which I now turn. Where what I shall now call the Kennedy MS (as copied by the Muiresk scribe) can be directly compared with what I shall now call the printed version, it is clear that the narrative content is the same in the two versions, and that the differences lie in omissions and additions affecting the presentation more than the substance (one difference excepted), and in continuous small verbal and phrasing differences line by line that do not materially alter the content.6 In both versions the poem is about 1150 lines long, written mainly in a ten line stanza rhyming ababccdddc, but when characters speak, other stanzas and even continuous verse are used. The principal stanza form derives from the very commonly used sixain, ababcc, with a wheel of four

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lines, dddc, tacked on, which gives it an archaic feel. When the poem is noticed, which it hasn’t often been, it is usually referred to as a dream vision; but though it starts with the narrator falling asleep and dreaming himself to be the Pilgrime, and ends with his waking up, there are no other marks of the dream vision genre: no supernatural presences, no dream landscapes, no surreal events or persons. What this really is is an extended version of the Complaint poem, fashionable at the end of the sixteenth century: the kind of poem in which a character or characters get themselves trapped in frustrating or immobilizing situations, which they then complain about at great length. Shakespeare’s A Lover’s Complaint; the Complaint of Rosamund, Patrick Hannay’s Sheretine and Mariana, Thomas Heywood’s Oenone and Paris, even Venus and Adonis, and I suppose in parodic vein Pyramus and Thisbe in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And these poems are the cousins of the hugely and internationally popular pastoral tragic-comedies of the European Renaissance, which include Tasso’s Aminta, Sidney’s Arcadia, Thomas Lodge’s Rosalind and Shakespeare’s As You Like It. The Italians have a name for this kind of courtly tragicomedy: they are called favole boscherecchie, “Forest Tales”, because although they have the trappings of classical pastoral they do make heavy use of wild landscapes and forests, as settings that while permitting the entry of wolves, bears, brigands, pirates and wandering knights are also analogues of the characters’ emotional confusions and distresses. Craig’s poem takes its inspiration from one of these tales, the story of Dom Diego and Gineura (elsewhere “Don Diego” and “Ginevra”) in William Painter’s Palace of Pleasure, in the Second Tome of 1575.7 Craig refers to the tale in the thirteenth stanza of his poem, where the Pilgrim is consoling the Hermit: Companie and counsell may doe thee some good, For Don-Diego had died in Desart, Wert not Rodorico did him there convert. Thus it may fall so, That I thy Rodorico, May finde ease to thy woe And heale thy hurt heart. (Craig 1873, PH 8; H [A2v])

This refers to the last part of Painter’s tale, in which the young nobleman Dom Diego has fled into the wilderness in a suicidal mood after being rejected by his love Gineura as a result of treachery and misunderstandings.

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To him comes his former friend the young knight Rodorico, who persuades him to live, and then by a series of intricate machinations brings Gineura back to him in the forest (Painter 1890, 263–85). Craig simplifies this, given the relative shortness of his poem compared with Painter’s novella. His Hermit is Don Diego exactly, but his Pilgrim is a chance passer-by, and the involvement of the Lady is a very simple one. The Lady herself, Polyphila, has none of the hysterical instability of the misogynistically-constructed Gineura in Painter’s text. The attitudinizing and much of the rhetoric imitates Painter, and the scenery is very much the same, the idealized pastoral wilderness of countless fictions—though Craig may be unique in literature in exhibiting a fondness for tornados: …And whyles would the whyrlewynde qch through the woods wend with sweit prettie plainte pearce and please my dull eare… (Kennedy MS, fol. 108v)

Craig’s Pilgrim, then, who narrates throughout and eavesdrops on others’ conversations and reads their letters so that he can tell us what they said and thought, walks through a wilderness and finds a Hermit in a cave, subsisting on cold water and straw and roots and berries (though it does emerge later on that in the cave the Hermit has paper, pen and ink and also a lute—a difficult thing to keep in tune in a wet cave, one would think. The Hermit is in the wild wood because he has been crossed in love and his Lady has rejected him. The Pilgrim settles down and tries to argue him out of it, revealing as he does so that he, the Pilgrim, has been betrayed in love by a false maid, and is a fellow sufferer, and thus qualified to help the Hermit. Eventually he persuades the Hermit to write a letter to his Lady which he, the Pilgrim, will carry to her. He does this (she is not very far away), and reads the letter over her shoulder, which is duly set out. (The Kennedy MS suggests that it was this letter and the business of writing it that occupied almost the whole of the gathering now missing from the printed version.) The Hermit’s Lady then has a debate with herself, “shall I or shan’t I?”, which the Pilgrim overhears, and she decides, most oddly, that she will send a refusal back by letter, and then immediately follow herself on horseback in case the refusal kills him, because she really loves him after all. The Pilgrim, who now knows all this because he has eavesdropped on her self-communing, takes the letter back to the Hermit, who reads it and prepares to drop down dead after composing his last will and testament (which again we read). He then apparently dies in the Pilgrim’s arms, and the Pilgrim, who could of course have told him at any time that the Lady was on her way to forgive him, is distraught. Then the

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Lady arrives, finds the Hermit dead, and has a long Complaint of her own, at the end of which we have a splendid coup de théatre, which (to illustrate their similarity) I give in both versions: And so when that rare Pearle departed out of paine, Vpon the colde dead Corpse of her leile Loue, Unto my else hurt Heart did heape Harmes againe, And layde new weight on my brast Breast aboue. To see him and her gaspe, still nowrisht my care. I wist not whom to helpe, him, or her there. Whilst I stoode in this doubt, The Heremite lookt out, And gave a faint shout, Twixt hope, and despare. (Craig 1873, PH 33: H D3r) And so quhilst yt rarest pearle departing out her paine Upon ye dead cold corps of her own lealest love Unto my else hearmed heart it heaped harme againe & layd new weight of woe my bruised breast above to sie him and hear her increast still my care I wist not weall qhom to help, him her heir or their Yett quhilst I dreamd in this doubt The poor hermit lookt about & gave a faint shrill shoute twixt hope and despair. (Kennedy MS, fol. 113r)

They kiss and make up, and ride off into the wildwood together, and the Dreamer wakes up. The two stanzas above show how close the two versions, printed and Kennedy’s, are line by line; other features, which would have to be verified by any future editor, are the greater density of alliteration in the Kennedy MS, as in “I wist not weall whom to help, him her heir or their”, and a tendency to give better readings where the printed version is awkward or unclear. With the proviso that errors might occur in the printed text because of the process of sorting and copying Craig’s “dispersed and long neglected” papers, one notices that in three of the differences the Kennedy version is superior (setting aside the merit of intensifying the alliteration): “departed out of paine” makes little sense here, as the Lady has neither left her senses nor left physically; “departing out her paine” means, in another available sense of the verb, “sharing” or “exhibiting” her suffering. “Brast” is less sensible than “bruised”, as the reference is to execution by pressing to death by placing increasingly heavy stones on boards laid on the chest of the condemned: when the breastbone burst (“brast”) the victim died, but before that it was “bruised”.

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And when the Hermit revives, “lookt out” makes no sense (he is lying on the ground), whereas “lookt about” is exactly right. To preserve the grammar of the first sentence, “it heaped” is clearly right, but in that case “departing” should be, as it is in the printed version, “departed”. (Having spent hours with a lens on scribal contractions in the Muiresk papers, I am convinced that verb endings are very vulnerable to mistranscription.) Stanza by stanza and even line by line, the Kennedy MS is very close to the printed version, and thus, one would assume, to the manuscript copy from which it was printed in Aberdeen. However, when we move to the major differences in presentation, it is possible to understand why the Kennedy MS was not used—and may not even have been considered for printing—by the editor of the 1631 volume, Robert Skene. Again, the ending of the narrative itself is much the same in both versions: And so with Adew dry, Through the wood could they hye, As wee twind, they and I, I woke of my Dreame. (Craig 1873, PH 34: H D3v)

And whillest we adieu cry through the wild woods hye and as we tuind by & by I waked of my dreame. (Kennedy MS, fol. 113r)

The Muiresk scribe adds, no doubt heartfelt, “Finis coronat opus”, but the printed text has much more to offer. Immediately below the last stanza come the words: Heere endeth the fatalitie of the loyall Lover Soliphernus, and of his sweete Ladie Polyphila.

We shall return to “Soliphernus” later; but then come forty-two lines of verse, written apparently by Craig himself in six septains, entitled The Poeme, which constitute what an earlier age would have called a moralitas: the whole strange episode, according to this, is a religious allegory of the alienation of the human soul from God, and God’s final forgiveness. The Hermit is mankind alienated by sin; For as the Heremite leaues his dearest Dame, And takes delight in colde Desart to dwell: Syne of his Lot, and of himselfe, thinkes shame, And still despaires, and still doeth loathe him sell: So wretched man, exchanging Haven with Hell, Forgetting GOD, in Darknesse doeth remaine, And still despaires, to get Reliefe againe. (Craig 1873, PH 34: H [D3v])

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The Pilgrime is mankind repenting and conveying a message to God; and the Lady is the mercy of God leading man from death to the Holy Land: She cures his Cares, and all his sicke Disease: Yea, heales his hurt, and heartlie by the hand, She home-ward leades him, to her natiue Land. So sinfull man, first by the helpe of Faith, Despiseth Sinne, repents, and sore doeth pray, That GOD in Mercie would avert His wrath, And make his bred displeasure to decay. And when the sicke converted would away, From worldlie ease with haste hee maketh speede: Then comes the LORD, to helpe his owne at neede. (Craig 1873, PH 35: H [D4r])

A curious point arising from this rather strained allegorizing, with its confusions of divine gender, is that it makes sense of the otherwise crazy behaviour of the Lady (Poliphila) when, having declared that she does love the Hermit after all, she sends a message telling him that she doesn’t forgive him, and then rides after it in case it kills him, to tell him that she does: Goe, louelesse Lines, vnto my Louer true, Stay yet, lest yee procure his farder paine. God graunt nothing but Good hereof ensue. Yet stay, for why? Yee will bee quite mistane. Goe yet: but yet yee shall not goe alane: My selfe will followe, with convenient haste, God graunt my Uoyage bee not waird in waste. (Craig 1873, PH 24: H C2r)

The Kennedy MS (fol. 111v) has the much better line: My self shall follow with a lovewingd hast.

In both versions, though the moralitas of the printed version does not suggest it, we could allegorize the idea of the two covenants: the covenant of grace, vouchsafed in the New Testament by Christ in person, which saves man from death, but which is preceded in time by the written covenant of the Law, by which man is condemned to die. The Law precedes, as it were, with its written message of punishment for sin, and the living presence then follows, on a palfrey (which should symbolically have been a donkey) to resurrect and save.

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Now, whatever the merits of this piece of exegesis, in the Kennedy MS, we find that there is no trace of the moralitas. The poem ends when the Dreamer wakes, and that’s it. But something else is there, and that is a set of names for the characters, inserted carefully throughout the poem whenever there is a change of speaker. (I have to assume at this point that the placing of these names in the text of the Muiresk copy of the Kennedy copy was faithful to Craig’s original.) Here it is relevant to recall that on the title page of the printed version, the poem is described as being “in forme of a Dialogue”. But it isn’t: it is a continuous narration with inserted written or spoken complaints. However, if by Dialogue one might mean a text segmented by the insertion of names of speakers, like Spenser’s Shepheardes Calender, then that indeed is what the Kennedy MS shows. The characters in the poem, Pilgrim, Hermit and Lady, never use names in either version, addressing one another as Pilgrim, Hermit or Lady, but in the Kennedy MS, inserted over or beside a stanza whenever one of them speaks, is a name, copied in large italic letters as if for printing. The Pilgrim is called Eubulus, meaning the Good Counsellor; the Hermit is called Erophilus, the Man in love with Love, and the Lady is called Poliphila, the Lady who loves many. In the printed text, and hence presumably in the printer’s copy, the names of Eubulus and Erophilus have been removed; and if Craig was changing the poem from a secular romantic complaint poem to a Christian allegory, one can see why these names went. The moralitas, if I can conveniently call it that, suggests that both the Pilgrim and the Hermit are manifestations of sinful man, the Hermit man in a state of despair, resigned to death, and the Pilgrim man in a state of repentance, sending out for help. The names Eubulus and Erophilus just make no sense in this scenario. The name Poliphila, however, still makes sense, since the Spirit of God loves many or all mankind, and it reappears in the printed text three times, once in the heading given to Poliphila’s self-communing, once in a heading supplied for her final complaint: “Polyphila her complaint and Testament”, and then very oddly right at the end of the last stanza of the Dreamer’s narrative, where the printed text has something that doesn’t appear in the Kennedy MS, the words “Heere endeth the fatalitie of the loyall lover Soliphernus, and of his sweete Ladie Polyphila”. The name “Soliphernus” for the Hermit has appeared nowhere before: it is unique to the printed text, and while it is exactly the sort of recondite classical name that Craig loved to use, it does not readily mean anything in either Latin or Greek. The Hermit also calls himself Strophonius, and the section in which he thus refers to himself ends with the words: “Here endeth the Testament of Stophonius [sic.]”. This untidiness over not very

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comprehensible names strongly suggests that if the manuscript that went to Raban as his copy was prepared by Craig at some stage in his life it had not been finished for publication by him, though the first verse of the moralitas confirms that he was preparing it for press: As perfect Poets ere-tymes haue tane paine, And search’d the Secrets of each high Engyne, By base and lowlie subjects to exclaime, High Mysteries, both morall and divine: Even so into this worthlesse Worke of mine, Which at Friends bidding boldlie I set foorth; Some things may seem obscure, though little worth. (Craig 1873, PH 34: H [D3v])

And there are other small differences between the versions to suggest that Craig was editing a secular text for a religious purpose: the substitution of “convenient” for “lovewing(e)d” has already been noted; in the third verse of Poliphila’s dispute with herself before she writes the answer to the Hermit there is in the Kennedy MS (fol. 111v) an appeal to Cupid: Cum paphian prince I pray and I protest Assist me now and make no more delay

which neatly changes in the printed version into an allegorically much more acceptable appeal to Apollo: Come, Pithiane Prince: I praye, and I protest (Craig 1873, PH 23: H C2r)

The working assumption that the manuscript copied as the Kennedy MS was in Craig’s possession as an earlier version of the poem is confirmed by another alteration in the tenth stanza of the poem: in the Kennedy MS (fol. 109r) the Hermit vows that: Thus darne in my dark den I determ to remaine as bound beadman unto her yt workes all my woe till death with darff dart put point to my payne else Clotho wt knife cutt ye tugh thredd in tuoe.

The printed text not only reduces the alliterations and archaisms, but corrects the mistake: And thus in my darke Den I mynde to remayne, As bound Bead-man to Her that workes all my woe;

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Now Craig was a classically well informed, even pedantic, writer (in his 1604 and 1606 volumes, the poems addressed to his social superiors are packed with recondite classical comparisons), and while one can imagine him mixing up the Fates in haste,8 there seems no plausible set of circumstances in which he would first have written (correctly) “Atropos”, and then changed that to “Clotho”. The manuscript with “Clotho”, and the greater alliteration and use of dialect or archaic forms, must be the earlier written. The poem in both versions is written, as has been said, mainly in dizains, but there are sections or items in other metres inserted when one of the characters muses or declaims; one such that stands out stylistically and metrically is the forty-eight line poem entitled “the Heremite his Complaint” (printed version) and “Europhilus his Complaint” in the Kennedy MS (folio 112r), from which I now give the first twenty lines: So many thinges of yor hawe perfect poets penned To sheaw yr sade & pearcing pains & cause yr cares be kend Yt nought is left (alas) to poor unhappie me In earth in air in vaults above nor in the glassie Sea No metaphoricke phraze nor quick invention brave Nor allegorick sweit conceit nor theame sublime or grave Since all thinges else are s[ai]d yt I cane writt or say I have no method left to me how my warks I may bewray And nothing doth inrage my matchlesse grieffe so much As yt my skill should be so small & sorrow should be such Ytt all these poets brawe qw wer or after this shall be (could I but utter as I feill) should all give place to mee And thou qus mirth was lest qus confort was dismayd /Dyer Qus hope in vaine qus faith in scorne qus trust wes all betrayd Though thow declaired thy dole in brave and daintie dye Thou wes unhappie then I grant but now unhappier I Thy poems shall present upon the pleasant page Mor sorrows yn thou ever felt unto the comeing age With costly Murex rare Sydonian wares divine Thou lettes thy lyns qc mark thy moans Miraculouslie to shyne…

What immediately strikes one on moving into this part of the poem is that although this is still highly alliterative, as befits poulter’s measure, it is almost entirely devoid of Scotticisms, both of spelling and of lexis, despite being part of what we can now identify as the earlier manuscript version. It

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also appears to be addressed to a fellow poet by the Hermit as poet, and nowhere else in the entire work, in either printed or Kennedy versions, is there another reference to this. Certainly there is no person present in the wild woods to whom this could be spoken. The poet is easily identified by the two lines quoted by Craig from one of his poems: Sir Edward Dyer’s poem “A Fancy” (Sargent 1935, 184). Though not printed in his lifetime the poem was very well known and imitated by others (Verweij 2013). It begins: Hee that his mirth hath loste, whose comfort is dismaide, Whose hope is vaine, whose faith is scornd, whose trust is all betraid, If hee have held them deare, and cannot cease to moane, Come, let him take his place by mee: he shall not rue alone.

And the name “Dyer” appears in the Muiresk copy of Craig’s text just above the two lines quoted, in the same ink and hand as that of the principal copyist. The printed version repeats the error of “le[a]st” for “lost”, restores “was” for “in”, but has “trueth” instead of “trust”: And thou whose mirth was least, whose comfort was dismaid; Whose hope was vaine, whose faith was skorne, whose trueth was betraide: Thou didst declare thy duile, in braue and daintie dye: Thou wast unhappie then, I graunt, but now unhappie I. Thy Poemes did present vpon thy pleasant Page, Moe Sorrowes than thou ever felt into thy cunning age, With costlie Nurix rare, Sidoniane Wares divine, Thou litst thy Lines, which makes thy Moanes miraculouslie to shine. (Craig 1873, PH 25: H [C3r])

What appears to be praise of a forthcoming volume of poems (“shall present”) has been altered to acknowledgement of an existing one (“did present”), with a rather clumsy consequential alteration of the rest of the line; and the name “Dyer”, which appears in the Kennedy MS, is not, being as it is a marginal note, reproduced in the printed text.9 This homage to Sir Edward Dyer (1543?–1607), even imitating Dyer’s own pun on his name at the end of “A Fancy”, suggests that this entire section of The Pilgrime and Heremite was originally written as a poem of compliment to Dyer, whose lyrics were not published, other than in anthologies, in his own lifetime—whence the future tense, “thy poems shall present.” If, as I have suggested, Craig returned to these verses towards the end of his life, he would have recognized that this passage was out of date; to substitute “did present” was then correct, since though no collection of

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Dyer’s verse had been published, some of his poems (and some attributed to him) had been printed, notably in England’s Helicon (1600). But this discovery, particularly noted in the Kennedy MS, opens up the whole of the text of The Pilgrime and Heremite to investigation as a kind of anthology. Sidney’s Arcadia (1590) and Lodge’s Rosalind (1590) had not only popularized pastoral complaint poems, but had legitimized the insertion of verses in mixed metres into longer prose romances. Now Craig’s Pilgrime and Heremite has a continuous verse narrative in rather old-fashioned alliterative dizains, but into that are inserted: 1. Europhilus’ letter to Poliphila (108 lines in sixains, uniquely in the Kennedy MS) 2. Poliphila disputeth with herselfe (42 lines in septains) 3. The Heremite his Complaint (48 lines, poulter’s measure) 4. The Heremite his Testament (122 lines, poulter’s measure) 5. Poliphila her Complaint and Testament (63 lines in septains): —and uniquely in the printed version: 6. “The Poeme” (of 42 lines in septains) is added as a conclusion. It is beyond the scope of this paper to analyse these inserted verses, but the opening stanzas of “Europhilus’ letter to Poliphila”, a section found only in the Kennedy MS (fol. 110v), show the tenor of these set pieces: Most blissed paper if thou kisse ye hand Or of yt hand ane happie tuch receve To qch most blissd direction and command All blissednes submittes it selfe a slave. Most blessed paper if so blessed thou be To proach her hand for qch I dwyne and dye. Doe not (alas) disdaine or thiunk it scorne To beare with the this message full of woe Sent from a Wretch despairing and forlorne To qm the fates and fortune is a foe Nor be affrayd before her face to ppear Qllst thou my name and title base doest bear. No sooner shall ye hand (o hand divine) Tuch and unfold thy black oblined seall But by that tuch thy murneing ink shall shyne And thou to heigh preferment may appeall. Playnts boldlie playne Ink murne and shew my love & Ink shall shyne & playnts plaine Musick prove.

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The debt to Spenser (Amoretti) and to Sidney is clear, and in a more general sense this is the rhetoric of complaint of England’s Helicon and other anthologies of the 1590s. “The Heremite his Complaint”, already quoted from, and the much longer “Heremite his Testament” are both in poulter’s measure and are close imitations of the style and vocabulary of Edward Dyer. Inserting Craig into this literary matrix is difficult because his life records are scanty, and there is little information about his movements after graduation in 1586 until he appears in London as a hopeful civil servant in the household of Sir George Home, later Earl of Dunbar and James VI’s Lord Treasurer, alongside his friend from student days, Sir Robert Ayton. A single reference in the Register of the Privy Council of Scotland places him in Banff in 1598, working as a notary public (RPC 1592–99, V:707). But the fact that he published a volume of poems in London within a year of James’s accession to the English throne suggests that he had been making literary preparations before moving south. The opening lines of the Pilgrime and Heremite pay homage to Montgomerie’s “Like as the dum Solsequium”: …When Christall and clear Skys compased ye night As may morning reid rose from the night airt Ere Phaeton the fond fool wt whyt whip in hand From his slight sleep ascended to loup or the land… (Kennedy MS, fol. 108v).

Anyone taking an interest in poetry in the 1590s, particularly if he intended to write verse himself, could thus range from Montgomerie to Sidney and Spenser, and would certainly be aware of the high reputation of Sir Edward Dyer. Yet when Craig did publish his Poeticall Essayes in 1604, he did not refer to Dyer, nor did he include anything from The Pilgrime and Heremite: the only poem that shows the influence of Dyer is a poem plainly written in late 1603, entitled “Scotland’s Teares”, in which in Dyer’s style and in poulter’s measure Scotland laments the loss of her miraculously gifted king to England. There is no trace of the alliterative dizains of The Pilgrime and Heremite, there is very little Scots lexis, and there is a huge increase in classical allusions, both mythological and historical. I have suggested elsewhere (Spiller 1998) that when the Scottish court moved south, Scottish poets altered their styles to suit the new times and the new region. Craig’s 1604 volume shows this new conformity clearly; and if we assume, with no documentary evidence available at the moment, that he had written a substantial amount of The Pilgrime and Heremite in

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Scotland before coming south, then one can see why he might have shelved it after. But supposing him to have written “Europhilus his Complaint” with its tribute to Dyer either as part of the longer poem or separately, why did he not print it in the 1604 volume? He would have met Dyer in London: Sir Edward was involved in the Garter ceremonies of July 1603 at Windsor, and attended the coronation at Westminster three weeks later, though he was by then elderly (over 60), and was to retire to his house in London thereafter, where he died in 1607 (Sargent 1935, 150). The brutal answer may be that Craig realized that Dyer was from that past age of poetry and patronage which died, or altered, with the passing of Elizabeth, and that the elder diplomat and poet had nothing to offer him. It is possible that Dyer himself was unwelcoming: in dedicating his Microcosmos to Dyer in 1603, John Davies suggested (with the customary pun on his name) that Dyer should be more forward to greet the new age: Thou virgin Knight that dost thyself obscure From World’s unequall eies, and fain wouldst dy Er’ thy name should be knowne to Worlds impure, Now shew thyselfe, thou canst not hidden lie From our new World’s desert out-searching Eie… Vertue must use thee, then (Dyer Knight) come forth To haile thy vertue’s Loadstarre from the North. (Davies 1603, 15, “A Preface”, [st. 65, ll. 1–5, 8–9].)10

James sidelined Dyer rapidly by removing him from his stewardship of the royal demesne of Woodstock; and Dyer may have simply felt disinclined to notice such a very small northern meteorite as Alexander Craig among the King’s Scots attendants. The printed version shows many signs of unfinished work, with errors which Skene either did not notice or did not care to correct. It seems clear that Craig was reworking the poem late in his life as a religious dream vision: in old age in Banff, and in the religious complexity of early seventeenth century Scotland, he may have thought to imitate the success of Elizabeth Melville’s much admired dream vision Ane Godlie Dreame (Melville 2010, 71–91) and at the same time rescue and reuse a poem on which, in another age and fashion, he had expended much time and craftsmanship.

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Notes 1

Craig 1873. This edition has one peculiarity: Laing reprinted, with an Introduction and an Appendix, all of Craig’s printed works in order of date of publication. But he retained the original page numbering of each work, and did not paginate the collected volume continuously, so that references have to be made to each section with its own page number / “Craig 1873, PH” will be used for The Pilgrime and Heremite in his edition. 2 NLS Adv. MSS 35.4.14 (hereafter, “Kennedy MS”, after the copyist of Craig’s “Pilgrime and Heremite”, which occupies folios 108v–113r of the huge manuscript commonplace book of 633 folios). I am happy to pay tribute to the diligence of the unknown cataloguer who, ploughing through these densely written pages, spotted Craig’s poem and indexed it separately under “Craig, Alexander” in the sheaf catalogue. The MS was originally crudely cased as a single book, but has now been split up into fascicles by the conservators of NLS, each one carefully cased and foliated for ease of handling and reference. There is still no overall index. 3 “I have committed to the Presse, under your Noble Protection and Patrocinie, these mine Ephemeral, and Miscellaneous RECREATIONS. Assuring your Honour, that I haue better stuffe (which is yet unseene) to present you” (Craig 1623, 3–4). 4 William Forbes was the eighth Laird of Tolquhon, an estate about seventeen miles north of Aberdeen; see Tayler and Tayler 1937, 396–70. 5 The 1631 printing spells “hermit” as “Heremite”; the manuscript version spells it “Hermite”. I shall use the printed text’s spelling when referring to the poem without distinction of text, but will refer to the individuals as “Pilgrim” and “Hermit”. 6 Quotations from Laing’s edition (Craig 1873) are referred to by PH and page number. Quotations from the original of the printed text in the Huntington Library (accessible through EEBO), refer to H followed by the signature. (Not all pages have signatures noted.) Quotations from the Kennedy MS refer to the manuscript name followed by the folio number. So, for example, “Craigie 1873, PH 33: H[D3r]; Kennedy MS, fol. 113r”. 7 Painter 1890, III:222–87. I am grateful to Dr Jamie Reid Baxter for directing me to this source. 8 This error is traceable back to Painter’s text, in which Dom Diego declares that he “will wayt vppon Clotho, the Spynner of the threden life of man vntil she breake the twisted lace that holdeth the fatall course of my dolefull years” (Painter 1890, 283). None of the Fates breaks the thread: it is cut by Atropos. 9 The printed text does, however, have two marginal notes: on Craig 1873, PH 6; H [A1v] and again on Craig 1873, PH 7: H [A2r], the word “bout” is asterisked and noted at the line end “*or, without” and “For bout understand without”. The text seems unfinished in so many ways that this is probably a marginal note by Craig himself; no other archaisms or Scots usages being noted. Had “Dyer” been there in the manuscript used as printers copy, it would probably have been reproduced by the printer.

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10

In a sonnet addressed to Dyer at the end of the volume (Davies 1603, 100), Davies delicately but definitely suggests that by then old age was affecting Dyer’s literary and political acumen: Though Saturne now with Jupiter doth sit Where earst Minerva and the Muse did reigne, Ruling the Commonwealth of Will and Witt, Placed in the Kingdome of thy hart and braine.

(ll. 1–4)

“QUASI SIBYLLAE FOLIA DISPERSA”: THE ANATOMY OF THE DELITIAE POETARUM SCOTORUM (1637) STEVEN J. REID

Introduction The Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum huius aevi illustrium [DPS], the largest anthology of Scottish neo-Latin poetry ever produced, represents the zenith of the burgeoning Latin culture that flourished in Renaissance Scotland. Published at Amsterdam under the aegis of the Fife laird Sir John Scot of Scotstarvit and the Aberdonian university professor and poet Arthur Johnston in 1637, it collects together thirty-seven different poets whose lives and careers spanned two centuries, a wide variety of occupations, and the religious divides caused by the Reformation. James Macqueen devoted several pages to summarizing the Delitiae in his article on “Scottish Latin Poetry” in the first volume of The History of Scottish Literature, and his succinct verdict on the text is worth quoting (1988, 225): In the 1,272 closely-printed pages of its two volumes it [the Delitiae] inevitably contains a certain amount of fairly unexciting material— panegyrics for miscellaneous royal and historical occasions, both British and foreign, complimentary addresses to fellow-poets, routine elegies, epithalamia and pastorals, a three-book history of the Israelites, an ode to Christ in 100 Sapphic stanzas. But there is at the same time much that is of value…Thomas Dempster’s Musca (The Fly), David Echlin’s Ova Paschalia (Easter Eggs), Thomas Murray’s translation of King James’s poem on the Battle of Lepanto, and a host of epigrams of all kinds. To open the Delitiae is to enter on a voyage of exploration into a little-known and now little-regarded area of Scottish literature, yet an area of which Scotland can rightly be proud.

While most Scottish Studies scholars would now dispute the assertion that Scottish neo-Latin is “little-regarded”, the fact remains that beyond a

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general recognition that the Delitiae is a major exemplar, if not the major exemplar, of Scoto-Latin culture, we still know very little about the text itself, or the authors therein. Leicester Bradner devoted two chapters of his Musae Anglicanae: A History of Anglo-Latin Poetry (1940, 123–200) to briefly analysing works by several of the Delitiae’s poets as part of a broader discussion on the evolution of early modern Scottish neo-Latin poetry, and this remains the lengthiest discussion of the Delitiae in print.1 However, Scotstarvit’s extant correspondence with the printer Willem Blaeu and several Scottish poets involved in the process of compiling the text, most notably John Leech and Arthur Johnston, allow us to reconstruct the chronology of its creation, a process to which Christopher Upton devoted a chapter in his doctoral thesis, “Studies in Scottish Latin” (1984, 10–82).2 While there has been a modest resurgence in interest in several of the poets featured in the Delitiae in recent work by Arthur Williamson and Paul McGinnis, Ian Cunningham, and others, this has been confined to one or a handful of texts, and there has never been an attempt to analyse the contents of the Delitiae systematically or holistically.3 This essay makes no attempt at such an analysis—that would take considerably more space than this brief discussion or the resources of any single scholar would allow. Instead, what follows simply attempts to provide an outline of the basic anatomy of the Delitiae, firstly by examining the evidence relating to how Scotstarvit went about collating the text, and by ascertaining who the body of poets were that he included within it. Secondly, by correlating the known bibliographies of each poet with the versions of their work in the Delitiae, it becomes possible to see where it is simply reproducing material that was already widely available in print in Scotland and on the Continent, and where it is breaking new ground in preserving and publishing works that would have been otherwise unknown or lost. This analysis of the Delitiae and its contributors, though necessarily limited by the paucity of background information relating to many of the poets, is important for two reasons. Firstly, as Christopher Upton has pointed out, it is foolish to try and claim the Delitiae as being fully representative of early modern Scottish neo-Latin—it omits whole swathes of the canon of Scottish neo-Latinists (most notably George Buchanan and John and David Leech, but also many others),4 and of the poets it does include the selections of their work are too eclectic to make it satisfyingly representative. However, the sheer diversity of the background of those included suggests that Scotstarvit was willing to overlook matters of their religious affiliation, social standing, and even the risqué content of some of their material, to focus more on the quality of their poetry and how well

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it would represent Scotland to an international audience. This fact is surprising in itself given that one would perhaps expect an anthology like the Delitiae, summarizing a major area of Scottish cultural achievement and produced in the environs of early seventeenth century Scotland, to be far more staunchly and narrowly Calvinist in its outlook than it actually is. Secondly, by pinpointing material in the Delitiae that survives uniquely within its pages, and by highlighting poets whose work would otherwise be lost but for Scotstarvit’s attempts to collect together what several of his contemporaries described as the “scattered leaves” (folia dispersa)5 of Scottish neo-Latin, it is hoped that some key areas deserving of further research will be highlighted in what can otherwise seem a monolithic and overwhelming text.

Scotstarvit and the editing of the Delitiae, c.1617–37 The Delitiae was published at the Blaeu press in Amsterdam in 1637 and was a project originating, paid for and almost entirely supervised by Sir John Scot of Scotstarvit, with some editorial support from a range of Scottish poets and intellectuals. Scotstarvit (1585–1670) graduated MA from St Andrews around 1605 and in 1611 was appointed to the office of directory of chancery that had belonged to his grandfather. This appointment marked the beginning of a long career as a judge and lord of session. His major legacy was as a cultural patron and philanthropist: he married Anna, sister of the poet William Drummond of Hawthornden, in 1608 and in 1611 bought the lands of Tarvit near Ceres in Fife, where he set up a cultural centre with links to the nearby university at St Andrews. In 1620 he endowed a chair of humanity in St Leonard’s College and provided a range of books for the then embryonic university library. In addition to providing the financial support for the publication of the Delitiae he was the backer of Willem Blaeu’s work which expanded and augmented Timothy Pont’s mapping of Scotland, published as the fifth volume of Blaeu’s Atlas novus (1654), and of the first collected edition of Hawthornden’s works produced in the 1650s. Scot was a writer too, and his major prose work, The Staggering State of Scottish Statesmen, was a reflection on the rise and fall from power of a variety of Scottish politicians in the century preceding 1650. He wrote a series of short Latin poems, first published as a series of “schediasmata” in the posthumous edition of his cousin John Scot’s Hodaeporicon (written to celebrate King James VI and I’s progress south in 1603) which Scotstarvit saw through the press in 1619, and which he reprinted in a revised version in the Delitiae.6

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There is a commonly-held—and incorrect—assumption that Scotstarvit acted solely as patron of the Delitiae, while Arthur Johnston exercised editorial oversight over the project. Born in Caskieberran, Aberdeenshire, Johnston (c.1579–1641) studied and taught in various capacities at Aberdeen, Heidelberg and Sedan in northern France from the early 1580s until 1622, ultimately rising to professor of physic at Sedan in 1610. He returned to Aberdeen as a burgess and (according to Johnston himself) was appointed medicus regius to King James shortly afterwards, and was also made rector of King’s College Aberdeen in 1637. Johnston is recognized as perhaps the leading Scottish neo-Latinist after Buchanan, and his two major collections of poetry, the Parerga and the Epigrammata, were both first published at the Aberdeen press of Edward Raban in 1632, with augmented second editions of each text printed as part of the Delitiae in 1637.7 Johnston and Scotstarvit were close friends. In addition it was probably through Johnston’s influence that Scotstarvit was made a burgess of Aberdeen on 31 August 1622, and Scotstarvit introduced Johnston to the cultural circle centred around his brother-in-law Hawthornden, while Scotstarvit was an arbiter in a legal dispute involving Johnston in Edinburgh in 1630 (Masson 1873, 224–27, 247–50; Snoddy 1968, 44–45). It is also true that Johnston regularly corresponded with Scotstarvit as the Delitiae developed and corrected proofs of the text when it finally went to press in 1637, and that he wrote a series of dedicatory epigrams and a prose introduction for the work (DPS I: 3–7; Royan 2004c). However, Christopher Upton (1984) has shown clearly that Scotstarvit had the predominant role in collating the poetry, and that he had the idea for the Delitiae in train almost two decades before it was published, long before he established serious links with Johnston. The earliest concrete references to the project are found in letters sent to Scotstarvit from Paris in 1618 by Johnston’s fellow Aberdonian poet John Leech. Leech was a regular correspondent of Scotstarvit’s between 1617 and 1620, and provided the latter with considerable (and often very blunt) critical advice on how to reshape and revise his “schediasmata”, much of which was utilized to create the revised version of the poems which appeared in the Delitiae.8 While travelling on the Continent, Leech was also on the lookout for material by fellow Scots to send to Scotstarvit. In a letter dated 7 May 1618 he notified Scotstarvit of poems worthy of mention by Walter Donaldson, and in a letter of September 1618 he noted seeing at Paris the work of James McCulloch, professor of Medicine at Pisa: in both cases he promised to send on copies as soon as he was able.9 The work of the latter was probably McCulloch’s Anthophoria, sive

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pentanthos Mediceus ([Florence, 1617]), a collection of individual poems dedicated to various members of the Medici family where each took as its theme a different kind of flower. The Anthophoria was reproduced in its entirety in the second volume of the Delitiae, suggesting that Leech made good upon his word.10 The Delitiae is next mentioned in another letter to Scotstarvit in November of the following year from Joachim Morsius, which suggested works by several poets suitable for inclusion, including Thomas Seget’s Meletemata Hypogaea (Hanau, 1607), a collection of imagined speeches delivered during key events in Greco-Roman history by figures including Cnaeus Pompey Magnus, Cato, Caesar and Cleopatra.11 Seget (1569x1570–1627) was an antiquarian and classicist who had studied at Leiden and Louvain under Justus Lipsius between 1587 and 1597. He then spent several years as an itinerant scholar in Germany and northern Italy, though mainly in Padua, where he was employed in 1601 as administrator of the library of the late classical scholar Giovanni Vincenzo Pinelli, who had been Seget’s friend and possible patron in the closing years of his life. In 1603 Seget was imprisoned in Venice for writing a libel on Ser Thomà Malipiero, although his imprisonment hinged on the testimony of two youths allegedly bribed to bear false witness against him by enemies he had made locally. James VI and I’s Venetian ambassador, Sir Henry Wooton, was successful in pressing for Seget’s freedom, but only after Seget had spent two years in jail, during which time he composed the Meletemata. He spent the rest of his life as a scholar in Germany, Prague, Poland and Holland, and produced several other works including an epicedium to his former tutor.12 However, only the Meletemata was reproduced in the Delitiae, suggesting that it was the only one of Seget’s works that Scotstarvit had access to, and which was sent to him by Morsius as part of their correspondence. Other letters in Scotstarvit’s correspondence suggest that the Delitiae was all but completed by 1626. In this year the printer Willem Blaeu replied to a request for an estimate of publication costs submitted through Scotstarvit’s representative Samuel Wallace, deputy conservator of Scottish privileges at Veere. Blaeu offered him a sample run of 200 copies at the cost of “100 Iacobicis” or 1200 florins, providing that the text did not exceed the size of a similar French anthology, the three-volume Delitiae Poetarum Gallorum (1609).13 Letters to Scotstarvit from the Dundonian doctor and poet Peter Goldman (whose two elegiac pieces lamenting the death of his four brothers were printed in the Delitiae along with his verses celebrating the royal visit of 1617) corroborate this conclusion, as they narrate that Scotstarvit sent him a near-complete

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manuscript of the text for review in the same period, and that Goldman felt the work was ready for press.14 Why the work then fell into abeyance for over a decade is unclear, as Scotstarvit’s papers cease to provide any further information on the Delitiae’s development. However, his friends clearly encouraged him to put the work through the press, as can be seen in Johnston’s epistle “To Mr John Scot of Scotstarvet…on the occasion of his committing to the press the poems of the Scottish authors”, first published in the Parerga of 1632. Johnston’s poem commends Scotstarvit for saving for the ages the works of Scottish neo-Latinists, who though unequal in ability to Virgil and the other great poets of antiquity, were still deserving of a place in posterity. A companion piece to this poem shows that by 1632 Scotstarvit had also decided to add copies of Johnston’s Parerga and Epigrammata to the text, with Johnston feigning embarrassment at Scotstarvit’s decision to do so (MLA I: 195–202; Upton 1984, 51–53). The fact that, thanks to this incorporation, Johnston ended up as the single largest contributor to the Delitiae,15 may explain why he was utilized in proof-reading the final text and providing it with introductory material, and there is also a small amount of evidence that in the very final stages of preparation of the manuscript Johnston provided some editorial critique regarding lastminute inclusions to the text.16 However, it was Scot who ultimately paid “a hundred double pieces” of gold for the publication costs of the Delitiae, and who went to Holland to read the final version as it came off the press; and overall the Delitiae remained firmly under his control from initial idea to execution, with the bulk of it largely gathered together between 1617 and 1627 (Scot 1872, 163; Snoddy 1968, 44).

The Delitiae: context and reception The Delitiae comprises 1,272 pages of closely typed and set italic print, spread over two vigesimo-quarto (24mo) volumes, and on first sight appears highly imposing in both size and range of content. However, when placed alongside other neo-Latin anthologies from the same period, it emerges as relatively small. There was a clear patriotic vogue in the seventeenth century for collecting and celebrating national neo-Latin poetry, and though the Delitiae was slightly larger than the single duodecimo (12mo) volume Delitiae Poetarum Hungaricorum edited by Johann Phillip Pareus (530 pages, Frankfurt, 1619) and perhaps roughly equal to the duodecimo Delitiae quorundam Poetarum Danorum, edited by Frederik Rostgaard (2 vols, Leiden, 1693) other works dwarfed the Scottish effort. These included four separate multi-volume duodecimo

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anthologies, all published at Frankfurt and edited by Ranutius Gherus, or Jan Gruter: the Delitiae Poetarum Italorum (4 vols, 1608); the Delitiae Poetarum Gallorum (3 vols, 1609); the Delitiae Poetarum Belgicorum (4 vols, 1614); and the massive Delitiae Poetarum Germanorum (1612), described by W. Leonard Grant as running to “twelve chunky little volumes, of which volume III alone has 1515 pages”.17 Interestingly, England did not produce a “Delitiae Poetarum Anglorum” or something similar, perhaps because Oxford and Cambridge published a regular run of neo-Latin anthologies throughout the seventeenth century. While some served a political or commemorative purpose, such as Oxford’s 1603 Academicae Oxoniensis pietas erga Jacobum regem on King James’ accession and Cambridge’s twin publication in 1625 of Dolor et solamen and Epithalamium Caroli et Mariae at the occasion of his death and the marriage of his son, many others—such as the Musarum Oxoniensium soteria (Oxford, 1633) and the Voces votivae (Cambridge, 1640)—served merely as a showcase for talented young students, and sufficiently filled the gap in the English market for national Latin verse.18 While the size of the Delitiae possibly left contemporaries unimpressed, a closer analysis of the contents reveals that it is similarly less impressive than it initially seems in terms of material. Much of the text consists of republications of well-known and widely-available Scottish neo-Latin texts, with only a small percentage previously unpublished. Primarily for this reason, the only serious modern analysis of Scotstarvit’s editorial project has dismissed it as not only “desperately outdated” in relation to other international anthologies (thanks to the lengthy period it spent in gestation before publication), but also notes that the final production “shows an ultimate abnegation of editorial responsibility” on Scotstarvit’s part, and “gives the impression of being rather haphazard” overall (Upton 1984, 57–58). Why it was such a patchwork affair is partially down to the fact that although Scotstarvit briefly visited the Continent in 1620–21, he was otherwise dependant on correspondents living abroad such as Leech and Morsius to send him appropriate material from the publishing houses in Europe used by the majority of Scottish neo-Latinists. In the absence of this he relied (perhaps too much) on material published in Scotland or circulating among contemporaries in manuscript (Upton 1984, 60–61).19 It was also partially down to the exigencies caused by the need to publish the Delitiae as a commercial venture. Scotstarvit negotiated a volume size with Blaeu for his text between 1626 and 1627 based on the much larger Delitiae Poetarum Gallorum, but after passing the initial draft to Peter Goldman Scotstarvit was still faced with insufficient copy and the prospect

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of a very small-looking collection.20 While it appears that Scotstarvit had always planned to republish verbatim in the Delitiae a number of texts by earlier authors (including those by Florence Wilson, William Barclay, Mark Boyd, John Johnstone, and several others), this trend appears to have become particularly pronounced after the discussions relating to publication in 1626–27. Although Scotstarvit made careful selections in the material he included by Robert Ayton and David Wedderburn,21 he otherwise abandoned this critical approach and preferred instead to resolve the issue by including wholesale Arthur Johnston’s Parerga and Epigrammata (albeit augmented with 18 new poems and epigrams) and his Musae aulicae (London, 1635), straight copies of Andrew Ramsay’s Poemata sacra…et epigrammata sacra (Edinburgh, 1633) and Robert Boyd of Trochrig’s Hecatombe Christiana (Edinburgh, 1627, complete with its original introductory letter to Bishop Andrew Boyd), the first three books of Alexander Ross’s Rerum Judaicarum memorabilium (London, 1617–32) describing the flight of the Jews from Egypt, and a lengthy excerpt from Ross’ Virgilius evangelizans (London, 1634).22 Together these works provided some 240 pages of additional filler, or just under a fifth of the material in the final publication. Scotstarvet was also unwilling to update or excise poems that had been politically topical during the initial phase of collation in the decade after 1617 but had become irrelevant since, which further added to the sense that the finished product was out of touch. For example, although Scotstarvit clearly felt that court poetry should be a central focus in the work—nineteen of the poets contributed matter on royal themes or celebrating royal events, running to a total of several hundred pages—all this verse was dedicated to King James, particularly focussed upon his entry to England in 1603 and return to Scotland in 1617, and none to King Charles. With these flaws in mind, it is certainly fair to state that the Delitiae “consistently shows such compromises, both intentional and unintentional” that it is “far from representative of Scottish Latin poetry as we find it in 1637 or 1600” (Upton 1984, 60–62).

The Delitiae: the poets and their works While the Delitiae does indeed fall short as a truly representative collection of Scottish Latin culture, it still provides us with useful insights into Scottish neo-Latin at the end of the Renaissance, both in terms of what it tells us about Scotstarvit’s tastes as literary patron, and by virtue of the eclectic range of poets that he incorporated into the final text. The

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Delitiae included thirty-seven poets in total, and a summary analysis of their backgrounds and careers reveals some surprising trends.23 Firstly, by far the most striking feature is the lack of contributors whose main occupation was ministerial. The occupation of one of the contributors is unknown (John Rose, of whom nothing is known save that he was a friend of Scotstarvit’s), and it is difficult to classify the careers of several of the others in concrete fashion, owing to the fact that they worked in various fields during their lives or held positions outside the kirk which included nominal ministerial duties but led to their regular involvement in church affairs (such as Andrew Melville and Robert Boyd of Trochrig, who as successive principals of Glasgow University also held the charge of minister of Govan). Only six of the poets ever held a parochial charge, and of those only one was a full-time minister (George Thomson, pastor in the French reformed church) while three blended a full-time academic career with their ministry (Melville, Boyd, and Andrew Ramsay, minister of Greyfriars Kirk and holder of a series of posts in the University of Edinburgh and the Chapel Royal), and two held ecclesiastical posts primarily as sinecures or political appointments (the Archbishop of St Andrews, Patrick Adamson, and the Scots-born Anglican minister and courtier Alexander Ross). The other poets came from a diverse range of backgrounds, and include one Perth merchant (Henry Anderson, c.1560–c.1628), six courtiers and political operatives (Robert Ayton, the royal and then papal courtier John Barclay, John Maitland of Thirlestane and his brother Thomas (c.1545–1572), Thomas Moray, and King James’ Latin secretary, Thomas Reid),24 four doctors (William Barclay, David Echlin (c.1567–after 1642), Peter Goldman c.1587–1628), and David Kinloch (c.1559–1617)), three lawyers (Scotstarvit, Thomas Craig of Riccarton, and Adam King (c.1560–1620)),25 one “soldier-poet” (James Halkerston, c.1540–c.1615), and one whose career defies easy categorization (James “the Admirable” Crichton). The vast majority of contributors, however, were academics in some capacity, with seventeen (just under 50 percent) employed as either writers (Thomas Dempster and David Hume of Godscroft), university masters, tutors and students (Melville, Boyd and Ramsay, but also Mark Alexander Boyd, George Crichton, Arthur Johnston, John Johnstone, James McCulloch, John Scot, Thomas Seget, George Strachan, and Florence Wilson) or masters of grammar schools, Henry Danskin (d.1625), Hercules Rollock, and David Wedderburn). In many ways the range of poets that Scotstarvit selected may have resulted simply from the fact that he had access to their material, and from the additional fact that Scottish writers producing neo-Latin verse were perhaps most likely to be found in the range of academic,

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governmental and bureaucratic professions that made up the wellestablished “middling sort” by the early seventeenth century. However, as a statement of Scottish culture which Scotstarvit intended to transmit to the wider European world, it is surely striking that he did not draw on a wider range of authors more closely affiliated with the kirk, which is still widely thought of as early modern Scotland’s central and dominant cultural institution. Further evidence that including material from good Calvinists was not an over-riding priority for Scotstarvit is clear when one looks at the religious affiliations of the poets. Although we are unable to account for the religion of four of the authors (Goldman, McCulloch, King and Rose), of the remainder twenty-three were confirmed Protestants, while ten were Catholic.26 While Florence Wilson was active long before the Reformation took hold in Scotland, the others were born either just prior to or contemporary with Scotstarvit, and several of them had either paraded their Catholicism publicly or at court (John and William Barclay being the most obvious examples, but also Thomas Dempster) while two actively fomented Catholic opposition in Scotland (Thomas Maitland acted as a courier for the Queen’s Party during the Marian Civil War, and James Halkerston was in the pay of Francis Stewart earl of Bothwell during the latter’s military actions in Scotland between 1588 and 1595) (McKechnie 1906/07; Lyall 2008). Put another way, in a work purporting to showcase some of the major talent of Scottish neo-Latin, more than a quarter of the contributors lived outside the official religion of the state. Scotstarvit must have been aware of this fact when making his selections, and this in itself suggests that Scottish intellectual culture was more flexible, diverse and accommodating in the early seventeenth century than we would expect, at least among the community that has a shared passion for neo-Latin culture. In terms of linking the published output of each poet to their work in the Delitiae, we can break this down into four main categories: those poets whose contribution to the Delitiae is entirely a reprint of works that were widely published and well-known in Scotland; those whose contribution is entirely a reprint, but of works that are much rarer and harder to find (usually, but not always, those printed in small numbers on the Continent); those whose contribution is primarily reprinted material but with some poems which are unknown elsewhere, or printed in the Delitiae for the first time; and those whose works (and the poets themselves in some instances) are entirely or virtually unknown elsewhere. In the first category fall the works of Arthur Johnston, Andrew Ramsay, Robert Boyd and Alexander Ross mentioned earlier, and joining these are the contributions of others consisting of largely verbatim

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reprints. These include Patrick Adamson’s Genethliacum to the infant James VI (Paris, 1566), John Barclay’s Poematum libri duo (London, 1615, complete with prose dedication to Prince Charles), Mark Alexander Boyd’s Epistolae heroides et hymni (La Rochelle, 1592), David Hume’s Lusus Poetici (1605), John Johnstone’s Inscriptiones historicae regum Scotorum (Amsterdam, 1602) and Heroes ex omni historia Scotica lectissimi (Leiden, 1603), David Kinloch’s versified medical treatise De hominis procreatione, anatome, ac morbis internis (Paris, 1596), Thomas Moray’s translation of James VI’s verse account of the Battle of Lepanto, the Naupactiados (London, 1604), and poetic material from Florence Wilson’s De animi tranquillitate dialogus (Lyons, 1543).27 Together, these works account for some 581 pages of the entire collection. The second grouping comprises a range of epigrams drawn from the various works of George Crichton and Thomas Dempster, the two main poems from James Crichton’s In appulsu ad…urbem Venetam de proprio statu Iacobi Critonii…carmen ad Aldum Mannuccium (Venice, 1580), David Echline’s Ova Paschalia (Paris, 1602), John Scot’s Hodaeporicon (Edinburgh, 1619), and the works by McCulloch and Seget mentioned above, which together run to a much smaller total of 109 pages.28 In total, more than half of the Delitiae comprises a straight reproduction of material extant elsewhere, and although these texts collectively serve as a handy anthology of several major works, they add nothing novel or unique to the canon of Scottish neo-Latin. Material by the third grouping of poets is slightly more complex than a straightforward reprint of extant material, and it is here that we begin to find poems and epigrams that do not exist elsewhere. The works by Henry Anderson include two eclogues to James VI on his return to Scotland in 1617 originally printed in The Muses Welcome, but these are joined by a much earlier panegyric penned by Anderson, celebrating James’ royal entry to Perth on 5 June 1580, along with another poem, the Musarum querimonia lemma.29 While four of Robert Ayton’s poems were published in separate pamphlets, another nineteen exist solely in the Delitiae, mostly describing events and persons at James’ English court, including several on George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham.30 A similar trend is seen in Thomas Craig of Riccarton’s contribution, with four of his poems—one celebrating King James’ birth and a further three celebrating his accession to the English throne—all circulated widely as pamphlets, yet printed here alongside a further six so far not traced in other publications, including an epitaph for John Maitland of Thirlestane.31 Many of the poems by Henry Danskin, Peter Goldman and David Wedderburn had already been published (with Danskin and Goldman contributing several poems to The

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Muses Welcome) but their contributions also include a handful of liminary verses to Scotstarvit and to Walter Scott of Buccleuch by Danskin not published elsewhere and the elegies to Goldman’s brothers mentioned earlier, and a series of poems by Wedderburn in memory of the Aberdonian mathematician and philanthropist Duncan Liddell, together with a proempticon extolling the virtues of his hometown.32 Into this grouping should also perhaps go Scotstarvit’s heavily revised and augmented “schediasmata” of 1619, now repackaged as a series of “elegia” and miscellaneous poems in accordance with the advice he received from Leech after their first publication in 1619.33 Perhaps the most important collection in this grouping, however, is the sixty-seven pages of poetry by Andrew Melville.34 These fully reprint Melville’s first published pamphlet, the (now lost) Carmen Mosis (1574); Melville’s two major court poems, the Principis Scoti-Britannorum natalia and the Stephaniskion; and several other apocalyptic and rabidly Presbyterian pieces, such as the Antichristus, which were also published in the Andreae Melvini musae (1621).35 However, the Delitiae records several autobiographical pieces that would otherwise be lost: a cycle of poems narrating Melville’s struggles with illness and which make appeals to the Greek goddess Hygieia (daughter of Asclepius) to make him better and to Christ to ease his sleeplessness;36 several encomia to figures as diverse as King James and George Buchanan; lengthy epitaphs for the minister David Black, Melville’s colleague in Geneva, James Lindsay (who died in 1580) and many others; an appeal to the chancellor of St Andrews University John Lindsay, written at the time of the visitations of 1597/98 which greatly reduced Melville’s power over the university; and a pair of short but intriguing epigrams directed at “Esther Inglis (Angla), painting expertly”.37 The material belonging to the final grouping of poets, taking up a total of just over two hundred pages, is arguably the most important and original contribution the collection makes to Scottish neo-Latin, and perhaps where research into the work should first be directed. While the short collections by William Barclay and John Scot are largely made up of unimportant encomia to Scotstarvit and several others (though Barclay’s In vappam circulatorem was rightly noted by Leask as an entertaining condemnation of quack medical practitioners),38 the thirty-three short epigrams by John Maitland of Thirlestane in the second volume, spanning just six pages, discuss several key events that occurred when Maitland was at the height of his political power. They include verses on the Spanish Armada (with a series of poems on King Philip of Spain and the Duke of Parma) and on King James’ marriage to Anne of Denmark and the royal

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visit there in 1590, with two highlighting James’s visit to the astronomer Tycho Brahe on the Island of Uraniborg.39 The collection by John’s brother Thomas is far more substantial, including a series of elegies and sylvae dedicated to the king and to members of the Lethington family, with a further twenty-eight epigrams on a host of themes.40 Running to thirty-six pages, this collection is all the more remarkable for being unknown outside the confines of the Delitiae. The poems by James Halkerston, though only running to two pages, are highly entertaining accounts of life in France under Henri III, and may have been supplied to Scotstarvit by another of the poets and one of his correspondents, William Barclay, from a French manuscript.41 The final two poets in the collection represent two very different strands of intellectual and professional culture in early modern Scotland, and their works in the Delitiae reflect this, though both authors are largely unknown to modern readers. Adam King42 studied at St Leonard’s College St Andrews between 1576/77 and 1580, and by 1584 was procurator of the German nation at the University of Paris, where he became professor of philosophy and mathematics. He returned to Edinburgh at the end of 1595, and apparently ran into legal difficulties as a returning expatriate unwilling to subscribe to the Confession of Faith. However, he later acquiesced and was working as an advocate in Edinburgh by 1605, rising to the position of Commissary of Edinburgh by 1610. Although King’s Panegyris on King James’ succession to the English throne was published in 1603, the remainder of his works survive solely in manuscript at Edinburgh University Library, a portion of which was published by Scotstarvit in the Delitiae along with a reprint of the Panegyris.43 King’s works have been highly praised by Leicester Bradner, particularly his series of three hymns on the birth, passion and resurrection of Christ, which he describes as exhibiting “a dignified and genuine religious feeling as well as a remarkable command of the harmonies of the hexameter line” (1940, 128). Despite becoming a full-time advocate, King never lost interest in the work of his earlier career as a mathematician, for in the last decade of his life he produced a new edition of Buchanan’s incomplete poetic treatise on astronomy, De Sphaera, which was never published. However, King added his own supplemental exposition to books four and five of the text which Scotstarvit did publish in the Delitiae, and although Bradner felt that these were dry and of limited value he did note that “the few lines added to the fifth book contain some interesting comments on contemporary superstition” (1940, 129). King’s poems in the Delitiae also include two short pieces depicting the internal quarrels and politics of life at the University of Paris in the 1580s,44 and together his works show the

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eclectic range of specialist fields that an early modern intellectual could partake of simultaneously. Hercules Rollock was an important figure in Edinburgh in the closing decades of the sixteenth century (Handley 2004). After obtaining his MA at St Andrews and briefly regenting at King’s College in the late 1560s, Rollock spent over a decade studying in England and France. Rollock’s career was a chequered one. On his return to Scotland in 1580 he was appointed commissary of Dundee by King James on George Buchanan’s recommendation, only to have the post summarily voided when the St Andrews Commissary argued successfully that this impinged upon their area of jurisdiction. Rollock remained in Dundee for several years (where he is recorded as a notary public in 1583) before being appointed to the position of master of Edinburgh grammar school on 29 May 1584, again thanks to his relationship with the king, if Rollock’s liminary verses attached to James’ Essays of a Prentise in the Divine Art of Poesie (1584) can be taken as indicating a connection between the two men. Rollock held this post for just over a decade, but was removed from office in 1595 over serious allegations that the students under his control were violent and illdisciplined, and prior to his death in 1599 he worked as an advocate. The sixty-four pages of material by him in the Delitiae45 contain a great deal of autobiographical material, and if studied in-depth would provide a useful account of a little-known member of Edinburgh’s Jacobean middle class. They include poems reflecting the rich and enjoyable period he spent in England and France, where he clearly moved in high social circles; there are several poems addressed to Queen Elizabeth, Francis Walsingham and to Thomas Sackville, first Baron Buckhurst and first Earl of Dorset, who appears to have been Rollock’s patron in some capacity, with one addressed to him “at his home in southern England” (e sua domo in australi Anglia); he also dedicated a piece to the scholar Joseph Scaliger, whom he met at Poitiers. However, Rollock was also a committed Protestant, and like Andrew Melville wrote a series of poems in outrage at Catherine de Medici and the atrocities of the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacres. The range of poems in the Delitiae dating to his time in Edinburgh show that he was a keen observer of the court and Edinburgh civic life—they include a long poem celebrating the marriage of James VI to Anne of Denmark, a witty piece on John Maitland and his much younger wife, a lament discussing the plague that afflicted Edinburgh in 1585, and a paraenetica discussing the return of the Ruthven Lords from exile in November of the same year. However, if the two sylvae addressed to the fickleness of fate and castigating Scotland as a country riven by noble factions, soft on Catholic recusancy, and lacking in religious

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discipline can be taken as evidence of Rollock’s mindset during his time in Edinburgh, then he was not only staunchly Presbyterian but also regretted ever having returned home from his studies.46

Conclusion This whirlwind tour of the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum has tried to outline the context and process behind its creation and sketch out its contents, and will be of interest to those who have wondered what lurks within its covers. The Delitiae has several flaws and inadequacies in terms of both the extent to which it fully represents Scottish neo-Latin and its rather restricted range of contents; nevertheless, it is an important synthesis of an aspect of Scottish culture which was a vital part of intellectual and courtly life in early modern Scotland. Although no longer “little regarded”, this culture is still largely on the fringes of historical consciousness, and deserves to be brought more fully into mainstream discussion. Much of the Delitiae is indeed reprinted filler, but the collections of poems by figures as diverse as Andrew Melville, the Maitland brothers, James Halkerston, and Hercules Rollock are clearly veins of potentially rich material relating to actors involved across the whole spectrum of Scottish religious, political and academic life. In each of these cases the poems provide the most substantial set of extant autobiographical writings by each man. Finally, it is hoped that the preceding discussion has highlighted some of the key “scattered leaves” gathered within the bindings of these two vigesimo-quarto volumes, folia which would surely provide suitable rewards to anyone who researches them further.

Notes 1

See also the short biographical notices on several of these poets by “Alba” in Aberdeen Journal Notes and Queries, 3 (1910), 322–23; 4 (1911), 8–11, 22–23, 27–28; and W. T. Johnston 1993, 1998; and W. T. Johnston 1983. 2 Scotstarvit’s surviving letters exist in a single folio volume, NLS Adv. MS 17.1.19, “Letters from Learned Men to Scotstarvit” [Letters]; unfortunately, this collection consists only of those that Scotstarvit received, and not those he sent. 3 For some useful general commentary on Scottish neo-Latin, see Thomson 1957, 63–78. On Robert Ayton, see Ayton 1963. On David Hume of Godscroft, see Hume 2002. On Andrew Melville, Cunningham 2010; McGinnis and Williamson 1995, 31–40, 276–97; Williamson and McGinnis 2010; Reid 2006/07; Reid 2009. On Florence, or Florens, Wilson, see MacDonald 2009. For an older (but still indispensable) edition of the works of Arthur Johnston with translated gloss, see MLA 1892–1910, I–II.

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The majority of the Aberdonian “Poetae Minores” collated together by William Leask (MLA, III) are also absent. 5 Variants of this phrase are used by Arthur Johnston, Peter Goldman, and William Barclay respectively in correspondence with Scotstarvit; Letters, fols 22r (Barclay), 64 (Goldman); DPS I: 3 and MLA I: 6 (Johnston): Upton 1984, 48–49. 6 Pringle 1974–75; Scot 1872; Snoddy 1968; Stevenson 2004 (accessed, as all ODNB articles cited herein, July 2010). 7 MLA I and II; Royan 2004c. 8 Most notably in the long letter he sent to Scotstarvit from “Motha” on 13 June 1619: Letters, fols 179–182. However, Leech sent many other letters to Scotstarvit in this period: for examples, see Letters, fols 204–05 (sent from London, 13 December 1617), 211–12 (Paris, 4 March 1618), 213 (Thouars, April 1618), 194r– 195r (Paris, 7 May 1618), 202–03 (Paris, 11 May 1618), 214 (Paris, September 1618), and 196–97 (“Motha”, June 1619); Upton 1984, 17–33. 9 Letters, fols 194r–195r, 214; Upton 1984, 34–35. 10 McCulloch 1617; reproduced (with the title “Anthophoria xeniorum”, in DPS II: 133–37. 11 Joachim Morsius to Scotstarvit, London, November 1619, Letters fol. 51; Upton 1984, 33–34; Seget 1607. 12 Dempster 1829, II: 602; Odlozilik 1966; Rosen 1949. 13 Willem Blaeu to Scotstarvit, Amsterdam, 12 August and 28 October 1626: Letters, fols 188r and 140; Upton 1984, 36–7. 14 Peter Goldman to Scotstarvit, Dundee: Letters, fols 14–15, 20–21 (with poem), 64. All three letters are undated, but Goldman was dead by 1628 and a note in the margin on fol. 64 states “before 1625/6”. See also DPS I: 364–76; Upton 1984, 43– 46. 15 Johnston’s poems take up 118 pages of the first volume: DPS I: 439–637. 16 In a letter to Scotstarvit from St Andrews on 25 July 1636, Patrick Panter sent a small poem and the following note: “I receaved your L[ordship’s] letters with the verses incloised q[uhi]lk accordinglie I have mended and writtin over so that (if Dr Johnestoun did [thi]nke them tolerable) I must be your L[ordship’s] servitor obliged if so…be, they be sent to Jansonius [Blaeu] with the first occasioun”. Panter had clearly tried previously to submit material, but his revisions did not help his case, as he was not included in the final collection. Letters, fol. 198r; Upton 1984, 49. 17 Grant 1957, 481: n.1. 18 For a full list of the anthologies produced by Oxford and Cambridge, see Bradner 1940, 346–73. 19 Thomas Craig, Adam King, Hercules Rollock and Andrew Ramsay were all Edinburgh-based, and occupy over 200 pages of the total text. 20 See the letters cited in note 14 above and Willem Blaeu to Scotstarvit, Amsterdam, 27 February 1627: Letters, fol. 200; Upton 1984, 38–40. 21 DPS I: 36–75 (Ayton); II: 544–73 (Ross). 22 DPS I: 142–207 (Boyd); 439–647 (Johnston); II: 283–323 (Ramsay); 388–469 (Ross).

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This analysis is based on the sources outlined above, and the following ODNB entries: Wood 2004; Royan 2004a; Steggle 2004; Royan 2004b; Marshall 2004; Cairns 2004; Burns 2004; Tucker 2004; du Toit 2004; McGinnis and Williamson 2004; Lee, jun. 2004; Wells 2004; Edlin 2004; Handley 2004; Allan 2004; Wright 2004; Pearce 2004; Durkan 2004. Additional texts on each of the poets can be found below, and the key dates for each poet, where known but not mentioned here, are given after the first instance of their name in the text. 24 Reid could also equally be classified as an academic, as he spent over two decades prior to his appointment in 1618 in various positions as student and master in Aberdeen and on the Continent. 25 King also spent more than a decade as professor of philosophy and mathematics at Paris (see below). 26 John and William Barclay; James and George Crichton; Thomas Dempster; James Halkerston; Thomas Maitland; Thomas Seget; George Strachan; and Florence Wilson. On Adam King’s likely crypto-Catholic beliefs, see Durkan 2001. 27 DPS I: 13–17 (Adamson), 76–136 (Barclay), 142–207 (Boyd), 378–438 (Hume), 649–699 (Johnstone); II: 3–66 (Kinloch), 180–200 (Moray), 539–44. 28 DPS I: 268–73 (James Crichton), 273–90 (George Crichton), 355–94 (Echline); II: 133–37 (McCulloch), 470–79 (Scot), 490–504 (Seget). 29 DPS I: 18–36; Adamson 1618, 142–49. 30 DPS I: 36–75, all reprinted in Ayton 1963, 209–48, 330–40. 31 DPS I: 221–67; Iacobi serenissimi Scotorum Principis Ducis Rothesaia genethliacum, 1566 (1567); Ad serenissimum & potentissimum Principem Iacobum VI, è sua Scotia discedentem, paraeneticon (Edinburgh, 1603); Ad serenissimum Britanniarum Principem Henricum, è sua Scotia discedentem, proemptticon (Edinburgh 1603); Serenissimi & invictissimi Principis Iacobi Britanniarum & Galliarum Regis ̷̡̯̱̝̩̫̱̬̥̝̏ (Edinburgh, 1603). 32 DPS I: 291–306 (Danskin), 364–76 (Goldman); II: 544–73 (Wedderburn); TMW 119–20, 200–02 (Danskin), 123 (Wedderburn). For another of Danskin’s poems, published in pamphlet form but reprinted in the Delitiae, see Donaldson 1978–79. Much of Wedderburn’s work (including the proempticon to Aberdeen, but not the poems to Liddell) is reprinted with translated gloss in MLA III: 349–439. 33 DPS II: 479–90; Upton 1984, 18–33. 34 DPS II, 66–133. 35 Andrew Melville 1590; Andrew Melville 1594; Melville, 1620. For further details, see Reid 2006/07. 36 The poems Musaeum, Febris, and Hygaea; DPS II: 105–08. 37 De Esthera Angla scite pingente and De eadem, in DPS II: 119–20. 38 MLA III: 5–6. Most of Barclay’s poems in the Delitiae are republished, with translated gloss, in MLA III: 3–19. 39 DPS II: 138–43; on the royal visit to Tycho Brahe, see Stewart 2003, 114–16. A translation of these epigrams by Dana Sutton is available online at “The Philological Museum”: see Maitland 201. URL: www.philological.bham.ac.uk/maitland/. 40 DPS II: 143–79.

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DPS II: 376–77; Upton 1984, 42–43; the manuscript in question is Bibliothèque Nationale, MS Dupuy 810. 42 King’s biographical data is drawn from Durkan 2001; Dempster 1829, II: 576– 57; Bradner 1940, 127–29; and information in Dr Robert Smart’s draft “Biographical Register of Students at the University of St Andrews, 1579–1747”. I am grateful to Dr Smart for allowing me to use this data. 43 Adam King 1603; DPS, II: 201–53. 44 The Querela ad senatum Parisinum and the Inauguratio Ioannii Hammiltonii in rectorem Academia Parisinae, DPS, II: 225–27. 45 Much of this material was drawn from manuscripts belonging to William Drummond of Hawthornden, and subsequently gifted to Edinburgh University Library, though in what form and to what extent still needs to be thoroughly investigated. DPS II: 323–87. 46 Sylva I: Querela de fortunae inconstantia; Sylva IV: De misero statu Scotiae, propter intestina bella, verbi Dei fastidium,& perniciosam Papistarum in ea commorationem, in DPS II: 345–49, 352–58.

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INDEX OF MANUSCRIPTS

ABERDEEN City Archives CA/1, Council Registers (1545–46) 316 n.8 City Archives CA/2/1, Burgh Registers of Sasine, II 1502–1507, p. 460 (Aberdeen MS) 119 CAMBRIDGE Corpus Christi College 171 (“Scotichronicon”) 22, 23, 29 n.6, 158 n.20 Magdalene College, Pepys 1408 (Maitland Quarto) 317–27 Magdalene College, Pepys 2553 (Maitland Folio) 115, 116, 119, 123, 317–19, 321–22, 325 St John’s College G. 23 86 Trinity College 0.3.21 217, 219, 221, 225 n.2, 228 n.19, 228 n.21, 228 n.22, 228 n.24 Trinity College R.3.19 35 University Library Kk.1.5 85, 86, 88, 95 n.4, 96 n.10 University Library Ll.5.10 (Reidpeth) 115, 116 CASTLEREA, CO. ROSCOMMON Clonalis House MSS [unnumbered], Book of the O’Conor Don 186, 213 n.22, 213 n.25 CHANTILLY Musé Condé, 65 (Très Riches Heures de Jean Duc de Berry) 124 n.3 CONNECTICUT Beinecke Library, Music MS 13 (Osborn) 116

DRESDEN Sächsische Landesbibliothek Oc66 (D) 14 n.7 DUBLIN Royal Irish Academy A iv 3 186 Royal Irish Academy 23 E 29 (Book of Fermoy, “Duanaire Ghearóid Iarla”, fols 100–102) 200 Royal Irish Academy 23 F 16 (O’Gara MS) 186 Royal Irish Academy 23 L 17 186 Trinity College 1318 (H.2.16) (Yellow Book of Lecan) 186, 213 n.22 Trinity College 1339 (H.2.18) (Book of Leinster) 201 University College A 20 (“Duanaire Finn”) 201–02 EDINBURGH NLS 2059 (Drummond MS VII) 288–89, 305 n.4, 305 n.6 NLS 2060 (Drummond MS VIII) 300–05 NLS 16500 (Asloan MS) 110 n.2, 184 NLS Acc. 9711 (Matheson lecture) 236, 246 n.15 NLS Adv. 1.1.6 (Bannatyne) 60, 73 n.23, 74 n.37, 116, 119, 120, 123, 172, 174, 184, 365, 374 n.10 NLS Adv. 17.1.19 (Letters…to Scotstarvit) 396–400, 407, 410 n.2, 410 n.5, 411 n.8, 411 n.9, 414 n.11, 411 n.13, 411 n.14, 411 n.16, 411 n.20 NLS Adv. 19.2.1 (Auchinleck) 72 n.16, 72 n.19

470

INDEX OF MANUSCRIPTS

NLS Adv. 19.2.6 331–43 NLS Adv. 19.2.7 373–74 NLS Adv. 31.4.3 (Lyndsay armorial) 271 NLS Adv. 33.2.24 (Ogilvie Panegyric) 167–68, 171, 172, 173, 176 n.4 NLS Adv. 35.4.14 (Kennedy MS) 380–91, 393 n.2, 393 n.6 NLS Adv. 72.1.37 (Book of the Dean of Lismore) 179–216, 244 n.2, 245 n.3 NLS Adv. 72.2.2 243 NLS Adv. 72.3.3 (MacLachlan transcript) 180, 211 n.4 NLS Adv. 73.2.2 (Turner MS) 213 n.18 NRS B 59/28/5 19 NRS CH 2/722/2 (Stirling Presbytery Minutes 1589–96) 292, 296 NRS CS 7/15/1 (Register of Acts and Decreets, folios 78v–79v) 273–83 NRS E 21/5 173 NRS GD 75/563 (Dundas letter) 289–92, 305 n.2 NRS GD 112/71/9 92 NRS GD 124/1/137 20 NRS GD 124/1/155–6 29 n.4 NRS GD 124/1/162 20 NRS RH 1/6/5 22, 23 NRS RH 1/6/51 22 NRS RH 1/6/54 24 NRS RH 1/6/58 26 NRS RH 1/6/58C 26 NRS RH 1/6/67 26 NRS RH 1/6/73 21 NRS RH 1/6/83 29 n.11 NRS RH 6/339 29 n.4 NRS RH 6/377 25 NRS RH 13/35 73 n.22 NRS RH 124/1/155–56 29 n.4 NRS SP 6/31 177 n.8

Soc. of Antiquaries of Scotland Hawthornden 2063 357–58, 358 n.8 University Library 50 159 n.30 University Library 3096.1 (A) (MacNicol MS A) 236, 245–46 n.12, 246 n.14, 246 n.18 University Library Dc.3.83 (Simson 1619) 292–95 University Library, Drummond De.3.70 (Ker MS) 326 n.4 University Library La.III.494 (Laing, Transcr. Hawthornden Wills) 305 n.3 GLASGOW Dept. Celtic and Gaelic (Macdhiarmid MS) 236, 245–46 n.12, 246 n.14 University Library, Gen. 333 160 n.36 University Library, Gen. 1042/187 (McLagan 187) 236, 244–46 n.12, 246 n.14, 246 n.18 HADDINGTON Lennoxlove House, Bundle 2098 (Maitland, “History”) 327 n.20 LONDON BL Add. 24098 124 n.3 BL Add. 27879 (Percy Folio) 111 n.11 BL Add. 36678 (Bellenden’s Livy) 219 BL Add. 40732 92 BL Arundel 285 161 n.42 BL Royal 18 D. II 320 BL Royal App. 58 119, 172 College of Arms 1st M 13 (Young 1502) 168, 170–71, 174–76, 177 n.7 Guildhall Library 3313 165, 172–73 Lambeth Palace 546 161 n.42 National Archives E39/58 (Treaty) 168

FRESCHE FONTANIS National Archives E39/81 (Treaty) 168, 169, 170 University College Angl. 1 217, 221, 224, 225 n.1, 225 n.2, 228 n.19, 228 n.21, 230 n.22, 228 n.24 MADRID Bib. Réal II 2097 147, 153–55, 156, 158 n.15, 158 n.16, 161 n.38 MANCHESTER Chetham’s Library Mun. A. 3.131 (27929) 14 n.8 MUNICH Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Cod. Lat. 23638 124 n.3 NEW YORK Pierpont Morgan M 527 217–19, 220, 221, 222–23, 224–25, 225 n.1, 225 n.2, 225 n.18, 228 n.25, 228 n.27

471

OXFORD Bodleian, 264 110 n.5 Bodleian Arch. Selden. B. 24 14 n.3, 224, 317 Bodleian, Douce 42 161 n.42 Bodleian, Fairfax 8 160 n.36 Bodleian, Hatton 67 110 n.5 Bodleian Lat. liturg. f.5 160 n.40 PARIS Bib. Nat. fr. 576 14 n.6 Bib. Nat. fr. 1543 14 n.6 Bib. Nat. fr. 12565 110 n.5 Bib. Nat. Dupuy 810 412 n.41 Bib. Nat. Lat. 16787 14 n.11 ST ANDREWS St Salvator’s College UYSS 110 R12 125 n.4 VIENNA Österreichische National-bibliothek Codex Lat. 1897 169, 170–71, 177 n.7, 227 n.11

INDEX

Abelard, Peter 252 Aberdeen 24, 25, 27, 29 n.11, 307, 308, 310, 313, 368, 377, 378, 379, 380, 384, 393 n.4, 398, 411 n.24, 411 n.32; St Machar’s Cathedral 28, 158 n.20; University (King’s College) 308, 310, 313, 364, 398 Aberdeen Breviary (Breviarium Aberdonense) 144, 152–56, 159 n.27, 159 n.28, 159 n.29, 160 n.33, 160 n.34, 161 n.38, 163 App. Aberdeen MS, see Index of MSS Abbot, Thomas K. 213 n.22 accounts, royal, of Scotland 272–83 Achilles 337 Acta Sanctorum (Bollandist) 157 n.7 Adamson, John 411 n.29 Adamson, Patrick, Abp of St Andrews 403, 405, 411 n.27; Genethliacum 405 advice genre: to princes 7, 14, 36, 41, 85, 86–89, 90–95, 97, 104–05, 110 n.7, 111 n.10, 147, 158 n.14, 175–76, 218, 219, 225, 273, 280– 81, 330–31, 334–35, 336, 337–38, 339–42, 347–56; to child from parent 85–88, 94–95, 249–69; concerning women 85–96, 158 n.8, 205–07; master to student 249–69 Ælred of Rievaulx 158 n.17; Genealogia Regum Anglorum 148 Aeneas 13, 216 n.75 Aeneid (Virgil) 13 Aesop, in fable tradition 31, 32–34, 35–41, 45 n.18, 50, 175 Aesop, Roman actor 44 n.7 Aikman, James 272

Alba 247 n.31 “Alba”, critic 409 n.1 Albanach, Muireadhach 185, 188 Alexander, the Great 85, 86, 87, 92–95, 257, 334–35 Alexander II, king of Scots (1198– 1249) 151, 154, 159 n.23 Alexander III, king of Scots (1249– 86) 334, 343 n.20 Allan, David 411 n.23 allegory 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 12, 13, 14, 50, 61, 64, 67, 69, 71, 171, 174– 75, 384–86, 387 Allen, Dorena 73 n.31 alliteration 383, 387–88 alliterative poetry 117, 127–42, 242, 390, 391 Almond, Philip C. 268 n.21 Amours, F. J. 110 n.2 Amsterdam 395, 397, 405, 410 n.13, 410 n. 20 “An Duanag Ullamh” 231, 236–41, 246 n.13, 247 n.33 Anderson, Henry, merchant and poet 403, 405; Musarum querimonia lemma 405 Anderson, James Maitland 18, 21, 23, 271 Anderson, Patrick 314 Anderson, Peter John 308 Andreae Melvini musae 406 Andrew, of St Victor 252 Anglicus, Bartholomaeus, De proprietatibus rerum 10 Anglicus, Gualterus 31, 36 Anglo-Scots relations 165–77, 226– 27 n.10, 271–73, 296, 325 Anglo-Spanish relations 166, 173 Angus, see Douglas

474

GENERAL INDEX

Anjou, Francis, Duc d’ 349 Anne of Denmark, wife of James VI and I 301, 345, 356, 406, 408 “Anonymous of Meun” 14 n.6 Anselm of Canterbury 252 Anselment, Raymond 267 n.10 anthologies, Scottish: Kennedy MS 380, 382, 383–91, 393 n.2, 393 n.6; Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum 395–412 Apollo (Titan) 361, 362, 366, 387 Apted, M. R. 336 n.10 “Ar sliocht Gaodhal ó Ghort Gréag” 232, 235, 236 Arbuthnot, Alexander, poet 318 Arbuthnot, Alexander, printer 109 n.1 Arbuthnot, Sharon 212 n.13 Archibald, Elizabeth 96 n.11 Argyll, Earl of, see Campbell Argyll, House of 193, 204–05 Ariosto, Ludovico, Orlando Furioso 331, 332–33, 336, 339, 340–41, 342 n.9, 342 n.10, 343 n.14, 343 n.16, 343 n.17, 343 n.18, 347 Aristaeus 61 Aristotle 93, 94 Armitage, David 219–20 Armstrong, Edward 110 n.5 Arnold-Forster, Frances 160 n.30 ars moriendi, genre of 253–54, 258, 259, 267 n. 6, 269 n.26 Arthur, legendary king 80, 88, 89, 90, 91, 101–03, 104, 105, 110 n.7, 110–11 n.10, 192, 209, 244 Arthur, Prince of Wales 166, 173, 174, 176 n.4 Ascham, Roger 351 Asloan MS 110 n.2, 184 astronomy 9, 281, 407 Atkinson, David William 254, 259, 267 n.7, 268 n.16 Atkinson, J. Keith 14 n.6 Atropos 388, 393 n.8

audience, response of 287–88, 289, 291–92, 295, 299–305, 314, 339– 41 Augé-Chiquet, Mathieu 375 n.9 aurality 47–52, 54, 55, 58, 314 Austin, J. L. 166, 176 n.2 Auvergne, Gaspard d’ 352, 357 n.2 Avicenna (ibn-Sina) 256, 309 Ayton, Sir Robert 378, 391, 402, 403, 404, 409 n.3, 410 n.21, 410 n.30 Bacchus 34 Bacon, Francis, Great Instauration 265 Badius Ascensius, Jodocus 220 de Baïf, Jean-Antoine 364, 374 n.9 Bailey, Michael D. 73 n.29 Bain, Joseph 168 Baker, D. 157 n.6 Bakhtin, Mikhail 82 Baldwin, Elizabeth 177 n.18 ballads, Fenian 183, 201, 203, 204, 205, 210, 213, 212 n.11, 213 n.32, 213 n.33, 215 n.65 Balliol, John 226 n.8 Banff 378, 379, 380, 391, 392 Bannatyne, George 60, 119, 175, 365 Bannatyne, Richard 293 Bannatyne Draft MS 365, 374 n.10 Bannatyne MS 60, 73 n.23, 74 n.37, 116, 120, 123, 174, 172, 184 Bannerman, John W. M. 199 Banquo 222–23, 225, 228 n.23 Barbour, John 87; The Bruce 87, 106 Barclay, John, courier and poet 403, 404, 405, 411 n.26, 411 n.27; Poematum libri duo 405 Barclay, William 314, 402, 403, 404, 406, 407, 410 n.5, 411 n.26, 411 n.38; In vappam circulatorem 406 Bardic Poetry Database 180, 211 n.7, 248 n.36 Barker-Benfield, B. C. 229 n.31

FRESCHE FONTANIS Barnett, T. R. 157 n.2, 157 n.3, 157 n.5, 157 n.9, 157 n.10, 157–58 n.12, 161 n.40 Barrow, G. W. S. 149, 157 n.3, 157 n.10, 157 n.11, 160 n.35 Bartlett, Robert 73 n.29, 144, 147, 154, 158 n.15, 158 n.16, 159 n.21, 160 n.36, 161 n.37 Basle, Church Council of 24 Bassandyne, Thomas 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44 n.2, 44 n.17 Bateman, Meg 211 n.8, 214 n.36 Bath, Michael 326 n.10 Bawcutt, Priscilla 72 n.21, 110 n.3, 115, 116, 117, 123, 124 n.1, 125 n.7, 142 n.18, 165, 168, 173, 174, 177 n.14, 229 n.31, 282 n.1, 317, 318, 329, 330, 357 n.6 Beaton, Mary 342 n.6, 343 n.16 Beattie, William 228 n.15 Beaty, Nancy Lee 259, 267 n.7 Beckett, W. N. M. 25 bedroom, furniture of the: “bed staf” 279; “down bed” 279; “stand bed” 279 Bellenden, John 217–29, 343 n.20; Chronicles of Scotland 161 n.18, 217–29; Livy, translation of 218, 267 n.12 Benedict, Barbara M. 249 Benedictine order 147, 153, 157 n.11, 160 n.35, 160 n.36 Bening, Simon 123 n.3 Bennett, Helen 274 Bennett, J. A. W. 155, 161 n.42 Benson, Larry D. 73 n.30 Bergin, Osborn 188, 194, 208, 212 n.21, 213 n.29, 216 n.31, 214 n.39, 214 n.46, 243, 245 n.6 Bergson, Henri 82 Bernard of Clairvaux, Liber de gradibus humilitatis et superbiae 253, 256, 267 n.5 Bersuire, Pierre 6–7, 10; Ovidius moralizatus 6, 7, 10, 14 n.9 Berwick 75–84, 373

475

Betteridge, Thomas 287 Beveridge, Erskine 159 n.26, 160 n.33, 161 n.39 Beverley, Peter, Historie of Ariodanto and Ienevra 343 n.9 de Bèze, Théodore 364 “Bí ad mhosgaladh, a mheic Aonghais” 243–44 Bible, Holy Acts 375; Ecclesiastes 371; Epistle of Jude 37; Genesis 255– 56, 260, 271; Lamentations 292; Luke 375, 376; Proverbs 160 n.13; Psalms 368–72, 373–76, 378, 379 n.8, 379 n.12, 379 n.13; Revelation 373, 375–77, 379 n.19; Samuel 359, 368–69; editions of: in Danish 280; in English 280; Geneva 370, 373–74, 379 n.18; “Great” 280; in Latin 257, 267 n.13, 280; Lyndsay’s 28; “Mathew’s” 280; TremelliusJunius Latin OT 370, 379 n.18; Vulgate 379 n.18; Wycliffite 280 Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina (Bollandist) 159 n.25 Bildhauer, Bettina, 73 n.24 Birlinn Chlann Raghnaill (Alexander MacDonad) 212 n.11 Black, David, minister 407 Black, Ronald 211 n.3, 212 n.18, 215 n.50, 232 Black Death 307, 311, 314 Black Douglases, see Douglas Blackness Castle 368–69, 370, 371, 372 Blaeu, Willem, printer 396, 397, 399, 401, 410 n.13, 410 n.16 Blake, N. F. 58 n.3 Blanchot, J.-J. 115 Blew, William 160 n.27 Bliss, A. J. 72 n.12, 72 n.15, 72 n.16, 72 n.17, 73 n.19 Boardman, Stephen 19, 149, 158 n.19, 159 n.20, 234

476

GENERAL INDEX

Boccaccio, Giovanni 44 n.15, 206, 216 n.73, 256 Bodin, Jean 351, 352 Boece, Hector 217–29; Scotorum Historia 158 n.18, 217–29 Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus 3, 4, 8, 59; Consolation of Philosophy 3, 4, 8, 9, 13, 59, 60, 62, 66 Boffey, Julia 14 n.3, 115, 229 n.31, 317 Boleyn, Sir Thomas 259 bond (written contract) 22–28, 29 n.9 Bonet, Honoré, L’Arbre des Batailles 29 n.1 Book of Common Order, see Foirm na n-Urrnuidheadh Book of the Dean of Lismore 44 n.15, 179–216, 244 n.2, 245 n.3; amateur poets in 182–83, 190, 199–200, 208, 210; compilers 180–83, 187, 188, 201, 204, 208– 10, 212 n.15; courtly verse in 182, 183, 197, 200, 206–07; digitized version of 180, 211 n.3; eulogy and elegy in 185–93; Gearóid Iarla (“Earl Gerald”), poems attrib. to, in 190, 200, 215 n.58; Goill (enemies) in 192; heroic poetry in 184, 201–03; Irish poetry in 181, 182, 185–87, 189– 94, 200–03, 208, 212 n.18, 213 n.28, 214 n.38, 215 n.50; literary reference in 190–92, 208–10; metres in 189–90; omissions 181– 82, 183; and other ms anthologies 183–84; physical condition of 185, 209; poets unique to 213 n.24, 213 n.28; religious verse in 193–96, 214 n.36; satiric verse in 204–08; textual complexity of 203; A bhean dá dtugas-sa grádh (Colin, Earl of Argyll) 206; A bhean ’gá bhfuil crodh (Fearchar mac Phádraig Grannd) 206, 216

n.68; A bhean na dtrí mbó (Earl Gerald) 206; A phaidrín do dhúisg mo dhéar (Ni Chorcadail) 191; A shagairt na h-éanphóige (Duncan Campbell) 207; Adhbhar bróin bruadar bailc (Giolla-Críost Táillear) 195; Aithris fhréimhe ruanaidh Eóin (Duncan MacGregor) 191, 192; Alastair, ’n do thréig tú ’n ghruaim? (“Duncan, son of the Parson”) 209; Ardaigneach Goll 207; Ar mhaithibh is olc th’aithne (“Duncan, son of the Parson”) 195; Atá amhghar fá na mnáibh (Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy) 205; Atá fleascach ar mo thí (Isabella, Countess of Argyll) 206; Atá trí comhraic im chionn (Tadhg Óg Ó hUiginn) 193; Bás Dhiarmaid (“Death of Diarmaid”) (Ailín mac Ruaidhrí) 203; Bean ar n-aithéirghe Éire (Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh) 213 n.24; Beannaigh do theaghlach, a Thríonóid (Giolla-Críost Táillear) 215 n.54; Binn labhras Leabhar Moire (Giolla-Críost Táillear) 195; Bod bríoghmhor atá ag Donnchadh (Duncan Campbell) 182, 206–07, 216 n.68; Buaidh thighearna ar thóiseachaibh, MacGregor eulogy 189, 191; Cairt a síothchána ag síol Ádhaimh 193; Ceannaigh duain t’athar, a Aonghais 189; Ceathrar do bhí ar uaigh an fhir 195; Cia don phléid as ceann uidhe (Duncan Campbell) 208; Cóir feitheamh ar uaislibh Alban 191; Créachtach sin, a mhacaoimh mhóir 216 n.68; Créad agaibh aoidhigh i gcéin (Muireadhach Leasa an Doill Ó Dálaigh) 213 n.24; Créad dá ndearnadh Domhnall Donn? (Duncan

FRESCHE FONTANIS Campbell) 208; Créad fá seachnainn-sa suirghe? (“The Parson”) 183, 206, 208; Créad í an long-sa ar Loch Inse 216 n.72; Cuaine ríoghna rug Éadaoin 213 n.24; Dá ghabhla dhéag san dán (Donnchadh Óg Albanach) 205; Dál chabhlaigh ar Chaisteal Shuibhne 192; Déana mo theagasc, a Thríonóid 194; D’fhiosraigh inghean an fhoilt fhinn 207; Diomdhach mé don ghaoith a-deas, eulogy to MacLeod of Lewis 189; Do athraigh séan ar Síol Chuinn, MacDougall elegy 189, 190; Dochuaidh mise, Roibeart féin 207; Do mhillis mise, a Ghráinne 183; Dorn idir dán agus dásacht 213 n.23; Dreén eanaigh ionmhain fáidh (Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh) 212 n.15; Duanaire na Sracaire (Macnab) 181, 184, 201; Éistibh, lucht an tighe-se (Isabella, Countess of Argyll) 206, 207, 210; Éistigh riom-sa a Mhoire mhór 194; Fada atáim gan bhogha 190–91; Fada atú i neasbhaidh aoibhnis 206; Féicheamhoin sibh, a chlann cuil (Duncan MacGregor) 195; Fada ó mhallaigh Dia na mná (Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy) 205; Fhuaras mac mar an t-athair (Fionnlagh Ruadh/“the Red Bard”) 190, 209; Fhuaras rogha na n-óg mbríoghmhor (GiollaPádraig Mac Lachlainn) 191, 192; Foillsigh do chumhachta, a Choid (An Bard Mac an tSaoir /“Bard Macintyre)” 196, 299; Fuigheall beannacht brú Moire 193; Gaibh rem chomraigh, a Mheic Griogóir 191; Garbh éirghid iodhna brátha (Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh) 193, 214 n.39; Gealladh gach saoi don

477

each odhar 191; Gearr go gcobhra Rí na Ríogh (“Robert Lamont (?) at Ascog”) 195; Iomdha scéal maith ar Muire (Tadhg Óg) 214 n.38; Is mairg dán galar an grádh (Isabella, Countess of Argyll) 206; Lá dár shuidh ceathrar ré ceird (Ó Maolchonaire) 209; Lámh aoinfhir fhóirfeas i nÉirinn (Giolla-Críost Brúilingeach Bard an Léim) 187, 190, 199, 212 n.18, 214 n.35; Laoidh Fhraoich (“Ballad of Fraoch”) (“An Caoch Clúmhain”) 203, 204; Mairg bean nach bí ag éansagar (Duncan McGregor) 207; Mairg adeir olc risna mnáibh (Earl Gerald) 206; Mairg do chuirfeadh geall a mnaoi (Earl Gerald) 205; Mairg léimeas thar a each (Earl Gerald) 205; Mairg mheallas muirn an tsaoghail (Gothfraidh Fionn Ó Dálaigh) 193; Mairg ó ndeachaidh a léim lúith (Duncan Campbell) 206; Maith do chuid, a charbaid mhaoi (Eóin Mac Mhuireadhaigh) 210; Maith ataoi an sin, a Néill 196; Marthain duit, a chroch an Choimdhe 193; Marthain uaim go Eóin (Duncan McGregor) 210; Mithidh dom triall go tigh Phardhais (Muireadhach Albanach) 194; Mór an feidhm freagairt na bhfhaoighdheach 191; Mór an maidhm-se don mhnaoi bhláith 207; Ná léig mo mhealladh, a Mhuire (MaolDomhnaigh mac Maghnais Mhuiligh) 194, 198; Námha dhomh an dán (Eóin Mac Mhuireadhaigh) 197; Ní bhfuil an t-éag mar a theist (Earl Gerald) 207; Parrthas toraidh i nDíseart, MacGregor eulogy 189, 192; Réadla na cruinne Caitir Fhíona

478

GENERAL INDEX

193; Réadla na cruinne Corp Críost (Giolla-Críost Táillear) 195; Réidhigh an croidhe, a Mhic Dhé (Muireadhach Albanach) 194; Ríoghdhacht ghaiscidh oighreacht Eóin, (Dubhghall mac an Ghiolla Ghlais) 189, 191; Scéal beag agam ar na mnáibh (Ailín Mac Dhubhghaill Bháin) 206; Seacht saighde atá ar mo thí (“Young Duncan”) 195; Tá triúr cailín as searbh glór (Domhnall Liath MacGregor) 205; Tánaig long ar Loch Raithneach (Bard Macintyre) 214 n.35; Teach carad do-chíu folamh 213 n.23; Teachtaire chuireas i gcéin 182; Theast aon diabhal na nGaoidheal 192; Tomhas mhúir Chruachan i gCluain Fraoich 188, 213 n.24, 213 n.29; Tosach féile fairsinge (Tórna Ó Maolchonaire) 190, 213 n.23; Trí ingheana rug Anna 194; Tugas ró-ghrádh do mhnaoi fir (“A certain wooer”) 206; Tuig gura feargach an t-éad (“sir Duncan MacDiarmid”) 195; Uch, is mise an gille mór 182 Book of Fermoy, see Index of MSS Book of Leinster, see Index of MSS Book of the O’Conor Don, see Index of MSS, Castlerea Boswell, Alexander 72 n.16 Bothwell, see Hepburn; Stewart Bourges 288, 300, 301, 302, 303 Bower, Walter 17, 18, 19, 22, 148– 54, 158 n.20, 311; Scotichronicon 17, 18, 19, 22, 23, 29 n.6, 29 n.9, 29 n.10, 110 n.6, 124, 148–54, 156, 158 n.18, 158 n.20, 160 n.31, 160 n.33, 160 n.34, 162 App., 311; and Sir Gilbert Hay 17, 29 n.6 Bowes, Robert, English ambassador 335 Boyd, Bp Andrew 402

Boyd, Mark Alexander 402, 405, 411 n.27; Epistolae heroides et hymni 405 Boyd, Robert of Trochrig 402, 403, 404, 410 n.22; Hecatombe Christiana 402 Boyd, Zachary 117 Boyd McBride, Kari 321 Bradner, Leicester, Musae Anglicanae 396, 407, 410 n.18, 412 n.42 Brahe, Tycho 407, 411 n.39 Brand, C. P. 342 n.7 Brant, Sebastian, Ship of Fools 196 Brayman Hackel, Heidi 229 n.33 Breatnach, Liam 215 n.52, 215 n.62 Breatnach, Pádraig A. 212 n.13, 212 n.17 Breeze, Andrew 117 Brereton, Sir William 327 n.24 Breton lai tradition 59, 63, 70, 72 n.15 Breviarium Aberdonense, see Aberdeen Breviary brewing, vessels of: “gyle fat” 280, 282; “leid” 280, 282; “maskin fatt” 280, 282 Briggs, Katherine 73 n.31 Brooker, Will 305 n.1 Brouland, Marie-Thérèse 72 n.15, 72 n.17 Broun, D. 158 n.19 Brown, Keith 318, 326 n.5, 326 n.7, 327 n.21, 327 n.22 Brown, Michael 17, 19, 20, 26 Brown, Peter 5, 6 Bruce, House of 148–49, 158 n.20 Bruce of the Kerse, family of 296– 98 Bruce, Robert the 226 n.8, 239 Bruford, Alan J. 201, 216 n.75 Bruno, Giordano 346 Buchanan, George 272, 354, 366, 396, 398, 406, 408; “Ad Henricum Scotorum Regum” 362; De Jure Regni apud Scotos Dialogus 348,

FRESCHE FONTANIS 349; De Sphaera 407; Rerum Scoticarum Historia 272, 283 n.7 Buik of Alexander 97, 98–101, 109, 109–10 n.1 Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour 17, 18, 19, 20, 26, 27, 28, 85, 86, 87, 88, 92–95, 95 n.2, 117 Buke of Gud Counsale to the King, see De Regimine Principum Bonum Consilium Bullein, William, Dialogue against the Feuer Pestilence 273, 308 Bunt, G. H. V. 96 n.13 burgess (freeman), status of 273, 289, 282, 398 Burgess, Clive 282 Burns, J. H. 226 n.7, 226 n.8, 411 n.23 Burrow, J. A. 41, 115 Caesar 338, 399 Caimbeul, see Campbell Cairns, John 411 n.23 Calderwood, David 297, 299–300, 359 n.20, 364, 365, 369–72, 375 n.16, 375 n.21 Caldwell, D. H. 278 calendars, Scottish 159 n.30 Calin, William 75, 76 Calliope 61 Callow, J. 73 n.29 Calvin, John 268 n.21 Campbell, Alasdair, of Airds 238, 246 n.18 Camerarius, David 159–60 n.30 Cameron, Alexander 212 n.18 Camillo, Guilio 9 Campbell, chiefs of 231–32, 243, 244 n.2; family of 182, 189, 192, 193, 198, 200, 204, 208, 209, 210, 21–143 n.34, 215 n.49, 232–48 Campbell, Archibald, 2nd Earl of Argyll 191, 192, 232 Campbell, Archibald, 4th Earl of Argyll 236

479

Campbell, Archibald, 7th Earl of Argyll 243 Campbell, Archibald, 8th Earl and 1st Marquis of Argyll 246–47 n.24 Campbell, Colin, 3rd Earl of Argyll 198, 200, 213 n.34, 236 Campbell, Duncan, 2nd laird of Glenorchy (“the Good Knight”) 182, 200, 210 Campbell, Ian 177 n.10 Cameron, Alexander 211 n.5 Candace, lover of Alexander 93, 95 Canmore, Malcolm 192 Canutius, Litill Boke 308 Caoilte 202, 203, 205 Cappel, Guillaume 357 n.2, 359 n.23 Carion, Johann 256, 257; Chronica 257, 258, 259, 260 Carpenter, Sarah 165, 176 n.1, 287 Carpetto, George M. 257, 258, 267 n.14 Carrickfergus 276 Carruthers, James, burgess 273 Carruthers, Mary 7, 9, 14 n.12 Carswell, John 198 Carthusian Order 24, 25 Cartwright, John 17, 95 n.2, 96 n.12 “Castalian Band” 329, 346, 357 n.6 Catherine de’ Medici, queen consort of Henri II 345, 349, 408 Catholicism: practice of 145–46, 157 n.10, 157 n.11, 290–91, 292, 347, 364–65, 369, 404, 408, 411 n.26; calendars 159–60 n.30; rosary and 276–77, 283 n.16 Cato 399 Cavallo, Guglielmo 50 Caughey, Anna 93, 97 Caius, John 311 Castelnau, Michel de, French ambassador 346 Catullus, Gaius Valerius 319 Caxton, William 35, 44 n.13, 47, 55, 58, 58 n.1, 58 n.6; Arte and Crafte to Know Well to Dye 254;

480

GENERAL INDEX

Eneydos 118; Reynard the Fox 35, 47, 49–50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58 n.5, 58 n.6; Ysengrimus 58 n.6; Roman de Renard 58 n.6; Aesop 58 n.6 Cecil, William 296 Celtic traditions 63 Ceres 34 chanson de geste 83 Charlemagne, Emperor 105, 106, 107, 108, 110 n.11, 337, 339, 341 Charles I, king of England (1625– 49) 301, 402, 405 Charles VII, king of France (1422– 61) 17–18, 23, 28 Charles IX, king of France (1560– 74) 364 Charteris, Henrie, printer and publisher 42, 369–70, 373–74, 375 n.17 Charteris, Robert, printer 361 Chartier, Roger 50 Chaucer, Geoffrey 35, 43, 175, 177 n.16, 206, 216 n.73, 317, 339; Canterbury Tales 44 n.8; “Nun’s Priest’s Tale” 52, 175; “The Merchant’s Tale” 67, 68, 73 n.30, 74 n.33; “The Reeve’s Tale” 76 Chepman and Myllar prints 60, 71 n.5, 110 n.2, 115 Cherel, Albert 353 Child, F. J. 111 n.11 Chisholm, Isobel, wife of Alexander Craig 378–79 chivalry 97–111, 276, 277 Chrétien de Troyes 63, 101 Christensen, Thorkild Lyby 280 chronicle, genre of 142, 144, 147– 51, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 158 n.18, 160 n.31, 165, 172, 320, 324 Chrysostom, John 268 n.21 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 44 n.7 Claudian, De raptu Proserpinae 74 n.33 Clariodus 68, 74 n.32 Cleopatra 399

cloth, types of: “blew purpure veluet” 273; “crammasie weluet” (or satin) 274; of “cullour de roy” 274; “dammes” 274; “dornik” 277; “flanderis tyke” 277; “Fransche clayth” 274; “satyne” 274; silk 274; “taftais” 276 clothing, items of: belt 274; “bonat” 274; “brotekynnis” 274; “butis” 274; “cappiedosie” 275; “cassikin” 274; “coit” 274; “dowblet” 274; gown 273, 274; hat 274; “naipkin” 275; “nycht bonat” 279; “nycht curtchie” 279; “pantownis” 281; “ryding cloik” 274; “sark” 275–76; “schone” 281; “sokkis” 282; “spurris” 282; “stemmene hois” 274 Clotho 387, 388, 393 n.8 Cockburn, family of 115 Coira, M. Pia 192, 233, 234, 235, 240, 244 n.4, 245 n.6, 247 n.24, 247 n.36 Coleman, Janet 350, 351 Coleman, Joyce 47, 49 Coll-Smith, Melissa 145 Colquhoun, Master Adam 275 Colville, John 295–98 Complaynt of Scotland 64 commonplace book 184; Kennedy MS as 379–80, 393 n.2 complaint, genre of 381, 383, 386, 388 390, 391, 392; Complaint of…Bagsche (Lyndsay) 275–76; Testament and Complaynt of…[the] Papyngo (Lyndsay) 276–77; Complaint of Rosamund (Daniel) 381; Complaynt of Scotland 64; “Europhilus his Complaint” 388; “Heremite his Complaint” 388, 390; “Poliphila her Complaint” 390 Comrie, J. D. 308 Conlee, John 118–24, 125 n.6 Conn Céadchathach 240 Conner, J. E. 141 n.7

FRESCHE FONTANIS Connolly, Margaret 18 Consail and Teiching at the Vys Man Gaif His Sone 87–88 Consolation of Philosophy, see Boethius Contamine, Philippe 18 Cooper, Helen 64, 91, 92 Corley, Corin 88, 89 coterie verse 329–30 country house verse, genre of 320– 21, 326 n.8, 326 n.9; in neo-Latin 321–22, 326 n.13 Coverdale, Miles 280 Cowan, Edward 66, 68, 72 n.21, 73 n.31 Craft of Deying 96 n.10 Craig, Alexander, of Rose Craig 362, 377–92, 393 n.2; and Muiresk scribe 379–80, 384–86, 389; and Sir Edward Dyer 388– 92; Amorose Songes, Sonets and Elegies 378; “Europhilus his Complaint” 388; Pilgrime and Her(e)mite, 362, 377–94; Poeticall Essays 378, 391; Poeticall Recreations 379; “Scotland’s Teares” 391; The Poeme 384–85, 390 Craig, James, son of Alexander Craig 379 Craig, Thomas, of Riccarton 403, 405, 410 n.19 Craigie, W. A. 317, 322, 326 n.1, 326 n.4 Cranstoun, J. 123, 374 n.12 Crawford, Barbara 19 Creighton, Charles 315 n.3 Crichton, George 405, 405, 411 n.26, 411 n.28 Crichton, James, “the Admirable” 403, 411 n.26, 411 n.28; In appulsu ad…urbem Venetam 405 Cromwell, Thomas 351, 358 n.15 Cronica cronicarum 256 Crowne, D. 31

481

“Cthesias” (Ctesias Cnidos) 256, 267 n.11 Cú Chulainn 190, 202, 209, 210, 213 n.32, 216 n.74 Culdees 145, 157 n.10, 157 n.11 “Cumha Mhic an Tòisich” 246 n.20 Cunningham, Ian C. 396, 409 n.3 Cunnington, C. Willett 274 Cunnington, Phillis 274 Cupid 335–37, 374 n.8, 387 curiosity 249, 253, 261, 262, 265– 66, 267 n.6, 268 n.20, 268 n.21, 268 n.23, 268 n.24 Cyrus 358 n.12 Dalrymple, Sir David (Lord Hailes) 119 Dame Nature 251, 252 Daniell, David 280 Danskin, Henry 403, 405–06, 411 n.32 Dante, Alighieri 8 Darnaway 320 Darnley, see Stewart Daston, Lorraine 250, 265 David I, king of Scots (1124–53) 148, 221–22; Henry (Hary), son of David 222 Davidson, Donald 280 Davidson, Thomas, printer 217, 220–21, 227 n.14, 227 n.15 Davies, John, Microcosmos 392, 394 n.10 Dawson, Giles E. 326 n.4 Dawson, Jane 282 n.1 Dear, Peter 249, 262 Declaration of Arbroath 236 Deirdre 183, 209 Delitiae Poetarum Belgicorum 401 Delitiae Poetarum Gallorum 399, 401 Delitiae Poetarum Germanorum 401 Delitiae Poetarum Hungaricorum (ed. Pareus) 400 Delitiae Poetarum Italorum 401

482

GENERAL INDEX

Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum 320, 395–412 Delitiae quorundam Poetarum Danorum (ed. Rostgaard) 400 Demeter 69 Dempster, Thomas 395, 403, 404, 405, 409, 410 n.12, 411 n.26, 412 n.42; Musca 395 Denery, Dallas G. II 287, 291 Denmark 280, 406–07, 408 Dennison, E. Patricia 177 n.11 De Regimine Principum Bonum Consilium 348 Descartes, René, Principia philosophiae 266 Desportes, Philippe 331, 369; Angélique 331; Roland Furieux 331, 333, 336–37, 341, 343 n.23 Detienne, Marcel 71 n.2 Dewar, Pia, see Coira dialogue 249–69, 377, 386 Dictionary of the Irish Language 180, 212 n.7, 215 n.62 Dictionary of the Older Scottish Tongue 117, 180, 212 n.7, 274– 82, 305 n.2, 326 n.19, 336 Diebler, A. R. 31 Dilworth, Mark 155, 363 Diodorus Siculus 256 Ditcham, B. G. H. 18 Domhnaill, clan 231, 244, 346 n.20 Donaldson, D. 141 n.6 Donaldson, E. T. 141–42 n.9 Donaldson, Gordon 343 n.21 Donaldson, Robert 412 n.32 Donaldson, Walter, poet 398 Donovan, Mortimer J. 72 n.15 Dooley, Ann 201, 202 Douglas (The Black), family of 19, 20, 27 Douglas, Alexander 379 Douglas, Lady Ann 247 n.34 Douglas, Archibald, Earl of Moray 25 Douglas, Beatrice (née Sinclair) 19, 27

Douglas, Beatrice (sister of William, Earl of Douglas) 25 Douglas, Elizabeth 29 n.4 Douglas, Gavin 31, 66, 71, 75, 110 n.3, 118, 137, 227, 282 n.1; Palice of Honour 110 n.3, 281 Eneados 66, 71, 106, 118, 137, 276 Douglas, Hugh, Earl of Ormond 25, 26 Douglas, James, 4th Earl of Morton 335, 345, 349 Douglas, James, 7th Earl 19 Douglas, James, Lord of Dalkeith 30 n.15 Douglas, Janet, wife of David Lyndsay and seamstress of James V 272, 275, 276 Douglas, William, 8th Earl of Douglas 25, 26 Douglas, William, 10th Earl of Angus 356 dream vision 3, 7, 9, 10, 12, 39, 40, 150, 171, 173, 177 n.15, 381, 384, 386, 392 Drummond, Anna, sister of William 397 Drummond, William, of Hawthornden 289, 299, 300–05, 305 n.4, 397, 398, 412 n.45 “Dual ollamh do thriall le toisg” 243–44, 247 n.35 duanaire, see family poem-book Duanaire Finn (17th c. Irish MS), see Index of MSS Dublin 180, 201, 202, 211 n.1, 211 n.3, 213 n.22 Duc, Thierry 74 n.33 Dudley, Robert, Earl of Leicester 346, 358 n.15 Duff, Thomas 363 Duggan, H. N. 141 n.8 Dunbar, William 17, 31, 66, 68, 110 n.3, 115–25, 174–75, 218 n.73; editions of 115, 116, 117, 118–20, 124; glossing of 120–22, 124; lexical challenges in 117–18, 122–

FRESCHE FONTANIS 23; misattributions to 119, 175; Proverbs in 117; “Ane murelandis man” 281; Ballat of the Abbot of Tungland 123; “Ballade of Barnard Stewart” 120, 121; “Ballat of the Passioun” 121; “Complane I wald” 117; Flyting 66, 115–16, 116–17, 117–18, 121, 122–23, 124, 124 n.3; “Gladethe, thou queyne” 119; Goldyn Targe 73 n.30; “I maister Andro Kennedy” 117; “In secreit place” 116, 117; “I that in heill wes” (Lament for the Makars) 17, 118, 121; “Memento, homo” 119; “Now of women” 116; “Off Februar” 121; “Quhat is this lyfe” 116; “Quhen Merche wes” 120, 173–76, 177–78; “Schir, at this feist” 123; “Schir, I complane off iniuris” 124; “Schir, ࢃit remember” 110 n.3, 122; “Sen that I am” 121; “The wardraipper of Wenus boure” 121; “This hinder nycht, halff sleiping” 121; “This hindir nycht in Dumfermeling” 123; “This waverand warldis” 124; “To speik of science” 116; Tretis of the Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo 117, 123, 127, 133–41 Duncan I, king of Scots (1034–40) 156 n.1, 219, 221, 222–23 Duncan, A. A. M. 157 n.12 Duncanson, James, presbytery clerk 292, 296 Dundas, George 289–92, 305 n.2 Dundee 161 n.43, 408, 410 n.14 Dune, George, canon 279 Dunfermline 144, 147, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 158 n.16, 159 n.23, 160 n.35, 160 n.36, 161 n.43 Dunkeld, House of 148, 156 n.1, 158 n.16 Dunlop, Annie I. 30 n.12 Dunlop, Geoffrey A. 336, 342 n.12

483

Dunnigan, Sarah 59, 318, 343 n.24 Duplessis-Mornay, Philippe 349 Durkan, John 158 n.15, 280, 283 n.7, 308, 411 n.23, 411 n.26, 412 n.42 Du Toit, Alexander 411 n.23 Duvernoy, Jean François 350–52 Dwelly, Edward 180, 211 n.7 Dwyer, Richard 14 n.6 Dyer, Sir Edward, 388; “A Fancy”, 389–92, 393 n.9, 394 n.10 Easson, D. E. 23, 24 East Lothian 317–19, 322, 324 Ebin, Lois 44 n.9 Echecs amoureux 4 Echline, David 405, 411 n.28; Ova Paschalia 405 Edinburgh 19, 22, 26, 60, 159 n.30, 161 n.43, 165, 168, 170, 172, 174, 271, 274, 283 n.8, 292, 296, 297, 298, 301, 305 n.3, 307–09, 313, 315, 315 n. 4, 316 n.5, 316 n.13, 331, 349, 361, 398, 402, 405, 407, 408–09, 410 n.19; Castle 143; Greyfriars Kirk 403; Holyrood Palace and Chapel 168, 403; University 314, 403, 412 n.45 Edington, Carol 227 n.14, 271, 280 editing, scholarly 115–25, 180–81 Edlin, T. P. J. 411 n.23 Edward Ætheling 147 Edward the Confessor, king of Wessex (1042–66) 158 n.20 Edward I, king of England (1272– 1307) 111 n.11 Edwards, A.S.G. 14 n.3, 116, 117, 229 n.31 Eeles, F. C. 276 Ehrhart, Margaret 5, 6, 14 n.2, 14 n.11 Eimhear 202 Ekrem, Inger 258 Elijah, prophet 257

484

GENERAL INDEX

Elizabeth I, Queen of England (1558–1603) 296, 342 n.9, 349, 351, 352, 355, 358 n.16, 392, 408 Elliott, C. 31 Elliott, Elizabeth 3, 14 n.3, 15 n.18 Elliott, Kenneth 116, 172 Ellis, Steven 236 Elphinstone, William, Bp of Aberdeen 152, 153, 160 n.31 Elphynston, family of 302 Elyot, Thomas, Bankett of Sapience 342 n.9 Elysium 13 emblems 167–76, 291, 293–94, 326 n.10 empire (imperium), as political concept 219–22, 225, 226 n.9, 226–27 n.10, 227 n.11, 347 England, history of 143–44, 147–50 England’s Helicon 390, 391 English, John, player 174–75 Eolus 34 Erasmus, Desiderius 256–59, 268 n.16, 268 n.17, 268 n.18, 358 n.19; De praeparatione ad mortem 259; De pueris instituendis 259; Education of a Christian Prince 356, 358 n.9; Praise of Folly 268 n.18; Preparatione to Deathe 259 Erler, Mary 288 Errol, see Hay Erskine, Countess of 292 Erskine, John, Earl of Mar 296–98 Erskine, Robert 29 n.4 Erskine, Thomas, 2nd Lord (d. 1493) 18, 19, 20, 26–27, 28 Eugenius IV, Pope 24 Eurydice 59–74 Eusebius 256 Ewan, Elizabeth 283 n.10, 283 n.12 experience: epistemological application of 249–269; personification of 249, 252–54, 254–67, 267 n.1, 267 n.2, 267 n.8, 267 n.13, 268 n.18, 268 n.19

fable, genre of 31–45, 47–58, 60, 74 n.37, 175, 196, 336 fabliau, genre of 75–84; fableor 80; Freiris of Berwik 75–84; Le Povre Clerc 75–84 faculty psychology 3–15 Falkland 277 Fall, The 5, 6, 13, 252, 256, 262–66, 268 n.21 268 n.25 family history, writing of 318–23, 325, 326 n.8 family poem-book/household book/duanaire/ 183–84, 317–27 farce, genre of 301, 303 farm, implements of: “ait riddill” 282; “cowter” 281; “furnesit wane” 281; harrow 285; “irne schire” 281; “pleuch” 281; “quhit riddill” 282; “schod carte” 281; “sek” 281; “small seif” 282; “sok” 281; “wyde seif” 282; “windo clayth” 281; “yok of oxin” 281 Farnese, Alexander, Duke of Parma 406 Farnsworth, Jane 321 fary/fairy: genre of 59–74; king of 63, 64, 65, 67–70; quene of 59, 65, 67–70, 71, 74 n.32; Fasciculus temporum (Rolewick) 256 favole boscherecchie, “Forest Tales” 381 Fearghus File (legendary poet) 203 Fenton, Alexander 281 Ferguson, William 227 n.10, 227 n.11 fictionality 60 Finlason, Thomas, printer 379 Fionn, Gofraidh 185, 186 Fionnghall (“fair foreigners”, Hebrideans) 234 Fionn mac Cumhaill (“Finn McCoul”) 201 fitzMaurice, Gerald, 3rd Earl of Desmond 215 n.56 Fleming, family of 298

FRESCHE FONTANIS Fleming, Jean, Lady Thirlestane, Countess of Cassillis 330, 347 Fleming, Morna 342 n.5, 342 n.12, 345, 358 n.18 Flodden, battle of (1513) 159 n.22, 176, 214 n.34, 219, 232, 235, 272, 324 Flora 34 Florence 351 Florio, John, lexicographer 346, 359 n.23 Flower, Robin 214 n.44 flyting, genre of 66; Flyting of Dumbar and Kennedie 66, 116– 17, 117–18, 121–24, 124–25 n.3 Foly of Fulys and the Thewis of Vysmen 87 Fockart, Janet, mother of William Fowler 345–46 fool, the 82, 87, 124 Foirm na n-Urrnuidheadh (Carswell/Carsuel) 198, 234 Forbes, William, 8th laird of Tolquhon 377, 379, 393 n.4 Forbes-Leith, William 18, 145, 155, 157 n.7, 161 n.40 Fordun, John of 148, 156, 158 n.20; Chronica Gentis Scotorum 148, 156 Forester, David 295–97 Forfar 161 n.43 Forme of Prayers 364, 365; see also Psalter Forster, Leonard 357 n.3 Fortingall 193 Fortitude, see Virtues Fortune 3, 4–5 10, 12–13, 38, 41, 335, 343 n.20 Foster, Susan 283 n.16 Fothad, Gaelic bishop of St Andrews 157 n.3 Fox, Denton 30 n.16, 31, 35, 38, 39, 43, 44 n.1, 48, 58 n.2, 71 n.1, 71 n.6, 72 n.13, 72 n.14, 73 n.20, 73 n.25, 74 n.32, 87 Foulet, Alfred 110 n.5

485

Fowler, Alastair 320, 326 n.9 Fowler, William, burgess 305 n.3 Fowler, William, poet 329, 330, 342 n.3, 342 n.6, 345–47, 354–57; Ansvver to M. Io. Hamiltoun 345; Il Principe (The Prince) 330, 342 n.3, 345, 346 n.3, 351, 357 n.1, 358 n.15, 358 n.19; “lamentatioun of the desolat olympia” 332–33, 343 n.16; Of Death 350; Tarantula of Love 346, 357, 357 n.5; Trionfi 329, 330, 342 n.3, 346, 357, 358 n.8 Fradenburg, Louise 3, 5, 99, 106, 108, 179 n.1 France 17–18, 20, 21, 25, 373 currency of 23, 272; language of 293–95; literature of 4, 5, 18, 27, 29 n.1, 61–62, 71 n.3, 75–84, 88– 89, 90, 92, 98, 300, 349, 352–53, 362, 364, 374 n.4; religion in 345, 351–53; royal service in 18, 272 Fraser, John 199 Fraser, William 19, 20, 21, 26, 27, 29 n.3 Freeman, A. Martin 234 French, Roger 308 Friedman, John Block 59, 62, 68, 71 n.2, 71 n.4, 72 n.11, 72 n.17 Freiris of Berwik 75–84 Froissart, Jean 4; Espinette amoureuse 4 Frye, Northrop 83 Fuerre de Gadres (Eustache) 98, 110 n.5 Fulgentius, Fabius Planciades 5 furniture and furnishings: “almery” 279; “brasin chandillar” 278, 282; “chyre” 279; “coddis” 280; “comptar burde” 277; “covering with hingeris” 280; “lang furme” 279; “lansadill” 279; “schryne” 280; “wairstaw” 280; “watter pott” 280 Furrow, Melissa 111 n.11

486

GENERAL INDEX

Gaelic poetry: in accentual metre (ceangal) 182, 212 n.13; bard (poet below file or ollamh) 196, 197, 199, 212 n.17, 236, 238–39, 247 n.1; bardic schools of 189, 197, 198, 199; bardic verse in 180–216, 231, 232, 234, 235, 244 n.1, 245 n.7, 246–47 n.24, 247–48 n.36; cliar (ordered poetic band) 182, 199; crosán (lampooner) 199; deibhidhe metre 182, 202, 243; dúnadh verse 186, 213 n.23; elegies and eulogies 183, 185–93, 198, 212 n.11; exempla, religious, in 184, 195; fear dána (poet skilled in syllabic verse) 198, 212 n.17; Fenian tales and verse 183, 184, 190, 192, 201–04, 210, 212 n.11, 213 n.32, 212 n.33, 215 n.65; language of 179, 182; file/filidh (learned poet) 199, 212 n.17, 231, 236; ógláchas (informal syllabic) of 189; ollamh (master poet) 197–99, 212 n.17, 243, 244, 247 n.35; place-lore (dinnsheanchas) in 183, 204, 209, 215 n.66, 246; in rannaigheacht mhór metre 185; rendition from memory in 187–88; in snéadhbhairdne metre 236, 246 n.13; song-poetry 182; syllabic (dán díreach) 182– 83, 187, 189, 190, 193, 194, 197, 198–99, 202, 231; versification patterns of 182 Gàidheal (pl. Gàidheil) 232–34, 242, 245 n.5 Gairdner, James, 177 n.13 Galbraith, J. D. 159 n.28 Galbraith, Sir Thomas, MS illuminator 168–69 Galen 309 Gall (pl. Goill), term 232–35, 240– 41, 243, 246–47 n.24, 247 n.31 Gallais, Pierre 74 n.36 Garden of Eden 5, 251, 262–63 265

Garden of Grave and Godlie Flovvres 363 Gardyne, Alexander, Scotland her Grief at his Maiesties going into England 363 Garnett, George 349 Gask, Norman 278 Gaullier-Bougassas, C. 96 n.13 Gawain 80, 89, 90, 91, 95 Geddes, J. 155 Geddes, William Duguid, editor 409 n.3, 410 n.4, 410 n.5, 410 n.7, 411 n.32, 411 n.38 Geoffrey of Monmouth 72 n.12 Gearóid Iarla (“Earl Gerald”) 190, 200, 205–06, 207, 210, 215 n.57, 215 n.58 Gerson, Jean, Opusculum Tripertitum 253 Giaccherini, Enrico 72 n.11, 73 n.25 Gillies, William 179, 188, 196, 197, 200, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 211 n.1, 211 n.6, 212 n.11, 212 n.12, 214 n.41, 214 n.42, 214 n.43, 214 n.45, 215 n.49, 215 n.57, 215 n.59, 216 n.69, 216 n.76, 231, 236, 240, 244, 245 n.7, 246 n.21, 247 n.26, 248 n.37 Girvan, Ritchie 86, 87, 95 n.4, 96 n.7, 96 n.10 Glaisyer, Natasha 255, 268 n.19 Glamis, see Lyon Glasgow University 308, 403 Glenorchy 182, 189, 193, 198, 200, 205 “Godlie Ballad to the tune of Lillibulero, Ane” 379–80 Gods, planetary 3, 5–6, 9–12, 62, 342 n.14, 361, 362–63, 366, 387 Golagros, see romance, genre of Goldin Litany 155, 161 n.42 Goldman, Peter, poet and doctor 399–401, 403–04, 405, 406, 410 n.5, 410 n.14, 411 n.32 Goldstein, R. James 78, 80, 266 Göller, K. 88

FRESCHE FONTANIS Good, Julian 47 Good Wife Taught Her Daughter, The 85, 86 Goodare, Julian 349, 355, 356, 358 n.10, 358 n.11 Gordon, Cosmo 214 n.46 Gordon, family of 379 Gordon, George, see Huntly Gordon, I. L. 141 n.2 Gosman, Martin 96 n.13 Govan 403 Gower, John 177 n.16 Gowrie, 1st Earl, see Ruthven Graham, Robert 99, 110 n.6 Grant, A. 30 n.14 Grant, Leonard 401, 410 n.17 Gray, Douglas 17, 44 n.7, 51, 165, 170 Gray, M. M. 95 n.1 “Great Chronicle of London” 165, 172 Greaves, R. L. 280 Greek, language 293 Green, D. H. 74 n.35 Green, Richard Firth 72 n.21 Greene, David 205 Grimaldi, Patrizia 72 n.15 Gros Louis, Kenneth R. R. 71 n.2 Guddat-Figge, Gisela 88 Guillaume d’Orange 83 Guinevere 80, 89–92, 95 Gutenberg, Johannes 258 Gwynn, Edward 213 n.22 Gy, spreit of 124 Haddington 319, 327 n.24 Haddingtonshire 318 Hadley Williams, Janet 227 n.14, 252, 271, 282 n.2 Hailes, Lord, see Dalrymple Hainsworth, Peter 342 n.7 Halkerston, James 403, 404, 407, 409, 411 n.26 Halliwell, J. O. 72 n.16 Halyburton, Andrew 274

487

Hamer, Douglas 258, 273, 283 n.17, 283 n.19 Hamilton, James, Duke of Châtelherault, Earl of Arran, Governor 352 Hamilton, John, 1st Marquess of Hamilton 356 Hamilton, John, Roman Catholic controversialist 345 Handley, Stuart 408, 411 n.23 handwriting, see palaeography Hanna, Ralph 97, 110 n.2 Hannay, Patrick, poet 363; Sheretine and Mariana 381 Hardwick, C. 88 Harf-Lancner, Laurence 74 n.36 Harikae, Ryoko 217, 218, 225 n.1, 225 n.2, 226 n.3, 226 n.5, 227 n.15, 229 n.30, 229 n.32 Harington, Sir John, courtier and translator 331, 342 n.9 “Harlaw Brosnachadh” 246 n.20 “Harp, The”, see De Regimine Principum Bonum Consilium Harrison, Alan 215 n.55 Harrison, Peter 264, 268 n.21, 268 n.25 Hart, Rachel 124 n.3 Harvey, Charles C. H. 21, 27, 29 n.8 Harvey, Gabriel 358 n.15 Harvey, Gideon, Discourse of the Plague 310 Hary, Blind 118; Wallace 104, 106 Hay, family of 17–30 Hay, Emund, the younger 23 Hay, Francis, 9th Earl of Errol 356 Hay, Gilbert, of Dronlaw 21, 27 Hay, Gilbert, of Errol 21 Hay, Gilbert, of Menzean 29 n.8 Hay, Sir Gilbert, translator 17–30, 85, 87, 93, 95 n.2, 117; and Scotichronicon 17, 29 n.6; and Alexander romance, see Buik of Alexander the Conquerour; “buke of curtasy and nortur” 17; Buke of the Gouernaunce of Princes 17,

488

GENERAL INDEX

27, 28, 352; Buke of Knychthede 17, 27, 28; Buke of the Law of Armys 17, 27, 28; “the Regiment of kingis with the…phisnomy” 17, 93–94; legal collection “by…G. H.” 17, 25, 27 Hay, John 29 n.11 Hay, Nicholas, 2nd Earl of Errol 29 n.11 Hay, William, of Errol (d.1436) 21, 23–24, 25, 26–27, 28, 30 n.13 Hays, of Yester 29 n.8 Hazlitt, W. Carey 72 n.16 Heaven 252, 261–62 Hebrew, language of 293 Hector 337 Heddle, Donna 330–31, 332, 342 n.2, 342 n.5, 342 n.13 Heidelberg 398 heirship goods, inventories of 273– 83, 305 n.3 Henderson, E. 160 n.33, 160 n.36 Henderson, Lizanne 66, 68, 69, 72 n.21, 73 n.31 Henri III, king of France (1574–89) 349, 407 Henry I, king of England (1100–35) 144, 148 Henry II, king of England (1154– 89) 148 Henry VI, king of England (1422– 61) 177 n.13 Henry VII, king of England (1485– 1509) 166, 167, 170, 173–74, 176 n.4, 177 n.5 Henry VIII, king of England (1509– 47) 272 Henry Frederick, prince (b.1594) 296–97, 356, 358 n.8, 358 n.9 Henryson, Robert 31–45, 122, 216 n.73, 336, 339; “Against Hasty Credence” 35; Morall Fabillis 31– 45, 47–58, 61, 74 n.37, 336, 339; Moralitates 33, 34, 38, 41, 43–44, 49, 50–52, 54–57; “Prologue” 31, 32, 48–49, 50, 54, 55; “The Cock

and the Jasp” 31, 32, 37, 40, 50, 56; “The Two Mice” 31, 32–33, 38, 122; “The Fox and the Wolf” 34, 38–39, 50, 57; “The Trial of the Fox” 33, 47, 50–55, 56; “The Sheep and Dog” 31, 33, 39; “The Lion and Mouse” 33–34, 39–41, 43, 45 n.18; “The Preaching of the Swallow” 34, 41–42, 43; “The Fox, the Wolf, and Cadger” 42; “The Fox, Wolf, and Husbandman” 42; “The Wolf and Wether” 35, 40, 42, 43; “The Wolf and Lamb” 31, 34; “The Paddock and Mouse” 31, 34, 43; Testament of Cresseid 43, 44 n.15, 61, 66, 73 n.25; Orpheus and Eurydice 59– 74 Hepburn, Patrick, 3rd Earl of Bothwell 166 Hepburne, Jonet, wife of George, 3rd Lord Seton 324 heraldry: arms, personal 275, 278, 280; “coit of armour” 281; English 165–78; daisy in 168, 170 177 n.8; rose, red and white in 167–72, 173, 175, 177 n.8; unicorn and greyhound in 170; Garter, order of 392; Scottish, 158–59 n.20, 167– 73, 175–76, 176 n.4, 177 n.7, 227 n.15, 374; eagle in 171, 173; lion in 167, 168, 171, 173; thistle in 167, 170–73, 175; terminology of 177 n.12 heralds 271–72, 274, 280, 281, 283 n.8, 283 n.13 Herod 370 Herodotus 256, 350 Herrtage, Sydney 110 n.3 Heurodis, wife of Orfeo 63–64 Heywood, Thomas, Oenone and Paris 381 Higgins, I. M. 124 n.1 Higgitt, John 159 n.22 Hill, T. D. 117

FRESCHE FONTANIS Hillers, Barbara 215 n.59 Hilton, L. 157 n.8 Hinds, Stephen 74 n.33 Hippocrates 309 Historia de Preliis 92 Historie and Life of King James the Sext 295, 297–98 Hoccleve, Thomas, Lerne How to Dye 254 Hodgett, A. J. 278 Hodgson Hinde, J. 157 n.7 Holdsworth, Richard 88 Holland, Richard, Buke of the Howlat 127, 281, 320 Hollo, Kaarina 212 n.13 Holmes, N. M. McQ. 227 n.12 Horenbout, Gerard 177 n.9 horse accoutrements: “bonat cace” 277; “fransche sadill harnessing” 277; “fute mantill” 274, 277; “maill” 277 Hospital, Michael de l’ 352 Houlbrooke, R. A.326 n.5 Hours, books of 124 n.3, 168, 169 fig.2, 170, 177 n.6, 177 n.7, 227 n.11 How, G. E. P. 276 Howard, Henry, Earl of Northumberland 351–52 Howlat, see Holland Hudson, James, poet 329 Hudson, Robert, poet 329 Hudson, Thomas, Historie of Judith 329, 330, 332, 342 n.3, 350 Huguenots 347, 349, 353, 364 Hume (Home), family of 378 Hume, David, of Godscroft 403, 409 n.3, 411 n.27; Lusus Poetici 405 Hume, Sir George 378, 391 Hume, Patrick, of Polwarth, Flyting of Montgomerie and Polwart 329 Hume Brown, P. 320, 327 n.24 Humfrey of Lancaster, Duke of Gloucester 5 Huneycutt, L. 157 n.6, 157 n.8

489

Hungary, royal family of 148, 154, 157 n.11 Hunter, Kathryn 320 Huntly, George Gordon, 6th Earl and 1st Marquess of 289–91, 356 Hygieia 406 Idæa of a Perfect Princesse 158 n.14 Illustrated Gaelic Dictionary 180 Inchcolm Abbey 311 Ingibjorg, first wife of Malcolm III 157 n.3 Inglis, Esther, calligrapher 406, 411 n.37 Innes, Cosmo 19, 29 n.4, 30 n.15, 159 n.23, 282, 308 Innes, Sim 195, 214 n.36 Innes, Thomas, of Learney 274, 283 n.10 Innocent IV, Pope (1243–54) 151, 159 n.23 Innocent XII, Pope (1691–1700) 160 n.30 interlude 174, 174 inventories, of goods 273–82, 283 n.12, 283 n.15, 305 n.3 Inveraray 189 Inverness 26 Ireland, John, Meroure of Wyssdome 348 Isidore of Seville 252 Isolt 80 Issabell, queen of Orpheus 64 Italy 346, 351, 357–58 n.7; literature of 329–30, 345–59; see also Fowler; Stewart Ivy, Robert 110 n.8 Ixion 4 “J de R capellanus”, scribe 87 Jack, R. D. S. 84 n.1, 84 n.2, 329, 332, 342 n.1, 342 n.5, 342 n.10, 342 n.12, 367, 374 n.13 Jaffe, Clella I. 267 n.10

490

GENERAL INDEX

James I, king of Scots (1407–37) 3, 5, 7, 14, 19, 24, 25, 97, 110 n.6, 219; see also Kingis Quair James II, king of Scots (1437–60) 19, 20, 24–26, 97, 219 James III, king of Scots (1460–88) 88, 97, 168, 170, 219, 220, 227 n.11, 348 James IV, king of Scots (1488– 1513) 156, 161 n.44, 165–66, 168, 176, 177 n.7, 177 n.9, 219, 227 n.11, 232, 272, 279, 308, 348; marriage of 165–77; see also heraldry James V, king of Scots (1513–42) 159 n.20, 217, 219, 220, 222–23, 224, 225, 226 n.8, 227 n.12, 228 n.23, 271, 272, 274, 275, 276, 279, 280–81, 283 n.14, 334, 343 n.17, 348 James VI, king of Scots (1567– 1625, also I, king of England and Ireland (1603–25) 73 n.31, 291, 292, 299, 295–98, 299, 314, 315, 329–35, 339–41, 343 n.16, 343 n.24, 345–59, 362, 373, 374 n.5, 377, 378, 391, 397–99, 405, 408, 409–10, 411, 412, 413; as Episcopalian 292; and literary nationalism 329–30, 333, 334–35, 340, 342 n.5, 400–02; and presbyterians 368, 372–70, 372– 74; Basilikon Doron 267, 269 n.27, 347, 348, 355–56, 368; “Complainte of his mistressis absence” 362; Essayes of a Prentise 331, 346, 408; Lepanto 395, 405; Phoenix 343 n.22; Revlis and Cavtelis 329–30, 331, 332, 342 n.4, 342 n.7, 342 n.13, 343 n.15; Seconde Sepmaine 329; Trew Law of Free Monarchies 347, 355–56; Vranie 329 Jean, Duc du Berry, Très Riches Heures 124 n.3 Jermyn, Deborah 305 n.1

jewellery: “bedis of siluir” 276; “braislettis” 275; “chenࢃe of gold” 275; “gawdeis of gold of pareiss werk” 275; “signit” 275; “tablet” 275; “tergat” 274 Jillings, Karen 307, 308 John XXI, Pope, Treasuri of Helth, trans. Humfrey Lloyd 309 John of Burgundy, Ane Tretyse agayne the pestilens 311 John the Reeve 105, 111 n.11 Johnson, Ian 62, 71 n.6 Johnston, Arthur, poet and medicus regius 395, 396, 398, 400, 402– 04, 409 n.3, 414 n.5, 410 n.6, 410 n.15, 410 n.22; Epigrammata 398, 400, 402; Musae aulicae 402; Parerga 398, 400, 402; “To Mr John Scot of Scotstarvet” 400 Johnston, J. 89, 95 n.1 Johnston, W. T. 409 n.1, 414 Johnstone, John 402, 403, 405, 411 n.27; Heroes ex omni historia Scotica lectissimi 405; Inscriptiones historicae regum Scotorum 405 Josephus, Titus Flavius 256 Julian of Norwich 90 Juno 3, 4–6 Justice 170, 356; see also Virtues Kane, G. 141–42 n.9 Kassell, Lauren 309 Katherine of Aragon 166, 173, 174 Kelso Abbey 311 Kempe, Margery 90 Kennedy, Elspeth 88, 89 Kennedy, Hugh 21, 29 n.5, 29–30 n.12 Kennedy, Mr J., scribe 380 Kennedy, Walter 115–16, 117–18, 121–24 Kennedy MS, see Index of MSS, Edinburgh, NLS Kennedy-Skipton, Laetitia 326 n.4 Kenny, Neil 249, 267 n.6, 268 n.24

FRESCHE FONTANIS Ker MS, see Index of MSS, Edinburgh, University Library Khinoy, S. 42–43 Kieckhefer, Richard 73 n.29 Kindrick, Robert L. 72 n.9 King, Adam, lawyer and poet 403, 404, 407–08, 410 n.19, 411 n.25, 411 n.26, 412 n.42, 412 n.43; Panegyris 407 King, Pamela M. 177 n.15 “King Berdok” (“Sym of Lyntoun”) 68 King Hart 75, 334 “King Orfeo”, Shetlandic ballad 64, 72 n.21 King Orphius, see romance, genre of Kingis Quair (James I) 3–15, 177 n.16, 224 Kinloch, David 403, 411 n.27; De hominis procreatione 405 Kinsley, James 116, 117, 119, 120, 122, 142 n.17 Kipling, Gordon 166, 173–74, 176 n.3, 177 n.5 kitchen, equipment of: “bief pott” 278; “chaffer” 278; chopin 278; “chymlay” 278, 286; “cruk” 278; frying pan 278; “girdill” 281–82; “grise pan” 278–79; quart 278; “pan” 278; pint 278; “spete” 278; “standand rackis” 278; “tangis” 278 Knight, Alan 174 Knighton, C. S. 317 Knott, Eleanor 246 n.13 Knox, John 293, 349, 354 Kolve, V. A. 11, 15 n.15, 52 Kramer, Joanna 117 Kratzmann, Greg 74 n.37 Krueger, Roberta 92 Kurtz, Benjamin 267 n.7 Laing, David 72 n.16, 111 n.11, 118, 119, 258, 267 n.11, 305 n.3, 377, 378, 393 n.1, 398 n.6

491

Laing, H. 160 n.36 “Laird of Buccleuch”, see Scott Lament for the Makars, see Dunbar Lancaster, House of 167 Lancelot 80, 83, 89, 90, 91–92, 95, 96 n.8, 277 Lancelot do Lac 88 Lancelot of the Laik 85–92, 93, 95, 95 n.1, 96 n.8, 96 n.9, 96 n.10, 348 Langland, William 133, 134, 135; Piers Plowman 132–35, 141–42 n.9 Langley, Thomas 258 Largs, Battle of 150, 159 n.21 La Rochelle 405 Lascelles, Mary 96 n.12 Last Judgment 261 Lawlor, H. J. 280 Lawson, H. A. B. 271 Lawson, M. K. 157 n.2 Leask, William Keith, editor 364, 406, 409 n.3, 410 n.4, 410 n.5, 410 n.7, 411 n.32, 411 n.38 Lee, Maurice, jun. 411 n.23 Leech, David 396 Leech, John 396, 398–99, 401, 406, 410 n.8; Musæ Priores, sive Poematum pars prior 364 Leges Burgorum 282 Leicester, see Dudley Leiden 399, 400, 405 Lekpreuik, Robert, printer 110 n.3, 307, 309, 314, 315 n.4 Leland, John 167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 174, 176, 177 n.7 Lennox, Esmé 289 Lennoxlove 319, 327 n.20 Le Povre Clerc 75–84 Lerer, Seth 72 n.18 Leslie, John, Bp of Ross 320, 343 n.20 Lethington, see Maitland family letters: by Willem Blaeu 410 n.13, 410 n.20; by Campbell family 282 n.1; by Europhilus (Craig) 388; by

492

GENERAL INDEX

Gavin Douglas 282 n.1; by George Dundas 289–91, 305 n.2; by Jean Fleming, Countess of Cassillis 275; by Peter Goldman 410 n.14; by Gabriel Harvey 358 n.15; by John Leech 410 n.8, 410 n.9; by David Lyndsay 271; by Joachim Morsius 410 n.11; by Patrick Panter 410 n.16; by Ralph Sadler 275–76; by Philip Sidney 358 n.15; to Scotstarvit 409 n.2, 410 n.5 Lewis, Lucy 14 n.1 Liber Pluscardensis 148, 151, 152– 53, 160 n.33, 163 App. Liddell, Duncan 406, 411 n.32 Lindsay, James, printer to Edinburgh University 314, 406 Lindsay, John, chancellor 406 Linlithgow 272, 292, 297 Lipsius, Justus 399 literacy, rise in 312 literality 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 58 Liuzza, Roy Michael 72 n.15 Livingston, family of 296–98 Livy (Titus Livius Patavinus) 219, 256, 350 Lloyd, Humfrey, The treasuri of helth 309, 312, 316 n.7 Lodge, Thomas, Rosalind 381, 390; Treatise of the Plague 309–10 London 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 172, 173, 312, 373, 378, 380, 391, 392, 402, 405, 410 n.8, 410 n.11, 214 n.47 Loomis, Laura Hibbard 73 n.30 Lords of the Isles 185, 189, 190–91, 204 Louvain 308, 399 Loxley, James 176 n.2 Luard, H. R. 88 Lucan (Marcus Annaeus Lucanus) 256 Lull, Raymond, Libre de Caballeria 29 n.1

Lupack, A. 95 n.1, 108, 110 n.3 Luther, Martin 268 n.21 Lyall, R. J. 14 n.8, 37, 38, 39, 42, 71 n.7, 88, 96 n.6, 160 n.36, 369, 404 Lydgate, John 31–45, 96 n.5, 216 n.73, 321; Churl and the Bird 35, 40, 41, 42; Dietary 87; Fall of Princes 32, 38; Isopes Fabules 31–45; “Seyinge of the Nightingale” 175; Siege of Thebes 37, 38; Troy Book 38; Lydgateanism 31, 34, 35–36, 38, 39–44 Lyle, Emily 64, 72 n.17, 72 n.21, 73 n.22 Lynch, Kathryn L. 11, 13, 15 n.14, 15 n.17 Lynch, Michael 177 n.11 , 236, 326 n.7, 342 n.2 Lyndsay, Sir David (c.1486–1555) 31, 75, 227 n.14, 249–58, 260, 261, 262–67, 267 n.1, 267 n.2, 267 n.13, 267 n.15, 271–83; Answer to the Kingis Flyting 280; Complaint of Bagsche 275–76; Deploratioun 271; Dialog 249–69, 274, 277, 280, 281, 283 n.17; Historie of…Meldrum 276, 277, 278; Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis 279, 288, 348; Testament of Meldrum 285; Testament and Complaynt of…[the] Papyngo 276–77, 348 Lyndsay, David (d.1591) 273 Lyndsay, Elizabeth 273 Lyon, Thomas, Master of Glamis 296, 343 n.21 Lyons, city 405 mac Alpin, Kenneth 192 Macalpine, John, friar and reformer 280 Macbeth 218, 222–24, 228 n.26, 228 n.27, 229 n.28 MacBhraine, Domhnul 245 n.11 Mac Cana, Proinsias 201 Mac Cárthaigh, Eoin 246 n.19

FRESCHE FONTANIS McCleery, I. 157 n.8 McClune, Kate 124 n.2, 267 n.1, 268 n.18, 317, 318, 326 n.3, 329, 342 n.11, 342 n.12, 343 n.20 McClung, William 320 McClure, J. Derrick 127, 128, 131, 141 n.1, 142 n.10, 142 n.11, 142 n.14, 143 n.22, 142 n.23, 365 MacCoinnich, Cailein Dearg, 1st Earl of Seaforth 234 MacCoinnich, Cailein Dubh of Kilcoy 234 McCulloch, James, poet 398, 403– 04, 405, 410 n.10, 411 n.28; Anthophoria, sive pentanthos Mediceus 398–99 MacDhòmhnaill, Dòmhnall Dubh 232 MacDhòmhnaill, Seumas, of Knockrinsay 243, 246 n.22 MacDhòmhnaills of Clann Raghnaill 232 McDiarmid, Matthew P. 17, 18, 331, 342 n.12, 343 n.21 Macdomhnuill, Raonuill 245 n.11 MacDonald, family of 189, 191 MacDonald, Alasdair 117, 225, 229 n.31, 317, 319, 320, 321, 326 n.6, 326 n.13, 375 n.14, 409 n.3 Macdonald, Alexander 30 n.15 MacDonald, Angus 214 n.35 MacDonald, Archibald 214 n.35 MacDonald, John, of the Isles 190, 192, 214 n.47 MacDonald, Robert H. 300, 303 Macdougall, Norman 166 MacEwen/MacEoghain family (poets to the Campbells) 298, 241, 246 n.24 Macfarlane, L. 160 n.31, 179 n.6, 177 n.9 McGavin, John 283 n.6, 287, 288 McGinley, Kevin 69 McGinnis, Paul 396, 409 n.3, 411 n.23 McGladdery, Christine 20, 324

493

MacGregor, family of 181–84, 188, 189, 191, 192, 195, 198, 199, 217 n.63, 199, 201, 203, 204, 205, 208, 210, 215 n.63 MacGregor, Martin 179, 198, 201, 204, 211 n.2, 213 n.30, 216 n.73, 232, 245 n.10 MacGriogair, Màrtainn, see MacGregor, Martin Machaut, Guillaume de 4; Confort d’ami 4; Fonteinne amoureuse 4 Macheson, Agnes, wife of Miles Coverdale 280 Macheson, Elizabeth, wife of John Macalpine 280 Machiavelli, Niccolò 345–59; Arte della Guerra 351; L’Asino d’oro 351; Istorie fiorentine 355; I Discorsi 351; Il Principe 345, 349, 351, 352, 355, 356, 357 n.1, 358 n.15 MacInnes, John 235, 247 n.33 McKean, Charles 326 n.15 MacKechnie, John 246 n.22 McKechnie, William S. 404 McKenna, Lambert 194, 196, 214 n.36, 214 n.37, 214 n.40, 214 n.44 Mackenzie, W. Mackay 117, 119 McKim, Anne M. 70, 71 n.6 MacKinnon, Dolly 326 n.5 MacKonoschie, Issobell, book inscriber 92 MacLachlan, Ewen 180, 211 n.4 MacLauchlan, David 29–30 n.12 MacLauchlan, Thomas 180, 211 n.5, 212 n.13 Maclean, family of 194 MacLeod, family of 194 MacLeod of Lewis 189, 190, 191, 194 Macleod, John 21, 27, 29 n.8 McLeod, Wilson 212 n.8, 213 n.30, 231, 234, 236, 241, 244 n.1, 244 n.2, 245 n.3, 245 n.6, 245 n.9, 245 n.11, 246 n.19, 246 n.20, 246 n.21, 247 n.26, 247 n.27, 249

494

GENERAL INDEX

n.29, 247 n.30, 247 n.31, 247–48 n.36, 248 n.37 MacLeòid, Torcal, of Lewis 232 McManus, Damian 187, 212 n.14, 212 n.46, 247 n.25 Mac Mathúna, Séamus 215 n.58 MacMhuirich dynasty (poets to the Lords of the Isles) 185, 197, 214 n.47, 232 Mac Mhuireadhaigh, Eóin 186, 197, 210 Macnab, Finlay of Bovaine, Gaelic poet and chief 181, 184, 199, 200, 201 MacNéill, Eoin 202 MacPherson, James 204, 215 n.66 Macqueen, James 395 MacQueen, John 44 n.7, 71 n.6, 267 n.12 McRoberts, David 226 n.9, 275, 276, 278, 280, 282 Madeleine, daughter of Francis I and wife of James V 276, 283 n.7 Madrid MS, see Index of MSS Magog, Saracen champion 105, 107–08 Maid’s Tragedy 303 Mair, John, Historia Majoris Brittaniae 220 “Maith an chairt ceannas na nGaoidheal” 232, 241–44 Maitland, family of 115, 317–327; Lethington, seat of 317–22, 324; Thirlestane, property of 319; Blyth, property of 319, 322 Maitland Folio MS 115, 116, 119, 123, 317, 318, 322, 325; see also family poem-book; Index of MSS, Cambridge Maitland Quarto MS 317–22, 325, 326 n.17, 326 n.18; see also family poem-book; Index of MSS, Cambridge; “At morning in ane gardein grein” (XIX) 322; “Blind man be blyithe” (XIV) 322; “Consolatore Ballad” (XLVI)

322–23; “Gif thow desyire thy hous lang stand” (LVII) 323, 324; “Greit paine It is” (XXIX) 326 n.18; “Intill ane morning mirthfullest of may” (LXIX) 325; “It is ane mortall paine to heir” (XXVIII) 321, 326 n.18; “Mair mischevous and wicked warld” (XXXIV) 326 n.17; “O Lord our sin hes done the tein” (XXX) 326 n.18; “Of Liddisdaill the commoun theiffis” (III) 326 n.17; “Sumtyme to court I did repair” (XXIII) 326 n.16; “Thocht that þis warld be verie strainge” (XX) 322; “Virgil his village Mantua” (LXVIII) 319, 321–23 Maitland, John, of Thirlestane, Chancellor 298, 318, 346, 403, 405, 406, 408, 409, 411 n.39 Maitland, Marie, daughter of Sir Richard 318, 321, 326 n.14 Maitland, Sir Richard, of Lethington 317–18, 321–25, 326 n.2, 326 n.15, 326 n.18; “History of the House of Douglas” 327 n.20; History of the House of Seytoun 318, 323–25 Maitland, Thomas, son of Sir Richard 320, 321, 326 n.12, 354, 403, 404, 411 n.26; “Domus Ledintona” 320, 321; “Account of a Pretended Conference” 354, 358–59 n.20 Maitland, Sir William, of Lethington 318, 345; and Machiavelli 345, 354 Malcolm III, king of Scots (1058– 93) 143, 147, 149, 150, 152, 154, 156 n.1, 157 n.3, 161 n.40, 162 App., 225 n.1, 324 Malorat, Augustin 370 Malory, Sir Thomas 111 n.10 Malipiero, Ser Thomà 399 Mapstone, Sally 7, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 25, 27, 30 n.16, 71 n.5, 85, 87,

FRESCHE FONTANIS 88, 93, 95 n.1, 96 n.6, 97, 98, 115, 116, 158 n.16, 216 n.73, 225 n.1, 229 n.31, 280 Mar, earldom of 20, 27, 29 n.4, 296–98; see also Erskine Margaret, wife of Malcolm III, see St Margaret Margaret of Scotland, dauphine of France (1424–45) 18 Margaret Tudor, wife of James IV 119, 165–72, 174, 176, 177 n.9, 227 n.11, 279; marriage of 165– 77; see also heraldry Marie de France 39 Marie de Guise 227 n.12, 272, 274, 327 n.23 Mark, legendary king 80 Marks, Richard 278 Marlin, John 71 n.6 Marot, Clément 364 Marotti, Arthur F. 319, 326 n.4 Marshall, Rosalind K. 275, 411 n.23 Martin, Jean, translator 342 n.10 Martin, Joanna 17, 19, 71 n.4, 71 n.6, 85, 88, 91, 93, 96 n.14, 124 n.2, 317, 318, 326 n.3, 334, 339, 343 n.19 Marwick, James D. 26, 29 n.4 Mary, queen of Scots (1542–67) 323, 327 n.23, 332, 334, 342 n.6, 342 n.16, 342 n.17, 345, 346, 348–49, 351, 354, 357 n.1, 357 n.4, 374 n.4 Mason, Roger 219, 220, 226 n.9, 229 n.10, 229 n.11, 229 n.12, 226–27 n.13, 227 n.14, 358 n.11 Masson, David 398 Matheson n.d., see Index of MSS Edinburgh, NLS Matheson, Angus 198, 206, 245 n.6 Matheson, Lister 110 n.6 Matheson, William 211 n.9, 235, 245 n.8 Matilda, consort of Henry I 144–47, 148, 157 n.8

495

Maunsell, Andrew, Catalogue of English Printed Bookes 315, 375 n.17 Maxwell, Alexander 279 Medici, de’ Catherine 345, 349 Medici, Lorenzo de’ 350 medicinars 309, 311–12, 313 medicine: advice on, vernacular 308–16; Gaelic 315 n.2; teaching of 308, 312 Medicines against the pest 314 Meek, Donald 179, 180, 192, 202, 203, 204, 205, 211 n.6, 212 n.16, 215 n.64, 215 n.65, 215 n.66, 215 n.67, 216 n.69, 216 n.70, 216 n.71 Meier, Nicole 115 Meikle, Henry W. 347 Melanchthon, Philipp 258 Melyhalt, Lady of 89, 90, 91 Melville, Andrew 373, 403, 406, 408, 409, 409 n.3, 411 n.35; Antichristus 406; Carmen Mosis 406; Febris 411 n.36; Hygaea 411 n.36; Musaeum 411 n.36; Principis Scoti-Britannorum natalia 406; Stephaniskion 406 Melville, Elizabeth, Lady Culross, Ane Godlie Dreame 366, 368, 392; [“Sonnet to M. Jhone Welshe”] 368; “Thankisgiving to God for his Benefeitis” 366–67, 374 n.13 Melville, James (1556–1614) 303, 304, 365, 366, 367, 368–69, 370– 71, 373, 374 n.10, 375 n.15, 375 n.16, 375 n.21; and dialectal rhyme 365; and Mindes Melodie 367, 369, 373, 375 n.20; “Apologie for the Prisoners of the Lord Jesus” 369; Fruitful and Comfortable Exhortatioun anent Death 365–67, 374 n.11, 374 n.13, 375 n.19; “Melvins Martyrdome” 373; “[Melvins] Preferment” 373 Melvillians 356

496

GENERAL INDEX

Memory, arts of 4, 6, 7–10, 12, 15 n.13 Merdrignac, Bernard 214 n.44 Merriman, Marcus 325 Metamorphoses, see Ovid Metcalfe, W. M. 155 metre, in Older Scots: hypermetrical 141 n.1; pitch prominence in 128– 31, 142 n.10; stress in 127–37, 139–41, 141 n.5, 141 n.8, 142 n.11, 142 n.21; syllable types in 129–32; vowel sound in 141 n.7, 142 n.10 Metrodorus of Scepsis 9, 15 n.13 Michel, Francisque 21 Migne, J. 158 n.17 Migraine-George, Thérèse 74 n.38 Míl (Easpáin) 247 n.30 Mills, Carol 60, 62, 70, 72 n.11, 72 n.14, 73 n.20, 73 n.28 Mills, Robert 73 n.24 Milne, Robert 24 Mindes Melodie 361, 367–71, 373– 74 Minerva 3, 10, 12, 15 n.16 Minnis, A. J. 9, 47 Miracula Sancte Margarite Scotorum Regine 147, 150, 153, 155–56, 158 n.15, 159 n.21 mirrors, use of in public 290–91, 305 n.3 Miyares, R. Valdes 72 n.15 Money, D. K. 364 Montaigne, Michel de, “On Experience” 266, 269 n.26 Montgomerie, Alexander 73 n.31, 318, 326 n.4, 329, 330, 343 n.24, 361–75; Cherrie and the Slae 364; Flyting of Montgomerie and Polwart 329; “In throu the windois of myne ees” 374 n.8; “Lyk as the dum / Solsequium” 361–75, 391 Montgomerie, Margaret 326 n.2 Mooney, Linne 29 n.9 Mór, Donnchadh 185, 187

morality play 174–75 Moray, Earl of, see Douglas; Stewart Moray, Thomas, poet 403, 411 n.27; Naupactiados 405 More, Thomas 300 Morray, William, A Short Treatise of Death 367 Morsius, Joachim 399, 401, 410 n.11 Morton, see Douglas Moryson, Fynes 327 n.24 Moses 358 n.12 Mosman, John, goldsmith 275 Moulton, Thomas, This is the Myrrour or Glasse of Helth 312 Mulvey, Laura 305 n.1 Munro, Lucy 287 Munster 186 Murphy, Gerard 201, 206, 212 n.13 Murray, Athol L. 283 n.9 Murray, Thomas, translator 395 Muscatine, Charles 79 Muses 61–62 Muses Welcome (ed. Adamson) 405, 406 music: choral 170–72, 173, 176, 182, 204, 361, 365, 367, 370, 371, 374 n.1, 379–80; in bardic verse 212 n.11; healing power of 61–62, 70, 72 n.10; instrumental 116, 170, 173; Scots version of English 116 Mustanoja, Tauno 95 n.4, 251 Mynors, R. A.B. 158 n.17 Naoise 209, 213 n.32 narrative 188, 289–309, 336–37: autobiographical 3, 4, 7–9, 11, 14, 17–18, 362, 406, 408–09, 411 n.36; biographical 17–30, 143–63, 407; complaint 381, 386; devotional 183–84; didactic 7, 14, 34–36, 37–38, 40–45, 45 n.18, 85, 88–89, 90–91, 93, 176, 153–274, 327; ethical 36–40, 51, 174; fairy

FRESCHE FONTANIS 60, 65; ironic 43, 44, 55, 77, 79– 80, 82–83; encyclopaedic / learned 184; satiric 117, 204–08 narrator 37–42, 49–57, 64, 69, 90– 93, 95, 262, 265, 319, 321–22, 335, 33–39, 341, 342–43 n.14, 381 nation, German, of Paris 407 Nature 167, 171, 251–52 Nauta, Lodi 14 n.5 de Navarre, Henri 353 Nelson, Timothy, G. A. 342 n.12 neo-Latin verse 395–412: Belgian: 401; Danish: 400; English: 401; Academicae Oxoniensis pietas erga Jacobum regem 401; Dolor et solamen 401; Epithalamium Caroli et Mariae 401; Musarum Oxoniensium soteria 401; Voces votivae 405; French: 399, 401; German: 401; Hungary: 400; Italian: 401; Scottish: 395–409, 409 n.3; Anthophoria, sive pentanthos Mediceus (McCulloch) 398–99; Epigrammata (Johnston) 398, 400; Hodaeporicon (Scotstarvit) 397, 405; Meletemata Hypogaea (Seget) 399; Parerga (Johnston) 398, 400, 402; see also individual authors Neoplatonism 62 New Actis and Constitutionis of Parliament (1542) 227 n.14 Newby, Elizabeth 72 n.10 Newlyn, Evelyn S. 42, 80, 318, 321 Newtown, George 273 Ní Dhonnchadha, Máirín 206 Nichols, P. H. 44 n.9 Nimrod 257 Nitze, William A. 103 Noomen, Willem 76 Northumbria 221–22 Norton-Smith, John 14 n.1, 44 n.7 Norway, defeat at Largs 150

497

Ó Baoill, Colm 211 n.10, 215 n.48 Ó Briain, Máirtín 232 Ó Clúmhain, Seaán 185 Ó Cuív, Brian 212 n.14, 212 n.15 Ó Dálaigh (O’Daly), family of 185, 186, 213 n.24, 214 n.38 Ó Dálaigh, Donnchadh Mór 193, 212 n.15, 213 n.24, Ó Dálaigh, Muireadhach Albanach 185, 187, 194, 213 n.24, 214 n.39 Odlozilik, Otakar 410 n.12 Ó Dochartaigh, Cathair 211 n.10 Ó Domhnaill, Aodh, Ulster chief 232, 246 n.19 Ogilvie, Alexander, fourth laird of Boyne 343 n.16 Ogilvie, Walter 167–68, 171–73, 176 n.4 Ogilvy, Patrick 29 n.10 Ó hIfearnáin, Diarmaid 185 Ó hUiginn, family of 185 Oisín 180, 202, 203, 210, 215 n.66 Old English poetry 127–31, 141 n.2. 141 n.3, 141 n.4, 142 n.11; influence on MSc and ME poetry 128–29 Olympias, mother of Alexander 93 Ó Macháin, Pádraig 211 n.3, 213 n.22, 214 n.42 Ó Madagáin, Breandán 212 n.11 Ó Mainnín, Míchéal 211 n.8, 215 n.60, 247 n.35 O’Malley, John W. 268 n.16 Ó Maolchonaire, family of 185 Ong, Walter J. 48 “Opheus Kyng of Portingal”, see romance, genre of optics, medieval 262, 269 n.20, 287 O’Rahilly, Thomas F. 199, 212 n.19, 213 n.22, 215 n.50 Ó Riain, Gordon 213 n.25 Orléans, siege of 21 Ormond, Earl of, see Douglas Orosius, Paulus 256 Orpheus, legend of 59–74, 74 n.38; in Scotland 64, 67

498

GENERAL INDEX

orthography 179–81 Osborn MS, see Index of MSS, Connecticut Ó Sléibhín, Giolla-Íosa (?) 185 Ossian, see Oisín Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso) 69; Amores 319; Fasti 74 n.33, 319; Metamorphoses 5, 69, 74 n.33, 361– 62, 364, 374 n.2 Ovide moralisé 5, 61 Oxford Dictionary of National Biography 378 Padua University 346, 357 n.7, 358 n.8, 399 pagan gods 9, 10 Pagden, Anthony 220 Pahta, Päivi 311, 312 Painter, William, Palace of Pleasure 381–82, 394 n.7, 394 n.8 Paisley Abbey 311 palaeography: Scottish secretary hand 22–23, 25, 29 n.9, 120, 168, 271, 326 n.4, 380, 292; contractions 384; Dunfermline scriptorium 160 n.36; italic hand 326 n.4, 386; Muiresk scribe 379–80, 384, 386, 388–89; female hands 330 n.4 Pallas 5, 6 Palmerius (Matteo Palmieri) 256, 257, 259, 260; Opus de temporibus 259 Panizza, Letizia A. 14 n.12 Panton, G. A. 141 n.6 Paris 6, 276, 308, 398, 405, 407, 410 n.8, 411 n.25 Paris, Judgement of 3–15 Park, Katharine 249, 265 Parker, Henry, Lord Morley 358 n.15 Parkinson, David 326 n.4, 361, 364, 367, 374 n.3, 374 n.5 parody 79, 105 Passion, instruments of the 252 pastoral, genre of 381–82, 390

Patch, H. R. 72 n.17 patrons 183–85, 186, 188, 189, 191, 193, 196–98, 210, 213 n.23, 217, 224, 248 n.36, 321; Campbell, Archibald, 2nd Earl of Argyll 232; Campbell, Colin, 3rd Earl of Argyll 197–98, 200; Campbell, Archibald, 7th Earl of Argyll 243; Campbell, Archibald, 8th Earl and 1st Marquess of Argyll 246–47 n.24; Douglas, James 224, 229 n.32; Erskine, Thomas, 2nd Lord 19, 20, 26–27, 28; Fitzgerald family 186; Gaelic aristocracy 191–92, 197; Hay, William, 1st Earl of Errol 21–22, 23–24, 25, 26; James V 217, 223–24, 272; James VI 329–30, 341, 346; Lords of the Isles 185–86, 197; MacAllister of Loup 186; MacDonald of Islay 191; MacLeod of Lewis 189, 191, 209– 10; Sackville, Thomas 408; St Margaret 144, 145, 147, 150, 153– 54, 155, 159 n.22; Scot, John, of Scotstarvit 397; secular 188, 224– 25; Sinclair, Henry, 3rd Earl of Orkney 224; Sinclair, William, Earl of Orkney and Caithness 18– 19, 20, 26–27, 28; Stewart, Francis, 1st Earl of Bothwell 345 Paul IV, Pope, Index Librorum Prohibitorum 357 n.2 Pearce, A. S. Wayne 411 n.23 Pearsall, Derek 31 Peck, Linda Levy 352 Peeblesshire 388 Pennell, Sara 255, 268 n.19 Pépin, Jean 267 n.4 Perceval 83 Percy, family of 317, 320; family homes (Wrexhill, Leconfield) of 320 Percy Folio MS 111 n.11 performance: ceremonial/ political 165–77, 289, 297–99; dramatic

FRESCHE FONTANIS 288, 299–305; non-literary theatrical 288, 289, 293–95, 297– 300; recorded personally 289; see also music Perna, Pietro 358 n.15 Persephone 69 Perth 21, 24, 25, 110 n.6, 179, 185, 196, 200, 201, 204, 215 n.61, 365, 403, 405 pest, see plague Peter the Lombard (Sententiae) 252 Petrarch (Francesco Petrarcha) 70, 74 n.38; Rime sparse 70; “Petrarchan” (biography, writing) 357 n.3; “Petrarchist” (imitation) 345, 357 n.3; Trionfi 357 Petrina, Alessandra 14 n.8, 71 n.6, 342 n.5, 345, 355, 357, 357 n.4, 358 n.8, 358 n.15, 359 n.21, 359 n.23 Phaer, Thomas 312 Philip II, king of Spain (1554–98) 406 Philotus 74 n.32 Phoebus (sun) 61 Picardy, verse of 4 Pierius of Alexandria 293 Pinelli, Giovanni Vincenzo 399 Pisa University 498 Pitcairn, Robert 375 n.14 plague (“pest”) 307–15, 315 n.1, 315 n.2, 408 Pluscarden 153 Pluto 65–66, 67, 69, 73 n.23, 73 n.30 Poirion, Daniel 74 n.36 Poitiers 408 Pole, Reginald 351 Polwarth, see Hume Polydore Vergil 256, 267–58, 260; On Discovery 257 Pompey the Great (Cnaeus Pompey Magnus) 399 Pont, Timothy 397 Poole, Kristen 267 n.10 Pope, R. 39

499

Powell, M. 31, 44 n.3 Praz, Mario 345 Presbyterians 292, 364, 368, 372– 74, 406, 409 Primrose, James, De vulgi in medicina erroribus libri quatuor 312 printing, Scottish 307–16. See also Arbuthnot; Bassandyne; Charteris; Chepman and Myllar; Davidson; Finlason; Lekpreuick; Lindsay; Raban; Vautroullier Prick of Conscience, The 111 n.10 Pringle, R. V. 410 n.6 Privy Seal, Registers of the 272 Prosperpina 65, 67–70, 73 n.30, 74 n.33 Protestantism 272, 290, 291, 335, 404, 408 Prouty, Charles T. 342 n.9 proverbs and sayings 43, 89, 117, 320 Prudence 35, 36, 37, 40, 41, 42; see also Virtues Psalter, Catholic metrical 364; French Huguenot (1562) 364–65; French vernacular metrical versions of 364, 379 n.17; Scots (Forme of Prayers) 364, 365; metrical 369–70, 375 n.18 Purdie, Rhiannon 103, 107, 110 n.7, 110–11 n.10 Purkiss, Diane 68, 73 n.31 Purves, John 329, 342 n.3, 342 n.9, 358 n.17 Putter, A. 141 n.8 Quiggin, E. C. 179, 180, 203, 211 n.6, 211 n.10, 212 n.19, 2164 n.39, 214 n.44, 216 n.72 Raab, Felix 351, 352 Raban, Edward, printer 377, 378, 379, 387, 398 Ralls-MacLeod, Karen 72 n.10

500

GENERAL INDEX

Ramsay, Andrew, poet 402–04, 410 n.19, 410 n.22; Poemata sacra 402 Rannoch 196 Ratis Raving 87 Rauf Coi㼘ࢃear, see romance, genre of reading, act of 7, 30 n.15, 31, 35– 39, 41–44, 44 n.11, 47–58, 89, 92, 95, 145, 152, 154, 168, 172–73, 175, 180, 184, 188, 199, 200, 203, 223–24, 229 n.33, 307–10, 311– 15, 332, 333–36, 339–41 Records of Early English Drama 287 Redcastle, Stewart family seat of 33 Reformation, in Scotland 143, 278, 292, 293, 294, 351, 352, 354–55, 395, 404; Confession of Faith 407 Reid, Steven J. 395, 409 n.3, 411 n.35 Reid, Thomas, secretary and poet 403, 411 n.24 Reid Baxter, Jamie 361, 364, 367, 374 n.7, 393 n.7 Reidpeth, John, copyist 115, 116 Reidpeth MS, see Index of MSS, Cambridge Reliquiae Celticae (McBain and Kennedy) 211 n.5 Remigius of Auxerre 74 n.34 Rhynd, Thomas, goldsmith 275 Riddy, Felicity 110 n.3 Ritchie, R. L. Graeme 98, 110 n.1, 110 n.5, 157 n.8, 157 n.9 Ritchie, W. Tod 71 n.7, 73 n.23, 175 Roach, William 101, 110 n.8 Robert I, king of Scots (1306–29) 29 n.7 Roberts, R. F. 310 Robertson, Joseph 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29 n.3 Robertson, W. Norman 326 n.10 Robey, David 342 n.7 Rockwell, Paul Vincent 15 n.17 Roe, Harry 201

Roland 83, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 329–43 Rolland, John 31; Court of Venus 275 Rollock, Hercules 403, 408–09, 410 n.19, 412 n.46 Roman d’Alexandre 92, 110 n.5 Roman de Renart 35, 83 romance, genre of 30 n.15, 60, 62, 63, 70, 71, 73 n.22, 83, 85, 213, 300; Buik of Alexander 97–101, 109, 110 n.1; Buik of King Alexander the Conquerour 17–20, 27–28, 85, 86, 87, 88, 92–95, 96 n.2, 117; Clariodus 68, 74 n.32; Désiré 61; Golagros and Gawane 97, 98, 101–05, 106, 108, 109, 110 n.2, 110 n.7, 110 n.10; Graelent 61; Guingamor 61; Historie of…Meldrum 276; King Orphius 64–65, 73 n.22; Lancelot of the Laik 85–92, 93, 95, 95 n.1, 96 n.8, 96 n.9, 96 n.10; Lanval 61, 63; Les Voeux du Paon (Jacques de Longuyon) 98–99, 110 n.5; Li Fuerres de Gadres 98, 110 n.5 Mélusine (d’Arras) 66; “Opheus Kyng of Portingal” 64; Orpheus and Eurydice 59–74; Sir Orfeo 59, 62–65, 67–68, 69, 71 n.2, 71 n.3, 72 n.10, 72 n.11, 72 n.16, 72 n.19, 72 n.20, 73 n.22, 73 n.28, 73 n.30; Perceval (Chrétien) 101; Rauf Coilࢃear 97, 98, 101, 102, 105– 09, 110 n.3, 111 n.11; Yvain (Chrétien) 63 Romsey Abbey 157 n.8 Romulus, elegiac 35, 42 Ronquist, E. C. 249 de Ronsard, Guillaume 362, 364, 374 n.4; “Institution pour l’Adolescence du…Charles IXe” ) 353; “Le Souci” 362 Rose, John, poet 403, 404 Rosen, Edward 410 n.12

FRESCHE FONTANIS Roslin: battle of 159 n.22; castle of 18, 19, 20 Ross, Alexander, minister and courtier 403, 404, 410 n.21, 410 n.22; Rerum Judaicarum 402; Virgilius evangelizans 402 Ross, D. J. A.110 n.5 Ross, Neil 203, 211 n.6, 215 n.64 Rossend Castle 326 n.10 Rosslyn, see Roslin Roxane, wife of Alexander 93 Roxburghshire 318 Royal MS Appendix 58, see Index of MSS, London Royan, Nicola 219, 226 n.4, 226 n.6, 226 n.7, 228 n.23, 398, 410 n.7, 411 n.23 Rozendaal, P. A. T. 84 n.1 Rundle, David 14 n.8 Rushforth, R.158 n.14, 159 n.30 Ruthven Raid 335, 343 n.21, 346, 409 Ruthven, William, 1st Earl of Gowrie 343 n.21 Rutledge, Thomas 71 n.6, 72 n.21 Ruys, Juanita Feros 249, 267 n.10 Sackville, 1st Baron Buckhurst and 1st Baron of Dorset 408 Sadler, Ralph 272 St Adhamhnán 196 St Andrew 159 n.22 St Andrews 24, 110 n.3, 118, 157 n.3, 289, 403, 410 n.16; cathedral 24, 29–30 n.12, 159 n.28, 311; St Mary’s, collegiate church of 21; University of 18, 21, 23, 124, 125 n.4, 272, 308, 345, 378, 397, 406, 407, 408, 412 n.42 St Anne 155 St Augustine of Hippo 5, 14 n.10, 252, 256, 265, 267 n.4, 268 n.20, 268 n.21, 287, 350; Confessions 253, 256, 268 n.20; order of 5, 6, 10, 153 St Barbara 155

501

St Bartholomew, feast day, massacre on (1572) 349, 408 St Benedict 163 n.35; order of 147, 154, 157 n.11, 160 n.35 St Coid 196 St Columba (Colum Cille) 145, 160 n.35, 183 St Connán 196 St Jerome 256, 267 n.13 St John 261 St Katherine 155 St Margaret of Antioch 159 n.30, 161 n.42 St Margaret, wife of Malcolm III, 143–163, see also Turgot; Aberdeen Breviary and 152–56; canonization of 151–52, 153, 154, 159 n.23; feast day of 159–60 n.30, 161 n.43; Gospel book of 154, 161 n.40; hagiography of 143, 161 n.24; image of 160 n.36, 177 n.8; miracles and 150–51, 152–53, 161 n.37; and Queensferry, N and S 161 n.43; veneration of 161 n.43 St Ninian 159 n.22 St Patrick 202 Saldanha, Kathryn 86, 88, 94 Salih, Sarah 158 n.12 Sallust 350 Salutati, Coluccio 4, 5; De fato et fortuna 4–5, 14 n.8 Sammut, Alfonso 7, 1 n.8 Sanderson, Margaret H. B. 280, 282 Sargent, Ralph M. 389, 392 Sasannach, term 235 Savonarola, Girolamo 351 Scaliger, Joseph 408 Schenck, Mary Jane 81 Scheps, Walter 88 Schipper, J. S. 120 Schmidt, A. V. C. 130 Scot, Sir John, of Scotstarvit 395– 412, 410 n.6, 411 n.28; Staggering State of Scottish Statesmen 397 Scot, John, Hodaeporicon 397, 405

502

GENERAL INDEX

Scotichronicon, see Bower Scotland: book circulation in 31, 34–35, 44 n.12, 117, 358 n.17; culture, public, in 291–92; currency of 23; history of 17, 123, 143, 147–51, 156, 158 n.20, 170, 191; nobility of 17–28, 29 n.16, 97–98, 109, 110 n.6, 215 n.49, 217–29, 289, 319, 327 n.22, 347–48; legal system in 39, 271, 273, 279, 282 n.5; notaries public in 391, 408; and Scottishness 232, 235–36, 239, 242–43 Scott, Walter, Laird of Buccleuch 330, 342 n.6, 346, 347, 406 Scragg, D. G. 141 n.3, 141 n.4 scribes: Galbraith, Sir Thomas 168– 69; “J de R capellanus” 87; Kennedy, Mr J. 380; Lyndsay, David 271; MacGregor, Duncan, 188; MacGregor, James, Dean of Lismore 188; MacKonoschie, Issobell 92; Muiresk 380–84, 386, 389; “V de F” 87 Seaby, Peter 227 n.11 Searne, G. 73 n.29 Secreta Secretorum 29 n.1, 92 Sedan 398 Segal, Charles 71 n.2 Seget, Thomas 399, 403, 405, 410 n.11, 411 n.26, 411 n.28; Meletemata Hypogaea 399 Sempill, Robert 123, 345; “Bird in the Cage” 354; “The Legend…of the Tulchene Bischope of Sanctandrois” 345 Seton, collegiate church of 324; palace of 324–25, 327 n.23, 327 n.24 Seton, family of 318–25, 326 n.2, 327 n.21 Seton, George, 1st Lord 325 Seton, George, 2nd Lord 324–25 Seton, George, 5th Lord 318, 323– 24, 325

Seton, George, 3rd Earl of Winton 324 Seton, Robert, 1st Earl of Winton 326 n.2 Severs, J. Burke 88 Shakespeare, William 224; As You Like It 381; Lover’s Complaint 381; Macbeth 224; Midsummer Night’s Dream 381; Venus and Adonis 385 Sharman, Julian 331, 343 n.17, 357 n.1 Sheppard, E. A. 219, 225 n.2, 229 n.32 Sherry, Richard 259 Shire, Helena M. 72 n.21, 367–68, 374 n.13 Shirley, John 18, 110 n.6; Dethe of the Kynge of Scots 110 n.6 Shrewsbury, J. F. D. 309, 315 n.3 Shuldham-Shaw, Patrick 72 n.21 Sidney, Sir Philip 350, 358 n.15, 364, 391; Arcadia 381, 390; Defence of the Earl of Leicester 358 n.15 Sieper, Ernst 4, 14 n.7 Silvestris, Bernardus 13; Aeneid commentary 13 Simms, Katharine 180, 212 n.20 Simpson, Jacqueline 229 n.29 Simpson, James 42 Simson, Adam, son of Patrick 292– 95 Simson, Patrick, minister 292–95 Sinclair, family of 224, 280, 317 Sinclair, Sir David, of Swynbrocht 275 Sinclair, Henry, 3rd Lord 224 Sinclair, William, Earl of Orkney and Caithness (d.1480) 18–20, 26, 27, 28, 29 n.3 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 133–35 Sir Orfeo, see romance, genre of Skeat, W. W. 88, 95 n.1

FRESCHE FONTANIS Skene, F. J. H. 160 n.33, 160 n.34, 163 Skene, Gilbert (medicinar, and James VI’s physician) 307–16, 316 n.16; Breif descriptioun of the…effectis of the well 313–14; Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest 307–16 Skene, Robert 377, 379, 381, 384, 392 Skene, W. F. 158 n.18, 180, 211 n.5, 212 n.13 Slack, Paul 308, 314, 315, 315 n.1 Small, John 118 Smart, Robert, “Biographical Register of Students” 409 n.42 Smith, Delia 278 Smith, Gregory 31, 44 n.4 Smyser, H. M. 106 Snoddy, A. C. 398, 410 n.6 Soliphernus 384, 386 “Solsequium”, see Montgomerie spas, Scottish 314 Spearing, A. C. 89 spectatorship, in Scotland 271–72, 287–305 Spence, Cathryn 283 n.20 Spencer, Theodore 73 n.30 Spenser, Edmund 358 n.15, 391; Amoretti 391; Shepheardes Calender 386 Spiller, Michael 305 n.5, 317, 320, 326 n.8, 326 n.11, 342 n.12, 374 n.6, 377, 378, 391 Spinter, L. Scribonius 349 Spynagros 104, 110 n.10 Stanley, Sir Edward 176, 177 n.18 “Statute for Residentiary Canons” 288 Steggle, Matthew 411 n.23 Steinhöwel, Heinrich 35, 42 Stephen, king of England (1135–41) 221–22 Stephen I, king of Hungary (1001– 38) 157 n.11 Stevenson, David 410 n.6

503

Stevenson, J. H. 274, 276, 283 n.13 Stevenson, Joseph 95 n.1 Stevenson, Katie 20, 106, 168 Stewart, House of 147–48, 149, 155, 158 n.20, 167 Stewart, Alan 411 n.39 Stewart, Alexander, earl of Mar 21 Stewart, Esmé, 1st Duke of Lennox 335, 343 n.22, 346, 349 Stewart, Francis, 1st Earl of Bothwell 290–91, 345, 346, 404 Stewart, Henrietta 289 Stewart, Henry, Duke of Albany (known as Lord Darnley) 335 Stewart, Ian Halley 227 n.11 Stewart, James, Earl of Moray 297, 354 Stewart, John, of Baldynneis 127, 329–42, 342 n.10, 374 n.5; and Orlando Furioso 331–33, 342 n.10, 343 n.16; and James VI 329–34, 343, 338–39, 343 n.15, 343 n.22; “The Derectione To His Bvik” 339; Ane Schersing Out of Trew Felicitie 127; “Of Ane Symmer Hous” 326 n.11; Roland Furiovs 329–43, 342 n.13, 343 n.21, 347 Stewart, Marion 64, 72 n.21 Stewart, Robert 29 n.12, 99, 110 n.6 Stirling 209, 292, 295, 297, 296; Chapel Royal 168; Palace 209 Stiùbhart, Domhnall Uilleam 246 n.15 Stobo, manse of 278, 279–80, 282 Stow, John 35 Strachan, George 403, 411 n.26 Strauss, Dietrich 71 n.6 Stroh, Silke 232 Strohm, Paul 157 n.4 Strophonius 386 Stuart, Ludovick 289 Sturm-Maddox, Sara 66, 72 n.8 Summers, David 268 n.20 Suso, Henry 253

504

GENERAL INDEX

Sutherland, Alexander, of Dunbeath 19, 21, 22, 28 Sutton, Dana 411 n.39 Swain, Margaret 280 Sweet, W. H. E. 31, 44 n.1, 44 n.9, 44 n.10, 44 n.11, 44 n.16, 96 n.5 Sweetnam, Mark S. 365, 369 Taavitsainen, Irma 311, 312 tableware: “basing” 278; “chargeour” 278; “copburdclayth” 277; “dowble covering” 277; “gairding” 278; “gold coupe” 276; “gold goblet” 280; “luggit dische” 278; “salt fat” 278; “schiruiettis” 277; “siluer maischir” 276; “siluer spunis” 278, 282; “towell” 277; “trunscheour” 278 Tacitus 350 de Taille, Jean, Prince Nécessaire 353 Táillear, Giolla-Críost, poet 195, 198, 215 n.53, 215 n.54 Táin Bó Cúailnge 210 Tantalus 62 Tara, seat of ancestral kings 209 Tasso, Torquato, Aminta 381 Tayler, Alistair 393 n.4 Tayler, Henrietta 393 n.4 Telius, Sylvester 357 n.2 Temperance, see Virtues testament, literary 382, 386, 390 textuality 288 Thebes 36, 37 Theseus 358 n.12 Thewis off Gudwomen 85–88, 94–95 Thirlestane, Maitland family property 319 Thoirs family, of Muiresk 379; commonplace book of 379–81 Thomas, Andrea 227 n.11, 227 n.12 Thomson, D. F. S. 200, 215 n.48, 409 n.3 Thomson, Derick 246 n.12 Thomson, Duncan 327 n.21

Thomson, George, poet and pastor 403 Thomson, Robert L. 215 n.51, 234 Thomson, Thomas 19, 30 n.15, 275 Thre Prestis of Peblis 348 Thucydides 350 Tillyard, E. M. W. 352 tobacco, treatise on 314 Tod, M. 158 n.19 Tolkien, J. R. R. 142 n.15 Tours, truce of (1444) 18 Traill, Alexander (“I that in heill wes”, l. 69) 118 translation 4, 17, 18, 19, 20, 25, 47, 115, 118, 329–33, 334, 339, 341– 42, 343 n.16, 345, 346–47, 351– 52, 354–57, 357 n.2, 357 n.7, 358 n.8, 358 n.19 Treaty, see Index of MSS, London, National Archives Treaty of Perpetual Peace (1502) 166 Tree of Knowledge 251, 252, 262– 64, 266, 268 n.21 Trevisa, John 10–11; On the Properties of Things 10–11 Trinity, the 6 Tristan 80 Trivet, Nicholas 60 Troy, fall of, myth 3, 36, 216 n.75, 337 Tsai, S.-C. Kevin 74 n.33 Tucker, Marie-Claude 411 n.23 Turgot, biographer 144–47, 149, 154–55, 157 n.5, 157–58 n.12, 158 n.13, 158 n.14, 161 n.38, 161 n.40; Vita Margarita Regina Scotiae 144–47, 157 n.7, 158 n.15, 158 n.16 Turner MS, see Index of MSS, Edinburgh Turriff 23, 24–25, 26–28, 29 n.11, 29 n.12 Turville-Petre, Thorlac 117, 141 n.8 Tweedie, W. K. 368 Twycross, Meg 174, 177 n. 13

FRESCHE FONTANIS Tyndale, William 280 Tyne, River 319 Tyre, Siege of 98, 110 n.5 Ulster 186, 232, 243 Ulysses (Tennyson) 128 Unterkircher, Franz 168, 169, 170, 177 n.7, 177 n.8 Upton, Christopher 396, 398, 400, 401, 402, 410 n.5, 410 n.8, 410 n.9, 410 n.11, 410 n.16, 410 n.20, 411 n.33 Valerius Maximus 256 van Buuren, Catherine 115 van den Boogaard, Nico 76 van Doesborch, Jan, Antwerp printer 227 n.15 van Duin, Deborah 96 n.12 van Heijnsbergen, Theo 327 n.23 Varty, Kenneth 58 n.5 Vautroullier, Thomas 331 Veere 399 Venice 399, 405 Venus 3, 5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 91 Ver (Spring) 34 vernacularization 311–13 verse forms 380–81, 387–89; see also Gaelic poetry; alliterative with wheel 127; elegiac couplets 364; mixed 378; poulter’s measure 388, 390–91; quantitative (vers mesurés) 364 Verweij, Sebastiaan 357 n.5, 389 Vicari, Patricia 66, 67, 74 n.34 Villiers, George, Duke of Buckingham 405 Vindiciae Contra Tyrannos (“Stephanos Junius Brutus, the Celt”) 349 de Vintemille, Jacques 357 n.2 Virgil (Publius Virgilius Maro) 61, 118, 400; Georgics 319 Virgin Mary 49, 52, 55, 92, 262 Virtues, Cardinal 170

505

Vita Margarita Regina Scotiae, see Turgot Vita Merlini (Geoffrey of Monmouth) 72 n.12 Vives, Juan Luis 287 Voeux de Paon 92 Vogel, B. 88 von Nolcken, Christina 267 n.7 von Plessow, Max 31 Voyage au Paradis 92 Wahlgren-Smith, Lena 177 n.5 Waite, Gary R. 73 n.29 Waldeve, Earl of Dunbar 161 n.41 Wallace, Samuel, deputy conservator 399 Wallace, William 238–39, 246 n.19 Wallis, Patrick 310 Walsingham, Sir Francis 335, 346, 408 Warden, John 71 n.2, 72 n.10 Warrack, John 273 Watry, Christopher 227 n.15 Watson, W. J. 179, 180, 187, 189, 195, 199, 201, 203, 211 n.6, 211 n.8, 211 n.9, 212 n.13, 215 n.63, 245 n.3, 245 n.6, 246 n.23, 246– 47 n.24 Watt, D. E. R. 22, 29 n.10 Wear, Andrew 307, 309, 310, 313, 315 n.3 Wedderburn, David 402, 403, 405, 411 n.32 weird sisters 223, 224, 228 n.27, 228–29 n.28, 229 n.29 Wells, Vaughan T. 411 n.23 Welsh, John, minister 368 Wemyss, John 150 Wentersdorf, Karl 73 n.30 Wessex, House of 145, 147, 148 Wheatley, Edward 44 n.16 Whitney, Geoffrey, Choice of Emblemes 320, 326 n.10; “To Richard Cotton Esquire” 320 Whittingham, William 365, 374 n.11

506

GENERAL INDEX

Wilkie, James 168, 169, 170, 177 n.7, 177 n.8 Wilkinson, L. P. 320 William of Conches 4, 14 n.5 William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum 148 Williams, David 73 n.24 Williams, Linda 305 n.1 Williamson, Arthur 396, 409 n.3, 411 n.23 Wilson, A. 159–60 n.30 Wilson, Florence 402, 403, 404, 409 n.3, 411 n.26; De animi tranquillitate dialogus 405 Wilson, John, burgess 279 Wilton Abbey 157 n.8 Wingfield, Emily 85, 87, 88, 92, 95 n.2, 96 n.8 Winterbottom, Michael 228 n.17 witches 224, 225, 228 n.27 (“wiches”) Wittie, Robert, Popular Errours or the Errours of the People in Physick; transl. of Primrose 312 Wolfe, John, printer 351 Woolf, Alex 245 n.9 Wood, Harriet Harvey 411 n.23 Wood, M. 271 Wooton, Sir Henry, English ambassdor 399 Wormald, Jenny 98, 110 n.4, 358 n.11, 359 n.22

Wortham, Simon 335 Wright, Dorena Allen 72 n.18, 72 n.21 Wright, D. F. 411 n.23 Wright, Glenn D. 105, 107, 108 Wright, Thomas 214 n.44 Wurtele, D. 88 Wyatt, Sir Thomas, “Mine own John Poyntz” 322 Wyndham Lewis, Percy 352 Wyntoun, Andrew of, Original Chronicle 21, 148–49, 151, 156, 158 n.18, 158–59 n.20, 159 n.24; 159 n.22, 159 n.23, 159 n.24, 160 n.31, 162 App., 229 n.28 Yates, Frances A. 9, 15 n.13 Yellow Book of Lecan 186, 213 n.22 York, House of 167 Yorkshire 320 Young, Abigail Ann 288 Young 1502, see Index of MSS, London, College of Arms Young, James 279 Young, John, Somerset Herald 168, 170–71, 174, 175, 176, 177 n.7 Young, Thomas, of Leny 115 Zeus 69 Ziolkowski, Jan M. 15 n.13