Pastoral Care in Medieval England: Interdisciplinary Approaches 1472438531, 9781472438539

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Pastoral Care in Medieval England

Pastoral Care, the religious mission of the Church to minister to the laity and care for their spiritual welfare, has been a subject of growing interest in medieval studies. This volume breaks new ground with its broad chronological scope (from the early eleventh to the late fifteenth centuries), and its interdisciplinary breadth. New and established scholars from a range of disciplines, including history, literary studies, art history and musicology, bring their specialist perspectives to bear on textual and visual source materials. The varied contributions include discussions of politics, ecclesiology, book history, theology and patronage, forming a series of conversations that reveal both continuities and divergences across time and media, and exemplify the enriching effects of interdisciplinary work upon our understanding of this important topic. Peter D. Clarke is Professor of Ecclesiastical History at the University of Southampton. He specializes in the history of the Western Church from c. 1100 down to the Reformation. His research interests focus on Western canon law and its application in this period and on the later medieval papacy and its impact at a local level. His recent publications have included a three-volume edition (with Patrick Zutshi) of petitions from England and Wales to the papal penitentiary (1410–1503) and a monograph on the Ecclesiastical Interdict in the thirteenth century. Sarah James is Senior Lecturer in Medieval Literature at the University of Kent. Her major field of interest is medieval hagiography from c.1100–1500, including both the Latin west and more recently Byzantium in her research. She is also absorbed by the development of theology as an academic discipline, and particularly the ways in which academic theological positions are mediated in order to promote pastoral care. She has written on theologies of vision, pleasure and the Eucharist, and also on the vernacular theological writings of Bishop Reginal Pecock and the Austin Friar John Capgrave.

Pastoral Care in Medieval England Interdisciplinary Approaches

Edited by Peter D. Clarke and Sarah James

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Peter D. Clarke and Sarah James; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Peter D. Clarke and Sarah James to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Clarke, Peter D., editor. Title: Pastoral care in medieval England : interdisciplinary approaches / edited by Peter D. Clarke and Sarah James. Description: 1 [edition]. | New York : Routledge, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019009305 | ISBN 9781472438539 (hardback) | ISBN 9781315599649 (ebook) | ISBN 9781317083399 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Pastoral care—England—History. Classification: LCC BV4012 .P3155 2019 | DDC 274.2/04—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019009305 ISBN: 978-1-472-43853-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-59964-9 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Lambeth Palace Library MS 489, fol. 38r: opening of OE homily for dedicating a church in a sermon collection belonging to Bishop Leofric of Exeter (d. 1072) discussed in Chapter 1.

Contents

List of contributors List of abbreviations

ix xi

Introduction

1

P E T E R D . C L A RKE

1

Reform and dedication of churches in eleventh-century Exeter

7

E R I K A C O R R A DI NI

2

Old English confessional prayers for the clergy and the laity

21

C AT H E R I N E C U BI T T

3

Making books for pastoral care in late eleventh-century Worcester: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114

29

H E L E N F O X H A L L F ORBE S

4

What to ask in confession: a list of sins from thirteenthcentury England

67

C AT H E R I N E R IDE R

5

Songs and sermons in thirteenth-century England

101

H E L E N D E E M I NG

6

Pastoral care, pastoral cares, pastoral carers: configuring the cura pastoralis in pre-Reformation England R O B E RT S WA NS ON

123

viii Contents 7 Enforcing religious conformity in late medieval England: Lateran IV canon 21 and the church courts

143

P E T E R D . C L ARKE

8 Robert Mannyng and the imagined reading communities for Handlyng Synne

159

RYA N P E R RY

9 Unclean priests and the body of Christ: the Elucidarium and pastoral care in fifteenth-century England

183

S A R A H J A M ES

10 The priest and the patronage of stained glass in late medieval Norfolk

203

C L A I R E D A U NTON

Index

220

Contributors

Peter D. Clarke is Professor of Ecclesiastical History at the University of Southampton. Erika Corradini is an independent scholar in Old English and Senior Teaching Fellow in Academic Development in the Centre for Higher Education Practice at the University of Southampton. Catherine Cubitt is Professor of Medieval History at the University of East Anglia. Claire Daunton is an independent scholar in Medieval Art History. Helen Deeming is Reader in Music at Royal Holloway, University of London. Helen Foxhall Forbes is Associate Professor in early Medieval History at Durham University. Sarah James is Senior Lecturer in Medieval Literature at the University of Kent. Ryan Perry is Senior Lecturer in Medieval Literature at the University of Kent. Catherine Rider is Associate Professor in Medieval History at the University of Exeter. Robert Swanson is Emeritus Professor of Medieval History at the University of Birmingham.

Abbreviations

BL BN CUL EETS os/ss EHR PL PMLA SCH

British Library (London) Bibliothèque nationale de France (Paris) Cambridge University Library Early English Text Society original series/supplementary series English Historical Review Patrologia Latina, ed. by J. P. Migne, 221 vols (Paris: [n.p.] 1841–64) Proceedings of the Modern Languages Association Studies in Church History

Introduction Peter D. Clarke

Pastoral Care, the religious mission of the Church to minister to the laity and care for their spiritual welfare, has been a subject of growing interest in medieval studies. This is reflected by the publication of three recent excellent collections of essays on Medieval Pastoral Care.1 The current volume differs from these in various respects. First, it seeks to cover a longer period (from the early eleventh to the late fifteenth centuries) allowing more scope to explore historical development, comparisons and contrasts over the longue durée. Second, historians and, to a lesser extent, literary scholars have tended to dominate studies on medieval pastoral care, but this volume approaches the subject from a wider range of disciplinary perspectives, including not only history and literature but also art/architectural history and musicology. The rationale is that medieval pastoral care is a subject of broad interdisciplinary interest, and to achieve a richer and fuller appreciation of this important topic, medievalists from different disciplines need to engage in dialogue with one another. This volume seeks to encapsulate such dialogue, demonstrate its value and hopefully encourage further conversations, thereby providing a clear illustration of the utility of interdisciplinary approaches. Thirdly it seeks to present not only a fresh methodological approach to medieval pastoral care, but cutting-edge research on the subject from younger scholars and more established figures, on themes as diverse as pastoral literature, religious songs, confession, consecrating churches and imagery in stained glass. Finally, the volume is timely not only because of wide, growing interest in medieval pastoral care but also because it follows the eighth centenary of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215);2 scholars have long held that the Lateran IV canons did more than those of any other general Western church council to promote and reform pastoral care in the medieval West. Several of the volume’s chapters, therefore, reassess the impact of the council’s legislation on pastoral care. The wide chronological coverage of the volume also allows the council’s achievements to be better understood in a long-term historical context. Various common themes recur across the volume’s chapters and the five centuries which they traverse. A prominent one is the creation and collection of mostly, but not exclusively, textual materials as resources for pastoral care. The impulse for generating such resources came from central papal efforts to promote pan-European

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church reform, at least in part. Erika Corradini and Helen Foxhall Forbes observe below that compilation of pastoral material in Exeter and Worcester dioceses coincided with the eleventh-century papal reform movement, and Leofric, bishop of Exeter, even sought papal approval for his own diocesan reforms, Corradini notes. Much of this local material echoed papal reform rhetoric, especially the anti-simony message which Corradini identifies in an Exeter homiliary. Likewise, other contributors to this volume see the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) as the main stimulus for a large body of later medieval pastoral material.3 The Council’s stipulation of annual confession as a minimum requirement for adult Catholics, in particular, occasioned the proliferation of confessors’ manuals from the 1220s onwards, as Catherine Rider demonstrates below. Reform of pastoral care was not, however, a purely top-down centralised process, important as papal initiatives undoubtedly were. Corradini, Foxhall Forbes and Catherine Cubitt show that Anglo-Saxon reform initiatives in the eleventh century also followed older traditions of local ecclesiastical reform. The neglected genre of Old English confessional prayers studied by Cubitt and the pastoral compilations examined by Corradini and Foxhall Forbes, for example, all drew to some extent on homilies of Abbot Aelfric of Eynsham (d. 1010) advocating reform of the clergy. At a local level, English bishops played a major role in church reform, especially to improve provision of pastoral care. Corradini and Foxhall Forbes respectively emphasise the activity of Bishop Leofric (d. 1072) in Exeter diocese and Bishop Wulstan II (d. 1095) in Worcester diocese, both of whom were patrons of textual collections of pastoral materials. Leofric was especially active in consecrating new parish churches, thus making pastoral care more widely accessible in his diocese; consequently, the homiliary compiled for him included sermons on dedicating churches. The more varied corpus of pastoral material compiled for Wulstan II in the 1060s comprised texts likewise relevant to his episcopal role in promoting more effective pastoral provision, notably through synods, clerical discipline, examining suitable candidates for ordination and training priests in their pastoral duties. Also, following the Fourth Lateran Council, as Gibbs and Lang showed long ago,4 bishops played a crucial role in implementing its reforms in the thirteenth-century English Church. As Rider observes, they issued diocesan statutes enforcing Lateran IV’s obligation of regular confession; and, as Peter D. Clarke shows, their diocesan courts dealt with laity accused of neglecting this duty and priests charged with failing to hear confession or respect the ‘seal’ of the confessional. Moreover, English bishops legislated in far more detail than the papacy on what religious knowledge and doctrine parish clergy should communicate to their flock, notably Archbishop John Pecham of Canterbury in his famous syllabus of 1281, known as the Ignorantia sacerdotum, as Robert Swanson notes. Some English bishops not only commissioned but also produced pastoral literature, as Rider observes; Bishop Robert Grosseteste of Lincoln (d. 1253) wrote an influential pastoral tract, for example, from which other pastoral literature borrowed, including the anonymous guide to confession edited and translated by Rider.

Introduction 3 English clergy other than bishops were also active as patrons and authors of pastoral material by the early thirteenth century. The activity of the friars in collecting and producing sermons and other pastoral aids is well known; Rider’s edition further exemplifies this by presenting a text associated with the Dominicans. However, as Helen Deeming points out, the compilation of pastoral material by regular clergy was not exclusive to the friars but also occurred among the English Benedictines, Cistercians and Augustinian canons in the thirteenth century. Ryan Perry likewise notes that the fourteenth-century pastoral work Handlyng Sin was written in the Gilbertine Priory at Sempringham and its early diffusion probably took place through the order’s network of houses in East Anglia and their local lay patrons. Claire Daunton observes that educated secular clergy were also producing pastoral literature by the fourteenth century, notably John de Burgh’s Pupilla Oculi, and she richly illustrates their patronage in late medieval Norfolk churches of stained glass imagery that served as a vehicle for pastoral care, likewise in collaboration with secular patrons. The present volume also shows that pastoral materials created or commissioned by medieval English clergy comprised a variety of genres. These included not only sermons, confessional manuals, penitential texts and religious imagery (in stained glass), as one might expect, but also less familiar genres, especially Old English confessional prayers (Cubitt), non-liturgical religious songs (Deeming) and dialogues in question-and-answer form (James). Such diverse textual types were sometimes brought together in pastoral miscellanies, such as that compiled for Bishop Wulfstan II of Worcester in the Bodleian MS Junius 114 (Foxhall Forbes), several thirteenth-century codices where religious songs appear alongside preaching aids (Deeming) and fifteenth-century English versions of the Elucidarium, a dialogue on doctrinal questions, usually bound together with other religious texts (James). Such miscellanies were designed as reference collections and resources for ministry, and often the constituent texts were originally loose ‘booklets’ for portable usage prior to being bound together (Foxhall Forbes, Deeming, James). As Foxhall Forbes and Deeming note, compilers of such miscellanies included any texts that were potentially serviceable to users, even songs. This naturally raises the question of who the intended or actual users and audiences for such pastoral materials were, and the volume also addresses this. The question is not always easy to answer, since there were often multiple potential functions, users and audiences for these materials. In the case of thirteenthcentury religious songs, Deeming argues that they were probably all to be sung by clerks but in a variety of possible contexts, either to supplement liturgical chant, for private devotion, performance in a monastic chapter or refectory, or as aids to preaching (especially since they often appear with sermons and exempla). A lay audience can often be assumed, notably in the case of stained glass, which Daunton sees as a visual aid to ministry and the liturgy in its promotion of the cult of the saints, emphasis on the heavenly hierarchy, and linking of Old and New Testament events, notably Christ’s life, through use of typology. Laity viewed such imagery in their parish church, notably in the chancel where the church’s

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priest and patron had it installed, but they might access pastoral texts in various ways; Perry argues that Handlyng Sin might have been read aloud by clerks for groups of lay listeners in church or outside, even at manorial entertainments, or used by private readers in households. Lay audiences were especially diverse and complex by the later middle ages. The languages of texts can be used to identify such audiences but are not an unambiguous guide. Vernacular texts might be assumed to have a lay audience in later medieval England, but there was more than one vernacular there, including both French and English, and Latin literacy was growing among later medieval English laity, so this was essentially a polyglot society. Deeming finds that religious songs in Latin, French and English appear in thirteenth-century English codices and that vernacular songs accompanied Latin texts there, and vice-versa, indicating multiple audiences. She adds that the quotation of vernacular song verses in Latin sermons even points to multi-lingual audiences. Nevertheless, other texts seem more aimed at monoglot audiences, but even these audiences cannot be simply defined. Robert Mannyng’s Handlyng Sin was an early fourteenth-century English version of the thirteenth-century Anglo-Norman Manuel des Pèchés and hence intended for a non-francophone English audience. But Ryan Perry disputes that it was therefore designed for a non-noble audience on the assumption that French was the language of the English nobility; he observes that not all English lower aristocracy, even if of French descent, knew French by the fourteenth century, and that it was probably aimed more at such minor nobility than the ‘lewed men’ (illiterate) addressed by Mannyng in the text. The fifteenth-century English translation of the eleventh-century Latin Elucidarium was, likewise, not necessarily designed for lowly English lay audiences; as James argues, it existed in three different versions aimed at different audiences, including one intended for sophisticated literate laity. Although pastoral care was largely delivered by the clergy through these various resources to lay audiences, Robert Swanson reminds us that pastoral care could be performed by laity too; its delivery was not just top-down but also bottom-up. Laity actively participated in pastoral care from the cradle to the grave, by acting as godparents responsible for children’s religious education and encouraging those on their deathbed to trust in God’s mercy. They even helped improve pastoral care by denouncing at visitations clerical failures to administer it. Daunton also notes how laity financially supported the clergy’s delivery of pastoral care, notably rich patrons of parish churches who worked with their clergy to rebuild these churches and install glazing schemes there in late medieval Norfolk. Swanson and Daunton associate these phenomena with the pastoral revolution unleashed by the Fourth Lateran Council. Deeming and Rider likewise relate the growth of religious songs and confessional manuals to this council’s pastoral reforms. Other contributors to the volume similarly identify other pastoral developments with episodes of change and current concerns, such as the eleventh-century reform movement (Corradini, Cubitt, Foxhall Forbes). James likewise contextualises fifteenth-century English versions of the Elucidarium in the English episcopate’s reaction against Lollard heresy; these translations are careful to guide laity

Introduction 5 about the Eucharist without entering into Lollard controversy on the subject and therefore conform to Archbishop Arundel’s strictures about vernacular religious writing, aimed at Lollard texts. Nevertheless, the volume also illustrates some continuities and persistent concerns. Corradini and Cubitt show that English bishops were concerned at least as far back as the tenth century with encouraging laity to attend confession and mass, long before the Fourth Lateran Council made annual confession and massattendance the obligation of all adult Catholics, and English bishops consequently enforced this obligation through their courts (Clarke). Likewise, James observes that one major reason for translating the eleventh-century Latin Elucidarium into English in the fifteenth century was that its preoccupations were still relevant; the original text was written shortly after another Eucharistic controversy. The text also stressed the need to correct unworthy clergy while maintaining the duty of obedience to the priesthood, which was as timely in the face of Lollard anticlericalism as it was during the reform movement of the eleventh century, as Corradini shows in Exeter diocese where Bishop Leofric emphasised that clergy were a separate and superior estate but warned them to avoid immoral behaviour.5 In conclusion, the volume shows that clergy and laity worked together to develop a body of resources to deliver pastoral care and make society more Christian in later medieval England. These resources comprised anything which appeared useful for this purpose and enabled the Church’s message to reach the widest number of people, regardless of their status and level of education. Such resources were primarily textual and included texts in various genres ranging from songs to sermons and written in at least three languages, and these texts were enhanced and supplemented by music, art and architecture as other means of communicating Christian doctrine. Scholars of history, literature, music and art and architecture therefore also need to work together to make sense of this medieval pastoral heritage, as this volume illustrates, in order to reach a fuller understanding of the medieval Church and its relationship with society.

Notes 1 F. Tinti (ed.), Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005); R. J. Stansbury (ed.), A Companion to Pastoral Care in the Late Middle Ages (1200– 1500) (Leuven: Brill, 2010); C. Gunn and C. Innes-Parker (eds.), Texts and Traditions of Pastoral Care: Essays in Honour of Bella Millett (York: York Medieval Press, 2009). 2 Marked by at least two conferences in 2015, including one organised in Rome by Peter Clarke and others. Four volumes arising from the latter conference have now appeared: J. Bird and D. Smith (eds.), The Fourth Lateran Council and the Crusade Movement: The Impact of the Council of 1215 on Latin Christendom and the East (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018); M. T. Champagne and I. M. Resnick (eds.), Jews and Muslims under the Fourth Lateran Council: Papers Commemorating the Octocentenary of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018); M. B. Boulton (ed.), Literary Echoes of the Fourth Lateran Council in England and France, 1215–1405 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2019); A. A. Larson and A. Massironi (eds.), The Fourth Lateran Council and the Development of Canon Law and the Ius Commune (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019). The proceedings of another conference at Rome marking the council’s

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eight hundredth centenary organised by the Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche has also appeared: G. Melville and J. Helmrath (eds.), The Fourth Lateran Council: Institutional Reform and Spiritual Renewal (Affalterbach: Didymos-Verlag, 2017). 3 See especially the chapters by Deeming, Rider, Swanson and Daunton. 4 M. Gibbs and J. Lang, Bishops and Reform 1215–1272, with Special Reference to the Lateran Council of 1215 (London: Oxford University Press, 1934). 5 Daunton likewise shows that imagery of priests in mass vestments on their tombs and in stained glass in late medieval Norfolk churches was designed to counter Lollard views, especially about their sacramental role.

1

Reform and dedication of churches in eleventh-century Exeter Erika Corradini

Dedication of a church The ecclesiastical reforms introduced by the papacy in the eleventh century had a significant impact on the spiritual mores and social life of Christians. The changes encouraged centrally by the pope and a closer scrutiny of the clergy’s work across Christendom resulted in some bishops becoming more actively involved in their dioceses. In England, Leofric of Exeter seems to be particularly responsive to the campaign against the ‘unlawful’ conduct of bishops initiated by Pope Leo IX in the early 1050s. This attitude is certainly in evidence in his seeking papal approval for some of the reforms he introduced into his diocese and in the way he administered his power. His episcopal authority is reflected in his pastoral programme in support of which a whole collection of homiletic texts was assembled. The following discussion analyses one of his homilies for dedicating churches against the backdrop of papal reforms and the changing spiritual landscape in mid-eleventh century England. In Dedicatione Æcclesiae is a composite homily. The text consists of a selection of passages excerpted from different sources and chained together in a composition of which only one copy has survived.1 This homily is bound together with other texts of the same type into London, Lambeth Palace MS 489, an episcopal homiliary compiled in the mid-eleventh century, quite possibly in the early 1050s, at Exeter.2 In Dedicatione Æcclesiae is a rather understudied text, yet it is crucial to an understanding of bishop Leofric’s engagement with the spiritual welfare of his diocese. At a time when information about the role of bishops and their pastoral duties is fragmentary, studies centred on preaching texts explicitly compiled for episcopal use provide some useful evidence for an apprehension of the pastoral role of a bishop. Consecration rites, during which In Dedicatione Æcclesiae was delivered, represented ideal opportunities for the bishop to assert his authority. Documentary sources indicate that the ceremonials involved in the dedication of churches had developed by the eleventh century into liturgically elaborate rituals, which fell within a bishop’s pastoral remit.3 Even in towns and villages, consecrations of churches were public events, which attracted large crowds of faithful. The text of the Lambeth homily attests to such crowds taking part in the ceremony and suggests that the audience included laymen as well

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as men in orders.4 Of equal, if not greater interest, is the potential correlation between use of In Dedicatione Æcclesiae and the reforming policies initiated by Leofric at Exeter, seemingly echoing some of pope Leo IX’s ecclesiology. This text may thus be studied as an expression of how the bishop exercised his spiritual and pastoral leadership over newly established churches in his diocese. Whether or not in doing so Leofric engaged with or was responsive to the ecclesiastical policies of his day is what I will try to determine, by reading this text against the backdrop of the changes affecting the Catholic church in the eleventh-century.

The homily Rubricated in Lambeth MS 489 as IN DEDICATIONE ÆCCLÆ ‘MINE GEBROÐRA ÐA LEOFESTAN WE WILLAÐ’, fols 38r to 44v5 the homily in question is one of three texts for the same occasion collected between the covers of a single codex.6 The text explains the meaning and function of a church. Moving from how receiving baptism underpins the formation of a congregation of souls the homily proceeds to explaining that care for the souls is provided in church through administration of the sacraments. Admonition to attend mass is then followed by a sequence of recommendations on how one should behave in church by refraining from foolish behaviour and by maintaining the purity of body and soul. A rather forceful recommendation against the sale of churches and the purchase of ecclesiastical offices closes the homily. Although it is not possible to provide a full edition of In Dedicatione Æcclesiae in the space of this essay, it may be useful to look closely at the sources of this text in order to illustrate the compilation process. The main source for In Dedicatione Æcclesiae is a homily for the dedication of a church written by Ælfric, Dedicatio Ecclesie, appearing amongst his Catholic Homilies.7 This text provides the opening, extending from fol. 38 to 40r/l. 13, and the conclusion, appearing on fols 44r/l. 5–44v/l. 10, to the Lambeth text of the dedication homily. The Ælfrician homily was probably well known at the time of copying as versions of it survive in several manuscripts. While the essence of the text does not change in all the codices in which it appears, Godden has suggested that the Lambeth excerpts show a connection with Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 343, a manuscript of the mid twelfth century probably originating from the West Midlands.8 On fol. 40r/l. 13 of the Lambeth recension, the Ælfrician dedication homily breaks up after this preamble, and the reader encounters a variety of extracts copied into this text mostly from anonymous sources. A reconstruction of the text of In Dedicatione Æcclesiae has shown that passages copied on fols 40/l. 14–41/l. 16; 41v/l. 4–43v/l. 16 are also present in a homily contained in a pontifical used at Sherborne at the beginning of the eleventh century and later expanded in the mid-eleventh century, now Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale MS lat. 943.9 Just as Lambeth MS 489 is a collection of homilies for a bishop, so too, BN, MS lat. 943 contains a range of materials which would have been used by a bishop. The passages appearing in the two dedication homilies, in Lambeth MS 489 and in BN, MS lat. 943 respectively, were probably derived from a common source and

Reform of churches in eleventh-century Exeter 9 copied at approximately the same time in the mid-eleventh century by different hands.10 As evidence for these passages is only to be found in Lambeth MS 489 and in BN, MS lat. 943, it is perhaps legitimate to think that there was a shared pastoral interest in possessing and using these materials for dedicating churches which the bishops of Exeter and Sherborne had in common. Another two interpolations taken from Ælfric’s materials appear on fols 41r/l. 17–41v/l. 4 and fols 43v/l. 23–44r/l. 5. The former is a passage about drinking moderately taken from Ælfric’s De Oratione Moysi, a prayer for mid-Lent about attending church and engaging in prayer.11 While good church conduct is the general context in which the passage in question is set, in the Lambeth dedication homily the excerpt is integrated into an argument focussed on the abstinence from bodily pleasures and purity of the body and the soul. The excerpt from the prayer of Moses is also present in Ælfric’s first pastoral letter addressed to Wulfsige, bishop of Sherborne (996–1002) and the first recipient of the core part of the Sherborne pontifical discussed above and later augmented in the mid-eleventh century.12 The context of Ælfric’s letter is in line with the tone of the Lambeth homily in that it is concerned with the ordering of the church as seen from an episcopal point of view. Inclusion of this passage in a letter addressed to Wulfsige perhaps suggests that it pertained to bishops to admonish the faithful against too much drinking when in church, a notion that Leofric, too, stressed in his episcopal capacity when dedicating churches. The second passage extracted from Ælfric and copied on fols 41v/4–43v/16 is taken from the Passio Sancti Albani Martyris, a text centred on the good conduct of judges who are admonished not to sell justice for money.13 The text excerpted from the Passio and copied into the Lambeth dedication homily focuses on the sale and hire of churches, a not uncommon phenomenon in the eleventh century. In the Lambeth dedication homily the excerpt from the life of St Alban is inserted in the middle of Ælfric’s conclusion to his dedication homily, and in a rather more specific context than that of the Passio, to reinforce the message not only that churches must not be sold or hired out for money, but that laymen must not have authority over any church. This message resonates quite strongly with the papal campaign against the purchase of religious offices and sacred spaces launched assertively by Leo IX in two subsequent synods in 1049 and in 1051, right at the beginning of his pontificate.14 The way in which the extracts discussed above are incorporated into a new homily shows a twofold trend: firstly, the excerpts collected to compile In Dedicatione Æcclesiae are at some level associated with visions of an ordered church as imagined at episcopal level; secondly, they are re-contextualised in such a way that these themes resonate with notions forcefully stressed by the Roman church at a central level. For example, right at the point where the Ælfrician preamble ends, on fol. 40r/l. 13, the homilist inserted the following linking passage, unique to this text as far as we know, through which the preacher addresses the laymen in the audience and explains the meaning of dedicating churches: ‘You have now heard about the consecration of churches as it was celebrated in ancient times according to the old law. And since this exposition has holy meaning it is difficult

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for you, laymen, to understand’.15 This passage, which does not appear in Ælfric’s recension nor any other version than the one contained in Lambeth MS 489, is particularly interesting in the context of this discussion because it dwells on a theme which becomes key to the reforms introduced by the papacy in the mideleventh century: the superiority of the ecclesiastical orders over the laity and the separation of the priesthood from the rest of society. Here a typical duty of priests is described, that of elucidating scripture for the laity and explaining the meaning of a church’s dedication. The bishop explains it for the layman: ‘Now we want to tell it in such a way that you may be able to understand the feast of this church because this is consecrated to praise and to honour God and is much necessary to all the people for in this they ought to beg forgiveness for their sins before God’.16 The responsibility of the clergy to explain to the laity and ignorant the meaning of the scriptures is exemplified in the plural ‘we’, used not only in opposition to ‘you/eow’, but also as a majestic plural designating the power of the ecclesiastical community as a whole, which ultimately emanates from episcopal authority. Manuscript evidence such as that herein mentioned shows that in the higher tiers of the ecclesiastical hierarchy there was a desire to reform the manners and morals of church life through regulation and exhortation. However, the principles voiced by prelates at synods or in their preaching reflect the way in which ecclesiastical authority was perceived by bishops rather than describe a realistic scenario. There is scanty evidence, indeed, suggesting that these values were any more realistic than programmatic. Nonetheless, bishops were influential figures and had a major role in disseminating models, principles and rules of conduct through their pastoral leadership. Re-defining the social classes according to roles and duties seems to be a topic of renewed interest in the Church and of great concern to Leofric. For example, separating out the three orders of society into oratores, bellatores and laboratores is the theme of a quando volueris homily, i.e. a text for any occasion, copied by Exeter scribes for the episcopal collection and added to Leofric’s homiliary during his episcopacy.17 Although distinctions between these three social groups had been a concern of Ælfric’s (and Wulfstan’s), especially in regard to defining the category of those who pray, these divisions became ever more imperative during Leofric’s episcopacy. In the mid-eleventh century, demarcations between lay and clerical behaviour were reinforced, for example, by Pope Leo’s prohibition of clerical marriage. In the Roman council of 1049 the pope declared the marriage of priests sinful as co-habitation or sexual intercourse could contaminate the sacred spaces priests came into contact with and, in addition, the offspring of such unions could jeopardise the wealth of the Church by inheriting and thereby alienating lands which would otherwise be the property of the Church.18 There was great concern among the ecclesiastical authorities that the clergy could become too involved with the secular world beyond their didactic and pastoral roles.19 Exercising control over the personal life of priests aimed to keep roles and behaviour separate, as a matter of principle if not in practice. At Exeter, the demarcation between the clerical and secular is echoed in the regula followed by the clerical community, the expanded version of the Rule of

Reform of churches in eleventh-century Exeter 11 Chrodegang of Metz.20 While the rule did not strictly prohibit clerical marriage, it certainly advocated and encouraged chastity for canons living communally on the cathedral premises and for priests presumably staffing the sacred space of the churches within the city and more broadly scattered throughout the diocese.21 In the dedication homily, this injunction is reflected in the admonition to respect the holiness of a church’s physical space by avoiding sexual contact before entering it. Although rather generically, a passage in In Dedicatione Æcclesiae acutely reflects clerical anxiety to separate all that is sacred, thus corruptible, from what is secular and impure: ‘and as often as you wish to honour a church feast, each man should observe abstinence with their own partner and come to church truly pure and reconciled’.22 Increasingly and more markedly than in the past, the repetition of binary notions such as purity/impurity, chaste/unchaste, and sacred/secular placed emphasis on the dichotomy between clerical and lay social groups. A campaign of moral renewal heralded by the pope through a series of corrective actions announced in the councils of 1049–1050 made this division only more manifest, if not in practical terms certainly in the language used to stress such notions.23 The council of Rheims of October 1049 has indeed been seen by historians like Cushing as establishing clearly the objectives of the papal reform. In Cushing’s own words the council of Rheims ‘should be seen as the culmination of the underlying reform objectives of the “peace”: the beginnings of the reconstruction of the moral landscape of both clergy and laity’.24 The reformulation of clerical morality was going to be put into practice by separating out the clergy from the rest of lay society, the oratores and bellatores to use the language of the reformers. Leofric’s re-appropriation of Ælfric’s and Wulfstan’s ideas about the divisions of the social spectrum seems to respond to the need for a better organised community than it had been in the recent, somewhat neglected, past of his diocese, and remodelled on a forceful assertion of the episcopal authority. As the Lambeth homily unfolds, particular prominence is given to disciplining bad habits as a way to define a code of good behaviour to be adopted in the sacred space of the church and thus under the custody of priests. In religious communities regulated by Chrodegang’s rule, the bishop took personal responsibility to ensure not just that all religious people in the diocese lived according to God’s law, but also that the priests appointed by the bishop to serve churches were direct representatives of episcopal authority and of his person.25 It is not surprising then that when preaching at church consecrations the bishop should define good conduct and criticise behaviour disrespectful of the holiness of the church. On fol. 41r/ll. 14–16, for example, there is a clear admonition not to spoil the temple of God. In the Latin words of the apostle ‘whoever violates the temple of God will be ruined and condemned’, a concept promptly reiterated in English.26 Two sections follow about refraining from bodily pleasures: the first is about resisting drinking and the second about abstaining from sexual intercourse. How realistically such behaviours reflected people’s conduct or rather are topoi of eleventh-century homiletic diction is more difficult to ascertain. Themes like drinking and sexual abstinence are used as examples of behaviour to be avoided before going to church and are both embedded into an argument

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which puts emphasis on cleanness. Whoever wishes to celebrate in church must refrain from bodily pleasures, like drinking alcohol and sexual activity, in that these contaminate the quintessential quality of what is sacred. The corruption of all that is pure was taken extremely seriously by the reformers, as it threatened the integrity of the sacred, both morally and physically. In the dedication homily, the idea of purity is paralleled with the image of shining white clothes in such a way that physical cleanness becomes a realistic expression of the purity of the soul: ‘it is right that before all other things the heart of each man be clear (literally white) and clean from sin, just as you wish to come to church with white and clean vestments’.27 Without being at all new, it is in the eleventh century that the notion of cleanness becomes central in the language of papal propaganda. Cushing’s words on this topic are worth quoting verbatim: ‘these old ideals [purity/impurity] were now [in the eleventh century] to be turned into reality, and the clergy, both secular and regular, as well as the laity, who did not respect the more sharply drawn boundaries of their categories, became “matter out of place” who were excoriated in increasingly vehement rhetoric in an effort once more to locate them “in place”’.28 Regulating spiritual life across different social groups by drawing these limits clearly was a concern of Leofric’s, as the themes of the dedication homily suggest. Whether or not this concern had been spurred by lack of pastoral care and presumed declining spiritual standards in his diocese stemming from recent episcopal absenteeism is debatable and difficult to determine with certainty. Leofric’s predecessor, bishop Lyfing, held the diocese of Devon and Cornwall in plurality (chorepiscopacy) with that of Worcester, Lyfing’s preferred location. Lack of leadership in Devon and Cornwall in the years immediately preceding Leofric’s office have often been attributed to Lyfing’s frequent absence from the episcopal see, which was then situated in the small town of Crediton. Leofric’s relocation to Exeter was arguably undertaken to boost the profile of the episcopal authority (and persona) as well as to remodel the diocese on the example of modern centres, a plan that pope Leo IX legitimised willingly.29 A second hypothesis is that Leofric had fairly certainly been exposed to the ideology of church reform during his continental upbringing in Lotharingia. Although it may be difficult to ascertain to what extent the bishop’s education influenced his choices, the picture emerging from documentary evidence shows a connection with continental practices in line with papal reforming policies.30 Whatever the case, the choice of texts copied in In Dedicatione Æcclesiae and the ways in which these were structured into a topical text reflect, to some extent, an innovative, perhaps creative, use of traditional rhetoric. This language met Leofric’s need for meaningful narratives, which would not be lost on his flock. As the homily unfolds, the notion of cleanness is brought into focus again, this time in the form of an exhortation: ‘And as often as we wish to go to God’s church, let us cleanse our soul with holy deeds, that is with obedience, true love, patience, almsgiving, self-restraint from overeating and overdrinking, and from all bodily pleasures and with cleanness’.31 Anxiety about purity is in the eleventh century more than ever before focused on the body, hence vices like drinking and sexual

Reform of churches in eleventh-century Exeter 13 intercourse before going to church are regarded as corrupting the essence of the sacraments which are administered in church, as seen in the dedication homily. This theme becomes especially cogent if we consider that Leofric delivered this homily to a mixed audience, whom he instructed in keeping custody of the sacred space of the church and in respecting the limits of that space. The bishop thus becomes the ‘keeper’ of the social order when he emphasises the boundaries that separated the sacred from the profane. Establishing behavioural boundaries was also a powerful means in the hands of the bishop to keep control over the churches of his diocese. In his study of the Church in Anglo-Saxon society Blair shows that church provision in urban locations including Exeter had gradually increased by 1086, about a dozen years after Leofric’s death.32 While through the proliferation of churches we see provision of pastoral care and administration of the sacraments becoming more accessible in the diocese, we also see the increasing fragmentation of the power of the mother church. These local churches earned pastoral rights, such as burial rights or the rights to administer some of the sacraments which were once exclusively those of the cathedral church, for example. It is perhaps not surprising that the bishop might want to wield some level of control over the rights of parish or smaller churches and chapels. Hence, maintaining the primacy of the cathedral intact while sustaining at the same time the evangelisation of the diocese became a priority on the bishop’s pastoral agenda. For example, in In Dedicatione Æcclesiae emphasis is placed on the sacrament of the confirmation, which could only be administered by a bishop: ‘men who bring their child to baptism and to the bishop’s laying on of hands so as to give him the sevenfold gift of the holy spirit, will acquire the heavenly kingdom for their children’.33 This passage from the homily suggests that in sealing the promise of baptism, confirmation had regular validity if carried out by a bishop. The subject of this homily of course also emphasises the bishop’s role in making new churches by consecrating them, thus supporting a wider provision of pastoral care for his parishioners. The primacy of the bishop over the pastoral life of the diocese is perfectly encapsulated in the dedication homily, as we have seen, and seemingly gauged against the latest changes in ecclesiastical matters supported by the pope.

Church dedication in the Exeter area The relatively high number of dedication homilies in Leofric’s homiliaries, four altogether out of approximately thirty homilies, is evidence that the bishop was busy dedicating churches and that this was a task for which he needed appropriate sermons. Although only twenty-two churches are known to have been consecrated in Devon by 1086, there is some evidence for an expanding network of smaller/parish churches in the Exeter area before 1072, the date of Leofric’s death.34 In a situation which saw the redistribution of pastoral rights to smaller and parish churches as Blair notes above, the role of the bishop was crucial to the remodelling of the diocesan landscape. This was especially true when cathedrals were run by secular, non-monastic communities since canons, unlike monks, were

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not asked to give up their possessions upon joining the community but could retain private property if they wanted.35 According to the system in use at Exeter, cathedral canons had a degree of economic freedom not only through holding private property but also because they could earn revenue from the donations they received when saying masses for their parishioners’ friends and relatives, from confessions and from chanting psalms and hymns.36 Fostering communal life for the cathedral canons and supporting their outward pastoral activities towards the churches of the diocese enabled the bishop to wield some control, spiritual and administrative, over these churches. By requiring canons to live together on the cathedral premises the bishop could have a direct control over their activities, for instance by regulating the canons’ pastoral engagement through the assignment of no more than one church for a canon to serve.37 In the context of increasing evangelisation in the diocese, it is perhaps no surprise that the dedication homily should end with a lengthy injunction against simony. The purchase and selling of churches and sacred offices was seen as a serious problem which could potentially make the church vulnerable to the intrusion of the laity into ecclesiastical property. Simony was not at all new in Leofric’s time, but by the 1050s it had started being cause for disquiet in clerical milieus, especially after the council of Sutri when it became a concern of the papacy.38 The close of the Lambeth dedication homily encapsulates this preoccupation in Ælfric’s words. While the Ælfrician original addressed rather generically the intrusion of the laity into religious affairs, the interpolation of a short passage extracted from the author’s Passio St Albani Martyris brings into focus a phenomenon still typical in eleventh-century England, that is the sale of churches as mills: ‘Now sometimes it happens that some men sell a church for hire as if it were a worthless mill, the glorious house consecrated to God for his praise and to Christendom which Christ himself founded; but it is not right that men turn God’s house into a mill for vile money, and he who does so will have sinned very deeply’.39 This injunction seems to be all the more significant in a homily which directly addressed a mixed audience. Blair has noted that as early as Ælfric’s time, the analogy associating churches and mills evinced the probably popular and dangerous perception that churches could be used to make profits, just as mills were. The improper use of churches for purposes other than religion still seems to have been a problem in Leofric’s time. As we have seen, dedicating a new church potentially diminished the hold that the cathedral had on localities from both pastoral and financial perspectives. If smaller churches could then be used to make revenue because they were detachable from the cathedral, just as mills were from the manor to which they pertained, Blair notes,40 then the spiritual ties with the mother church had to be reinforced in order to keep the power of the cathedral intact. When operating, as presumably Leofric was, in the absence of a clear set of ecclesiastical regulations, preaching would have given him the opportunity to set authoritative guidelines if not rules. The admonitions contained in this passage were explicitly directed to laymen, especially those contributing to the building or endowing of churches, who were thus advised to refrain from making profit from them and to be mindful of the moral rules to be observed in churches.

Reform of churches in eleventh-century Exeter 15

Conclusion The ecclesiastical landscape in the mid-eleventh century was dominated by the reforms enacted by the papacy, especially visible in the renewed fight against simony and the increasing emphasis placed on the rhetoric of purity. Scholarship has indeed demonstrated that the pope took action by scrutinising more closely the work of bishops and by setting new moral standards across Christendom. Some bishops like Leofric of Exeter saw in the renewal of the church an opportunity to introduce reforms in their own dioceses, which would improve pastoral life and its administration. In particular, Bishop Leofric seems to have seen in the papal propaganda an opportunity to protect the wealth of his see and to take control of the administration of pastoral care across his diocese. Indeed, the bishop strove to recover alienated lands, acquire new ones, accumulate riches and bolster the status of his cathedral and his role. During his term of office, Leofric improved the reputation of his cathedral through the introduction of reforms, which had a significant impact on the exercise of his authority: for example he introduced a community of secular canons to run the cathedral’s activities; constructed new buildings adjoining the cathedral; united the dioceses of Devon and Cornwall once held in plurality; and chose an urban location for his see. The latter innovation alone has been seen by scholars as a move designed to add lustre to his cathedral: not only was his request supported by the king but also urged by the pope with a letter in which Leo IX maintains that any episcopal see should be located in a city as the ideal setting to exercise the authority that bishops commanded.41 By calling upon the pope to validate his request to move the see to Exeter, Leofric not only sought approval – probably unnecessary to the transfer – but also invoked something which was of great significance to the pope for putting his reforms into practice: the centrality of episcopal power. It is not surprising then that alongside the introduction of administrative reforms, Leofric may have wanted to consolidate his role and authority in his diocese, hence his commitment to increasing evangelisation there and consequent foundation of small churches, an inclination which is clearly reflected in the dedication homilies copied to meet his increasing preaching needs. There is also some evidence that Leofric had a sense of what was going on beyond his diocese at a much broader level, as we have seen. The reforms introduced by the pope across Christendom seem to have set a trend to which Leofric responded in his own specific way. Texts like the one analysed here offer some evidence for the intellectual connections between Leofric’s pastoral programme and papal reform. Although more evidence than that presented here needs to be collected for a thorough study of these connections, the analysis of In Dedicatione Æcclesiae shows that it is only through studies like this that we can have an appreciation of the work of eleventhcentury bishops and the meaning of their preaching activities.

Notes 1 N. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957; repr. with supplement 1990), no. 283. A microfiche facsimile reproduction of London, Lambeth Palace MS 489 can be found in J. Wilcox, ed., Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts,

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3

4 5

6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14

Dr Erika Corradini vol. 8 (Tempe: ACMRS, 2000). Most recently, a description of this codex can be accessed through O. Da Rold, T. Kato, M. Swan and E. Treharne (eds.), The Production and Use of English Manuscripts 1060 to 1220 (Leicester: University of Leicester, 2010), available at [accessed 12 March 2015]. Images in this essay are reproduced by kind permission of Lambeth Palace Library. There has been scholarly consensus that Lambeth MS 489 (hereinafter) is part of a rather complex collection of homilies for episcopal preaching. A sustained study of this codex, its immediate context and uses is contained in E. Treharne, ‘The Bishop’s Book: Leofric’s Homiliary and Eleventh-Century Exeter’, in: S. Baxter, et al. (eds.), Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), 521–37, and E. Treharne, ‘Producing a Library in Late Anglo-Saxon England: Exeter, 1050–1072’, Review of English Studies 54 (2003), 155–72, at p. 80. These studies offer an exhaustive analysis of Lambeth MS 489, its codicological history and pastoral function, including a detailed overview of previous scholarship on this codex. M. F. Giandrea, Episcopal Culture in Late Anglo-Saxon England, Anglo-Saxon Studies 7 (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2007), p. 105; J. Blair, The Church in AngloSaxon Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), pp. 489–90 on the regulatory authority of bishops and the rhetoric of church conduct disseminated through preaching. R. Pfaff, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Bishop and His Book’, Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 81 (1999), 3–24, at p. 12 argues that bishops consecrated churches in front of mixed audiences. Ker, Catalogue, no. 283, item 6 gives an indication of how in In Dedicatione Æcclesiae is constructed by chaining together passages taken from a selection of sources. The compilation process of composite homilies by re-positioning extracts from traditional texts into new ones has been analysed further by M. Swan, ‘Ælfric as Source: The Exploitation of Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies from the Late Tenth to Twelfth Centuries’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Leeds, 1993). Treharne, ‘The Bishop’s Book’. An edition of the relevant passages is contained in Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: The Second Series, ed. M. Godden, EETS, s.s. 5 (1979), no. XL at pp. 335–7 and 334–45, ll. 1–73 and 293–317. Ker, Catalogue, no. 312, p. 375 and Da Rold, Kato, Swan and Treharne (eds.), The Production and Use; the homily showing connections with In Dedicatione Æcclesiae appears on fols 146v/16–149v/4. The most recent study of this manuscript is contained in Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts in Microfiche Facsimile: Exeter Manuscripts, vol. 22, ed. M. Hussey (Tempe: ACMRS, 2014), pp. 159–90. The homily showing links with In Dedicatione Æcclesiae appears on fols 164r/3–170/r1. A digitised version of BN, MS lat. 943, fols 164r/3–170/r1 is available at [accessed 12 March 2015]. One edition for this passage is contained in Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, ed. W. W. Skeat, EETS, o.s. 76, 82, 94, 114 (1881–1900; repr. as 2 vols, 1966), no. XIII, ll. 75–86. Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics in altenglischer und lateinischer Fassung, ed. B. Fehr, Bibliothek der angelsächsischen Prosa 9. (Hamburg: H. Grand, 1914; repr. with a supplement to the introduction by P. Clemoes, Darmstadt, 1966), Brief I, ll. 107–10. One edited version of this passage is contained in Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, ed. Skeat, no. XIX, ll. 244–53. The Papal Reform of the Eleventh Century: Lives of Pope Leo IX and Pope Gregory VII, ed. I. S. Robinson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), 136, no. 10. The tenets of the reform movement were probably heard at Rome in April 1049. Bishops Herman of Ramsbury and Ealdred of Worcester participated in the synod, in which the pope publicly condemned sins such as simony and clerical unchastity. Episcopal depositions followed in a subsequent synod held in Reims in October 1049: Councils

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and Synods, with Other Documents Relating to the English Church I: A. D. 871–1066, ed. D. Whitelock, D. Brett and C. N. Brooke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), p. 535; Vie du Pape Leon IX, ed. M. Parisse and M. Goullet, Les Classiques de l’Histoire de France au Moyen Age 38 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1997), p. 2.10. Ker, Catalogue, no. 283, item 6 as reconstructed by Ker and appearing in Lambeth MS 489. Transcriptions and translations from Lambeth MS 489 are my own unless otherwise stated. ‘Nu habbe ge gehyred be þære ealdan / cyrchalgunge [on inserted over the line] be þære ealdan ·æ· eow / læwedu mannu is earfoð to understan- / -denne, for þanðeos racu hæfð gastlice / getacnunge’, fol. 40r/ll. 14–17. ‘Nu wylle we eow secgan þ þ [the two abbreviation signs are unusually ligatured ] / ge understandan magon be þissere / cyrcean freolse for þanðe heo is gode / gehalgod, to lofe, to wurðminte, / ealu folce to swiðe mycelre neodþear- / [erasure] fe, for þanðe hig sceolon her inne æt / [letter g is faded but still visible] gode heora synna forgyfenysse biddan. [last word runs into the margin]’, fol. 40r/ll. 17–20. A. Napier, Sammlumng der ihm zugeshriebenen Homilien nebst Untersuchungen über ihre Echtheit (Max Niehans: Zurich, 1965), no. L at pp. 266–74. This text is now contained in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 421, a companion volume to Lambeth MS 489. For a description and reconstruction of CCCC 421 in relation to the formation of Leofric’s book collection see E. Corradini, ‘The Composite Nature of EleventhCentury Homiliaries: Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 421’, in: O. Da Rold and E. Treharne (eds.), Textual Cultures: Cultural Texts, Essays and Studies, 63 (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2010), pp. 5–20. K. Cushing, Reform and the Papacy in the Eleventh Century: Spirituality and Social Change (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), p. 126. Cushing reports the example of wives of clerics expelled from the city by papal decree (council of Rome, April 1049) following an accusation of clerical concubinage. Robinson, The Papal Reform, offers a concise yet important summary of the debates animating the higher tiers of the ecclesiastical orders in regard to the superiority of the clergy over the laity; pp. 3–4, 7, 30–1. Cf. I. S. Robinson, The Papacy, 1073–1198 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), esp. pp. x, 137, 414. Enlarged Rule of Chrodegang; The Capitula of Theodulf; Epitome of Benedict of Aniane, ed. A. S. Napier, EETS o.s. 150 (1916), (hereinafter ERCh) no. 62. Most recent editions of ERCh are The Chrodegang Rules, ed. J. Bertram (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005) and The Old English Version of the Enlarged Rule of Chrodegang: Edited Together with the Latin Text and an English Translation, ed. B. Langefeld, Texte und Untersuchungen zur englischen Philologie 26 (Frankfurt-am-Main: P. Lang, 2003). Blair, The Church, p. 309, offers an insight into the ecclesiastical landscape of the diocese of Devon and Cornwall, unified under Leofric. Lambeth MS 489, fol. 41v/4–9 ‘ swa oft swa ge willan / to cycrcan cuman, eow þar [inserted over the line by adding a comma-like mark sitting on the line in between words] to gode gebiddan / cyrcan freolsunge wurðian, healde / ælcmann forhæfednysse wið his agen- / -ne gemæccan, þon syferlice gesibsu- / -lice to þære cyrcan becume’. The account of the excommunication of bishops at the council of Rheims contained in Anselm of St Remi, Historia dedicationis ecclesiae Sancti Remigii, (PL 142, 1415D-1440B), repr. in J. M. Watterich, Pontificum Romanorum Vitae 1 (Leipzig, 1862, repr. Aalen: Scientia, 1966), pp. 113–27 is often cited as the epitome of Leo’s introduction of disciplinary changes in ecclesiastical institutions. Cushing, Reform and the Papacy, pp. 49–50. M. A. Claussen, The Reform of the Frankish Church: Chrodegang of Metz and the “Regula canonicorum” in the Eighth Century, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought, 4th ser., 61 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), p. 209.

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26 Fol. 41r/ll. 12–16, ‘Us is to ondrædenne þ þ se apl pau- / lus be ðam cwyð. Si quis templu dei / uiolauerit disperd illum ds. He cwyð / swa hwylc mann swa godes templ ge / wemmð. God hine forswilð fordeð’. Dotted ‘y’ is used throughout the text of the homily. The Latin and English languages are carefully differentiated and appear to be written in Caroline and Anglo-Saxon minuscule, respectively. Both forms have been associated with the Exeter house style, most notably by Ker, Bishop and Treharne. 27 Fol. 41v/ll. 16–19, ‘And þ ge dafenað to fo- / -ran eallu oðru þingum, þ ælces mannes / heorte beo wið ealle leahtras hwit / clæne, swa swa ge gewilniað þ ge to cyrcan / becumun mid hwitu reafu mid clænu’. 28 Cushing, Reform and the Papacy, p. 116. 29 J. Hill, ‘Leofric of Exeter and the Practical Politics of Book Collecting’, in: S. Kelly and J. J. Thompson (eds.), Imagining the Book (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005), pp. 77–98, 82. 30 E. Corradini, ‘A Bishop’s Books: Leofric of Exeter and His Lotharingian Connections’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Leicester, 2008), esp. ch. 6. 31 Fol. 41v/l. 24–42r/l. 2: ‘Ac uton swa oft swa / we to godes cyrcan becuman willan / are sawle aclænsian are lichaman / mid halgum mægnum, þ is mid eadmod- / -nysse, mid soðre lufe, mid geþylde, / mid ælmysdædu, mid for hæfednysse / ofer ætes ofer drinces, eac æghwylce- / -ra lichamlicra lufta, mid clænnysse’. 32 Blair, The Church, 404, between sixteen and twenty-two churches are mentioned to have been consecrated in Exeter by 1086. 33 Fol. 43r/ll. 9–14: ‘þa menn þon þe heora / bearn to fulluhte bringað, to þæs bisceo- / -pes bletsunge, þ he his hand ofer hig / sette him sylle þa seofon fealdan gife / þæs halgan gastes. hi gestrynað þon heora bearnu heofena rice’. 34 N. Orme, English Church Dedications with a Survey of Cornwall and Devon (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1996), p. 22, contends that these are only part of a probably greater number. 35 Exeter became a secular cathedral through Leofric’s doing on the model of continental episcopal sees (Hill, The politics, p. 81; ERCh, no. 4). The system followed at Exeter, while discouraging canons from receiving superfluous wealth, did not prohibit the canons from holding private property. The contrast between the communal life of secular canons and that of monks is analysed in C. Jones, ‘Aelfric and the Limits of “Benedictine Reform”’. in: H. Magennis and M. Swan (eds.), A Companion to Aelfric (Leiden: Brill, 2009), esp. p. 80. 36 ERCh, no. 40. 37 ERCh, no. 65. 38 Cushing, Reform and the Papacy, pp. 96–7. 39 Fol. 43v/l. 23–44r/l. 5: Nu doð swa þeah ealles to feal manna þ hi syllað heora cyrcan to / hyre, swa swa waclice mylna, þæt [rather inconsistently with the rest of the homily, the word ‘that’ is not abbreviated in this instance] mare hus, þe wæs gode betæht to his big- / -gencgum to þa cristen dome þe crist / sylf astealde; ac hit ne gedafenað þ mann / do godes hus anre mylne gelic for lyðru / tolle. se ðe hit deð he syngað swyðe deope’. For an edition of this passage see Skeat (ed.), Ælfric’s Lives, ll. 248–54, 430–1. 40 Blair, The Church, p. 495. 41 Hill, ‘Leofric of Exeter and the Practical Politics’, pp. 80–1.

Select bibliography Blair, J., The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005). Cushing, K., Reform and the Papacy in the Eleventh Century: Spirituality and Social Change (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005).

Reform of churches in eleventh-century Exeter 19 Hill, J., ‘Leofric of Exeter and the Practical Politics of Book Collecting’, in: S. Kelly and J. J. Thompson (eds), Imagining the Book (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005). The Papal Reform of the Eleventh Century: Lives of Pope Leo IX and Pope Gregory VII, ed. I. S. Robinson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004). Treharne, E., ‘The Bishop’s Book: Leofric’s Homiliary and Eleventh-Century Exeter’, in: S. Baxter et al. (eds), Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 521–37.

2

Old English confessional prayers for the clergy and the laity Catherine Cubitt

The tenth and eleventh centuries in Anglo-Saxon England witnessed a remarkable efflorescence of the use of the vernacular for religious texts, and particularly for pastoral purposes. These texts included canon law, pastoral guidance, liturgica and penitential materials.1 The homilies which form part of this body of literature are very well known and have been the backbone of Old English prose studies for centuries.2 But the other texts in this corpus are less well studied and deserve to be better known.3 This chapter will discuss some neglected Old English prayers for use in confession transmitted in three tenth-and eleventh-century manuscripts. However, one should not draw too sharp a dividing line between homilies, liturgica and canonical or penitential texts – all occur in close and deliberate proximity in contemporary manuscripts. One thinks, for example, of the pastoral material appended to – Cambridge University Library, MS Gg 3. 28, a contemporary copy of Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies, which was made in his own scriptorium. This manuscript has an appendix (written in the main text hand) which adds a homily and prayers for Lent.4 The vernacular prayers under discussion here were occasioned by the same impetuses which produced the vernacular penitentials. The latter have been well analysed and discussed by Allan Frantzen.5 These date from at least the tenth century – the earliest, the Scriftboc may go back to the ninth century. They include an Old English translation of Books 3, 4 and 5 of Halitgar’s Penitential, the Old English Penitential, and another of the Old English Canons of Theodore’s Penitential, recently edited for the Early English Text Society by Fulk and Jurasinski.6 Frantzen suggested that the Handbook for a Confessor was perhaps the last in this sequence of texts because of its more developed nature – it includes a confessional ordo as well as a short tariff.7 It is thus indicative of the natural association between the vernacular penitential texts and the confessional prayers. The vernacular material also displays an interesting range. One finds single vernacular prayers added to manuscripts; for example, the prayer of absolution in the Maundy Thursday rite of the mid-tenth to early eleventhcentury Egbert pontifical, Paris Bibliothèque nationale, MS lat. 10575, has had a half-leaf inserted bearing an Old English translation of that prayer.8 This addition brings home not only the actual usage of these books, but also the great importance for contemporaries of comprehension – it must have been important to the bishop who owned this book that his congregation understood that they had been

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absolved. David Dumville and Helen Gittos have both emphasised the importance of the vernacular in the practice of penance as an area where ‘it was necessary for the unlatinate (both laity and, no doubt in part, the clergy) to participate more fully in spoken rather than merely physical aspects of the liturgy’.9 Gittos goes on to note parallels in the use of the vernacular in the coronation oaths in the late tenth century.10 The four manuscripts under discussion here are 1 2 3 4

London, British Library, Cotton MS Vespasian D. XX; a tenth-century Latin penitential manuscript.11 London, British Library, Cotton MS Tiberius C. I; a mid-eleventh-century pontifical from Sherborne/Salisbury.12 London, British Library, Cotton MS Tiberius A. III, ff. 2–173; a miscellany of texts copied at Christ Church, Canterbury, around the middle of the eleventh century.13 London, British Library, Royal MS 2. B. v; a tenth-century Latin psalter probably from Winchester with Old English gloss with additions in the first half of the eleventh century.14

The prayers under discussion today have received comparatively little scholarly attention, partly because they were published in the late nineteenth century and first half of the twentieth century by Logeman and Zupitza.15 In 1993 a new edition appeared by Gloria Corsi Mercatanti, Testi penitenziali minori in tardo antico inglese, but this book is not widely known, so much so that when, in 1994, Philip Pulsiano and Joseph McGowan published an edition of four of the texts in Mercatanti’s volume, they described them as unedited.16 The collection of prayers and penitential material in Cotton MS Tiberius C. I forms the starting point of this investigation. This is a composite manuscript, put together late and includes some twelfth-century material from Peterborough added by Sir Robert Cotton.17 But folios 43–203 constitute an eleventh-century pontifical, put together in two phases. The first part is a pontifical of the RomanoGermanic type, copied in German hands probably from the middle of the eleventh century.18 To these were added a further eight quires, copied in England at different times probably between 1070 and 1100. These contain further liturgical texts for use by a bishop, including a Latin ordo for confession. These texts show that the book had associations with Sherborne and then with Salisbury, and should probably be linked to Bishop Herman of Sherborne (d. 1078) and his successor Osmund (1078–1099). These later eleventh-century additions include the acta of the Council of Winchester in 1070 and the Latin canons issued after the Battle of Hastings.19 Old English material was also added in blank spaces in quires, including a homily for the dedication of a church (printed by Neil Ker).20 On folios 159–62, are copied a set of vernacular texts for pastoral and penitential use, the Lord’s Prayer and Creed,21 a confessional prayer,22 and then two formulas for confession,23 and an Old English address for Lent.24 A separate Old English text, instructions by a priest for Lenten fasting and confession, was added at the end

Old English confessional prayers 23 of the manuscript, on ff. 200–202.25 These Old English materials were clearly intended for pastoral use by the bishop, as the church dedication sermon indicates.26 One of the penitential formulas is explicitly made to a bishop, and the sequence of texts highlights the role of the bishop in Lent.27 This is perhaps not a coherent sequence of penitential texts, all put together for one purpose and at one time – some of the material clearly pertains to the bishop, while the instruction on Lenten practices was certainly composed for a priest. Turning to the Old English confessional prayers and formulas, the first of these in Tiberius C. III, Ic bidde đe, min Drihten on đæs acennedan godes naman, together with the form of confession which follows it are clearly intended for use by a member of the clergy.28 The form of confession needs to be discussed alongside another, of which it is a variant, found in Cotton MS Vespasian D. XX, where the text is longer but identical in parts to that in Cotton MS Tiberius C. I. Cotton MS Vespasian D. XX dates from the mid-tenth century and comprises Latin penitentials, with an ordo for confession.29 It looks like a book for use in a religious community, and is particularly interesting because of its interlineations which give feminine endings to make the Latin texts suitable for women’s use.30 The Old English form of confession was copied in the first half of the tenth century and the leaves containing it were probably added to MS Vespasian D. XX.31 These two related forms for confession are of great interest in their detailing of clerical sins. In Vespasian D. XX, it opens with a petition for true penitence so that the subject might make a full and true confession. The confession is made before God and his saints, and the confessor, the scrift. It is a typical confessional formula, consisting of lengthy listing, enumerating sins committed in thought and word, with men and women, seen and unseen, and itemising the different body parts involved in sinning. It includes the major sins, murder, greed, avarice, lying, false oaths – all set out presumably as a model to prompt confession. Much of the material is standard to confessional prayers, but this extended version of the form of confession, and its relative in Cotton MS Tiberius C. I, goes into some unusual detail which makes explicit that these texts are intended for the clergy. The form of confession in MS Vespasian D. XX will be considered because it is the longer and fuller of the two. It contains sins which can only pertain to the clergy – these include visible and invisible desires committed inside and outside the church, all offences against the ‘order’ (Old English had) of the person confessing, notably failure to perform the liturgical offices, to sing the psalms and fast. The list of sins includes sinning on Sundays, at night and at other holy times; tardiness in coming to church; and coming to church dirty and in unclean clothing, thereby approaching the body and blood of Christ in an unsuitable condition. Other sins are not specifically clerical but fit into this clerical context – for example, confession is made of swearing false oaths on the life of the confessing subject and his lord, and taking the name of the Lord in vain. A number of passages refer to giving wrong guidance and to being an adviser of evil. There is a notable emphasis on the sins of overeating and overdrinking, and on unnecessary personal adornment. The confession of sexual sins is particularly interesting since these include a ‘desire for the seed of men and for intercourse with women’.

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Curiously the list of major sins, such as fornication and lying, are headed by a statement that the one confessing has committed ‘sins of the Sodomites’, that is fornication, etc, etc. The adjective used here, ‘sodomiscre’ is rare, and, according to the Dictionary of Old English, only found in the two prayers in MSS Vespasian D. XX and Tiberius C. I.32 These are remarkable prayers which give us some insights into the clerical life in the tenth and eleventh centuries. They stress the role of the clergy as pastoral figures, advising others, setting an example of righteous living both in shunning excessive gluttony and personal adornment, and place a notable emphasis on sinful speech and thought. They provide some insight into the articulation of clerical standards outside of the work of the great advocates of Benedictine Reform, Ælfric and Wulfstan.33 While they do not match Ælfric in his concern for purity and correctness, they do indicate a concern for right living, conscientious performance of the liturgical duties of a priest, and for purity and chastity. Given the paucity of evidence in this period for the priesthood and in particularly priestly practice, outside the polemics and normative texts of the major Benedictine Reform leaders, these prayers have a special interest. The final collection of Old English confessional prayers and formulas under discussion are found in two manuscripts, Cotton MS Tiberius A. III, and London, British Library, Royal MS 2. B. v, known as the Royal Psalter.34 MS Tiberius A. III is a miscellany and an important manuscript, well known for its copy of the Regularis Concordia with a full page illustration of Dunstan, Æthelwold and Edgar, and for other texts relating to Benedictine Reform.35 It was copied around the middle of the eleventh century at Christ Church, Canterbury, and it may represent a collection of texts pertaining to the archbishop because it includes an Examinatio episcopi from the service for the ordination of a bishop.36 Other items include prognostics, homilies and other confessional material.37 It shares a sequence of vernacular confessional prayers with the Royal Psalter, a Latin manuscript copied perhaps at Winchester, but which was at Christ Church, Canterbury in the eleventh century.38 It must have been at Christ Church that six of the eight confessional prayers found in Tiberius A III were copied into it.39 These derive not from the Tiberius manuscript but from another now lost exemplar. These prayers may again be an assemblage of pre-existing texts, probably of diverse origins.40 They consist of six confessional prayers to be said by the person confessing, an exhortation to confession and a prayer of absolution to be said by a priest. The last two are not in the Royal Psalter. The second of the confessional prayers opens with a statement ‘here is in English a confession and prayer’ suggesting that it has been taken from a different context. The inclusion of the confessional prayers in the Royal Psalter is indicative of their use as devotional material by the religious; the materials in Tiberius A III could have a variety of purposes – both personal and devotional uses, and pastoral. The volume has a strong monastic element, with the inclusion not only of the Regularis Concordia but also the Old English Rule of St Benedict and other monastic texts. The confessional texts could have been for use within a monastic community. The Old English prayers themselves display very little indication of either lay or clerical use. They concern on the whole fairly generic sets of sins and sinful

Old English confessional prayers 25 conduct, suitable not only for a lay confession but also for a religious one. Only the final prayer of absolution seems specifically tailored for lay transgressions. This is similar both to the prayers of confession, repeating many of the generic lists of types of sin, including the eight major sins, and to priestly exhortations, since it includes clear instructions on when and how to fast. It is concerned to promote sincere confession and true repentance and also to instil confidence in God’s mercy to those who were repentant. Amongst its exhortations, it includes a sequence admonishing against the hatred of the innocent, against rancour and nursing enmity. The priest exhorts his audience to shun arrogance, to honour his lord eagerly and to care for those subject to him according to their merits. The exhortation advocates the performance of good works – feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, the burial of the dead, the care for the infirm, the afflicted and sorrowing. Spiritual guidance in matters of faith is also given – the priest urges his audience to ponder Doomsday, and to think of Christ’s sufferings and wounds, for example. So the prayer of absolution has some suggestive indications that it was intended for use with the laity, and it underlines the lay ethos by highlighting the proper conduct of lordship, and the importance of subduing aggression. A further prayer in Tiberius A III requires brief discussion. This displays no telltale signs of clerical or lay usage, but it is remarkable for its identification of the sinner with Christ, as the one confessing enumerates Christ’s sufferings and prays for his own forgiveness through them. Although this prayer is also found in the Portiforium of Bishop Wulfstan II of Worcester, I see no reason why it too should not have been intended for lay use.41 It has a context in other evidence for the devotion to the cross and to the crucified Christ among the Anglo-Saxon aristocracy, for example the lavish gospel book which Judith, Count of Flanders, wife of Tostig, gave to the Abbey of Weingarten, Bavaria, with its full size frontispiece, which apparently depicts her embracing the foot of the cross bearing Christ.42 Other examples of devotion to the cross include the vision of Earl Leofric, or the discovery of the miraculous cross venerated at Waltham Abbey, and the gifts of jewelled crosses to churches and statues of the crucified Christ, given to churches.43 These confessional prayers are a rich resource for the history of pastoral care and for lay and clerical mentalities. Their manuscript context shows how they belonged both to devotional practice, for example, in the six prayers copied into the Royal Psalter, and to practical pastoral books, such as the pontifical in MS Tiberius C. I. They form an important and underused witness to the religious life of tenth-and eleventh-century England.

Notes 1 See, for example, the essays collected in F. Tinti (ed.), Pastoral Care in Late AngloSaxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005). 2 The literature is vast, for overviews see D. G. Scragg, ‘The Corpus of Vernacular Homilies and Prose Saints’ Lives before Ælfric’, Anglo-Saxon England 8 (1979), 223– 77; The Old English Homily Precedent, Practice, and Appropriation, ed. A. J. Kleist (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007); H. Magennis and M. Swan (eds.), A Companion to Ælfric (Leiden: Brill, 2009); J. T. Lionarons, The Homiletic Writings of Archbishop Wulfstan (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2010).

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3 K. Thomas, ‘The Meaning, Practice and Context of Private Prayer in Anglo-Saxon England’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of York, 2011). 4 N. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957), no. 15; Robert K. Upchurch, ‘Shepherding the Shepherds in the Ways of Pastoral Care: Ælfric and Cambridge University Library, MS Gg. 3. 28’, in: S. McWilliams (ed.), Saints and Scholars New Perspectives on Anglo-Saxon Literature and Culture (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2012), pp. 54–74. 5 A. J. Frantzen, The Literature of Penance in Anglo-Saxon England (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1983), and see below n. 6. 6 The Old English Canons of Theodore, ed. R. D. Fulk and S. Jurasinki, EETS s.s. 25 (2012). 7 R. Fowler, ‘A Late Old English Handbook for the Use of a Confessor’, Anglia 83 (1965), 1–34; T. Cooper, ‘Lay Piety, Confessional Directives and the Compiler’s Method in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, Haskins Society Journal 16 (2005), 47–61. 8 Ker, Catalogue, no. 370, noting at pp. 441–2 that this entry is in the main text hand. D. N. Dumville, The Liturgical Books of Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1992), pp. 85–6; R. W. Pfaff (ed.), Liturgical Books of Anglo-Saxon England, Old English Newsletter, Subsidia 23 (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1995), p. 90; P. Stokes, English Vernacular Minuscule from Æthelred to Cnut circa 990-circa 1035 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2014), pp. 97–8, suggests a possible Worcester provenance. Dumville and Stokes suggest a date of c. 1000. Two Anglo-Saxon Pontificals (the Egbert and Sidney Sussex Pontificals), ed. H. M. J. Banting, Henry Bradshaw Society 104 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1989), p. 132; Testi penitenziali minori in tardo antico inglese Edizione e problemi, ed. G. Corsi Mercatanti, Bibliotheca Germanica, Studi e testi 3 (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 1993), 165. 9 D. N. Dumville, Liturgy and the Ecclesiastical History of Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1992), pp. 131–2, quoted by H. Gittos, ‘Is There Any Evidence for the Liturgy of Parish Churches in Late Anglo-Saxon England? The Red Book of Darley and the Status of Old English’, in: Tinti (ed.), Pastoral Care, pp. 63–82, 79. 10 Gittos, ‘Evidence for the Liturgy’, 79. 11 Ker, Catalogue, no. 212; H. Gneuss, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A Bibliographical Handlist of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England Up to 1100 (London/Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), no. 395. 12 Ker, Catalogue, no.197; Gneuss, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 376. 13 Ker, Catalogue, no. 186; Gneuss, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 363. 14 Ker, Catalogue, no. 249; Gneuss, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 451. 15 H. Logeman, ‘Anglo-Saxonica Minora’, Anglia 11 (1889), 97–120; 12 (1889), 497– 518; J. Zupitza, ‘Eine weitere Aufzeichnung der Oratio pro peccatis’, Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen 84 (1890), 327–9, at p. 327; Lars-G. Hallander, ‘Two Old English Confessional Prayers’, Studier I modern Språkvetenskap 3 (1968), 87–110. 16 Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti; P. Pulsiano and J. McGowan, ‘Four Unedited Prayers in London, British Library Cotton Tiberius A. iii’, Mediaeval Studies 56 (1994), 189–216. 17 Ker, Catalogue, no. 197; R. Gameson, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England (c. 1066–1130) (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 1999), nos. 404–5; helpfully catalogued by the Leverhulme-funded project ‘Production and Use of English Manuscripts, 1060 to 1220’, available at ; N. Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts in a Salisbury Pontifical, Cotton Tiberius C I’, in: P. Clemoes (ed.), The Anglo-Saxons: Studies in Some Aspects of Their History and Culture Presented to Bruce Dickins (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), pp. 262–79. 18 Pfaff (ed.), Liturgical Books, pp. 96–7. See the description by Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts’, pp. 263–4. 19 Latin canons and Winchester acta printed in Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church, ed. D. Whitelock, M. Brett and C. N. L. Brooke,

Old English confessional prayers 27

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34 35

36 37

2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), ii. pp. 574–6, 581–4; Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts’, pp. 264–70, and for the Latin sermons added, see T. N. Hall, ‘A Palm Sunday Sermon from Eleventh-Century Salisbury’, in: K. O’ Brien O’ Keefe and A. Orchard (eds.), Latin Learning and English Lore Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, 2 vols. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005), ii. pp. 180–96. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, art. (a); printed by Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts’, pp. 272–5. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, arts (b) and (c): (c) printed in Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, pp. 120–1. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, art. (d): printed in Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, p. 124, lines 1–11. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, arts (e) for individual confession and (f) for collective confession: printed in Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, p. 124, line 12-p. 127 (e), and pp. 130–1 (f). Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, art. (g); printed by Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts’, pp. 277–9, and Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, pp. 132–4. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, art. (h); printed by Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts’, pp. 275–7, and Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, pp. 135–9. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, art. (a); printed by Ker, ‘Three Old English Texts’, pp. 272–9. See Hall, ‘A Palm Sunday Sermon’, for the Latin sermons in this manuscript. Ker, Catalogue no. 197, art f. Ker, Catalogue, no. 197, arts. (d) and (e); printed in Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, pp. 124–7. The long version in Cotton MS Vespasian D. XX; printed in Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, pp. 140–9. C. Cubitt, ‘Bishops, Priests and Penance in Late Saxon England’, Early Medieval Europe 14/1 (2006), 41–63. Ker, Catalogue, no. 212; Pfaff (ed.), Liturgical Books, p. 133; Cubitt, ‘Bishops’, pp. 54, 57. Dictionary of Old English Corpus, Toronto University, available at [accessed 17 December 2014]. For Wulfstan’s reform and pastoral ideals, see J. Hill, ‘Archbishop Wulfstan: Reformer?’, in: M. Townend (ed.), Wulfstan Archbishop of York (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), pp. 309–24. Discussed by M. Gretsch, The Intellectual Foundations of the English Benedictine Reform (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 264–7, and Dumville, Liturgy, p. 125; Ker, Catalogue, no. 249. For the provenance of this important manuscript, see H. Gneuss, ‘Origin and Provenance of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: The Case of Cotton Tiberius A.III’, in: P. R. Robinson and R. Zim (eds.), Of the Making of Books: Medieval Manuscripts, Their Scribes and Readers: Essays Presented to M. B. Parkes (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997), pp. 13–48. On this, see Gneuss, ‘Origin and Provenance’, pp. 33–7. Ker, Catalogue, no. 186; Gneuss, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 363 (with full bibliography) and see www.le.ac.uk/english/em1060to1220/mss/EM.BL.Tibe.A.iii.htm. Gneuss, ‘Origin and Provenance’, pp. 44–6, provides an updated list of texts from Tiberius A iii published after the publication of Ker’s handlist. See now also R. M. Liuzza, ‘Anglo-Saxon Prognostics in Context: A Survey and Handlist of Manuscripts’, AngloSaxon England 30 (2001), 181–230, and R. M. Liuzza, Anglo-Saxon Prognostics: An Edition and Translation of Texts from London, British Library, Ms Cotton Tiberius A. iii (Boydell: Woodbridge, 2011); P. E. Szarmach, ‘A Return to Cotton Tiberius A. III, art. 24, and Isidore’s Synonyma’, in: H. Conrad-O’Briain, A.-M. D’Arcy and J. Scattergood (eds.), Text and Gloss, Studies in Insular Language and Literature (Dublin: Four Courts, 1999), pp. 166–81; P. E. Szarmach, ‘Alfred’s Soloquies in London, BL, Cotton Tiberius A. iii (art 9g, fols. 50v-51v)’, in: O’ Brien, O’ Keeffe and Orchard (eds.), Latin Learning, ii. pp. 153–79.

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38 Gretsch, English Benedictine Reform, pp. 264–7; Dumville, Liturgy, pp. 125; Ker, Catalogue, no. 249. 39 Old English confessional prayers in MS Tiberius A. iii: Ker, Catalogue, no. 186, art. 9, (a) = Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, no. 1, pp. 49–56; (b) = Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, no. 2, pp. 57–60; (c), a Latin prayer; (d) = Testi penitenziali minori, ed. Corsi Mercatanti, no. 3, pp. 61–8. 40 Gneuss, ‘Origin and Provenance’, p. 28. 41 The Portiforium of St Wulstan (Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, MS 391), ed. A. Hughes, 2 vols., Henry Bradshaw Society 89–90 (London: Harrison and Sons, 1958–60). 42 New York, Pierpont Morgan Library, MS 709; B. C. Raw, Anglo-Saxon Crucifixion Iconography and the Art of the Monastic Revival (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp. 158–60; R. Gameson, The Role of Art in the Late Anglo-Saxon Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 26. 43 A. S. Napier, ‘An Old English Vision of Leofric, Earl of Mercia’, Transactions of the Philological Society 26 (1908), 181–8; S. Baxter, The Earls of Mercia Lordship and Power in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), pp. 1–4, 168–9, 243–4; P. Jackson, ‘Osbert of Clare and the Vision of Leofric: The Transformation of an Old English Narrative’, in: O’Brien O’Keefe and Orchard (eds.), Latin Learning, ii. pp. 275–92; P. Stokes, ‘The Vision of Leofric: Manuscript, Text and Context’, Review of English Studies 63 (2012), 529–50.

Select bibliography Gittos, H. ‘Is There Any Evidence for the Liturgy of Parish Churches in Late Anglo-Saxon England? The Red Book of Darley and the Status of Old English’, in: F. Tinti (ed), Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005), pp. 63–82. Hallander, L.-G., ‘Two Old English Confessional Prayers’, Studier I modern Språkvetenskap 3 (1968), 87–110. Ker, N., ‘Three Old English Texts in a Salisbury Pontifical, Cotton Tiberius C I’, in: P. Clemoes (ed), The Anglo-Saxons: Studies in Some Aspects of Their History and Culture Presented to Bruce Dickins (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), pp. 262–79. Logeman, H., ‘Anglo-Saxonica Minora’, Anglia 11 (1889), 115–19; 12 (1889), 497–518. Pulsiano, P. and McGowan, J., ‘Four Unedited Prayers in London, British Library Cotton Tiberius A III’, Mediaeval Studies 56 (1994), 189–216. Raw, B., Anglo-Saxon Crucifixion Iconography and the Art of Monastic Revival (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). Sauer, H., ‘Zwei spätaltenglische Beichtermahnungen aus HS Cotton Tiberius A III’, Anglia 98 (1980), 1–33. Testi penitenziali minori in tardo antico inglese Edizione e problemi, ed. G. Corsi Mercatanti, Bibliotheca Germanica, Studi e testi 3 (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 1993). Zupitza, J., ‘Eine weitere Aufzeichnung der Oratio pro peccatis’, Archiv für das Studium der neuren Sprachen und Literaturen 84 (1890), 327–29.

3

Making books for pastoral care in late eleventh-century Worcester Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 Helen Foxhall Forbes

During the episcopate of St Wulfstan of Worcester (1062–1095) a large number of books, many in English, were produced by Worcester scribes; some related to efforts to record the Worcester community’s Anglo-Saxon past; others were connected with Worcester’s spiritual, theological and practical needs.1 Wulfstan provides one point of continuity in the English Church during the political, institutional and spiritual developments of the late eleventh century.2 His episcopal career (just) spans both sides of the Norman Conquest in 1066; his time in office coincided with substantial political developments and subsequent changes in personnel in the English Church, but it also saw further-reaching ecclesiastical reforms associated with Pope Gregory VII.3 This essay focuses on two books produced near the beginning of St Wulfstan’s episcopate which offer important evidence for the ways in which material was gathered, organised and copied to create resources for pastoral care, primarily in the vernacular. These books survive as three manuscripts, now Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114, and have close connections to Wulfstan himself, perhaps reflecting his own concerns: Wulfstan’s particular interest in pastoral care is described in some detail in the Life written about him in the twelfth century by William of Malmesbury (d. c. 1143), drawing on an earlier, Old English Life by the Worcester monk, Coleman (d. 1113).4 Detailed codicological analysis of the manuscripts reveals both the various stages of planning and production of the volumes, and significant changes to the original plan during the course of copying. Close examination of the texts included in the volumes, and the way that they were reorganised, adapted and edited as part of the process of compilation and copying, casts light on the intended uses and users of the books, and a concern to provide appropriate and effective resources for Worcester’s episcopal and pastoral needs. Importantly, these Worcester volumes therefore allow an exploration not only of how pastoral care and episcopal duties were performed, but also of the detailed decisions about the planning and production of books for these tasks.

Making books Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 contain several texts which date them quite closely to the first part of the episcopate of St Wulfstan. Hatton MS 113’s

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first quire contains a calendar and computistical tables which begin at the year 1064, and the years 1062 and 1063 have been added above this, apparently by the same scribe who wrote the rest of the tables.5 This fits exactly with the opening years of St Wulfstan’s episcopate, although the addition of these years may also have been intended as commemoration of St Wulfstan’s ordination, since ‘ORWE’ (probably ‘Ordinatio Wulfstani Episcopi’) is marked alongside the year 1063.6 Immediately before the calendar (Hatton MS 113, f. i recto) is a copy of a letter to Wulfstan summoning him to the Council of Winchester in 1070, while canons of this council are among the early additions to Junius MS 121 (ff. 2v-3), as also are the canons of the Council of Winchester in 1076.7 This all suggests that the volumes were probably produced in the 1060s with the letter and canons being copied in after the books had reached something like their final form, during the 1070s or later. The manuscripts show evidence of significant glossing activity during the period of Wulfstan’s episcopate, although Hatton MSS 113 + 114 received more attention than Junius MS 121: during the latter part of the eleventh century (s. xi2 or s. xiex), ten hands contributed lengthy texts to the manuscripts in the form of whole homilies or quires,8 and a further seven added glosses, corrections and other annotations.9 Two of these are identifiable as named individuals whose writing appears in a number of Worcester books: one is Coleman, usually assumed to be the monk who wrote the Old English Life of Wulfstan used by William of Malmesbury;10 the other is Hemming, a Worcester monk who produced a cartulary commissioned by Wulfstan.11 Later glossators include the ‘Tremulous Hand’, suggesting that both volumes were still in Worcester in the thirteenth century, and other thirteenth-and fourteenth-century hands which attest to the continuing interest in these books.12 For the most part, the main texts in the manuscripts were composed by an earlier generation of clergy: a substantial number of the texts are associated with Abbot Ælfric of Eynsham (d.c.1010) and Archbishop Wulfstan (d.1023). The contents of the two volumes are distinct, but complementary: Junius MS 121 is a collection of regulatory, penitential, instructional and homiletic texts,13 while Hatton MSS 113 + 114, once one book but divided in two at least by the thirteenth century, is a homiliary which contains ordered collections for the period from Christmas to Pentecost, and for the feasts of saints from the beginning of May to the beginning of November.14 The two volumes share a main scribe, who copied the greater part of both books, but they are connected too by the existence of contemporary sequential quire signatures in the opening quires of Junius MS 121 and Hatton 113.15 Quires 2–14 in Junius MS 121 are signed a-n, all on the foot of the first folio recto of each quire, except for the first signature, which occurs on the final folio (verso) of quire 2. This sequence continues in Hatton 113, where quires 3–16 are signed p-z, &, , þ, , again at the foot of the first folio recto of each quire. It has been suggested that the material in these first quires of Junius MS 121 and Hatton 113 was originally intended to be one large book of ecclesiastical institutes and homilies, but that this planned volume was divided up and reconceptualised when the book grew too large.16 As the codicological and palaeographical analysis presented below will show, however, the scribe had in fact

Making books for pastoral care 31 already determined that the project required two volumes rather than one by the time he finished writing the lettered quires of Junius MS 121. The scribe seems to have altered his planned project in a way which reflects the deliberate decisions which went into the production of books for pastoral care, and the careful choice of particular texts which would be most appropriate for his purposes. The sequences of texts written on the lettered quires offer the clearest indication of the scribe’s original plan and the changes that he subsequently made to this. The quiring of the volumes is set out diagrammatically in Figures 3.1 to 3.3, which show how the books developed. The lettered quires of Junius MS 121 (quires 2–14, ff. 9–111v) were written more or less in one stint by the main scribe, and were clearly conceived of as a contiguous section. The scribe stopped his initial stint of writing on f. 110v, the penultimate folio of ‘quire n’, and even took care to fit the text he was copying on to that folio by writing the last two words underneath his final line rather than continuing on to the top of the next folio. The final leaf of this quire, f. 111, has two large holes in the parchment, and this might in theory suggest that the quire was destined initially to be the final leaf of a booklet, and perhaps to remain empty.17 In fact, another text was ultimately written onto f. 111r, but there is an obvious change in the appearance of the hand: this may in fact be the same scribe after an interval of time (and perhaps using a thicker nib) rather than a different scribe, but it is a clear break all the same.18 This stint of writing continues through three subsequent quires (15–17), but quire 17 is different from the rest of the quires in these Worcester books in that it contains ten folia rather than eight, and has twenty-one written lines rather than twenty-two.19 The decision to use this larger quire, which successfully accommodated the remaining texts, may once again be connected to the scribe’s concern for neatness, and to his respect for the physical integrity of pages and quires. At some stage after this second stint of writing (whether by the main scribe or by another person), quires 18–20 were added to the volume which is now Junius MS 121. These quires seem to be a selfcontained unit or booklet of homilies, and it is not immediately obvious whether they were produced specifically for this collection or simply incorporated into the volume later.20 The scribe identified as Hemming (Ker’s Hand 3; Scragg’s no. 172) copied texts in this booklet and also added the canons of the Council of Winchester in 1070 to the first folios of Junius MS 121.21 This suggests that whatever the specific context of production, the booklet was probably copied not too long after the lettered quires of Junius MS 121, and may have been added to the other quires at a relatively early stage. The crucial point here is that the lettered quires were at some point conceived of as an independent contiguous section, and this is confirmed by the table of contents copied in the first quire of Junius MS 121, at ff. 5r-8r. This table covers only the material in the lettered quires, up to the end of f. 110v (the penultimate leaf of quire 14, lettered ‘n’). It is less clear why the scribe apparently chose to begin his table of contents in the middle of quire 1, on f. 5r, rather than at the beginning (i.e. on f. 1r). This scribe’s general practices show that he presented his texts carefully and deliberately, and preserved the physical integrity of the page, in many cases starting texts or paragraphs at the top of a new page even when they could have

Figure 3.1 The quire structure of Junius 121

Figure 3.2 The quire structure of Hatton 113

Figure 3.3 The quire structure of Hatton 114

Making books for pastoral care 35 begun at the end of the previous page, or taking care where he left blank spaces.22 It is possible that he started in the middle of a quire because he wrote the table of contents after he had determined that the quires lettered a-n would form an independent section, and he knew that he would not need more than a few leaves for the table; but in that case one might expect that he would have simply used a couple of bifolia rather than ‘wasting’ a whole quire. It is worth considering another hypothesis, which unfortunately cannot be confirmed unless the manuscript were to be unbound (and perhaps not then either). The scribe might initially have started his table of contents on the first leaf of a quire when he began the project, assuming that the texts in a large book would fill most of a quire. This would have meant that the table of contents that he wrote ran from f. 1r to f. 4r. Once the plan was changed and the book was no longer intended to be so large, this would have left the four folios in the second half of the quire blank, in between the table of contents and the texts listed therein. If the scribe felt that it was preferable for the blank folios to come before the table of contents, rather than between the table and the texts, he might have folded the quire back on itself so that it was ‘inside out’: the outermost folio would then become the innermost, which would place his table of contents in the middle of the quire with four blank leaves before the table of contents rather than afterwards, so that what had been folio 1r would then become f. 5r (see Figures 3.4 and 3.5 for a diagrammatic representation of this). Since the folios are arranged with hair sides facing hair sides, and flesh sides facing flesh sides (HFFH), the arrangement of the leaves of the quire remains the same even if the quire were to be folded back on itself.

Figure 3.4 Possible original arrangement of Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius 121, quire 1. The large arrows represent the movement of the leaves if they were to be folded back the other way, or ‘inside out’.

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Figure 3.5 How the quire in Figure 3.2 would look if folded back the other way, or ‘inside out’.

However the table of contents came to its present form, it is clear that the lettered quires were written more or less in one stint and are in some sense an earlier plan for, and somewhat distinct from, the rest of the material which now makes up Junius MS 121. It is therefore all the more notable that Hatton MS 113’s lettered quires (2–16) do not show any distinction in copying in relation to the quires which follow them immediately, but form part of one stint of writing by the main scribe which extends on to those unlettered quires. The homilies in Hatton MS 113 run from the last leaf of quire 16 (the last lettered quire) through to the first leaf of quire 17 without any break, and this stint of copying runs all the way through to what is now Hatton MS 114, f. 201r, l. 7 (quire 26; see Figures 3.2 and 3.3). At this point, there is a change in the appearance of the hand (Hatton MS 114, f. 201r, l. 8, to f. 230v, l. 17), but this may the main scribe’s second stint of writing, perhaps with a different pen, like that in the final folio of Junius MS 121’s quire ‘n’ (quire 14) rather than a different scribe.23 The material copied in both the first and second stints of writing are included in Hatton MS 113’s table of contents, along with the early addition of a homily rubricated ‘De uno confessore’ (ff. 230v-235v, though it is incomplete and two leaves are missing after f. 235v). This last homily and the table of contents were written by the same scribe, suggesting that both were added to the collection contemporaneously.24 This means that Hatton MS 113’s lettered quires (2–16) are physically and visually integral to the first stint of writing (Hatton MS 113, quire 2, to Hatton MS 114, quire 26), and there is no obvious distinction between these quires and those that follow them, unlike the lettered quires in Junius MS 121. Despite this, many of the texts copied in the lettered quires of Hatton MS 113 do in fact have

Making books for pastoral care 37 a different origin from the texts copied later in the volume, and this is significant because there is a clear connection with the material copied in the lettered quires of Junius MS 121. Importantly, it is here possible to see some of the deliberate choices made by the scribe of Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 in the organisation and production of his books. Much of Hatton MSS 113 + 114 is an ordered homiliary for the liturgical year, including a fairly large number of Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies. This material falls into two separate groups. The first begins in Hatton 113’s quire 16 (lettered ‘’; the last of the lettered quires), on the third leaf (f. 115v) and covers the period from Christmas to Pentecost (running to Hatton 114, f. 140r). Then, after a homily for the feast of the birth of St Gregory (3rd March), the second group provides homilies for the feast days of saints from 1 May to 1 November (Hatton 114, ff. 147v-230r). In contrast, the material in Hatton MS 113’s lettered quires is not organised continuously according to the liturgical year, and probably came to the compiler as a discrete collection of material which also included most of the texts copied into the first quires of Junius MS 121: the lettered quires in both manuscripts are therefore linked by the collection of texts they contain. It is possible to identify this collection (or at least parts of it) with some certainty by comparison with another manuscript, now Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 201 (Part I).25 This is a somewhat miscellaneous compilation which contains a large quantity of material associated with Archbishop Wulfstan, including homilies, penitential and instructional texts, law codes and some texts – and one hand – which seem to be connected with Winchester.26 Here too the physical structure of the book indicates that not all the texts now copied in the manuscript originated in the same collection or exemplar (see the diagram of the quire structure, Figure 3.6). The bulk of CCCC MS 201 was written by one scribe in the mid-eleventh century (Ker’s ‘Hand 1’ of 49B; Scragg’s no. 127), perhaps at the New Minster, Winchester, but this scribe also incorporated into his compilation quires which had been partially used earlier in the century. The first four leaves of quires 1 and 13 contain material written by an early eleventh-century hand,27 and the main scribe used the rest of these quires for copying some of his texts, thus integrating these quires, and the texts they contained, completely into his book. The work of CCCC MS 201’s main scribe in quires 1–9 includes a large number of texts shared in common with Junius MS 121 and Hatton MS 113 (see the tables of contents in the Appendix; and Figure 3.6 for the quire structure), and some of these texts are preserved uniquely in these volumes.28 After this shared material the same scribe copied an Old English translation of Apollonius of Tyre, beginning on the third leaf of quire 9 (p. 131), and evidently continuing on a quire which is now missing, before a bifolium (now quire 10) was added to finish the text. Only three out of these four leaves were needed to complete the text, but the final folio verso of the quire (p. 146) was left blank, as was the last third of the final folio recto (p. 145). Although the next text in the manuscript was also copied by the main scribe, it is significant that he chose to start writing at the top of the first leaf of quire 11 (p. 147) rather than continuing in the blank spaces at the end of quire 10. The content of quire 11 is also clearly distinct from

Figure 3.6 The quire structure of CCCC 201 (including quire 13 both as it is now, and if rearranged to take account of the misbinding of pp. 171–4)

Making books for pastoral care 39 the previous quires since the texts it contains are not connected with Archbishop Wulfstan, and two of them copied at the beginning of the quire seem rather to be connected with Winchester. These are the ‘Kentish Royal Legend’ (pp. 147–9) and Secgan be þam Godes sanctum þe on Engla lande ærost reston (pp. 149–51), which now survive together only in another New Minster book (now London, British Library, MS Stowe 944), copied in the early 1030s.29 Following these texts, another hand (Ker’s Hand 2 of no. 49B; Scragg’s no. 128) copied a translation of Genesis, using the blank pages of quire 11 and continuing on to quire 12, although three leaves are now missing.30 The last quire of CCCC MS 201, now quire 13, opens with poetry copied by the early eleventh-century hand, to which the main scribe added more poetry.31 Finally, another scribe (Ker’s ‘Hand 3’ of no. 49B), whose hand appears also in a missal connected with Winchester, copied confessional texts on the last leaves of the manuscript.32 The substantial correspondence between the first sections of CCCC MS 201 (i.e. quires 1–9) on the one hand, and of Junius MS 121 (i.e. quires 2–14) and Hatton MS 113 (i.e. quires 2–16) on the other, can be seen from the itemisation of the manuscripts’ contents in the Appendix. There are some differences: the first sections of Junius MS 121 contain a number of penitential texts which CCCC MS 201 does not; and Junius MS 121 lacks CCCC MS 201’s law codes, as well as the texts on the resting places of saints which may be associated with Winchester, and the Old English translations of Apollonius of Tyre and Genesis, neither of which is associated with Archbishop Wulfstan. However, more than half of the items in the first sections of Junius MS 121 and of Hatton MS 113 are also found in CCCC MS 201. With one exception, the material which is shared by CCCC MS 201 and the Worcester manuscripts is found only in the lettered quires of Junius MS 121 and Hatton 113.33 Moreover, there are several texts or groups of texts which are found in the same sequences in CCCC MS 201, and in either Junius MS 121 or in Hatton 113. This suggests strongly that these sequences represent what was in the exemplars available to the main scribes of CCCC MS 201, and of Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114. Although these parallel sequences are instructive, it is not always clear where responsibility for differences in the order of the material lies, nor precisely how similar the two exemplars were. Textual differences between shared items indicate that CCCC MS 201 and the Worcester manuscripts do not derive from a single exemplar, even though they evidently drew on similar collections of material.34 At times the scribe of CCCC MS 201 clearly made deliberate choices about the placing of his texts, such as his decision to keep poetic material together in the manuscript. He copied two Old English poems (Lord’s Prayer II and Gloria) into what is now quire 13, which was partly filled by early eleventh-century copies of an Old English poetic rendering of Bede’s De die iudicii (Judgement Day II) and two other religious poems (An Exhortation to Christian Living, and Summons to Prayer).35 The Old English Gloria is found also in Junius MS 121, and therefore most likely belongs to the shared material available to both the scribe/compiler of CCCC MS 201 and the scribe/compiler of the Worcester manuscripts.36 For the most part, however, it is quite difficult to ascertain any clear organising principle

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in CCCC MS 201, and on occasion it looks in fact like the scribe simply got confused. One notable example of this is the copies of two law codes concerned with tithes, I Æthelstan and I Edmund. CCCC MS 201’s rubric for I Edmund incongruously makes reference to Æthelstan, even though in CCCC MS 201 I Æthelstan is separated from I Edmund by some forty-five pages.37 However, I Æthelstan is found immediately preceding I Edmund in another book, now London, British Library, Cotton Nero MS A.i. This is an early eleventh-century manuscript, perhaps from Worcester or York, which is connected with Archbishop Wulfstan not only by its contents (some of which are shared with both CCCC MS 201 and Junius MS 121), but also by the presence of what is probably Archbishop Wulfstan’s handwriting.38 It seems likely that the exemplar of CCCC MS 201 may also have contained these two law codes in sequence, as witnessed by the confusion of CCCC MS 201’s scribe in the rubric for I Edmund. The description of Archbishop Wulfstan’s text on regulations for priests as ‘eadgares gerædnes’ (the ‘Canons of Edgar’, by which title this text is usually now known) is, I suspect, probably a similar example of this confusion based on the sequence of the examplar: the copy of I Edmund in Nero MS A.i is followed by III Edgar, and although CCCC MS 201’s scribe in fact copied a different text after I Edmund, he probably accidentally retained the rubrics in the order in which the texts occurred in his exemplar. The lettered quires of Junius MS 121 and Hatton MS 113, by contrast, suggest a deliberate (re)arrangement and (re)organisation of texts, which is also visible by comparison with CCCC MS 201. Two of the homilies shared by CCCC MS 201 and the Worcester manuscripts, now published as Napier XXV and Bethurum VIIa, seem to have been in sequence in the exemplars but were treated quite differently by the respective scribes/compilers. Napier XXV exhorts the keeping of baptismal promises and the learning of the Creed: it is copied in Hatton MS 113 (ff. 65r-66r, quire 10, ‘x’) and CCCC MS 201 (pp. 22–3), and in both manuscripts it is headed ‘To folce’.39 In CCCC MS 201 the scribe seems to have made an error of eyeskip towards the end of this homily, omitting part of the last sentence of Napier XXV and going straight into Bethurum VIIa. He also omitted a fairly sizeable chunk of the beginning of Bethurum VIIa, so that the two homilies run together as one long text (CCCC MS 201, pp. 22–4).40 In contrast, Hatton MS 113’s copy of Napier XXV concludes with the statement ‘se ðe ledenlare rihtne geleafan understandan ne cunne, geleornige huru on englisc and cwede þus gelome: Credimus in unum Deum, patrem et filium et spiritum sanctum rqr. þis is awriten on ðære penitentiale’. (‘he who does not know how to understand correct belief with Latin learning, learn it instead in English and say thus frequently: We believe in one God, Father and Son and Holy Spirit etc.: this is written in the penitential’).41 The ‘penitential’ referred to here seems to be Junius MS 121, and the reference is probably specifically to the copy of Bethurum VIIa in Junius MS 121, found at ff. 64r-65v (the beginning of quire 9, ‘h’), in the middle of a body of penitential material.42 This has two significant implications. Firstly, these two homilies (i.e. Napier XXV and Bethurum VIIa) were probably sequential in the material available to the two main scribes of CCCC MS 201 and of the Worcester manuscripts. Secondly, the person responsible for organising and copying the

Making books for pastoral care 41 material in Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 must have read the contents of these two homilies and then determined that they should be copied not sequentially, but in two separate places according to how they might most appropriately be used. Most importantly, Hatton MS 113’s reference (in quire 10, ‘x’) to ‘the penitentiale’ indicates that by the time this statement was written the material was probably conceptualised as two separate volumes, or at least as two different collections which were separate and distinct in some way. It is not entirely clear whether ‘penitentiale’ was intended to refer to the conceptual text or the physical, copied manifestation of a text (i.e. quires, or a book), since the word can mean both: it appears in titles, but Ælfric also includes a ‘penitentialem’ in his list of books that priests should own and know how to use.43 Other books in his list are those like ‘mæsseboc’ or ‘handboc’, and this suggests that whether Ælfric was thinking of booklets or bound books he may have been thinking of the physical object as much as the texts.44 In any case, it is clear that there was significant flexibility in terminology: a book like Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud misc. MS 482, written in the middle of the eleventh century at Worcester and including penitential texts as well as liturgical offices, might well be classed as a ‘handboc’, although some of its content might also appear in books like Junius MS 121.45 In fact, it is likely that there was no consistent terminology to refer to books like Junius MS 121, although it is interesting to note that in one of the lists recording books which Bishop Leofric gave to Exeter in the mid-eleventh century, ‘.i. canon on leden 7 .i. scriftboc on englisc’ may refer to Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 190, another manuscript which is, like Junius MS 121, one of the ‘commonplace books associated with Archbishop Wulfstan’.46 But whether Hatton MS 113’s reference to a ‘penitentiale’ was intended to designate a text, a specific portion of a volume, or a whole volume, it does at the very least show that the homily Bethurum VIIa had already been incorporated into the penitential section of Junius MS 121, and presumably also that the copying of the lettered quires, including the break before the last leaf of quire 14 (‘n’), had already been completed, so that these quires were conceptualised as somehow distinct from the quires which now form the first part of Hatton MS 113. Conversely, there is no evidence that the two sets of lettered quires alone were ever bound together to make one volume, or as discrete units (without the additional quires that now follow them) to make two. This discussion has teased out the process by which the scribe of Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 produced two volumes from a collection of material which he inherited from an earlier generation of clergymen (and which was also available in some form to the scribe of CCCC MS 201), how he divided it between different books according to content and form, and how this shows the deliberate decisions made in the course of creating new volumes for contemporary use. The question remains of when and why the quires were lettered if they were in fact never copied up as a continuous sequence intended to form one volume, and why ‘o’ is missing. In fact, quire ‘o’ seems simply to be Hatton MS 113’s quire 2, which precedes the lettered quires, since this contains texts found in the same sequence as at the beginning of CCCC MS 201, and the final text of quire 2 continues

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uninterrupted into quire 3 (‘p’); it is possible that the ‘o’, if it was ever there, has simply faded away. The ‘when’ and ‘why’ of the quire lettering is the more interesting question, since it is often assumed that quire letters were only added in relation to binding, and it is clear that these lettered quires were never all bound together. It is possible that the scribe lettered the quires either as he went along, or once he had decided that the two sections should be independent, or even that he ruled and lettered a large stack of quires in anticipation of his original project; the material shared with CCCC MS 201 which formed the first phases of copying is contained entirely within these lettered quires and so he may have simply judged accurately how many quires would be needed to copy all of these texts.47 More interestingly, it is clear that the quires remained unbound for some time, although it is not possible to ascertain how long this might have been. It is impossible in fact to identify with certainty whether the volumes were bound before the thirteenth century, although this of course does not mean that they were not.48 However, it is worth bearing in mind the possibility that the volumes remained as an unbound collection of quires which could be removed and replaced when needed, rather than being turned instantly into bound books. Some of the texts in Junius MS 121 in particular might have been easier to use if the quires were unbound and therefore removable and returnable, rather than fixed into a larger book. The physical size of the pages (265mm x 155mm) is not impossibly large for practical use, but the thickness of the volumes when bound might have made loose quires preferable. It is clear from surviving booklists that ‘books’ were not always bound, and that some sets of quires were left unbound until comparatively late: in the case of the Worcester books, and again for Junius MS 121 in particular, selected relevant quires could simply have been removed from the wrapper (or box?) in which they were contained, and returned once they had been used, whether the use was the copying of texts for, or practical delivery of, pastoral care.49 In such a scenario, the quire lettering would evidently be useful in ensuring that the quires were replaced in the correct order for the next use. Decisions on the binding of volumes like these may also be connected with how these books were used and conceptualised as essential resources for pastoral care during St Wulfstan’s episcopate. And while the examination of the production process and final forms of the books demonstrates one aspect of the deliberate decisions which went into their creation, analysis of the texts and their arrangement within these volumes shows how the scribe carefully created a primarily vernacular collection which was specifically useful for episcopal pastoral care and especially for the training of priests.

Pastoral care Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 have close connections with St Wulfstan specifically, and this is important in considering how the books might have been used, and who might have been using them. Many names were added to the calendar in the opening leaves of Hatton MS 113, including the obits of St Wulfstan’s parents and one of his brothers (and, ultimately, his own name too);50 and,

Making books for pastoral care 43 as noted already, the letter summoning Wulfstan to the Council of Winchester in 1070 was copied into Junius MS 121 as an early addition. This raises the possibility that these books were not simply produced during his episcopate as part of the day-to-day copying activity of the Worcester scriptorium, but rather were specifically commissioned by him, just as he is known to have commissioned cartularies and other works. The two volumes which were ultimately produced align well with Wulfstan’s concerns as they are presented in the Life written by William of Malmesbury, although it has to be remembered that hagiographical convention might also be responsible for William’s account of Wulfstan as a bishop who was especially concerned with preaching, pastoral care and penance.51 However, the material in Junius MS 121 is so closely connected with episcopal duties that it is difficult to conceive of it having been produced for anyone except Wulfstan and his immediate deputies, and evidence of the use of both books, but especially Hatton MSS 113 + 114, also links the volumes to his inner circle. The ultimate result of the scribe’s division of his material was that two volumes of rather different natures were produced, one homiliary and one book of regulatory material. The homiliary in Hatton MSS 113 + 114 was clearly intended as a resource for preaching, including liturgically ordered collections for some parts of the year as well as homilies suitable for multiple occasions. More concrete evidence for the use of Hatton MSS 113 + 114 is provided by the late eleventhcentury glosses in the book, including notes in the hand of the scribe Coleman, who is known from William’s Life – based at least to some degree on an Old English account written by Coleman himself – to have taken on some preaching duties for St Wulfstan.52 While Coleman’s notes suggest the specific context of public preaching, the manuscript probably found a number of other uses too: many of the Ælfrician homilies are effectively scriptural commentary, interpreting and elucidating Gospel texts, and so might have been used for theological study; some texts recount visions, which were always widely read and in Hatton MSS 113 + 114 attracted comments from readers; the homilies for saints’ days might have been read or preached in the liturgical context of Mass or Office, or in the Chapter Office, or read privately for study or devotional purposes.53 It is noteworthy too that while most of the homilies copied in Hatton MSS 113 + 114 were written in the late tenth or early eleventh century by Ælfric or Wulfstan, some of them may have been more recent compositions, possibly by a member (or members) of the Worcester community. Following a sermon by Ælfric for the first Sunday after Easter, the main hand copied four anonymous Rogationtide sermons in their proper liturgical place.54 The last of these seems to be a relatively simple product which its most recent editors suggest may have been composed from memory and perhaps for an unlearned audience.55 On the basis of verbal and stylistic similarities with a short text which was most likely composed specifically for inclusion in Junius MS 121, it is just possible that these texts were both authored by a member of the Worcester community, probably not long before the manuscripts were produced.56 The collection of homilies here suggest that education and scholarship at a range of levels, as well as devotion and public performance in liturgical contexts, were all part of the intended and actual purposes of the homiliary.

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The contents and organisation of Junius MS 121 point to intended uses which were different but complementary. As noted already, it is probably that one of the key intended users of the volume was St Wulfstan himself, as well as those who assisted him with his episcopal duties. This episcopal focus is clear right from the beginning of the book as it was originally planned: after the table of contents, the first item is Archbishop Wulfstan’s Institutes of Polity, a text which sets out the duties and responsibilities for different groups of people in the ideal Christian society. This text deals with kings and kingship as well as high-ranking nobility, secular and religious officials, the laity, and it includes detailed instructions for bishops, as well as men and women in religious life, both monks and nuns as well as priests and consecrated women (all of whom were subject to the bishops in their dioceses).57 The organisation and scope of Polity in Junius MS 121 is unique to this manuscript, and, given that the codicological analysis has shown the deliberate decisions taken by the scribe in the compilation of these volumes, it seems likely that he may also have rearranged Polity to a greater or lesser extent. This rearrangement includes the incorporation of texts which may have originally been separate items which were considered useful in creating a fuller and more episcopally focussed text. The first of these is the work known as Episcopus, a short text by Archbishop Wulfstan which explores the duties and responsibilities of bishops; the second is rubricated ‘incipit de synodo’ and includes a compressed outline liturgy for opening a synod as well as instructions for what bishops should do at synods.58 Towards the end of Polity, following two sections on the duties of priests and under the rubric ‘Item synodalia decreta’, Junius MS 121 includes Archbishop Wulfstan’s discussion of the duties and responsibilities of priests known now as the ‘Canons of Edgar’ (based on the dubious rubric which this text is given in CCCC MS 201, as noted above), which includes a number of instructions in relation to synods and pastoral organisation.59 As a result of these adaptations, Junius MS 121’s copy of Polity is much more closely linked with the figure of the bishop and would have been especially useful for a bishop organising or attending synods. Bishops were responsible for organising regular synods in their own diocese, but they also attended ecclesiastical councils as well as assemblies of the shire court and the larger-scale meetings of the king and his witan where legislation and policy were discussed.60 William of Malmesbury does not mention diocesan synods in his Life of St Wulfstan, but he does mention Wulfstan’s attendance at shire assemblies, ecclesiastical councils and the king’s court.61 At least some of these can be confirmed by other documentary evidence such as copies of the letter to Wulfstan in Hatton MS 113 and the canons of councils in Junius MS 121, as well as other material including his autograph signature to the record of the Council of Winchester in 1072.62 It is possible too, as Francesca Tinti suggests, that the liturgical material for synods contained in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 146, a late eleventh-century pontifical from Worcester, should be associated with Wulfstan rather than with his successor, Samson, and this may offer further evidence of Wulfstan’s attendance at synods.63 The canons of the council held at Winchester in 1070 recorded in Junius MS 121 instruct that diocesan synods should be held every year, and the fact that these canons (and those

Making books for pastoral care 45 of the council held at Winchester in 1076) were copied into Junius MS 121 rather than into Hatton MSS 113 + 114 is significant in considering the potential usecontext of Junius MS 121 in relation to synodal and diocesan organisation and regulation. Their presence in the manuscript is particularly noteworthy since one of the bishop’s major pastoral duties was to ensure that he and his priests were up-to-date on canon law. In addition, the fact that many of the texts incorporated into Junius MS 121’s version of Polity refer specifically to the role of the bishop in ecclesiastical and secular judgements and describe the correct behaviour for bishops at such occasions, reinforces the impression that these texts were intended to prepare the bishop for his role in synods and other councils or assemblies, and perhaps also to be read out there.64 The homily following Polity in Junius MS 121, headed ‘Be godcundre warnunge’, is one of Archbishop Wulfstan’s homilies which would have been particularly appropriate for episcopal preaching at an occasion such as an assembly or synod (and indeed may have been composed for that purpose), since it addresses social and political concerns as well as religious ones, and focuses on the problem of disobedience.65 Texts copied elsewhere in the manuscript are also related to the bishops’s role at synods, such as the Pastoral Letter which Ælfric wrote for Bishop Wulfsige of Sherborne in the late tenth century, which was copied as the final text in quire 14 (‘n’). The Letter is headed ‘Be preoste synoðe’ and was apparently intended for the bishop to address his priests at a diocesan synod. It has been described as a ‘blueprint for how the Church should function’, addressing abuses as well as ideal practice, and including a considerable amount of information about the priesthood as well as theological explanation and discussion.66 As a collection, this material would have been extremely useful to a bishop engaged, as Wulfstan clearly was, in synods and other sorts of councils and assemblies, as well as diocesan regulation. The substantial body of penitential and canonical material (occupying most of quires 9–13) which follows almost immediately at the end of Polity aligns closely both with the needs of episcopal pastoral care and with William’s presentation of Wulfstan in his Life. Wulfstan was apparently noted for his compassion in encouraging people to make confession, apparently both as part of regular pastoral care and specifically in the context of Lenten public penance: William describes the care and sympathy that the saint showed both towards those who came (apparently privately) to confess their sins to him, and towards those whom Wulfstan received as penitents on Maundy Thursday.67 This might be a hagiographical trope, but the collection in Junius MS 121 does give the impression that confession and penance were one of the major concerns of the compiler.68 One of the texts added to the first quire of Junius MS 121 was a record of the public penances decreed for those who took part in the Battle of Hastings,69 and this, as well as the addition of the canons of the Councils of Winchester in 1070 and 1076, both suggest the importance of the book as a repository for canonical and penitential material. In addition, all or part of the manuscript was referred to in Hatton MSS 113 + 114 as the ‘penitentiale’; and, as in so many other cases, the arrangement of penitential texts in Junius MS 121 is unique to this volume. Here there is a specific concern to provide material in the vernacular so that those who receive confession

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and penance must understand the process: the penitential section begins with a rubric which is unique to this manuscript, ‘here is penance and confession for both clergy and laity, those who have understanding and those who cannot understand the depth of Latin’ (‘her is scrift and andetnes ægðer ge gehadodra ge læwedra. þæra þe þæs andgites habbað and ðæs ledenes deopnesse ne cunnon’). The first text in the penitential section introduces confession and what should happen in the process of confession, what the priest should ask the penitent, and what kind of things the penitent should confess.70 This is a section of the Old English Handbook, and it is followed by two items which seem to have been intended for priests to use in discussion with penitents in the context of the confessional. The first is a short text which appears to have been composed as an address to the penitent in the context of the confessional, and perhaps specifically for inclusion in Junius MS 121, since it reflects theological ideas of the latter part of the eleventh century;71 the second is one of Archbishop Wulfstan’s on the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed, both crucial basic items of faith which the penitent was expected to know, but which were often discussed in the confessional, which offered a good opportunity for catechetical teaching.72 After these homilies, more sections of the Old English Handbook and various other penitential texts were copied, outlining the various penances which priests could prescribe for the sins confessed to them. Taken together, these texts provided the would-be user of the book not only with instructions on how to hear confession and assign penance, but also with material for use in the confessional, to guide a conversation with the penitent. Whether for the bishop, the priests who were responsible for pastoral care in the cathedral, or for the priests who were trained in his diocese, this was clearly a valuable resource which was carefully constructed for a particular purpose. Episcopal concern for priestly pastoral care, and specifically for training priests in their correct rights and responsibilities, is evident in a number of Junius MS 121’s texts beyond those already mentioned. Junius MS 121 preserves the unique copy of an Old English text for a bishop’s examination of candidates for ordination.73 As it survives now, this is a composite text: the first six sentences are a translation of part of Haito’s Visio Wettini, which may be Ælfric’s work, and what follows appears to have been written by Archbishop Wulfstan.74 It is not clear who was responsible for combining these two parts, and it might have been Archbishop Wulfstan himself, or someone (most likely at Worcester) between the early eleventh century and the time that Junius MS 121 was written. In its form in Junius MS 121 it is posed as a homily beginning ‘Leofan men’, but its content points to multiple possible uses. The translation of the vision which opens the piece warns priests of the terrible consequences they will face if they do not fulfil the commitments they accept through their ordination, and threatens punishment for those who are unchaste, while the examination itself sets out what priests ought to know before they are ordained. In its context in Junius MS 121, the composite text might have been used by St Wulfstan in examining candidates, or at a synod, with or without the account of the vision which precedes the questions. And while the concern over the chastity of priests was hardly new, perhaps the interests of the Gregorian reformers and the context of the late eleventh-century

Making books for pastoral care 47 Church made the translation of this part of Haito’s text particularly appealing as an adjunct to an examination for ordinands. Other texts in the book seem also to have been included with the specific purpose of priestly education in mind, such as the Old English text which explicates the symbolism of the Hours of the Divine Office and which offers a compressed outline liturgy, including vernacular translations of some of the psalm verses;75 another is the two Pastoral Letters by Ælfric, one of which includes an extensive discussion of the mass and eucharistic theology in the context of the Easter liturgy. Candidates for ordination were required to be able to explain the faith to others, and to show how well they known the canons, as well as how they understand the symbolism of the mass and ‘other church services’.76 The texts in Junius MS 121 clearly provide a coherent collection of material, almost entirely in the vernacular, which would enable those responsible for educating priests to ensure that they fulfilled all the requirements: almost everything demanded by the questions for examination is satisfied by the contents of the book. A crucial point here is the variety of priests for whom St Wulfstan was responsible as bishop. In theory, at least, the bishop was responsible for all priests in his diocese, both monastic and secular, whether in his cathedral, at monasteries, or at the various types of smaller churches.77 St Wulfstan himself was a monk and, according to William of Malmesbury’s Life, continued to emphasise the importance of his monastic calling and to fulfil his duties as a monk even while he was a bishop.78 Identifying with precision the changes in the religious life which took place in Worcester in the tenth and eleventh centuries is difficult: twelfth-century sources record that St Oswald (d. 992) removed the secular canons and installed monks, as Æthelwold did in Winchester, but contemporary records do not indicate such dramatic change, implying instead that the process was much more gradual.79 During Oswald’s episcopate there may have been both monks and clerics at Worcester and eventually there were two church buildings, St Peter’s as the episcopal seat and St Mary’s for the monastic community: it seems though that St Mary’s may have been built to accommodate a growing congregation rather than indicating the introduction of a monastic community which was distinct from the cathedral community, as Hemming explained in his cartulary.80 Both of the buildings seem to have been still standing when St Wulfstan was made bishop, but he substantially rebuilt and reorganised them.81 It is not entirely clear how the personnel serving these churches changed and developed over the eleventh century, especially as records of the members of the community tend to refer to individuals using their clerical grade, so that priests of any kind are referred to as ‘priest’ with no further indication of whether they are monastic or secular.82 It is suggestive, though perhaps no more than this, that the book includes an English translation of a chapter of the Regula Canonicorum aimed explicitly at secular clergy, perhaps cathedral canons, including a specific reference to ‘canoniclif’, that is, ‘canonical life’, contrasting with (but comparable to) ‘munuclif’ or ‘preostlif’.83 But whatever the composition of the personnel within the cathedral precinct, St Wulfstan as bishop was also ultimately responsible for assessing and ordaining priests in town churches, priests in rural churches and priests in monasteries elsewhere in

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his diocese, and the materials assembled in Junius MS 121 would undoubtedly have been an important resource for this.84 The material discussed so far relates only to the lettered quires of Junius MS 121 and, as already noted, it is possible that these remained unbound for some time; they were certainly not bound before the scribe began his second stint of copying. Various reference aids relating to these quires, such as the table of contents and the numbering of items both there and in the margins where the texts appear, suggest that this may have been intended as a reference resource. This should not be taken as an indication that Junius MS 121 was never intended to be a practical volume, however, since quick access to the appropriate material would presumably be facilitated by these reference aids; in addition, if the quires did remain unbound for some time, then presumably individual quires could have been removed from the box or wrapper in which they were contained, and returned in the correct order with the aid of the quire lettering. As a volume in its finished state, Junius MS 121 contrasts with some contemporary manuscripts copied in Worcester or of Worcester provenance which appear to have been intended to be easily portable, as part of their practical use for pastoral care. One example is now Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hatton MS 115, a book of homilies from the latter part of the eleventh century which comprises a series of booklets, one of which had been folded in half at some stage before binding.85 Another Worcester book probably intended for portable and practical use was Laud misc. MS 482, dating from the mid-eleventh century: this contains several of the vernacular penitential texts found also in Junius MS 121 (although not in the same order), and seems to have been designed as a book containing relevant material for priests attending the sick and dying.86 As two larger volumes, Hatton MSS 113 + 114 and Junius MS 121 may have been used in a rather different way from these more portable books, but it is important to stress that this does not mean that they were not practical or not useful, not least since the glosses in both manuscripts attest to their usefulness. The outer leaves of these volumes and their individual quires show no evidence of wear and presumably they were not frequently (if ever) transported outside the immediate environment of Worcester’s cathedral precinct, and they do not seem to have been intended as particularly portable volumes. Indeed, it is perhaps the thickness of the homiliary that meant that it was ultimately bound as two volumes rather than one, since it would be unwieldy as one volume; while it is not certain when precisely the homiliary was divided, with what is now quire 1 of Hatton 114 moved to its current position, it is evident that it continued to be used after this. However, much of the material in these volumes would not have needed to be moved far for it to be useful to Worcester’s bishop and priests, and it is important to note that even when bound, Junius MS 121 is relatively compact and not impossibly big or heavy, even if it is not as slim and portable as some other volumes.87 And for matters such as the ordination of priests, when the priests would be expected to be ordained in the cathedral at the appropriate liturgical times, there would be no need in any case to carry a volume like Junius MS 121 ‘into the field’ in the way that a book like Laud misc. MS 482 is usually envisaged as being used.

Making books for pastoral care 49 Although it is unclear whether the lettered quires of Junius MS 121 remained unbound for a period of weeks, months or years, it is evident that they began to be supplemented within a comparatively short space of time. The episcopal focus plainly remained central to the conception of the volume, since the first text which was added to expand it, beginning on the final leaf of ‘quire n’, was Ælfric’s second Old English Pastoral Letter for Archbishop Wulfstan.88 This was apparently composed to be read out on Maundy Thursday and discusses the consecration of chrism, an office reserved to the bishop, before explaining in some detail how chrism was to be used in the anointing of the sick, and focusing on the duties and responsibilities of priests.89 Following this a number of homilies were added, some less specifically focussed on the bishop’s duties, although at least one of them is of a more general type which exhorts priests to warn their congregations of the imminence of the last days: this would be suitable for occasions of episcopal public preaching, and to encourage people to do penance.90 Some of the homilies copied as early additions to Hatton MSS 113 + 114 also complement the episcopal focus of Junius MS 121, especially the homilies for the dedication of a church, which was a liturgical office reserved to the bishop. William recorded that Wulfstan dedicated many churches in his own diocese and beyond, and also consecrated stone altars (to replace wooden ones) in conformity with the prescriptions formulated at the Council of Winchester in 1070 (and recorded in the opening leaves of Junius MS 121); the homilies added to Hatton MSS 113 + 114 at an early stage were presumably useful to him in undertaking these services and were selected for an episcopal homiliary precisely because of this, rather than simply at random.91 The early additions to both volumes and the way that they developed in tandem suggests that they continued to be understood as complementary volumes which were used together.

Conclusion The analysis of these manuscripts and texts shows that the two (later three) volumes which are now Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113 + 114 were carefully and deliberately constructed, based on perceived needs in late eleventh-century Worcester. The development of the books over the course of their production indicates that the scribe began with one idea of the volume(s) he intended to create, but changed the organisation (and perhaps also scope) of his copying activity partway through. He took material which had presumably remained in the Worcester library since the episcopate of Archbishop Wulfstan in the early eleventh century, probably in one collection (whether bound or unbound), and organised it across two volumes with different, but complementary, purposes. Within these books, texts were selected and arranged in order to fulfil contemporary episcopal needs: someone had evidently read the individual items before deciding exactly where and how they should be placed, and the fact that some composite works (such as Polity) appear in this arrangement only in this manuscript suggests that the responsibility for that specific arrangement may lie with the scribe/compiler rather than with their author, Archbishop Wulfstan. The main scribe was evidently

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prepared to adapt and edit his texts as he went along: while some of the differences in the texts shared by CCCC MS 201 and Junius MS 121 or Hatton MSS 113 + 114 are attributable to the mistakes of CCCC MS 201’s scribe, others seem to be deliberate decisions which originated with the scribe of the Worcester volumes; in at least one other case, a text was probably composed specifically for inclusion in these volumes.92 Clearly, however, the books were organic and changing objects, since despite careful preparation the decision was ultimately made to change the initial plan for the books, most likely with practical and pastoral concerns in mind. Thus the bulk of the preaching material found its way into Hatton MSS 113 + 114, while texts more focussed on episcopal and priestly pastoral care were contained in Junius MS 121, and both manuscripts soon received additions and annotations to expand their usefuless. Since the dates added to the computistical tables at the beginning of Hatton 113 point to the early years of St Wulfstan’s episcopate, and since there are other close connections between these books and St Wulfstan (such as the names in the calendar and the conciliar material associated with him), it is probable that these volumes were commissioned by St Wulfstan near the start of his episcopate, as a resource which he could (and presumably did) use throughout his tenure as bishop of Worcester, along with those who assisted him with his pastoral responsibilities, such as Coleman. As Elaine Treharne notes, manuscripts like these have most often been studied because they preserve texts written by Archbishop Wulfstan and Ælfric, rather than for the role that the books themselves might have played in religious life and culture at the time that they were created; and yet this is a topic about which these books evidently have much to say.93 These volumes allow a glimpse into the efforts which went into making books for pastoral care and episcopal duties in late eleventh-century Worcester, and specifically the production of volumes which contained appropriate, customised and vernacular resources for these. It is clear that the writings of Ælfric and Archbishop Wulfstan were extremely influential and continued to be used and copied long after they were produced, but this is only part of the story.94 These works were not chosen for copying in late eleventh-century Worcester simply because of their availability in the library, as the examination of these volumes shows: instead, demonstrable care and interest was put into editing, adapting and arranging these earlier texts in order to provide organised and valuable resources for contemporary clergy operating in a specific episcopal context with particular concerns and needs.

Notes 1 On manuscripts in late Anglo-Saxon Worcester see A. Corrêa, ‘The Liturgical Manuscripts of Oswald’s Houses’, and R. Gameson, ‘Book Production and Decoration at Worcester in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries’, in: N. Brooks and C. Cubitt (eds.), St Oswald of Worcester: Life and Influence (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1996), pp. 285–324 and 194–243 respectively; R. Gameson, ‘St Wulfstan, the Library of Worcester and the Spirituality of the Medieval Book’, in: J. Barrow and N. P. Brooks (eds.), St. Wulfstan and His World (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), pp. 59–104; E. Treharne, ‘Bishops and Their Texts in the Later Eleventh Century: Worcester and Exeter’, in: W. Scase (ed.), Essays in Manuscript Geography (Turnhout: Brepols,

Making books for pastoral care 51

2 3

4

5 6 7

8 9 10

11

12 13

14 15

2007), pp. 13–28; F. Tinti, Sustaining Belief: The Church of Worcester from c. 870 to c. 1100 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010). I would like to acknowledge the support of the Leverhulme Trust and the British Academy in funding this research, and to express my thanks to the editors of the volume, Thom Gobbitt, Francesca Tinti and Christine Voth, for reading drafts of this paper and offering helpful comments. All errors of course remain my own. E. Treharne, Living through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1060–1220 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 105–21. For information about St Wulfstan, see the essays in Barrow and Brooks (eds.), St. Wulfstan. Recent work has stressed that eleventh-century reform in the English Church began well before the Norman Conquest; see for example Treharne, Living through Conquest, pp. 104–8. William of Malmesbury’s Vita S. Wulfstani was written between 1124 and 1142 and is edited and translated in William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives: Lives of SS. Wulfstan, Dunstan, Patrick, Benignus and Indract, ed. and trans. M. Winterbottom and R. M. Thomson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 7–155; see pp. xiii–xxv for information about dates and sources. Wulfstan’s concern for pastoral care is noted at (for example) I.7–8, 15, II.9, 14, III.7, 10, 14, William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 32–7, 52–7, 78–81, 86–9, 116–17, 120– 1, 126–9. Tinti, Sustaining Belief, p. 51 and n. 168. Ker, Catalogue, p. 398; Tinti, Sustaining Belief, p. 51 and n. 168. These texts are edited in Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church. 1, pt. 1: A.D. 871–1066; 1, pt. 2: 1066–1204, ed. D. Whitelock, et al. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), ii. p. 568 (no. 86.I, letter to Wulfstan); ii. pp. 574–6 (no. 86.IX, canons of the legatine council of Winchester, 1070); ii. pp. 616–20 (no. 93, canons of the council of Winchester, 1076). See Scragg, Conspectus, nos. 172, 899, 902, 904, 906, 931, 932, 933, 934, 935. See Scragg, Conspectus, nos. 87, 900, 901, 903, 905, 936, 937. See Scragg, Conspectus, no. 87. See N. R. Ker, ‘Old English Notes Signed “Coleman”’, Medium Ævum 18 (1949), 29–31; W. P. Stoneman, ‘Another Old English Note Signed “Coleman”’, Medium Ævum 56/1 (1987), 78–82; A. Orchard, ‘Parallel Lives: Wulfstan, William, Coleman and Christ’, in: Barrow and Brooks (eds.), St Wulfstan and His World, pp. 39–57; D. F. Johnson and W. Rudolf, ‘More Notes by Coleman’, Medium Ævum 79/1 (2010), 1–13. See also P. A. Stokes, ‘The Vision of Leofric: Manuscript, Text and Context’, Review of English Studies 63 (2012), 529–50. See Scragg, Conspectus, no. 172; and N. R. Ker, ‘Hemming’s Cartulary: A Description of the Two Worcester Cartularies in Cotton Tiberius A. xiii’, in: R. W. Hunt, W. A. Pantin and R. W. Southern (eds.), Studies in Medieval History Presented to Frederick Maurice Powicke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948), pp. 49–75; F. Tinti, ‘From Episcopal Conception to Monastic Compilation: Hemming’s Cartulary in Context’, Early Medieval Europe 11/3 (2002), 233–61; J. S. Barrow, ‘The Chronology of Forgery Production at Worcester from c. 1000 to the Early Twelfth Century’, in: Barrow and Brooks (eds.), St. Wulfstan and His World, pp. 105–22. C. Franzen, The Tremulous Hand of Worcester: A Study of Old English in the Thirteenth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), pp. 31, 35–6. N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), no. 338; H. Gneuss, Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A List of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England Up to 1100 (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2001), no. 644; Treharne, ‘Bishops and Their Texts’, p. 20. Ker, Catalogue, no. 331, and see especially p. 391; Gneuss, Handlist, nos. 637, 638. Ker, Catalogue, pp. 398–9, 417, ‘Hand 1’ of Junius MS 121 and Hatton MSS 113+114; D. G. Scragg, A Conspectus of Scribal Hands Writing English, 960–1100 (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2012), no. 898.

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16 J. C. Pope, Homilies of Ælfric: A Supplementary Collection: Being Twenty-One Full Homilies of His Middle and Later Career, for the Most Part Not Previously Edited with Some Shorter Pieces, Mainly Passages Added to the Second and Third Series, EETS o.s. 259–60 (1967), i.70–1; Treharne, ‘Bishops and Their Texts’, p. 20. 17 It is interesting too that this final text, a pastoral letter written by Ælfric of Eynsham for Bishop Wulfsige of Sherborne, seems to be incomplete in Junius MS 121, because it lacks the ending found in the only other copy of this letter. The letter is edited as Brief I in B. Fehr, Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics in altenglischer und lateinischer Fassung, Bibliothek der Angelsaechsischen Prosa 9 (Hamburg: H. Grand, 1914), pp. 1–34. 18 Ker, Catalogue, p. 417 suggests ‘possible change of hand’ at fols 111r and 136v; Scragg, Conspectus lists fols 9–137v as one scribe (no. 898). 19 H. Foxhall Forbes, ‘Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 121: Ecclesiastical Institutes, Homilies’, in: O. Da Rold, T. Kato, M. Swan and E. Treharne (eds.), The Production and Use of English Manuscripts 1060–1220 (University of Leicester, 2010), available at [accessed June 2014]. 20 P. R. Robinson, ‘Self-Contained Units in Composite Manuscripts of the Anglo-Saxon Period’, Anglo-Saxon England 7 (1978), 231–8, at p. 235. 21 Ker, Catalogue, p. 417; Scragg, Conspectus, no. 172. 22 Some examples include: Junius MS 121 fols 22r-v, 24r-v, 52v-53r, 63r, 82r, 101r-v, 110v. 23 Ker notes that ‘the appearance of the writing changes and there is perhaps a change of hand at the beginning of art. 72’, i.e. Hatton MS 114, fol. 201r (Ker, Catalogue, pp. 396–7); similarly for Junius MS 121 he notes that ‘changes in the appearance of the writing, but possibly not changes of hand at ff. 111 and 136v mark early additions to the original collection’ (Ker, Catalogue, p. 417). Scragg gives as no. 898 the hand of Junius MS 121, fols 9r-137v, Hatton MS 113. fols 1r-144v, and Hatton MS 114, fols 9r-201r, l. 6; Scragg’s no. 899 is the hand which begins on fol. 201r, l. 7 of Hatton MS 114. He does not refer at all to the hand which wrote the table of contents in Junius MS 121 on fols 5r-8r, perhaps because much, although not all, of the table of contents is in Latin, and his Conspectus lists hands writing in English (Scragg, Conspectus, nos. 898, 899). 24 Ker lists this scribe as ‘Hand 2’ of Hatton MSS 113+114 (Catalogue, p. 399); he is no. 902 in Scragg’s Conspectus, and Scragg notes that he is also found making a marginal correction in Junius MS 121, fol. 120v. 25 Ker, Catalogue, no. 49B; Gneuss, Handlist, no. 65.5. 26 T. A. M. Bishop, English Caroline Minuscule, Oxford Palaeographical Handbooks (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), p. xv, n. 2; M. Budny, Insular, Anglo-Saxon and Early Anglo-Norman Manuscript Art at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: An Illustrated Catalogue, 2 vols. (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997), i. pp. 478–9; P. Wormald, The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), pp. 209–10; P. Stokes, English Vernacular Minuscule from Æthelred to Cnut circa 990-circa 1035 (Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer, 2014), pp. 86, 91. See also J. Hill, ‘The “Regularis Concordia” and Its Latin and Old English Reflexes’, Revue bénédictine 101 (1991), 299–315, esp. p. 311. 27 This is CCCC MS 201, pp. 1–7 and 161–7; the hand is Scragg’s no. 125; Ker, Catalogue, p. 49A (see also Gneuss, Handlist, p. 65). 28 Budny, Manuscript Art at Corpus Christi, i. pp. 478–9. 29 See the facsimile and discussion in S. Keynes, The Liber vitae of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey, Winchester: British Library Stowe 944: Together with Leaves from British Library Cotton Vespasian A. VIII and British Library Cotton Titus D. XXVII, Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile 26 (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1996). The texts are edited by F. Liebermann, Die Heiligen Englands: angelsächsisch und lateinisch (Hannover: Hahn, 1889), pp. 1–19, and discussed by D. W. Rollason, ‘Lists of Saints’ Resting-Places in Anglo-Saxon England’, Anglo-Saxon England 7 (1978), 61–94. There was also a copy of Secgan, without the ‘Kentish Royal Legend’, in:

Making books for pastoral care 53

30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37

38

39 40 41 42

43

44 45

London, British Library, Cotton Vitellius MS D.xvii, but this was destroyed in 1731 in the Cotton fire: see Ker, Catalogue, no. 222. See R. Marsden (ed.), The Old English Heptateuch and Ælfric’s Libellus de veteri testamento et novo, Volume One: Introduction and Text, EETS o.s. 330 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. liv–lvi. See further below. Ker, Catalogue, p. 90; Bishop, English Caroline Minuscule, p. xv, n. 2; the missal is now Le Havre, Bibliothèque municipale, 330 (see Gneuss, Handlist, no. 837). The exception is one of Wulfstan’s sermons, D. Bethurum (ed.), The Homilies of Wulfstan (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1957), p. Ib. See for example R. Fowler, Wulfstan’s ‘Canons of Edgar’, EETS o.s. 266 (1972), pp. xvi–xviii, xx; Bethurum, Homilies, p. 3. These last two poems may in fact be one poem: see F. C. Robinson, ‘“The Rewards of Piety”: Two Old English Poems in Their Manuscript Context’, in: P. J. Gallacher and H. Damico (eds.), Hermeneutics and Medieval Culture (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1989), pp. 193–200, 193–4. For the argument that the scribe adapted some of his homilies to fit their manuscript context, see A. Orchard, ‘On Editing Wulfstan’, in: E. M. Treharne and S. Rosser (eds.), Early Medieval English Texts and Interpretations: Studies Presented to Donald Scragg (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2002), pp. 311–40, 316. Gloria is at fols 43v-44v of Junius MS 121, where it is included in a composite text. See Ker, Catalogue, no. 49B, at pp. 85–7: I Æthelstan is found on p. 53 (Ker’s art. 29), and is F. Liebermann (ed.), Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen. Bd. 1, Texte und Übersetzung (Halle: M. Niemeyer, 1903), pp. 146–9; I Edmund is found at pp. 96–7 (Ker’s art. 44), and is ed. Liebermann, Die Gesetze, pp. 184–7. I Æthelstan is at ff. 86v-87v, followed by I Edmund on f. 87v, but two leaves are probably missing at this point in the manuscript. N. R. Ker, ‘The Handwriting of Archbishop Wulfstan’, in: P. Clemoes and K. Hughes (eds.), England before the Conquest: Studies in Primary Sources Presented to Dorothy Whitelock (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), pp. 315–31; H. R. Loyn, A Wulfstan Manuscript Containing Institutes, Laws and Homilies: British Museum Cotton Nero A.i, Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile 27 (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1971). The part of the book connected with Wulfstan is now fols 70r-177v (see Ker, Catalogue, no. 164). A. S. Napier, Wulfstan: Sammlung der ihm zugeschriebenen homilien nebst Untersuchungen über ihre Echtheit, Sammlung englisher Denkmäler in kritischen Ausgaben 4 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1883), pp. 122–4. Bethurum, Homilies, pp. 157–65. Hatton MS 113, f. 66r. See Napier, Wulfstan, p. 124, n; Ker, Catalogue, p. 393, art. 22. Bethurum, Homilies, pp. 157–65; Ker, Catalogue, p. 393. For further discussion of this material, see H. Foxhall Forbes, ‘Affective Piety and the Practice of Penance in LateEleventh-Century Worcester: The Address to the Penitent in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius 121’, Anglo-Saxon England 44 (2015), pp. 309–45. See for example the book list included in the letter for Wulfsige, the last item in ‘quire n’ of Junius MS 121: I.52, ed. Fehr, Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics, p. 13. Ælfric uses ‘penitentialem’ both in Latin and in Old English, rather than ‘scriftboc’, which is an approximate vernacular equivalent, e.g. 2.137, ed. Fehr, Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics, p. 51. See for example I.52, 2.137, ed. Fehr, Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics, pp. 13, 51. H. Gneuss, ‘Liturgical Books in Anglo-Saxon England and Their Old English Terminology’, in: M. Lapidge and H. Gneuss (eds.), Learning and Literature in Anglo-Saxon England: Studies Presented to Peter Clemoes on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 91–141; M. Lapidge, ‘Surviving Booklists from Anglo-Saxon England’, in: Lapidge and Gneuss (eds.), Learning and Literature in Anglo-Saxon England, pp. 33–89, e.g. no. X.

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46 Lapidge, ‘Surviving Booklists’, no. X; P. Conner, Anglo-Saxon Exeter: A Tenth-Century Cultural History, Studies in Anglo-Saxon History 4 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1993), pp. 38–9; E. M. Treharne, ‘Ecclesiastical Institutes, &c.: Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, 190’, in: O. Da Rold, et al. (eds.), Production and Use, available at [accessed March 2013]. 47 It is clear that other scribes in this period numbered quires as they went along: an example from Italy is Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, MS M. 79 SUP; see B. Bischoff and M. Lapidge, Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School of Theodore and Hadrian, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 10 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 275–7. It is also worth remembering that in many cases the scribe and binder may have been the same person: see M. Gullick, ‘Bookbindings’, in: R. Gameson (ed.), The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Volume 1. c.400–1100 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 294–309, 308–9. 48 See Ker, Catalogue, p. 391. 49 M. Gullick, ‘From Scribe to Binder: Quire Tackets in Twelfth Century European Manuscripts’, in: J. L. Sharpe (ed.), Roger Powell: The Compleat Binder (Turnhout: Brepols, 1996), pp. 240–59; J. Vezin, ‘“Quaderni simul ligati”: recherches sur les manuscrits en cahiers’, in: P. R. Robinson and R. Zim (eds.), Of the Making of Books: Medieval Manuscripts, Their Scribes and Readers: Essays presented to M.B. Parkes (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997), pp. 64–70, 64–70; P. R. Robinson, ‘The Format of Books-Books, Booklets and Rolls’, in: N. J. Morgan and R. M. Thomson (eds.), The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. 2, 1100–1400 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 41–54, 52. See also Stokes, ‘The vision of Leofric: manuscript, text and context’. 50 Tinti, Sustaining Belief, p. 51 and n. 168. The names are printed and discussed by J. Gerchow, Die Gedenküberlieferung der Angelsachsen: mit einem Katalog der libri vitae und Necrologien, Arbeiten zur Frühmittelalterforschung 20 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988), pp. 258–68, as also are those included in another manuscript which probably belonged to St Wulfstan, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, 391. 51 Vita Wulfstani, I.8, II.14; William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 34–7, 86–9. 52 Vita Wulfstani, II.16; William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 92–5. 53 For the varied uses of these kinds of manuscripts, see the discussion in S. Irvine, ‘The Compilation and Use of Manuscripts Containing Old English in the Twelfth Century’, in: M. Swan and E. Treharne (eds.), Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 41–61; J. Wilcox, ‘The Audience of Ælfric’s Lives of Saints and the Face of Cotton Caligula A. xiv, fols. 93–130’, in: A. N. Doane and K. Wolf (eds.), Beatus Vir: Studies in Early English and Norse Manuscripts in Memory of Phillip Pulsiano (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2006), pp. 229–63. 54 Hatton MS 114, fols 97v-14v. 55 J. Bazire and J. E. Cross (eds.), Eleven Old English Rogationtide Homilies (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1982), 137–8. 56 Foxhall Forbes, ‘Affective Piety and the Practice of Penance’, pp. 321–4. 57 K. Jost, Die ‘Institutes of Polity, Civil and Ecclesiastical’, Schweizer anglistische Arbeiten 47 (Berne: Franke, 1959). Archbishop Wulfstan’s purpose in creating this text is discussed by R. R. Trilling, ‘Sovereignty and Social Order: Archbishop Wulfstan and the Institutes of Polity’, in: J. S. Ott and A. Trumbore Jones (eds.), The Bishop Reformed: Studies of Episcopal Power and Culture in the Central Middle Ages (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), pp. 58–85, although she does not for the most part consider the post-Wulfstan (Archbishop, not Saint) context of some of the manuscripts of ‘Polity’. 58 This text is edited by Whitelock, et al., Councils and Synods 1, I.406–13 (no. 54). 59 See Fowler, Wulfstan’s ‘Canons of Edgar’.

Making books for pastoral care 55 60 The attendance of the bishop in shire courts is referred to in the laws of Edgar (III Edgar 5.2, ed. F. Liebermann, Die Gesetze, 202–3); see also M. F. Giandrea, Episcopal Culture in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007), pp. 35–69, esp. 55–66. 61 Vita Wulfstani, II.12, 21; William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 82–5, 102–5. 62 Tinti, Sustaining Belief, p. 285; for Wulfstan’s signature, see Canterbury Cathedral Archives, Chartae Antiquae, A.2 (reproduced in Barrow and Brooks (eds.), St. Wulfstan and His World, Fig. 4, p. 67). 63 Tinti, Sustaining Belief, pp. 282–5; see also Gameson, ‘St Wulfstan’, p. 60. 64 See for example Episcopus, c. 1, 4, 9; Councils and Synods 1, ed. Whitelock, et al., i. 418, 419–20 (no. 56). 65 Bethurum, Homilies, no. XIX; see also J. Wilcox, ‘Wulfstan and the Twelfth Century’, in: Swan and Treharne (eds.), Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century, pp. 87–91. 66 Giandrea, Episcopal Culture, p. 119. The text is edited by Fehr, Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics, pp. 1–34. 67 Vita Wulfstani, I.6–7, III.7, 18; William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 30–5 116–17, 134–5. 68 See further Foxhall Forbes, ‘Affective Piety and the Practice of Penance’, pp. 331–40. 69 Councils and Synods 1, ed. Whitelock, et al., ii. 581–4 (no. 88). 70 The text is part of the Old English Handbook, X31.00.01-X31.10.01, ed. A. Frantzen, in The Anglo-Saxon Penitentials: A Cultural Database (2008), available at [accessed November 2012]. 71 Foxhall Forbes, ‘Affective Piety and the Practice of Penance’, pp. 309–31. 72 Bethurum, Homilies, no. VIIa. 73 Jost, Polity, pp. 217–22; Councils and Synods 1, ed. Whitelock, et al., i. pp. 422–7 (no. 57). It is worth noting that the liturgical material for a synod in Junius MS 121 is very abbreviated and does not agree with the much more detailed ordo in CCCC 146. 74 Councils and Synods 1, ed. Whitelock, et al., i. pp. 422–3; J. T. Lionarons, The Homiletic Writings of Archbishop Wulfstan: A Critical Study (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010), pp. 39–40. 75 This text is usually known as ‘The Old English Benedictine Office’, although it has long been recognised that this title is a misnomer: for an edition see J. M. Ure, The Benedictine Office: An Old English Text (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1957); for a new edition and translation with up-to-date discussion see C. A. Jones, Old English Shorter Poems, Volume 1: Religious and Didactic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012). 76 ‘Examination of candidates for ordination’, cc. 11–12; Councils and Synods 1, ed. Whitelock, et al., i. pp. 424–5. 77 See J. Barrow, The Clergy in the Medieval World: Secular Clerics, Their Families and Careers in North-Western Europe, c. 800–1200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp. 34–52, 271–4, 281, 310–43, for a discussion of the different types of secular clergy in particular. 78 Vita Wulfstani, I.3, 14, III.14; William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 22–7, 50–3, 126–7. 79 J. S. Barrow, ‘The Community of Worcester, 961-c.1100’, in: N. Brooks and C. Cubitt (eds.), St Oswald of Worcester: Life and Influence (London: Leicester University Press, 1996), pp. 84–99, 85–6; J. S. Barrow, ‘Wulfstan and Worcester: Bishop and Clergy in the Early Eleventh Century’, in: M. Townend (ed.), Wulfstan, Archbishop of York: The Proceedings of the Second Alcuin Conference (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), pp. 141–59, 149–50; Tinti, Sustaining Belief, pp. 25–35. 80 Tinti, Sustaining Belief, p. 32; T. Hearne, Hemingi Chartularium Ecclesiæ Wigorniensis . . . Descripsit ediditque Tho. Hearnius, qui et eam partem Libri de Domesday, quæ ad Ecclesiam pertinet Wigorniensem, aliaque ad operis (duobus voluminibus comprehensi) nitorem facientia, subnexuit (Oxford: Sheldonian Theatre, 1723), ii. 342.

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81 See P. Barker, ‘Reconstructing Wulfstan’s Cathedral’, in: Barrow and Brooks (ed.), St Wulfstan and His World, pp. 167–88. 82 Barrow, ‘Community of Worcester’, pp. 91, 98–9; Tinti, Sustaining Belief, 25–38. See also Barker, ‘Reconstructing Wulfstan’s Cathedral’, and V. King, ‘St Oswald’s Tenants’, in: Brooks and Cubitt (eds.), St Oswald of Worcester: Life and Influence, pp. 100–16. It is interesting to compare the records of the Winchester monks in the Liber Vitae of the New Minster, Winchester (London, British Library, Stowe MS 944, for example at fols 18r-20r, and 20v-22r), where clerical grade is also used. 83 Junius MS 121, fol. 57v, ed. Jost, Polity, p. 255. 84 J. Blair, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 489–97; Giandrea, Episcopal Culture, pp. 98–123; and see Tinti, Sustaining Belief, pp. 225–314. 85 Robinson, ‘Self-Contained Units’, p. 231; Franzen, The Tremulous Hand, pp. 48–52. 86 For discussion of this manuscript see V. Thompson, Death and Dying in Later AngloSaxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2004), pp. 67–82; V. Thompson, ‘The Pastoral Contract in Late Anglo-Saxon England: Priest and Parishioner in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Miscellaneous 482’, in: F. Tinti (ed.), Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2005), pp. 106–20. 87 Junius MS 121 measures 265mm x 155mm; in comparison, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, 391, which is usually assumed to be St Wulfstan’s personal – and portable – prayer book, is only slightly smaller, at 225mm x 135mm. 88 Brief III, ed. Fehr, Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics, pp. 147–221. 89 A note added by Coleman to another Worcester manuscript (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, 178, p. 299) mentions the bishop’s preaching about chrism on Maundy Thursday: CCCC MS 178 was written earlier in the eleventh century but continued to be used at Worcester up to and during St Wulfstan’s episcopate. See Ker, ‘Old English Notes Signed “Coleman”’, pp. 29–31; J. Hill, ‘Ælfric’s “Silent Days”’, Leeds Studies in English n.s. 16 (1985), 118–31, at pp. 120–1; M. Clayton, ‘Ælfric’s De auguriis and Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 178’, in: K. O’Brien O’Keeffe and A. Orchard (eds.), Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, 2 vols. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005), ii. pp. 376–94; Johnson and Rudolf, ‘More notes by Coleman’. 90 Bethurum, Homilies, no. Ib, pp. 116–18. 91 Vita Wulfstani, I.14, II.15.1–2, II.17, II.22, III.10, III.14.2–15; William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Winterbottom and Thomson, pp. 50–1, 88–90, 94–7, 104–7, 120–3, 128–31; Council of Winchester, 1070, c. 5, Councils and Synods 1, ed. Whitelock, et al., i. p. 575. 92 A notable example is the ‘Canons of Edgar’ (ed. Fowler, Canons of Edgar); it is also interesting to note that Ælfric’s homily for the Sunday after Ascension in Junius MS 121 contains numerous changes in word order and an extra line, compared to the other manuscript copies of this text (ed. Pope, Homilies of Ælfric, no. IX, I.372–92, and see esp. p. 377); see also Bethurum, Homilies, pp. 2–3, 4; Treharne, ‘Bishops and Their Texts’, p. 21 and n. 3. 93 Treharne, ‘Bishops and Their Texts’, p. 20. 94 See especially the essays in Swan and Treharne, Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century.

Select bibliography Barrow, J. and Brooks, N. P. (eds), St. Wulfstan and his World (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005). Brooks, N. and Cubitt, C. (eds), St Oswald of Worcester: Life and Influence (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1996).

Making books for pastoral care 57 Da Rold, O., Kato, T., Swan, M. and Treharne, E. (eds), The Production and Use of English Manuscripts 1060–1220 (University of Leicester, 2010, www.le.ac.uk/ee/em1060to1220). Foxhall Forbes, H., ‘Affective Piety and the Practice of Penance in Late-Eleventh-Century Worcester: The Address to the Penitent in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius 121’, AngloSaxon England 44 (2015), 309–45. Giandrea, M. F., Episcopal Culture in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007). Lapidge, M. and Gneuss, H. (eds), Learning and Literature in Anglo-Saxon England: Studies Presented to Peter Clemoes on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985). Tinti, F., Sustaining Belief: The Church of Worcester from c. 870 to c. 1100 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010). Treharne, E., Living through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1060–1220 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012).

Appendix Contents of manuscripts

Junius 121 Contents Item number

Folios

Text title

J121-1

5r–8r

J121-2 J121-3 J121-4 J121-5 J121-6 J121-7 J121-8

9r 9r–10r 10r–v 10v–11r 11r–12v 12v–13v 13v–15r

Incipiunt capitula canonicorum Be heofonlicum cyninge Be eorðlicum cyninge Be cynedome Be cynestole Be ðeodwitan Item de episcopis Item [Episcopus]

J121-9 J121-10

15r 15r–v

J121-11 J121-12 J121-13 J121-14 J121-15 J121-16 J121-17 J121-18 J121-19 J121-20

15v–17r 17r–v 17v–18r 18r–v 18v–19r 19r–v 19v 19v 20r–v 20v–23v

Item. Bisceopes dægweorc Item. A gerist bisceopum wisdom Incipit de synodo Be eorlum Be gerefan Be abbodum Be munecum Be mynecenan Be preostan  be nunnan Be wudewan Be godes þeowum Be sacerdum

J121-21 J121-22 J121-23

23v–24r 24r–25r 25v–31v

Ad sacerdotes Ad sacerdotes Item sinodalia Decreta

J121-24 J121-25 J121-26 J121-27 J121-28

31v–32 32r–34r 34r–35v 35v–42r 42r–55r

Be læwedum mannum Be gehadedum mannum Be gehadedum mannum De ecclesiasticis gradibus De officiis diurnalium nocturnalium horarum

Published

Jost, Polity, p. 39 Jost, Polity, pp. 41–51 Jost, Polity, pp. 52–4 Jost, Polity, pp. 55–58 Jost, Polity, pp. 62–66 Jost, Polity, pp. 67–74 Whitelock, Councils & Synods, no. 56 Jost, Polity, pp. 75–76 Jost, Polity, p. 77 Jost, Polity, pp. 210–16 Jost, Polity, pp. 78–80 Jost, Polity, pp. 81–82 Jost, Polity, pp. 122 Jost, Polity, pp. 123–27 Jost, Polity, pp. 128 Jost, Polity, pp. 129 Jost, Polity, pp. 137 Jost, Polity, pp. 167–69 Jost, Polity, pp. 85–108

Other copies

C201-42 C201-43 C201-44 C201-46

C201-47 C201-50 C201-51 C201-52 C201-53 C201-55

C201-48, 74 Jost, Polity, pp. 170–72 C201-70 Jost, Polity, pp. 173–77 Fowler, Canons of C201-60 Edgar Jost, Polity, pp. 130–34 C201-54 Jost, Polity, pp. 109–21 C201-49 Jost, Polity, pp. 217–22 Jost, Polity, pp. 223–47 C201-64 Ure, Benedictine Office C201-65; 82

J121-29

55v–57v

De regula canonicorum

J121-30 J121-31

57v–59r 59r–59*r

J121-32

59*r–61v

Be cyrican Be eallum cristenum mannum Be godcundre warnunge

J121-33

61v–62v

J121-34

63r–63r

J121-35

64r–65v

J121-36

65v–66r

J121-37 J121-38 J121-39

66v–67r 67r – v 67v–69v

J121-40

69v–87r

J121-41

87r–101r

J121-42

101r

J121-43

101v–110v

J121-44

111r–124r

J121-45

124r–130v

J121-46

130v–136v

J121-47 J121-48

136v–137v 138r–142r

J121-49

142r–148v

J121-50

148v–154v

J121-51

154v–157r

J121-52

157r–160r

Her is scrift  andetnes ægðer twegra. ge gehadodra. ge læwedra. Leofa man ðe is mycel

Jost, Polity, pp. 248–55; Bethurum, Homilies, Xa Jost, Polity, pp. 138–52 C201-56 Jost, Polity, pp. 154–64 C201-57 Bethurum, Homilies, XIX Spindler, Bußbuch, Ia, 170–71

C201-11

Foxhall Forbes, pp. 343–5 Be ðæs halgan Bethurum, Homilies, C201-8 sunnandæges gebede VIIa (also Napier, Wulfstan, XXVI) Be þæs mæssepreostes Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 3, C201-69 gesceadwisnysse pp. 19–20 Be scriftum Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 5 Be synna lacnunge Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 5 C201-70 Be þeodores gesetnysse hu Spindler, Bußbuch, Ic, man sceall fæsten alysan. 172–74 Incipit liber primus cum Raith, pp. 1–53 capitolis atque cum suis sentialis [sic] Iudicium de peccatis multis Spindler, Bußbuch, pp. 2–28, 174–94 Gif hwylc man wifige on Raith, p. 25 his nextan magan. Incipit epistola de Fehr, Hirtenbriefe, I canonibus. De seunda [sic] epistola Fehr, Hirtenbriefe, III quando diuidis crisma Evangelii. Esto consentiens Assmann, aduersario. Angelsächsische Homilien, 1, 4/90–12 Dominica post ascensionem Pope, Supplementary domini Homilies, IX De anticristo Bethurum, Homilies, Ib C201-32 Dominica I de aduentu Clemoes, CH I.39 domini Dominica II de aduentu Clemoes CH I.40 domini De descensu Christe ad Fadda Inferos Ælfric's preface to CH I, Clemoes, CH I, pp. adapted as a homily 174/57–176/119 In assumptione sancte Godden CH II.29 marie uirginis

Hatton 113 Contents Item number

Folios

Text title/incipit

H113-1 H113-2 H113-3 H113-4

xi verso 1r–3r 3r–4r 4r–10v

H113-5 H113-6

10v–16r 16r–21r

H113-7

21r–27r

H113-8 H113-9

27r–v 27v–31v

H113-10 H113-11 H113-12 H113-13 H113-14 H113-15

31v–33r 33r–34v 34r–38r 38r–44r 44r–47v 47v–49v

H113-16 H113-17 H113-18 H113-19 H113-20a H113-20b H113-21

49v–52v 52r–56v 57v–58v 58v–61r 61r–62r 62r–v 62v–65

H113-22

65r–66v

H113-23 H113-24

66r–73r 73r–80v

Capitula De initio creature Be frumsceafte Incipiunt sermones lupi episcopi Item sermo de fide Sermo de babtismate [sic] Incipit de uisione Isaie prophete De septiforme spiritu Be ðam seofanfealdan godes gyfan De anticristo [Lat] De anticristo [OE] De cristianitate [Lat] De cristianitate [OE] Secundum Marcum Lectio sancti euangelii secundum matheum Secundum Lucam De temporibus anticristi Sermo in xl. De falsis diis Sermo ad populum Sermo ad populum cont. To folcce. Utan don eac swa we gyt læran willað . . . To folce. Leofan men habbað æfre anrædne geleafan . . . Her is halwendlic lar Be rihtan cristendome

H113-25

80v–81r

H113-26 H113-27

81r–83r 83r–v

H113-28

83v–84v

H113-29

84v–90v

H113-30 H113-31

90v–91v 91v–93v

We willað nu secgan sume bysne to þisum Sermo de cena domini Eala leofan men swytele is gesyne . . . Lectio secundum Lucam

Published

Napier, Wulfstan, I Napier, Wulfstan, LXII Bethurum, Homilies, VI

C201-2 C201-3 C201-4

Bethurum, Homilies, VII Bethurum, Homilies, VIIIc Bethurum, Homilies, XI

C201-5 C201-63

Bethurum, Homilies, IX Bethurum, Homilies, IX

C201-30 C201-30

Bethurum, Homilies, Ia Bethurum, Homilies, Ib Bethurum, Homilies, Xb Bethurum, Homilies, Xc Bethurum, Homilies, V Bethurum, Homilies, II

C201-31 C201-32 C201-27 C201-28 C201-33 C201-34

Bethurum, Homilies, III Bethurum, Homilies, IV Bethurum, Homilies, XIV Bethurum, Homilies, XII Bethurum, Homilies, XIII Bethurum, Homilies, XIII Napier, Wulfstan, XXIV

C201-35 C201-36

Napier, Wulfstan, XXV

C201-8

C201-29

[C201-6] C201-7

Napier, Wulfstan, XXIX Scragg, Vercelli Homilies, pp. 396–403 Napier, Wulfstan, XXXI

Bethurum, Homilies, XV Napier, Wulfstan, XXXVII Bethurum, Homilies, XVII [beg. from 243/43; as second half of XVII] Item sermo lupi ad Bethurum, Homilies, XX C201-40 anglos quando dani . . . (EI) Her is gyt rihtlic warnung Bethurum, Homilies, XXI C201-41 Be mistlican gelimpan Napier, Wulfstan, XXXV C201-12

H113-32

93v–94v

Lectio secundum lucam

H113-33 H113-34

94v–102v 102v–115v

De dominica oratione Sermo ad populum in octavis pentecosten H113-35 115v–124r Sermo in die natalis domini H113-36 124r–130v KL Decembris natale sancti stephani . . . H113-37 130v–139v KL Ianuarius natale sancti Iohannis . . . H113-38– 139v–144v; XIIIa KL Decembris H114-1 Hatton natale sanctorum 114 f. 9r innocentum

Bethurum, Homilies, XVII [up to 243/43]; as first half of XVII] Clemoes, CH I.19 Pope, Supplementary Homilies, no. XI Godden, CH II.1 Clemoes, CH I.3 Clemoes, CH I.4 Clemoes, CH I.5

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C201-1 1–7

OE Regularis Concordia Zupitza, ‘Ein weiteres Bruchstück’, p. 2 Adam se æresta man Napier, Wulfstan, I De etatibus mundi Napier, Wulfstan, LXII Incipiunt sermonis [sic] Bethurum, Homilies, VI lupi episcopi De fide catholica Bethurum, Homilies, VII Wulfstan arcebishop Bethurum, Homilies, XIII greteð freondlice To folce Bethurum, Homilies, XIII To folce a) Napier, Wulfstan, XXV and b) Bethurum, Homilies, VIIa (also Napier, Wulfstan, XXVI) To eallum folce Napier, Wulfstan, XXIII To eallum folce Napier, Wulfstan, XXVII To eallum folce Napier, Wulfstan, XXXIV; XXVIII; Bethurum, Homilies, XIX Be mislicum gelimpum Napier, Wulfstan, XXXV Her is git oþer wel god Napier, Wulfstan, eaca XXXVIII Ðis man gerædde þa se Napier, Wulfstan, XXXIX; micele here com to Liebermann, Gesetze, lande [VIIa Æthelred] p. 262 To gehadedum mannum Fehr, Hirtenbriefe, II Be gehadedum mannum Jost, Polity, pp. 109–21 To gehadedum  Jost, Polity, pp. 131–35 læwedum

C201-2 8–9 C201-3 9–10 C201-4 10–15 C201-5 15–19 C201-6 19–20 C201-7 20–22 C201-8 22–24

C201-9 24–25 C201-10 25 C201-11 25–28 C201-12 28–29 C201-13 29–30 C201-14 30 C201-15 31–40 C201-16 40–42 C201-17 42

Published

H113-2 H113-3 H113-4 H113-5 [H113-20a] H113-20 a) H113-22; b) J121-35

J121-32 [part] H113-31

J121-25 J121-24 (Continued )

CCCC 201 Contents (Continued) C201-18 42–43 C201-19 43–46 C201-20 46–47 C201-21 47–48 C201-22 48–52

C201-23 52 C201-24 52 C201-25 52 C201-26 53 C201-27 53–56 C201-28 56–61 C201-29 61–64 C201-30 65–66 C201-31 66–67 C201-32 67–68 C201-33 68–71 C201-34 71–72 C201-35 72–74 C201-36 74–78 C201-37 78–80 C201-38 80–81

C201-39 81 C201-40 82–86 C201-41 86–87

Be eallum cristenum mannum Norðhymbra preosta lagu Her is eadgares cynincges gerædnes [II Edgar] Eadgares cynincges gerædnes [III Edgar] In nomine domini. Ðis is seo gerædnes þe engla cyningc. [V Æthelred]

Jost, Polity, pp. 139–51

J121-30

Liebermann, Gesetze, pp. 380–5 Liebermann, Gesetze, pp. 194–200

Liebermann, Gesetze, pp. 200–7 Liebermann, Gesetze, pp. 237–47 [except passage on p. 51, ll. 6–37 (Jost, Polity, pp. 155–65), which occurs at p. 92] De preceptis domini Napier, Wulfstan, X, p. 66, l. 9 – p. 67, l. 9 De uitis [sic] unprinted; similar to principalibus Napier, Wulfstan, X, p. 68, ll. 13–18 De uirtutibus unprinted; similar to Napier, Wulfstan, X, p. 68, l. 18 – p. 69, l. 4 Æðelstanes cinyncges Liebermann, Gesetze, gerædnes [I Æthelstan] p. 146–8 De cristianitate Bethurum, Homilies, Xb H113-12 Her onginneð be Bethurum, Homilies, Xc H113-13 cristendome Incipit de uisione isaie Bethurum, Homilies, XI H113-7 prophete . . .þe of godes agenre Bethurum, Homilies, IX H113-8 gife cymð De anticristo (Lat) Bethurum, Homilies, Ia H113-10 De anticristo (OE) Bethurum, Homilies, Ib H113-11 Interrogatus iesus. a Bethurum, Homilies, V H113-14 discipulis Egressus iesus de templo Bethurum, Homilies, II H113-15 Erunt signa in sole et Bethurum, Homilies, III H113-16 luna et stellis Leofan men us is swiðe Bethurum, Homilies, IV H113-17 micel þearf Leofan men ælmihti god Napier, Wulfstan, no. 40 H114us singallice manað [ff.1–4v] Uerba ezechiel prophete Bethurum, Homilies, de pigris aut timidis XVIb uel neglegentibus pastoribus Ne dear ic nu for godes Napier, Wulfstan, XLI ege Sermo lupi ad anglos Bethurum, Homilies, H113-29 quando dani maxime XX (C) persecuti sunt eos Sermo lupi. Bethurum, Homilies, XXI H113-30

C201-42 C201-43 C201-44 C201-45 C201-46

87 87 87–88 88 88–89

C201-47 C201-48 C201-49 C201-50 C201-51 C201-52 C201-53 C201-54 C201-55 C201-56 C201-57

89 89 89–90 90 90 90 90 90–91 91 91–92 92–93

C201-58 93–96

C201-59 96–97

C201-60 97–101

C201-61 101–103 C201-62 103–105 C201-63 105–108 C201-64 C201-65 C201-66 C201-67 C201-68 C201-69 C201-70

Be cinincge Be cinedome Ælc cynestol stent De episcopis paulus dicit Item. Byscopas sculon bocum  gebedum Be eorlum Be sacerdum Be gehadedum mannum Be abbodum Be munecum Be minecenan Be preostum 7 be nunnan Be læwedum mannum Be wudewan Be circan Be eallum cristenum mannum Anno .M.XIIII. ab incarnatione domini nostri iesu cristi. [VIII Æthelred] Her gebirat to æðestanes gerædnes hu he be teoðunge gerædde. her onginneð eadmundes gerædnes. [I Edmund] Her gebirað nu to eadgares gerædnes. be gehadodum mannum liffadunge Geþyncðo, Norðdleod, Mirce, Að I, Að II, Had

Jost, Polity, pp. 40–51 Jost, Polity, pp. 52–4 Jost, Polity, pp. 55–8 Jost, Polity, pp. 59–61 Jost, Polity, pp. 67–73

J121-3 J121-4 J121-5

Jost, Polity, pp. 78–80 Jost, Polity, pp. 84 Jost, Polity, pp. 109–114 Jost, Polity, pp. 122 Jost, Polity, pp. 123–4 Jost, Polity, pp. 128 Jost, Polity, pp. 129 Jost, Polity, pp. 130–34 Jost, Polity, pp. 136 Jost, Polity, pp. 138–52 Jost, Polity, pp. 154–64

J121-12 J121-20 J121-25 J121-14 J121-15 J121-16 J121-17 J121-18 J121-18 J121-30 J121-31

J121-7

Liebermann, Gesetze, pp. 263–8 Lieberman, Gesetze, pp. 184–6

Fowler, Canons of Edgar

J121-23

Liebermann, Gesetze, pp. 456, 458–60, 462, 464, 464–8 Bethurum, Homilies, VIIIa Bethurum, Homilies, VIIIc H113-6

Incipit de baptisma Leofan men eallum cristenum mannum is . . . 108–112 De ecclesiasticis gradibus Jost, Polity, pp. 223–47 112–114 De ecclesiasticis officiis Ure, Benedictine Office, pp. 81–2, 95–6, 97–8, 99–100, 100–102 114–115 Quando aliquis uoluerit Fowler, ‘Handbook’, I, confessionem facere p. 16 115–117 Ðæt sceal geþencan se þe Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 3, bið manna sawla læce pp. 19–20 115, l. Æfter þisum arise Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 2, 37–117, eadmodlice . . . pp. 17–19 [here inserted into Fowler’s no. 3] l. 2 117–21 Þas þeawas man healt Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 4, begeondan sæ pp. 20–26 121–124 Be dædbetan Fowler, ‘Handbook’ 5, pp. 26–32

J121-27 J121-28 [part]

J121-36 J121-38 [and 21] (Continued )

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CCCC 201 Contents (Continued) C201-71 124–125 C201-72 125–126 C201-73 126–30

C201-74 130–131 C201-75 131–145

C201-76 147–149 C201-77 149–151 C201-78 151–160 C201-79 161–167 C201-80 165–167 C201-81 167–169 C201-82 169–170 C201-83 170–176

Be mihtigum mannum

Fowler, ‘Handbook’, 6, pp. 32–34 Theodorus de egris qui Wasserschleben, ieiunare non possunt Bussordungen, p. 622 In nomine domini. Ðis is Liebermann, Gesetze, seo gerædnes þe witan pp. 278–80, 308–12, geræddon. 288–91, 252–6, 318, 256–8 Be sacerdan Jost, Polity, pp. 104–5 J121-20 Her onginneð seo Zupitza, ‘Die altenglische gerecednes be antioche Bearbeitung’, p. 18 . . . [Old English Apollonius] Her cyð ymbe þa halgan Liebermann, Die Heiligen þe on angelcynne Englands, p. 1–9 restað Her onginneð secgan be Liebermann, Die Heiligen þam godes sanctum Englands, p. 9–20 Her cydde god ælmihtig Crawford, Heptateuch, pp. ... 170, 181, 187 De die iudicii [Judgement Caie, Judgement Day II Day II] An Exhortation to Dobbie, Minor Poems, pp. Christian Living; 58–70 Summons to Prayer Lord’s Prayer II Dobbie, Minor poems, p. 70 Gloria Dobbie, Minor poems, J121-28 p. 70 [part] Quando aliquis uoluerit ...

Bibliography for appendix Bethurum, D., The Homilies of Wulfstan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957). Caie, G. D., The Old English Poem Judgement Day II, Anglo-Saxon Texts 2 (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000). Clemoes, P., Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: The First Series, EETS s.s. 17 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Dobbie, E. V. K., The Anglo-Saxon Minor Poems (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1942). Fadda, A. M. L., ‘De descensu Christi ad inferos: Una inedita omelia anglosassone’, Studi Medievali 13 (1972), 989–1011. Fowler, R., ‘A Late Old English Handbook for the Use of a Confessor’, Anglia 83 (1965), 1–34. Fowler, R., Wulfstan’s ‘Canons of Edgar’, EETS o.s. 266 (London: Oxford University Press, 1972). Foxhall Forbes, H., ‘Affective Piety and the Practice of Penance in Late-Eleventh-Century Worcester: The Address to the Penitent in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius 121’, AngloSaxon England 44 (2015), 309–45. Godden, M., Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies, the Second Series Text, EETS s.s. 18 (London: Oxford University Press, 1979).

Making books for pastoral care 65 Jost, K., Die ‘Institutes of Polity, Civil and Ecclesiastical’, Schweizer anglistische Arbeiten 4 (1959). Liebermann, F., Die Heiligen Englands: angelsächsisch und lateinisch (Hannover: Hahn, 1889). Liebermann, F., Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, Bd.1: Text und Übersetzung (Halle: M. Niemeyer, 1903). Marsden, R., The Old English Heptateuch and Ælfric’s Libellus de veteri testamento et novo: Volume One: Introduction and Text, EETS o.s. 330 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). Napier, A. S., Wulfstan: Sammlung der ihm zugeschriebenen Homilien nebst Untersuchungen über ihre Echtheit, Sammlung englisher Denkmäler in kritischen Ausgaben 4 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1883). Raith, J., Die altenglische Version des Halitgar’schen bussbuches (sog. Poenitentiale pseudo-Ecgberti) (Hamburg: Grand, 1933). Scragg, D. G., The Vercelli Homilies and Related Texts, EETS o.s. 300 (1992). Spindler, R., Das altenenglische Bussbuch, sog. confessionale pseudo-Egberti – kritische Textausgabe nebst nachweis der mittellateinischen Quellen sprachlicher Untersuchung und Glossar (Leipzig: B. Tauchnitz, 1934). Ure, J. M., The Benedictine Office: An Old English Text (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1957). Wasserschleben, F. G. A., Die Bussordnungen der abendlaendischen Kirche (Halle: C. Graeger, 1851). Zupitza, J., ‘Die altenglische Bearbeitung der Erzählung von Apollonius von Tyrus’, Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen 97 (1896), 17–34. Zupitza, J., ‘Ein weiteres Bruchstück der Regularis Concordia in altenglischer Sprache’, Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen 84 (1890), 1–24.

4

What to ask in confession A list of sins from thirteenth-century England Catherine Rider

The thirteenth century saw the writing of many short treatises on pastoral care, written as part of a reform movement which aimed to improve the religious education of the clergy and, in this way, to raise the standard of pastoral care provided to the laity. One of the key moments in the process of pastoral care which the reformers focussed on was confession. Educated clergy had long been interested in regulating both the frequency with which laypeople made confession and the quality of the guidance provided to them there, and in 1215 these concerns were given formal expression at the Fourth Lateran Council. The Council ruled that all adult laypeople should go to confession at least once a year and emphasised that the confessor was to act like a doctor, dispensing advice and penance which was appropriate to each penitent.1 As with many of the Council’s pronouncements, these ideas were not entirely new but they found a receptive audience among thirteenth-century bishops and ecclesiastical administrators in England, and so during the course of the thirteenth century numerous English diocesan statutes repeated the requirement for annual confession and sometimes extended it to three times a year.2 In addition to these formal pronouncements, a number of bishops, including Robert Grosseteste of Lincoln and Walter Cantilupe of Worcester, also wrote or circulated treatises on pastoral care to help less well-educated clergy perform their roles as confessors. These bishops were not alone. As Leonard Boyle and other scholars have shown, many other educated clergy in England and across Europe were also writing works on confession, preaching and pastoral care.3 These texts came in many shapes, but one common form was the list of questions for priests to ask in confession, structured around classificatory schemes such as the seven vices and sometimes accompanied by other information about how to hear confessions. Quite a few of these short confession treatises have been edited,4 and they have also been studied for what they can tell us about a variety of other topics, including religious life, the ways in which confessions were (or may have been) conducted, and sexuality.5 Nevertheless, many remain unpublished and have attracted comparatively little attention. This chapter will present and translate one of these works: an unusual list of questions relating to the seven vices and their manifestations in thirteenth-century England. It is anonymous and begins with the words

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Animetur primo confitens (‘First let the person confessing be encouraged . . . ’). To my knowledge it has not been discussed by other scholars, except for the parts quoted in my earlier studies of lay religion and magic.6 Animetur primo is a particularly interesting text because many of the questions it lists do not have clear parallels in other contemporary lists of questions to ask in confession. One area where it is especially distinctive is in its treatment of magic and divination. It contains an unusually long list of questions relating to sins ‘against the faith’ which mentions many forms of magic and divination, occasionally glossed with English vernacular words. Some of the beliefs and practices mentioned in this list appear regularly in other pastoral treatises, such as the belief in omens and divination by dreams,7 but others seem to be unique to this work: for example, there are questions about whether the penitent has ‘signed himself’ with fire or given gifts to sorceresses. Even when particular practices or beliefs are mentioned in other similar works, the number of these questions and the level of detail given by the author of Animetur primo seems to be unique in such a short treatise. The lists of questions relating to the sins of Sloth and Avarice are also unusually detailed and specific. The section on Avarice mentions by name some of the taxes and payments which existed at the time, such as pannage, a payment for the right to pasture pigs. It also contains questions aimed at people in a range of different occupations and roles, including lords and judges, various levels of clergy, medical practitioners, teachers, lawyers and farm workers. The section on Sloth likewise includes a set of detailed questions for farm labourers and others aimed at clergy. In itself this is not unique and other short confession treatises sometimes include similar questions directed at particular social groups: for example the treatise recorded in the diocesan statutes of Alexander Stavensby, bishop of Coventry, issued between 1224 and 1237, suggests that merchants should be asked about whether their weights and measures are fair, an issue also raised in in Animetur primo.8 Several longer pastoral care treatises include similar, but more detailed, lists of questions, including the fourteenth-century Memoriale Presbyterorum.9 Socially specific questions such as these have had some attention from scholars, since they can shed light on the development of ethics associated with different professions, including physicians, lawyers and merchants.10 However, most of this scholarship has focussed on academic theology and on longer pastoral compendia rather than on shorter treatises for pastoral care. By contrast Animetur primo tells us about how the ideas in longer pastoral works might be communicated to a wider audience. The level of detail and the range of occupations discussed suggest that this anonymous author was particularly interested in the ways in which different social groups might sin, and again the treatise offers a distinctive view of the sins one cleric thought were current in thirteenth-century England. After a brief introduction which sets out how the priest should encourage the penitent to make a full confession, Animetur primo begins with a list of questions relating to the penitent’s religious faith: for example, does he or she know the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed? These questions are found in many other thirteenthcentury confession manuals,11 but the next set of questions about sins ‘against

What to ask in confession 69 the faith’ is far more unusual, as noted above. Questions relating to the seven vices follow, starting with Pride. Finally, the treatise concludes with a short list of questions about sins committed with the tongue, including lying, perjury and complaining against God and the saints when misfortune occurs. Although many of the questions in Animetur primo seem to be unique, there are nonetheless similarities to other works, particularly to another short treatise listing questions to ask in confession, Robert Grosseteste’s De Modo Confitendi, which was probably written in the 1220s or early 1230s and was one of the earliest treatises of its kind.12 For example under the sin of Pride both Animetur primo and Grosseteste ask whether the penitent has been disobedient to his or her parents and whether penitents have assumed the good things they have were given to them by God as a reward for their good deeds. Likewise under Anger both treatises ask whether the penitent has ever slandered anyone or willingly listened when others did so, hated anyone, or sought to harm them.13 Grosseteste’s question-list was widely copied so it would not be surprising if the anonymous author of Animetur primo was influenced by it when compiling his own list of questions.14 However, Animetur primo is not simply a modified copy of Grosseteste’s treatise and there are comparatively few direct parallels between the two texts. In addition to drawing on Grosseteste’s work the anonymous author also seems to have borrowed a small amount of information from the Summa de Casibus Poenitentie written by the Dominican canon lawyer Raymond of Peñafort in the 1220s: under the heading of Anger, he quotes the five forms of spiritual homicide listed by Raymond.15 The date and origin of Animetur primo are uncertain. The text survives in two thirteenth-century manuscripts, London, British Library MS Add. 30508, folios 169r-179v, and British Library MS Add. 22570, folios 200v-203r. Neither manuscript names an author. In a study of MS Add. 30508, Leonard Boyle argued that this manuscript belonged to an English house of Dominican friars, which may suggest a Dominican provenance for Animetur primo.16 MS Add. 22570 may also have a Dominican origin, since much of the manuscript is taken up with a copy of Raymond of Peñafort’s Summa. However, there are few firm indications in the text of Animetur primo itself that it was intended specifically for an audience of friars.17 It may have been designed to appeal to both friars and parish clergy: these two groups shared an interest in pastoral care, and Andrew Reeves has suggested that thirteenth-century English parish clergy sometimes attended Dominican schools to learn about pastoral care.18 There are also no firm indications of Animetur primo’s date. It must have been written in the 1220s at the earliest because a question about the study of secular law or medicine by priests, archdeacons, rural deans and beneficed clergy echoes the constitution Super specula promulgated by Pope Honorius III in 1219.19 The parallels with Grosseteste’s De Modo Confitendi and Raymond of Peñafort’s Summa would again point to a date in the 1220s at the earliest. I have not found quotations from it in any later works which would help to establish a latest date for the text. Indeed, there is no evidence that Animetur primo was influential at all, at the time or since. As well as the absence of identifiable quotations from it in later works, it survives in fewer manuscripts than many other short confession

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treatises. Instead its interest lies in what its questions tell us about its author’s perception of thirteenth-century England. The versions of Animetur primo in the two manuscripts are not identical. Neither manuscript is a copy of the other, since both contain variants not found in the other manuscript. Many of these variants seem to be the result of deliberate modification rather than errors introduced during copying. This is not unusual in works on pastoral care, since scribes who knew about the subject were willing to modify the texts they found to suit their own purposes: manuscripts of Robert Grosseteste’s treatises on confession likewise show significant levels of variation.20 In the case of Animetur primo the version in MS Add. 22570 is shorter overall and more concise in its phrasing than the version in MS Add. 30508. The variations in this manuscript point consistently to a desire to convey the same message more briefly. Some of these changes are minor, as when MS Add. 22570 omits words such as ‘item’ at the start of a question. However, others are more significant. A number of sentences have been reworded to contain fewer words and details. Thus, under the heading of Pride, where MS Add. 30508 asks ‘Si unquam elemosinas dederit. Si abstinentiam uel peregrinationem uel huiusmodi opera spiritualia propter ypocrisim uel uanam gloriam fecerit, uel de huiusmodi se iactauerit coram aliis, non propter aliorum edificationem et dei laudem sed propriam’ (If he has ever given alms. If he has performed abstinence or pilgrimage or spiritual works of this kind out of hypocrisy or vainglory or has boasted about this kind of thing in front of others, not to edify others and praise God, but to praise himself), MS Add. 22570 asks ‘Si unquam elemosinam dederit aut aliqua opera spiritualia propter ypocrisim uel uanam gloriam fecerit, uel de huiusmodi se iactauerit, propriam laudem non dei uel proximi edificationem’.21 (If he has ever given alms or done some spiritual works out of hypocrisy or vainglory or has boasted about this kind of thing to praise himself, not God, or to edify a neighbour). Similarly, under the heading of Avarice, when merchants are asked about using false weights and measures, MS Add. 30508 gives many details: ‘Si minoribus mensuris uel ponderibus usus fuerit uendendo aliis, et maioribus in sua empcione; uel si iusta pondera et iustas mensuras habuerit et tamen ille male mensurauerit uel ponderauit; uel si dolose procurauerit quod res ponderosior fieret quando ponderari debuit, ut faciunt illi qui lanam uendunt’. (If he has used smaller measures or weights when selling to others, and larger ones when buying for himself; or if he had fair weights and measures and yet measured or weighed badly; or if he arranged deceitfully that something would be heavier when it was due to be weighed, as people who sell wool do.) Again, MS Add. 22570 covers the same points much more briefly: ‘Si falsas mensuras habuerit uel cum iustis male mensurauerit, uel fecerit rem ponderosiorem’.22 (If he has had false measures or measured badly with fair ones or has made a thing heavier.) Occasionally, however, MS Add. 22570 includes text not found in MS Add. 30508, such as a few English words glossing the Latin terms for sins against the faith, or it makes changes that alter a question’s meaning. For example, under the heading of Avarice, MS Add. 30508 asks about sins committed while the penitent was committing a crime: ‘Si aliquis in perpetracione horum dampnorum occisus

What to ask in confession 71 fuerit, uel uulneratus aut ligatus, aut domus alicuius confracta, aut persona alicuius lesa’. (If anyone was killed when these damages were committed, or wounded or tied up, or anyone’s house was smashed, or anyone’s body was harmed.) The list of possible injuries in MS Add. 22570 is slightly different: ‘Si aliquis in perpetratione dampnorum occisus fuerit, uulneratus uel ligatus, aut domus alicuius fracta aut combusta’. (If anyone was killed when damages were committed, wounded or tied up, or anyone’s house was smashed or burned.)23 These differences between the two manuscripts are most substantial in the final two sections on Lust and Sins of the Tongue. Here MS Add. 22570 omits many questions found in MS Add. 30508, and the remaining ones are highly abbreviated. Thus, while MS Add. 30508 contains eleven questions relating to sins of the tongue, MS Add. 22570 includes only six. While it is possible that the scribe of MS Add. 30508 expanded his text from a shorter original version, it seems more likely that the scribe of MS Add. 22570 abridged a longer text which was closer to that of MS Add. 30508. This impression that the scribe of MS Add. 22570 was eager to save space is confirmed by its very small handwriting. The scribe seems to have wanted to fit the text into the smallest space possible and he seems to have felt this was increasingly necessary as he neared the end of the text, although it is not clear why he should do this, since the text does not finish at the end of a page or quire. Because, for the reasons given above, it seems likely that MS Add. 30508 is closer to the original version of the text, in editing the text I have used this as the base manuscript (designated as MS 1). I have kept the spelling given in this manuscript but have modernised the punctuation. I have not noted all of the many variants and abbreviations in MS Add. 22570 (hereafter MS 2) because to do so would result in a very large and unwieldy apparatus, especially in the text’s final sections. However, I have preferred the readings in MS 2 on the relatively small number of occasions when the reading in MS 1 is clearly inferior, or when MS 2 supplies words or phrases which have been omitted from MS 1. Since the scribe of MS 2 generally seems to have abridged rather than added material, where he does include extra sentences, this may reflect material from an earlier version of the text which was omitted from MS 1. Where I have done this, I have given the reading from MS 1 in the footnotes. I have also noted where the questions bear a strong similarity to those in Grosseteste’s De Modo Confitendi as edited by Goering and Mantello (hereafter DMC) or other sources.24 In most of the text the language implies that a male penitent is imagined, and I have translated these references as ‘he’. In the section on Lust, however, several adjective and participle endings assume a female penitent and here I have translated as ‘she’; or, where both sexes are clearly implied in the text, I have used ‘they’.

Notes 1 For an overview see C. Morris, The Papal Monarchy: The Western Church from 1050– 1250 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), pp. 489–96. 2 M. Gibbs and J. Lang, Bishops and Reform 1215–1272 (London: Oxford University Press, 1934), p. 123; H. Birkett, ‘The Pastoral Application of the Lateran IV Reforms in the Northern Province 1215–1348’, Northern History 43 (2006), 199–219, at p. 203.

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3 See L. Boyle, ‘Summae Confessorum’, in: Les Genres littéraires dans les sources théologiques et philosophiques médiévales. Définition, critique et exploitation (Louvainla-Neuve: Université Catholique de Louvain, 1982), pp. 227–37, and P. MichaudQuantin, Sommes de casuistique et manuels de confession au moyen âge (XII–XVI siècles) (Louvain: Editions Nauwelaerts, 1962). 4 See for example S. Wenzel, ‘Robert Grosseteste’s Treatise on Confession, Deus Est’, Franciscan Studies 30 (1970), 218–93; J. Goering and F. A. C. Mantello, ‘The “Perambulauit Iudas . . .” (Speculum Confessionis) Attributed to Robert Grosseteste’, Revue Bénédictine 96 (1986), 125–68; J. Goering and F. A. C. Mantello, ‘The Early Penitential Writings of Robert Grosseteste’, Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 54 (1987), 52–112; J. Goering and F. A. C. Mantello, ‘Notus in Iudea Deus: Robert Grosseteste’s Confessional Formula in Lambeth Palace MS 499’, Viator 18 (1987), 253–73; J. Goering and P. Payer, ‘The “Summa Penitentie Fratrum Predicatorum”: A Thirteenth-Century Confessional Formulary’, Mediaeval Studies 55 (1993), 1–50; C. Rider, ‘Sciendum est autem Sacerdotibus (Penitens Accedens ad Confessionem): A Short Thirteenth-Century Treatise on Hearing Confessions’, Mediaeval Studies 73 (2011), 147–82. 5 C. Rider, ‘Lay Religion and Pastoral Care in Thirteenth-Century England: The Evidence of a Group of Short Confession Manuals’, Journal of Medieval History 36 (2010), 327–40; W. H. Campbell, The Landscape of Pastoral Care in Thirteenth-Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), pp. 151–61; P. J. Payer, Sex and the New Medieval Literature of Confession, 1150–1300 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2009). 6 Rider, ‘Lay Religion’; C. Rider, Magic and Religion in Medieval England (London: Reaktion Books, 2012), p. 92. 7 On magic and divination in other pastoral treatises see Rider, Magic and Religion. 8 F. M. Powicke and C. R. Cheney, Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church A. D.1205–1313, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), i. p. 221. 9 M. Haren, ‘The Interrogatories for Officials, Lawyers and Secular Estates of the Memoriale Presbiterorum’, in: P. Biller and A. J. Minnis (eds.), Handling Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 1998), pp. 123–63; M. Haren, Sin and Society in Fourteenth-Century England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000). For other examples see P. Biller, ‘Intellectuals and the Masses: Oxen and She-Asses in the Medieval Church’, in: J. H. Arnold (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), p. 333. 10 See J. W. Baldwin, Masters, Princes and Merchants: The Social Views of Peter the Chanter and His Circle (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970), pp. 261–311; D. W. Amundsen, ‘Casuistry and Professional Obligations: The Regulation of Physicians by the Court of Consicence in the Late Middle Ages’, Transactions and Studies of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia n. s. 3 (1981), 22–39, 93–112, reprinted in D. W. Amundsen, Medicine, Society and Faith in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), pp. 248–88; J. A. Brundage, The Medieval Origins of the Legal Profession: Canonists, Civilians and Courts (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), pp. 182–8, 295–305, 308–28; I. Wei, Intellectual Culture in Medieval Paris: Theologians and the University, c.1100–1330 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 296–323, 345–53. 11 Thomas of Chobham, Summa Confessorum, ed. F. W. Broomfield (Louvain: Editions Nauwelaerts, 1968), 242; R. M. Haines, Ecclesia Anglicana: Studies in the English Church of the Later Middle Ages (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989), pp. 135–6. 12 Goering and Mantello, ‘Early Penitential Writings’, p. 54. 13 Ibid., p. 82–3 14 Ibid., p. 61, 65–6. 15 See J. Shaw, ‘Corporeal and Spiritual Homicide, the Sin of Wrath, and the “Parson’s Tale”’, Traditio 38 (1982), 281–300, at p. 287.

What to ask in confession 73 16 L. Boyle, ‘Notes on the Education of the Fratres Communes in the Dominican Order in the Thirteenth Century’, in: R. Creytens and P. Künzle (eds.), Xenia Medii Aevi Historiam Illustrantia Oblata Thomae Kaeppeli O. P. (Rome: Storia e Letteratura, 1978), reprinted in L. Boyle, Pastoral Care, Clerical Education and Canon Law 1200–1400 (Aldershot: Variorum, 1981), essay VI, pp. 249–67, 259–61. 17 Rider, ‘Lay Religion’, 331. 18 A. Reeves, ‘English Secular Clergy in the Early Dominican Schools: Evidence from Three Manuscripts’, Church History and Religious Culture 92 (2012), 35–55, at pp. 47–8. 19 D. W. Amundsen, ‘Canon Law on Medical Practice by the Clergy’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine 52 (1978), 22–44, reprinted in Amundsen, Medicine, pp. 222–47, 232. 20 Goering and Mantello, ‘Early Penitential Writings’, p. 59; for another example see D. d’Avray, Medieval Marriage Sermons: Mass Communication in a Culture without Print (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 33–4. 21 BL MS Add. 22570, fol. 200v. 22 BL MS Add. 22570, fol. 202r. 23 BL MS Add. 22570, fol. 202r. 24 Goering and Mantello, ‘Early Penitential Writings’.

Select bibliography Boyle, L., ‘Notes on the Education of the Fratres Communes in the Dominican Order in the Thirteenth Century’, in: R. Creytens and P. Künzle (eds), Xenia Medii Aevi Historiam Illustrantia Oblata Thomae Kaeppeli O. P. (Rome: Storia e Letteratura, 1978), reprinted in Boyle, L., Pastoral Care, Clerical Education and Canon Law 1200–1400 (Aldershot: Variorum, 1981), essay VI, pp. 249–67, 259–61. Boyle, L., ‘Summae Confessorum’, in: Les Genres littéraires dans les sources théologiques et philosophiques médiévales. Définition, critique et exploitation (Louvain-la-Neuve: Université Catholique de Louvain, 1982), pp. 227–37. Campbell, W. H., The Landscape of Pastoral Care in Thirteenth-Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). Goering, J. and Mantello, F. A. C., ‘The Early Penitential Writings of Robert Grosseteste’, Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 54 (1987), 52–112. Michaud-Quantin, P., Sommes de casuistique et manuels de confession au moyen âge (XII– XVI siècles) (Louvain: Editions Nauwelaerts, 1962). Reeves, A., ‘English Secular Clergy in the Early Dominican Schools: Evidence from Three Manuscripts’, Church History and Religious Culture 92 (2012), 35–55. Rider, C., ‘Lay Religion and Pastoral Care in Thirteenth-Century England: The Evidence of a Group of Short Confession Manuals’, Journal of Medieval History 36 (2010), 327–40. Rider, C., Magic and Religion in Medieval England (London: Reaktion Books, 2012).

Text

Animetur primo confitens breui cohortacione ut peccata sua humiliter et pure confiteatur omni pudore preposito et timore. Cumque ipse prior dixerit omnia que in memoria habuerit, caute inquirat confessor et diligenter penitentem instruat, ut sic quasi obstetricante manu educatur coluber tortuosus.1 Et quia sine fide impossibile est placere deo,2 primo expedit tangere aliquid de fide, uidelicet utrum sciat simbolum et orationem dominicam. Postea si in deum credat, et omnia que sancta ecclesia credit. Post hec si umquam credidit in aliquo quod sit contra fidem, uidelicet sternutacionibus; in pede et omine; in fato; in fontibus.3 Si seipsum4 uel pueros uel pecora traduxerit per ignem, uel produxit5 sub terra. Si se uel alios cum igne signauerit in aliqua egritudine. Si solem, lunam, stellas adorauerit. Si sompnia obseruauerit. Si in coniuracionibus crediderit. Si dies et horas in agendis suis negociis obseruauerit. Item si sal uel herbas coniuratas aut cartulas circa collum uel super se portauerit, preter simbolum et orationem dominicam uel aliqua de sacra scriptura. Si sortilegas consuluit uel ad ipsas misit, uel munera dedit talibus ut per6 ipsarum sortilegia melioraretur in aliquo uel grauaretur. Si odium uel inimicicias inter aliquos iactauerit uel iactari procurauerit, uel unquam aliquid in cibo uel potu cuiusquam posuerit ut ipsum uel ipsam ad amorem illicitum alliceret, uel os suum cum aliqua re unxerit quando debuit quemquam osculari. Item si dies qui dicuntur egipciaci scilicet ‘dismal’7 obseruauerit, uel dona dederit uel ab aliis pecierit in kalendis ianuarii quasi in principio boni anni. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Cf. Job 26,13. Cf. Hebrews 11,5. Cf. DMC 80. in fontibus] add. 2. Si seipsum] 2 Si in fontibus seipsum 1. produxit] 2 si 1. per] add. 2. scilicet dismal] add. 2.

What to ask in confession 75 Si circa aratra ignem uel incensum portauerit. Si crediderit aliquam rem infirmari uel deteriorari propter loquelam scilicet ‘forspekem’,8 uel uisum aliorum scilicet ‘ouersene’.9 Si per inspeccionem peluis, ensis, unguium, intestinorum pecudum; reuolucionem psalterii uel alterius libri; uel per sortes quas false10 apostolorum uocant; uel per aliquam inuocacionem demonum ad ignem uel aquam uel alibi; aut per sanguinis effusionem, ut fit in nigromancia; aut per aliquam aliam supersticionem futura que solius dei sunt predicere uel adinuenire laborauerit, uel intenderit11 per huiusmodi adimplere; uel si auguria uel auspicia que in gestu, uolatu et cantu12 auium considerantur obseruauerit. De superbia queratur Si unquam fuerit superbus. Si contra precepta diuina unquam scienter fecerit et suam uoluntatem diuine preposuerit.13 Si mandata ecclesie uel excommunicaciones uel exhortaciones contempserit. Si scienter communicauerit cum excommunicatis uel ipsos in peccatis suis fouerit uel defenderit, uel si ipse propter suam inobedientiam uel contumaciam permisit se excommunicari uel extra ecclesiam poni. Si decimas uel oblationes debitas contumaciter detinuerit uel libertates ecclesie propter potenciam suam uiolauerit uel emunitatem ecclesie. Si sollempnitates sanctorum et dies festos ab ecclesia statutos, tam in propria persona quam in seruis et iumentis seruare contempserit. Item si parentibus suis carnalibus inobediens fuerit.14 Si ipsos exasperauerit uel gratis offenderit aut maledixerit aperte uel tacite. Si in ipsos unquam manus uiolentas iniecerit uel ipsos debito modo non honorauerit. Item si de diuitiis, honoribus, potentia, scientia, fortitudine, pulcritudine uel parentela, aut aliis donis sibi a deo concessis superbierit, aut se iactauerit de hiis, aut alios propter huiusmodi contempserit. Si faciem suam fusco colore depinxerit uel pepla sua colorauerit. Si crines suos crispauerit artificiose. Si capillos suos subornauerit. Si pilos superciliorum suorum propter superbiam deposuerit. Si ad coreas uel alia spectacula propter ostentacionem suam ierit. Si aperturas in uestibus suis gratis dimiserit ut candor cutis sue appareret. Circa spiritualem superbiam queratur si unquam elemosinas dederit. 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

scilicet forspekem] add. 2. ouersene] owersem 2. My emendation; falso 1, 2. intenderit] 2 intendebat 1. volatu et cantu] add. 2. preposuerit] 2 preposuit 1. Cf. DMC, 83: ‘Si inoboediens parentibus fuerit.’

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Catherine Rider Si abstinenciam uel peregrinacionem uel huiusmodi opera spiritualia propter ypocrisim uel uanam gloriam fecerit, uel de huiusmodi se iactauerit coram aliis, non propter aliorum edificacionem et dei laudem sed propriam.15 Si ab ecclesia uel dei officio se propter pudorem subtraxerit eo quod non habuit pulcra indumenta, uel alios sordide indutos propter eorum paupertatem contempserit et iuxta eos in ecclesia sedere. Si de uictoria uiciorum se extulerit. Si alios deriserit uel quod peius est, in usu habuerit. Si turpia agnomina inposuerit. Item si bona sibi a deo concessa ex se uel meritis suis uel ultra omnes alios se habere unquam credidit, uel de peccatis perpetratis, uel de bonis non habitis se iactauerit.16 Si de seipso uel suis meritis presumpserit. Si nimis singularis in suo sensu fuerit. Si lesis a se satisfacere contempserit propter suam potenciam uel etiam tumorem cordis. De superbia nascitur inuidia, circa quam queri potest Si unquam de prosperitate proximi uel rerum suarum doluit.17 Si de dampno eius gauisus est. Si proximo suo unquam18 detraxerit uel detrahentibus consenserit, uel ipsos libenter audierit.19 Si bona proximi sui opera uel dicta minuere apud alios suis oblocucionibus laborauerit uel accusacionibus. Si bona facta uel dicta proximi in malum interpretatus fuerit uel alienos20 defectus non ad eorum correccionem recitauerit, uel ipsis recitantibus libenter auditum prebuerit.21 Si quemquam odio habuerit.22 Si mortem uel infortunium uel dampnum proximo aut rebus suis optauerit, uel per se uel per alios hec maliciose procurauerit.23 Si alicui inuidit eo quod superior uel par eius fuerit, uel quia ipsum aliquibus gratiis excesserit.

15 See my introduction above. 16 Cf. DMC, 82: ‘Si bona quae habuerit umquam sibi attribuerit. Si crediderit sibi a Deo datum, sed tamen pro meritis suis.’ 17 Cf. DMC, 83: ‘Si per invidiam de proximi quacumque felicitate doluerit.’ 18 unquam] 2 unquam gauisus est1. 19 Cf. DMC, 83, under Ira: ‘Si detraxerit vel detrahentes libenter audierit.’ 20 alienos] 2 alenos 1. 21 prebuerit] 2 prebuit 1. 22 habuerit] 2 habuit 1 Cf. DMC, 83, under Ira: ‘Si proximum odio habuerit.’ 23 Cf. DMC 83, under Ira: ‘Si proximi mortem vel damnum desideraverit. Si operando, consulendo, et suffragando, vel alio consimili illa procuraverit.’

What to ask in confession 77 Si dileccionem aliorum et caritatem turbauerit uel discordias inter aliquos seminauerit.24 Si per libellos famosos uel per cantilenas unquam aliquem defamauerit, uel in eius defamacionem talia composuerit uel inuenta aliis ostenderit.25 Queratur de ira Si fuerit iracundus. Si iram in corde diu retinuerit: et loquor de ira que est cum deliberacione et consensu26 rationis que dampnabilis est, et non de ea que est sine deliberacione rationis et est uenialis. Item si quemquam in furore ire sue percusserit uel occiderit (et hoc potest esse v. modus: odiendo, detrahendo, consulendo malum, nocendo, uictum subtrahendo, quodlibet mortale)27 uel aliquod dampnum persone alicuius aut rebus irrogauerit, et maxime persone ecclesiastice. Si rixatus fuerit cum aliquo. Si ei obprobria dixerit sibi uel suis que ei in scandalum cesserunt, uel cedere possent. Si per iram falso iurauerit, uel in uanum per nomen dei uel passionem eius, uel crucem, uel huiusmodi; uel per alios sanctos uel sanctuaria uel fidem suam dederit falso uel frustra. Si proximo suo maledixerit et precipue sacerdotibus uel personis religiosis uel suis, uel mulier uiro suo, aut contra ipsum proterue et irreuerenter se habuerit. Si uir uxorem suam per iram iniuste percusserit uel inhoneste tractauerit, et maxime si grauida fuerit uel si per hoc abortum fecerit. Si per iracundiam unquam deum uel aliquem sanctum blasphemauerit uel contra ipsos notabiliter murmurauerit uel litigauerit. Si alios ad iram et inpacienciam prouocauerit uel ad contenciones. Si aliquid uouerit per iram deo uel sanctis quod non persoluerit. De accidia queratur Si desidiosus fuerit. Si ocium amauerit.28 Si quietem carnis et29 sompnum nimis amauerit. Si nimis molliter cubare et diu dormire, maxime in mane quando tempus esset laborandi uel orandi. 24 25 26 27 28 29

Cf. DMC 83: ‘Si discordiae seminator aliquando fuerit.’ Si adulator fuerit uel bilinguis] add. 2. This is placed at the end of the treatise in 1. consensu] 2 sensu 1. This list derives from Raymond of Peñafort’s Summa de Casibus Poenitentiae: see above, n. 18. Cf. DMC, 84: ‘Si otium amaverit cum effectu.’ et] 2 si 1.

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Catherine Rider Si pauper fuerit queratur ab illo si maluit mendicare libencius quam operari, precipue propter pigriciam. Si unquam propter hanc causam simulauit se infirmum uel inpotentem. Si operarius fuerit, utrum aliquem in opere suo unquam defraudauerit, si cementarius, si carpentarius et huiusmodi fuerit. Si operarius agrarius, utrum terram domini sui male excoluerit aut seminauerit. Si segetem male messuerit uel triturauerit. Si iumenta domini sui propter suam negligenciam deteriorauerit, mala pabula ministrando, purgando et huiusmodi. Si negligenter in absencia superiorum suorum operatus fuerit et tepide. Item si accidiosus fuerit in seruicio dei omittendo horas et missas temporibus debitis, uel tarde ad eas ueniendo. Si in officio dei et orationibus suis uagus fuerit corde et indeuotus, aut tunc cura terrena intentus. Si inuite ad sermones uenerit, aut ibi sompnolentus aut garrulus uel negligens auditor fuerit. Si lapsus in peccato tardiauerit conuerti ad dominum et confiteri, et aliis malum exemplum prebuerit30 sua mora uel peccandi audaciam. Si penitentiam sibi iniunctam neglexerit omnino uel in parte. Si unquam scienter in mortali existens ministrauerit uel celebrauerit aut corpus Christi recepit,31 uel finxit se confessum in quadragesima quando non fuit confessus, et sic transierit annum comedendo carnes et huiusmodi. Si unquam propter amorem alicuius peccati in quo fuit, abstinuerit32 se a perceptione corporis Christi tempore debito. Si subditos suos non instruxerit debito modo, uel filios suos carnales aut spirituales non corripuerit sicut debuit. Si tempus sibi a deo concessum infructuose expenderit, et precipue si diebus festiuis bene et in seruicio dei se non occupauerit uel lusibus noxiis aut potacionibus superfluis et huiusmodi uacauerit, ut faciunt qui ad coreas uadunt et ad taxillos et aleas et huiusmodi ludunt. Et possunt eis exponi multiplicia peccata que ex huiusmodi lusibus proueniunt, et quoad seipsos et quoad alios circumstantes et intendentes talibus. De avaricia queri potest a confitente Si cupidus fuerit. Si unquam amorem creature terrene amori dei preposuerit33 quod patet per hoc, si unquam aliquod de preceptis decalogi scienter transgressus fuerit ut sic temporalia adquireret.

30 prebuerit] 2 prebuit 1. 31 Cf. DMC, 86, ‘Si existens in mortali peccato communicaverit, vel si sacerdos confecerit, vel si minister in altari ministraverit.’ 32 abstinuerit] 2 abstinuit 1. 33 preposuerit] 2 preposuit 1.

What to ask in confession 79 Si unquam aliquem exheredauerit iniuste.34 Si pecuniam alicuius rapuerit (et precipue ecclesie) uel furto subtraxerit; et si filii a parentibus, serui a dominis, ancille a dominabus suis, credentes hoc non esse peccatum. Si dominus subditos suos spoliauerit iniuste uel ad placita citauerit et iniustis tallagiis, exaccionibus, forefactis, cauillationibus uexauerit. Si pacta inter ipsum et subditos suos ac conuenciones eis non obseruauerit, uel amplius ab eis exegerit ipsis inuitis. Si mercennariis suis mercedem non persoluerit. Item si subditi a dominis suis firmas uel debita obsequia, uel multuram uel pannagium et huiusmodi occulte subtraxerint uel fraudulenter negauerint. Item si uicinus terram uicini uel domini uicinam terre sue sibi attraxerit, uel terram uicini sui combinati male arauerit, uel iumenta eius auare oppresserit laboribus et suis propriis pepercerit. Si segetes aliorum suis iumentis depauerit, et quod dampnum inde contigerit. Si oua, acus, cultellos et huiusmodi in iuuentute sua furari consueuerit. Si scienter35 rem furtiuam causa sui commodi emerit uel domo admiserit. Si prata depauerit aliorum et dampnum negauit. Si ecclesia eum36 propter huiusmodi dampna excommunicauerit. Si ortos aliorum furtiue intrauerit uel sepes eorum diripuerit et quod dampnum exinde contigerit. Si cum furibus aut raptoribus ierit ad scelus suum perpetrandum uel si eis consilium, auxilium uel fauorem inpenderit. Si ipsos ad hoc instigauerit, uel magister eorum extiterit, uel socius fuerit, uel si ipsos in domo uel proteccione receperit, uel alimoniam eis ministrauerit, aut ipsos occultauerit; et quot dampna et quibus personis uel locis illa intulerunt. Si aliquis in perpetracione horum dampnorum occisus fuerit, uel uulneratus aut ligatus, aut domus alicuius confracta, aut persona alicuius lesa.37 Si rem inuentam celauerit et non propalauerit sicut debuit.38 De negociatoribus: si usuras unquam exegerit uel receperit, aut aliquod munus uel obsequium propter mutuum, uel propter spem talium proximo suo mutuauerit.39 Si re inpignorata usus fuerit uel rem locatam ultra terminum detinuerit, ut equum, bouem et huiusmodi, uel illos multum deteriorauerit40 uel eis alimenta non tribuerit.

34 35 36 37 38 39 40

iniuste] 2 om. 1. scienter] add. 2. My emendation; om. 1 and 2. See my introduction above. Cf. DMC, 84: ‘Si quid inventum celaverit vel in usus proprios converterit.’ mutuauerit] 2 mutauerit 1. deteriorauerit] 2 deteriorauit 1.

80

Catherine Rider Si in negociacione fraudem fecerit.41 Si rem uiciosam pro bona uendiderit et uicium occultauerit menciendo uel periurando. Si minoribus mensuris uel ponderibus usus fuerit uendendo aliis, et maioribus in sua empcione; uel si iusta pondera et iustas mensuras habuerit et tamen ille male mensurauerit uel ponderauit; uel si dolose procurauerit quod res ponderosior fieret quando ponderari debuit, ut faciunt illi qui lanam uendunt.42 Si pannos43 a tineis comestos consuerit et uicium palliauerit aut obscuritatem in uendicione fecerit, ut res melior appareret et uicium occultaretur. Si carius pro termino uendiderit, aut uilius pre manibus emerit. Si animalia ferrea aliis locauerit, ut uaccas, oues et huiusmodi. Si aliquid fraudis apposuerit in blado, farina, braseo et huiusmodi, uel aliud emptori uendiderit uel persoluerit quam primo ostenderat. A dominis et patronis: si aliquod beneficium symoniace contulerit, uel personis indignis propter consanguinitatem uel fauorem uel similem causam. Si ius patronatus uiolenter uel fraudulenter sibi usurpauerit, uel contra constitucionem ecclesie alicui uendiderit. Si ecclesiam conferre ultra terminum debitum distulerit uel in manu sua tenuerit, ut sic interim fructus et prouentus exinde prouenientes habere possit. Si quemquam uiolenter in beneficium ecclesiasticum intruserit, aut seipsum. A beneficiatis: si est beneficiatus, qua intencione beneficium recepit, uidelicet utrum propter cupiditatem uel caritatem. Si prece carnali uel precio, uel propter inhonestum obsequium, uel propter honestum tamen condicione apposita, uel per aliquam speciem symonie ingressum habuerit. Si plura habeat beneficia, maxime sine necessitate et utilitate et dispensacione sedis apostolice. Si forte pater illius immediate illam ecclesiam tenuerit uel si iste in illa uicarius fuerit, quod non licet sine dispensacione. Si de manu laici sine consensu episcopi ecclesiam receperit. Qualiter subditos suos rexit: si ipsos debito modo instruxit, predicacionibus, exhortacionibus et confessionibus et aliis modis, ut debuit. Si peccantes rebelles corripuit ut debuit uel non. Si iniustas exacciones uel abusiones in decimas prediales uel personales exigendo aut aliqua huiusmodi fecerit uel adinuenerit propter cupiditatem, uel iura ecclesiastica propter huiusmodi negauerit parochianis suis, uel aliquod pro sepultura, exequiis aut nupciis uel huiusmodi ad que tenetur ex officio et debito extorserit.

41 fecerit] 2 aliquam 1. 42 See my introduction above. 43 pannos] 2 pannis 1.

What to ask in confession 81 Si aliquem de suis parochianis sine penitentia et uiatico uel extrema unccione per suam negligenciam unquam mori contigerit, uel infirmatos inuite uisitauerit. Si bona ecclesiastica sibi auare retinuerit; uel si per ea superflue expenderit in propriis usibus, deliciis, ornamentis, aut familia superflua uel inordinata; uel si ea in diuitibus et potentibus propter pompam seculi aut uanam gloriam, immo propter caritatem nutriendam et excitandam (et hoc moderate) expenderit; uel aliqua histrionibus, focariis aut huiusmodi inhonestis personis propter uanam gloriam, aut aliquam turpem causam et non solum causa elemosine (et hoc in necessitate) dederit. Si consanguineos suos de bonis ecclesie ditauerit et maxime indignos. Si residenciam in sua parochia fecerit. Si pauperibus et maxime in sua parochia commorantibus de bonis ecclesie subuenit prout debuit et potuit uel non. Si aliquis propter penuriam et defectum sui mortuus fuerit cum posset subuenire.44 Item si caste uixerit, si sobrie, si modeste et ordinate quoad se et quoad familiam suam. Si clericus: si ordines suscepit uidelicet a proprio episcopo uel ab alio de eius licencia speciali. Si legitimus, si legitime etatis, si temporibus ab ecclesia constitutis, si scienter ab aliquo symoniaco uel excommunicato uel suspenso. Si quattuor minores ordines et unum sacrum uno die uel duos sacros eodem die susceperit, uel aliquem ordinem pretermiserit, uel in ordine non suscepto, uel omnino non ordinatus ministrauerit. Si per falsos testes uel per falsum titulum uel presentacionem falsam, uel non examinatus uel contra prohibicionem et sine consciencia episcopi uel examinatorum suorum ordinem receperit, uel collateralibus episcopi, uel hostiario, uel scriptori, aut aliis huiusmodi personis aliquid dederit uel promiserit ut sic furtiue posset admitti ad ordines. Si in aliqua excommunicacione uel suspensione uel mortali peccato ordinatus fuerit, uel diuina celebrauerit, uel in loco interdicto. Si unquam uinum uel aqua defuit in missa quam ipse celebrauit uel45 in qua ipse minister fuerit; uel etiam uestimenta necessaria, ut palle uel lumen; uel si in altari non consecrato uel altari cuius mensa post conseccionem a stipite mota fuit antequam rectum esset consecratum; uel cum hostiis corruptis uel uino putrido celebrauerit. Si hostias consecratas nimis diu in pixide retinuerit uel permiserit46 donec species panis esset corruptus; uel a uermibus eas permisit sua negligencia comedi uel in terram cadere, uel aliter inhoneste eucaristiam tractauerit. 44 Si aliquis . . . subuenire] add. 2. 45 in loco interdicto . . . celebrauit uel] add. 2. 46 permiserit] 2 permisit 1.

82

Catherine Rider Si duas missas in uno die nisi in casu concesso et propter necessitatem celebrauerit. Si rinzuram prime misse antequam secundam celebrauerit assumpserit. Si stilla sanguinis negligencia sua super pallas ceciderit. Si libros, uestimenta et cetera ornamenta necessaria habuerit in ecclesia sua, uel si aliqua de hiis alienauerit ab ecclesia, uel etiam ceram, candelas, aut pannos crismales, uel si crisma uel corpus dominicum negligenter custodierit, uel aliquid de huiusmodi personis indignis prece uel precio aut fauore47 contulerit. Item si ministrum honestum et ordinatum in ecclesia sua habuerit sicut decuit, uel si aque benedicte beneficium alicui indigno propter huiusmodi ministerium contulerit, ut auaricie sue parceret. Item si executor alicuius defuncti extiterit et testamentum fideliter non sit prosecutus; et si bona legata non distribuerit48 prout uidebatur sibi utile et anime defuncti expedire; uel si de bonis defunctorum sine ipsorum uoluntate aliquid sibi usurpauerit, uel testamentum legitime factum unquam impedierit. Item si iudex fuerit: si unquam falsam sententiam tulit scienter uel propter cupiditatem, amorem, timorem, aut odium, aut aliquam aliam causam, uel si pecuniam accepit ut uel bene, uel male iudicaret. Si unquam iudicium uerum distulit, uel sententiam iustam ferre propter pecuniam, amorem, timorem, odium, in dispendium aliquorum; uel per cauillaciones suas ueritatem suppeditauit, uel aliquem innocentem iudicio condempnauit; uel reum absoluit; uel aliquam legem iniustam statuit, uel secundum leges iniustas patrie immo corruptelas iudicauit, uel eas obseruari fecerit in dispendium alicuius; et maxime contra libertatem ecclesie. Item iudex ordinarius pecuniam quam pro merciamentis recepit in usus proprios expendit. Si peccata aliquorum propter dona uel amorem dissimulauerit, et maxime in scandalum uel exemplum aliorum. Item si testis unquam fuerit queri potest si unquam falsum testimonium in aliqua causa prebuit49 et in quali. Si unquam ueritatem subtituit uel falsitatem ampliauit in dispendium uel infamiam alicuius. Si amore, odio uel timore se subtraxit maliciose quando debuit uerum50 testimonium perhibere. Si unquam pecuniam accepit pro testimonio ab aliquo preter expensas suas. Item ab officialibus: si unquam induxit iudicem ad ferendam aliquam sentenciam iniquam; uel quemquam iniuste accusauit uel citauit; uel pecuniam aut bonam famam perdere fecit, aut aliter iniuste dampnificauit.

47 48 49 50

fauore] 2 fauare 1. distribuerit] 2 destribuit 1. prebuit] my emendation; prohibuit 1 om. 2. uerum] my emendation; ueritatem 1, 2.

What to ask in confession 83 Si pecuniam ab aliquibus per uim uel improbitatem suam extorserit, uel ut ipsos in quiete sineret, uel non grauaret iniuste. Ab assessoribus, consiliariis et huiusmodi queri potest si unquam per illorum falsam suggestionem uel ignoranciam uel impericiam aliquis dampnificatus fuit. Circa aduocatos queri potest si postquam fuit presbiter, decanus, archidiacanus,51 uel regularis, aut postquam personatum habuerit leges seculares audierit uel phisicam. Item si aliquam causam iniustam scienter assumpsit uel si primo ignoranter, postea cognouit eam esse iniustam non dimisit eam. Si unquam falsa instrumenta uel falsos testes aut corruptos produxit, aut litteras falsificauit (et maxime pape) uel sigilla aliquorum uel cartas, aut falsas leges uel alias iuris uel facti probationes induxit. Si dilaciones non necessarias in grauamen partium quesierit. Si clientulum suum in quantum iusticia permisit fideliter non iuuit. Si postquam infra sacros ordines fuit, aduocauit nisi propria causa, pro coniunctis sibi, aut miserabilibus personis propter pecuniam coram iudice seculari. Item si moderatum salarium accepit secundum quantitatem cause et laborem aduocacionis. Si miserabilibus personis de sciencia sua non subuenit. A phisicis et medicis queri potest utrum intromiserunt unquam se de arte illa nisi essent eruditi et experti. Si pecuniam alicuius acceperit et non apposuit diligenciam quam debuit in curacionem infirmi. Si medicinam infirmo apposuit antequam esset confessus. Si curam distulit ut maiorem pecuniam ab infirmo extorqueret, et maxime si fuerit infra sacros uel aliter sufficienter beneficiatus; uel aliquem mori52 permisit per suam negligenciam uel propter suam auariciam. Item a clericis potest queri communiter propter quem finem adiscunt, uidelicet utrum propter cupiditatem, ut ditentur et promoueantur, aut propter curiositatem et uanam gloriam, aut propter caritatem, scilicet ut deo seruiant et proximos edificent. Si magistri sint utrum aliquod predictorum doceant. Si aliquid pro licencia docendi dederint. Si scolares suos negligenter instruxerint, uel exennia aut alia munuscula ab eis receperint ut eis dies festos concederint, aut aliis lusibus et ocio uacare et per consequens tempus iuuentutis sue amittere. De uicio gule queri potest Si nimis delicatos cibos uel potus quesierit et sumptuosos. Si cibum uel potum superflue, ardenter et gulose sumpserit. 51 archidiaconus] my emendation; archidecanus 1 om. 2. 52 mori] add. 2.

84

Catherine Rider Si unquam ebrius fuit uel ad hoc consuetus. Si propter crapulam uel ebrietatem uomuit et quociens, et maxime si hoc ei contigit cito postquam Christi corpus receperat. Si seipsum uel alios ad bibendum superflue coegerit uel gratis inebriauerit, et aliquod aliud peccatum exinde eisdem contigerit. Si carnem scienter tempore indebito et sine magna necessitate comederit. Si ieiunia sibi iniuncta uel ab ecclesia statuta sine necessitate fregerit, uel alios ad hoc induxerit. Si horam comedendi sine causa rationabili preuenerit. Si diebus dominicis et aliis precipuis festis comederit antequam diuinum officium audierit. Si species uel electuaria diebus ieiuniorum consueuit comedere, solum propter uoluptatem uel tedium ieiunii sic auferret et non propter causam medicinalem etc, prout continetur in uersu: Prepropere, laute, nimis ardenter, studiose.53 De peccato luxurie caute querendum est et secundum condiciones personarum Si uirgo sit uel corrupta queri potest. Si dicat se uirginem queri potest utrum temptata fuerit a diabolo, uel a carne propria, uel per aliam personam ad huiusmodi peccata stimulata. Si dicat quod sic, queri potest qualiter restitit. Si dilectationem morosam, uel intensam, uel si unquam consensum habuit, uel uoluntatem perpetrandi opus si facultas permisisset. Si propter pudorem, uel timorem prolis,54 uel parentum, uel consimilem causam omiserit opus perpetrare cum uiro, uel uir cum muliere, magis propter offensam dei. Si aliqua pollucio in tali uoluptate de carne sua exierit, uel subsecuta fuerit, uel si aliquo modo temptabat per se illam libidinosam uoluptatem explere. Si de hoc peccato sompniauerit et si aliquam delectacionem in tali sompnio habuerit, uel aliqua pollucio sibi exinde contigerit. Si coniugatus uel coniugata queritur si aliquod impedimentum inter se et comparem sciat. Si fidem thori seruauerit. Si ante matrimonium esset celebratum secundum statuta ecclesie carnaliter conuenerunt. Si in puerperio ante purificacionem. Si debitum exigerit locis et temporibus sacris.55

53 This verse is quoted in several early thirteenth-century guides to confession, including Thomas of Chobham, Summa Confessorum, p. 406. 54 prolis] my emendation; prole 1 om. 2. 55 exigerit . . . sacris] 2 temporibus sacris aut exigerit 1.

What to ask in confession 85 Si unquam conuenerunt solummodo propter explecionem sue libidinis, et non causa prolis suscipiende uel fornicacionis uitande aut reddendi debitum. Si quando mulier asserebat se infirmam uel si mulier naturalem infirmitatem propter uoluptatem simulauit. Si quando grauida fuit mulier et uicina partui conuenerunt, et maxime si aliquod dampnum contigit exinde, aut proli aut ipsi mulieri. Item si unquam abortiuit et ob quam causam uel cuius uicio hoc contigit. Si unquam paruulum natum permisit mori sine baptismo per suam negligenciam, uel etiam baptizatum mori in infantia sua aut per suam incuriam uel maliciam, uel per negligenciam sine confirmacione.56 Si unquam alienum sibi partum ascripserit; et si dicat quod sic, profundius queratur qualiter et ob quam causam. Item communiter queri potest a corruptis, siue uiris siue mulieribus, cum quot peccauerit. Et nitatur confessor quod penitens exprimat numerum, quia ualde negligentes sunt confitentes sepe in hoc, et hoc diligenter penitens scrutetur per nomina personarum cum quibus peccauit et per loca in quibus conuersatus est. Item quot coniugate, quot uidue, quot uirgines, quot meretrices, quot simpliciter corrupte. Si aliqua uel aliquis fuerit persona religiosa, et quot, de qua professione, sine expressione nominis persone. Si aliqua consanguinitas uel affinitas fuerit inter aliquas personas istas, uel ipsius confitentis ad ipsas. Si unquam aliter conuenerint ad illud opus perpetrandum nisi modo naturali et debito; et hoc caute exquiratur, quia communiter in hoc delinquitur. Si generacionem unquam uitauit. Si unquam aliquam uel aliquem luxuriose osculatus fuerit aut alibi nisi super os, et si linguam suam in ore alicuius luxuriose posuerit, uel in suo poni permisit. Si aliquem turpe et inhoneste palpauerit, uel discooperauerit sicut in fatuis lusibus faciunt; uel se palpari gratis permisit ab aliquo uel a seipso, forte in puericia, uel postquam ad discrecionem uenerit. Si unquam tale peccatum fieri permisit in domo uel proteccione. Si unquam nuncius inter aliquas personas huiusmodi peccatum exercentes fuerit; uel alios nuncios inter se et personas illas cum quibus peccauit misit; uel aliquas personas ad hoc sollicitauit, uel peccantibus consensit. Item si unquam illam miseram uoluptatem uigilando expleuit nisi naturaliter sicut uir debuit cum muliere aut mulier cum uiro. Item si in puericia inhoneste luserint pueri uel puelle adinuicem et quid egerint, et qualem uoluntatem habuerint, uel si aliquam uoluptatem in hiis lusibus senserint. Item si curam habuerit animarum utpote si sit sacerdos uel rector ecclesie queri potest si unquam de ouibus suis uiolauerit, uel aliquam sollicitauerit 56 uel . . . confirmacione] 2 om. 1.

86

Catherine Rider ad hoc; et maxime quando uenit ad confessionem, uel in loco sacro, uel aliquam quam baptizauerit uel cuius confessionem audierat. Item de hoc uicio et ceteris supradictis poterit confessor uel profundius uel minus adquirere, prout uiderit condicionibus personarum expedire. Et diligenter inquirat de mora facta in peccato, et si per factum suum audaciam aliis peccandi tribuit. Item quamuis superius tactum sit in parte de peccato luxurie, queri tamen potest a confitente si uaniloquio, si ociosis uerbis assuetus, uel si turpia uerba et scurrilia proferre, uel libenter audire consueuerat. Si mentiri et quo genere mendaciorum. Si periurare per nomen dei et sanctorum et similia iuramenta consueuit false57 uel in uanum. Si unquam aliquem ad periurium excitauerit uel compulerit. Si alios deriserit. Si contra deum et sanctos murmurauerit propter infirmitatem uel dampnum aliquod, uel grauamen, uel paupertatem, uel amissionem pecunie uel amicorum. Si pauper murmurauerit contra nolentes ipsum iuuare, uel eis maledixerit. Si aliquid uouerit quod non persoluerit. Si alicui detraxerit et qualiter. Si mala que de aliis audiuit libenter publicauerit uel ampliauerit, uel per seipsum talia inuenerit. Si adulator fuerit uel bilinguis, aut seminator discordie aut rumores libenter narrauerit uel audierit et cetera huiusmodi prout discrecio confessoris uiderit expedire.

Translation First the person confessing should be encouraged with a short exhortation to confess his sins humbly and purely, showing all due shame and fear. When he himself has first said everything he remembers, the confessor should ask cautiously and instruct the penitent diligently, so that as it were the twisted serpent is brought forth by the midwife’s hand. And because without faith it is impossible to please God, it is useful first to touch on something concerning faith, that is, whether he knows the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer. Afterwards if he believes in God and in everything Holy Church believes. After this if he has ever believed in something that is against the faith, that is, in sneezes; in a foot58 and an omen; in fate; in springs.

57 false]my emendation; falso 1 om. 2. 58 Perhaps a reference to the belief described by earlier penitentials that it was auspicious to set one foot on the ground in the morning rather than the other, or to start a journey with the right foot rather than the left: see B. Filotas, Pagan Survivals, Superstitions and Popular Cultures in Early Medieval Pastoral Literature (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2005), p. 170.

What to ask in confession 87 If he has ever passed himself or children or animals through a fire or drawn them under the earth. If he has ever signed himself or others with fire during some illness. If he has worshipped the sun, moon, stars. If he has observed dreams. If he has believed in conjurations. If he has observed days and hours in going about his business. If he has worn salt or conjured herbs or small pieces of parchment around his neck or on his person, other than the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer or something from Holy Scripture. If he has consulted sorceresses or sent to them or given gifts to such people so that by their sorceries he will be improved or worsened in some matter. If he has cast hatred or enmities between some people, or arranged for them to be cast, or ever put something in a person’s food or drink in order to bind him or her to illicit love, or anointed his mouth with something when he went to kiss someone. If he has observed the days that are called ‘Egyptian’, that is, ‘dismal’, or given gifts or sought them from others on the kalends of January, as if for the start of a good year. If he has carried fire or incense around ploughs. If he has believed that something is made sick or worsened by other people’s speech, that is ‘forspekem’, or sight, that is, ‘ouersene’. If by inspecting a basin, a sword, fingernails, sheep’s intestines; by the turning of the Psalter or another book; or by the lots that are falsely called ‘apostolic’; or by some invocation of demons to fire or water or anywhere else; or by a flowing of blood, as is done in necromancy; or by some other superstition he has tried to predict or find out future things which belong to God alone, or sought to bring them about by these methods; or if he has observed auguries or auspices which are examined in the action, flight and song of birds. Concerning pride he may be asked If he has ever been proud. If he has ever knowingly acted against the divine commandments and put his own will before the divine will. If he has despised the commands of the church, or excommunications or exhortations. If he has knowingly associated with excommunicates or encouraged them or defended them in their sins, or if he has allowed himself to be excommunicated or put outside the church for his disobedience or contumacy. If he has contumaciously kept back the tithes or offerings he owes or violated the liberties of the church or the immunity of the church because of his own power.

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Catherine Rider If he has disdained to keep the saints’ holidays and feast days laid down by the church, either in his own person or through his servants and animals. If he has been disobedient to his natural parents. If he has provoked them or offended them for no reason or cursed them, openly or tacitly. If he has ever laid violent hands on them or not honoured them in the way he should. If he has been proud of his riches, honours, power, knowledge, strength, beauty or parentage, or other gifts given to him by God, or has boasted about these things or despised others because of things like this. If he has painted his face with a dark colour or coloured his robes [or: veils]. If he has curled his hair artificially. If he has adorned his hair. If he has removed the hair of his eyebrows on account of pride. If he has gone to dances or other performances in order to show himself off. If he has made unnecessary openings in his clothes so that the whiteness of his skin will be visible. About spiritual pride he may be asked if he has ever given alms. If he has performed an abstinence or pilgrimage or spiritual works of this kind out of hypocrisy or vainglory, or has boasted about this kind of thing in front of others, not to edify others and praise God, but to praise himself. If he has ever withdrawn from church or the divine office out of shame because he did not have beautiful clothes, or has despised others who were shabbily dressed because of their poverty, and [disdained to] sit beside them in church. If he has been proud about the victory of the vices. If he has mocked others or, what is worse, made a habit of it. If he has given them filthy names. If he has ever believed that good things were given to him by God on account of himself or his own merits or that he has them above all others, or has boasted about sins he has committed or good qualities he does not possess. If he has taken himself or his own merits for granted. If he has been too intent on his own opinion. If he has disdained to give satisfaction to those he has harmed, because of his power or even because of an emotion [tumour] in the heart. From pride is born envy, about which he can be asked If he has ever grieved at a neighbour’s good fortune or his possessions. If he has been glad about his loss. If he has ever disparaged his neighbour or agreed with those who were disparaging him, or listened to them willingly.

What to ask in confession 89 If he has tried to diminish his neighbour’s good deeds or words in front of others by making his own speeches or accusations. If he has put a bad interpretation on good things done or said by his neighbour, or recounted his other defects not in order to correct them, or willingly paid attention to those who were recounting them. If he has hated someone. If he has desired death or misfortune or harm for his neighbour or his [neighbour’s] possessions, or has maliciously arranged this either himself or through others. If he has envied someone because they were better than or equal to him or because they exceeded him in some good qualities. If he has disturbed the love or goodwill between others or sown discord between some people. If he has ever defamed someone by defamatory libels or songs, or composed such things to defame him or shown the ones he has found to others. He may be asked about anger If he has been angry. If he has held anger in his heart for a long time: and I am talking about anger which exists with the deliberation and consent of the reason, which is a mortal sin, and not about that [anger] which exists without the deliberation of the reason and is venial. If he has hit or killed someone in the frenzy of his anger (and this can happen in five ways: by hating, disparaging, giving bad advice, harming, taking away their means of living; each one of these is a mortal sin); or brought about any damage to someone’s person or possessions, and especially ecclesiastical persons. If he has quarrelled with someone. If he has said abusive things to that person about himself or his people which resulted in a scandal for them or could have done so. If out of anger he has sworn falsely or frivolously by the name of God or His passion or the cross or similar things; or by other saints or shrines; or has given his oath falsely or without cause. If he has cursed his neighbour, and particularly priests or religious persons; or their people; or a woman [has cursed] her husband or has behaved towards him impudently and irreverently. If a man has hit his wife unjustly out of anger or treated her dishonourably, and especially if she was pregnant or if because of this she miscarried. If out of anger he has ever blasphemed against God or some saint, or murmured markedly against them or quarrelled with them If he has provoked others to anger and impatience or to disputes. If he has vowed anything to God or the saints in anger which he has not carried out.

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Catherine Rider About sloth he may be asked If he has been lazy. If he has loved leisure. If he has loved physical rest and sleep excessively. If he [loves to] have a bed which is too comfortable and sleep for a long time, especially in the morning when it is time to work or pray. If he is poor it may be asked of him if he prefers to beg more readily than to work, especially out of indolence. If for this reason he has ever pretended to be ill or weak. If he is a labourer, whether he has ever defrauded someone in his work, if he is a mason, carpenter and someone of this sort. If he is a farm labourer, whether he has cultivated or sown his lord’s land badly. If he has reaped or threshed a field badly. If he has harmed his lord’s animals by his negligence, by giving them bad fodder, purging them and things of this kind. If in the absence of his superiors he has worked negligently and unenthusiastically. If he has been slothful in the service of God, missing the canonical hours and masses at the appropriate times or coming to them late. If during the mass and his prayers he has been wandering or undevout in heart, or intent on an earthly care at that time. If he has been unwilling to come to sermons or has been sleepy or gossiped there, or neglected to listen. If after lapsing into sin, he has delayed converting to the Lord and confessing, and by his delay or his boldness in sinning set others a bad example. If he has neglected to do the penance given to him, wholly or in part. If, while knowing he was in a state of mortal sin, he has ever assisted at or celebrated mass, or received the body of Christ; or pretended he had confessed in Lent when he had not confessed, and so has gone through the year eating meats and so on. If he has ever, out of love for some sin that he was committing, abstained from receiving the body of Christ at the appropriate time. If he has not instructed his subordinates as he should, or has not corrected his natural or spiritual children as he should. If he has spent the time given to him by God fruitlessly, and especially if he has not spent feast days well and in the service of God, or if he has wasted time on noxious games or too much drinking and similar things, as those people do who go to dances and play dice and dice games and similar things. And to them can be explained the many sins which arise from games of this sort, both as regards themselves and as regards others who stand around and pay attention to such things. Concerning avarice he can ask the penitent If he has been greedy. If he has ever put the love of an earthly creature above the love of God, which is shown by this: if he has ever knowingly transgressed against

What to ask in confession 91 one of the ten commandments so that he could acquire temporal things in this way. If he has ever disinherited someone unjustly. If he has seized someone’s money (and especially the Church’s) or taken it by theft; and if children [have stolen from] their parents, servants from their lords, servant girls from their ladies, believing this is not a sin. If a lord has despoiled his subordinates unjustly or summoned them to court and harassed them with unjust taxes, exactions, forfeits, frivolous lawsuits. If he has not observed agreements between himself and his subordinates and pacts between them, or demanded more from them when they were unwilling. If he does not pay his hired servants their wages. If subordinates have secretly withheld rents or services that they owe, or a fine or pannage59 and things of this kind from their lords, or fraudulently denied them. If a neighbour has incorporated into his own land the land next to his which belongs to a neighbour or his lord, or ploughed his neighbour’s land which is joined to his badly, or greedily oppressed his [neighbour’s] animals with work and spared his own. If his animals have trampled other people’s fields, and what damage resulted from this. If in his youth he used to steal eggs, needles, knives and similar things. If he has knowingly bought a stolen item for his own advantage or let it into the house. If he has eaten down [the grass on] other people’s meadows and denied the damage. If the church has excommunicated him because of damages of this kind. If he has stealthily entered other people’s gardens or plundered their fields, and what damage resulted from this. If he went with thieves or robbers to commit their crime or if he offered them advice, help or favour. If he instigated them to do this or was their leader or friend, or if he received them into his home or protection, or supplied them with food or hid them; and how much damage these actions brought, and to which persons or places. If anyone was killed when these damages were committed, or wounded or tied up, or anyone’s house was smashed or anyone’s body was harmed. If he has hidden anything that he found and not made it public as he should have. Concerning merchants: if he has ever demanded or received usurious money or any gift or service in exchange for a loan, or made a loan to his neighbour in the hope of such things.

59 Payment for the right to pasture pigs.

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Catherine Rider If he has made use of something given to him as a pledge, or kept back something that he hired after the time agreed, such as a horse, ox and similar things, or worsened their condition much or not given them food. If he has committed fraud in business. If he has sold a defective item as a good one and hidden a defect by lying or perjury. If he has used smaller measures or weights when selling to others, and larger ones when buying for himself; or if he had fair weights and measures and yet measured or weighed badly; or if he arranged deceitfully that something would be heavier when it was due to be weighed, as people who sell wool do. If he has sewn together garments eaten by moths and covered up the defect or made the sale in the dark, so that the thing would appear better and the defect would be hidden. If he has sold things for a higher price on credit60 or bought things for a lower price for cash.61 If he has hired out unyielding animals to others, such as cows, sheep and similar things. If he has put anything fraudulent in corn, flour, malt and similar things, or sold or paid to a buyer something other than what he first showed him. To lords and patrons: if he has given a benefice simoniacally or [given it] to unworthy persons on account of a blood relationship or favour or a similar cause. If he has violently or fraudulently usurped for himself the right to be a patron, or sold it to someone against the decree of the Church. If he has delayed granting a church [to someone] after the time he should or held it in his own hand, so that he could have the fruits and produce coming from it in the meantime. If he has ever forced anyone, or himself, into an ecclesiastical benefice with violence. To those who have benefices: if he has a benefice, with what intention did he receive the benefice: that is, whether it was because of greed or charity. If he gained entry through worldly intercession or for a price, or by a dishonest service, or by an honest one yet with a condition applied, or through some kind of simony. If he has many benefices, especially [if this is] without necessity and usefulness and [without] a papal dispensation. If perhaps his father held that church immediately beforehand or if he was vicar there, which is not permitted without a dispensation. If he received the church from the hand of a layman without the consent of the bishop.

60 Or: ‘in advance’. 61 Or: ‘now’.

What to ask in confession 93 How he rules his subordinates: if he has instructed them in the way he should, by sermons, exhortations and confessions and in other ways as he should. If he corrects rebellious sinners as he should, or not. If out of greed he has made or invented unjust exactions or abuses by demanding predial62 or personal tithes or some things of this sort, or denied the law of the church to his parishioners because of things of this sort; or extorted anything for a burial, funeral or marriage or similar things, which he is obliged by office and duty to perform. If it has ever happened that one of his parishioners died without penance and the viaticum or extreme unction because of his negligence, or [if] he has been unwilling to visit the sick. If he has avariciously kept ecclesiastical goods for himself; or if he spent them excessively for his own uses, pleasures, ornaments, or on an excessive or inappropriate household; or if he has spent them on rich and powerful people because of worldly pomp or vainglory, rather than in order to nourish and arouse charity (and even then moderately); or if he has given something to actors, concubines or dishonest persons of this sort out of vainglory or for some disgusting reason, and not only as alms (and even then in necessity). If he has enriched his relatives, and especially unworthy ones, from the goods of the church. If he is resident in his parish. If he has helped the poor, and especially those living in his parish, out of the goods of the church, as far as he should and was able, or not. If someone has died because of his poverty and want when he could have helped him. If he has lived chastely, soberly, modestly and in an appropriate fashion: as regards both himself and his household. If he is a cleric: if he has received orders correctly, that is, from his own bishop or from another with his own bishop’s special licence. If he is legitimate, if [he received orders] at a legitimate age, at the times laid down by the Church, if he knowingly received them from someone who was a simoniac or excommunicated or suspended. If he received the four minor orders and one major order on a single day, or two major orders on the same day, or missed out any order, or did not receive them in order, or has ministered when not ordained at all. If he received orders through false witnesses or by a false title or presentation; or without being examined; or against the prohibition and without the knowledge of the bishop or his examiners; or if he gave or promised something to the bishop’s associates or doorkeeper or scribe, or other persons of this sort, so that he could be admitted to orders by stealth.

62 Tithes on agricultural produce.

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Catherine Rider If he was ordained or celebrated the divine office while excommunicated or suspended or in a state of mortal sin, or in a place under interdict. If the wine or water was ever missing in a mass which he celebrated, or at which he assisted; or similarly the necessary vestments, such as the altarcloths or light; or if he celebrated mass on an unconsecrated altar or an altar whose table was moved from the trunk after it was cut [but] before it was rightly consecrated, or with decayed hosts or putrid wine. If he has kept consecrated hosts too long in the pix or permitted them to stay there until the appearance of bread was corrupted, or by his negligence permitted them to be eaten by worms or fall on the floor, or has otherwise treated the Eucharist dishonourably. If he has celebrated two masses in one day, except in a case where it is permitted and out of necessity. If he has taken up the water for washing [rinzuram] from the first mass before he has celebrated the second. If a drop of blood has fallen on the altar-cloths through his negligence. If he has books, vestments and the other necessary ornaments in his church, or if he has alienated one of these things from the church, or even wax, candles or chrism cloths; or if he has been negligent in guarding the chrism or the Lord’s body, or handed over something of this kind to unworthy persons when begged or for a price or favour. If he has an honest and ordained minister in his church, as is appropriate, or if he has given a benefice of holy water to any unworthy person for this kind of ministry, for the sake of his avarice. If he has been an executor for someone who died and not implemented the will faithfully; and if he did not distribute the goods left as seemed useful to him and to help the dead person’s soul; or if he seized for himself something from dead people’s goods without their permission or ever impeded a will that was legitimately made. If he is a judge: if he has ever knowingly passed a false sentence, through avarice, love, fear or hate, or some other cause, or if he has accepted money for judging favourably or unfavourably. If he has ever delayed a true judgement or [delayed] passing a just sentence because of money, love, fear, hate and it has harmed any people; or if he has trampled on the truth by his tricks, or condemned some innocent person by a judgement; or forgiven a crime; or passed some unjust law, or judged according to the unjust or even corrupt laws of the country, or had them upheld in a way that harmed someone; and especially against the liberty of the Church. [If] an ordinary judge63 has spent the money which he received in fines for his own purposes.

63 Judge presiding over an ecclesiastical court.

What to ask in confession 95 If he has disregarded any people’s sins for gifts or out of love, and especially when it scandalised or acted as an example to others. If he has ever been a witness he can be asked if he has ever given false testimony in some case, and in what kind of matter. If he has ever kept silent about the truth or magnified a falsehood, which resulted in harm or defamation for someone. If for love, hate or fear, he has maliciously withdrawn when he was due to give a true testimony. If he has ever accepted money for a testimony from someone, other than for his expenses. From officials: if he has ever caused a judge to pass some unjust sentence; or accused or summoned someone unjustly; or caused him to lose money or his good reputation; or otherwise unjustly harmed him. If he has extorted money from some people by his force or wickedness, either to leave them in peace or not to oppress them unjustly. From assessors, legal advisors and people of this kind, it can be asked if someone has ever been harmed by their false advice or ignorance or lack of skill. Concerning advocates, it can be asked if he studied secular law or medicine after he became a priest, rural dean, archdeacon or monk, or after he had a benefice.64 If he has knowingly taken up some unjust cause or, if he did not know this at first, did not put it aside after he knew it was unjust. If he has ever produced false documents or false or corrupt witnesses, or has forged letters (and especially papal letters) or some people’s seals or charters, or brought in false laws or other proofs of a law or deed. If he has sought unnecessary delays which harmed the parties. If he did not help his client faithfully, as far as justice permitted. If he acted as an advocate in front of a secular judge for money after he was in holy orders, except in his own cause, for those close to him, or for wretched persons. If he accepted a moderate salary, according to the number of cases and the work of acting as an advocate. If he did not help wretched persons with his knowledge. Of physicians and medical practitioners, it can be asked whether they have ever undertaken that art without being learned and experienced. If he has accepted someone’s money and not cared for the sick person as diligently as he should have. If he has given medicine to a sick person before the person had confessed.

64 Echoing the decretal Super specula of Pope Honorius III in 1219 which extended an earlier ban on monks and regular canons studying these subjects to all the groups of clergy listed here: see my introduction above.

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Catherine Rider If he has delayed a cure in order to extort more money from the sick person, and especially if he was in holy orders or otherwise sufficiently beneficed; or allowed someone to die through his negligence or because of his avarice. Of clerics generally, it can be asked what the purpose of their learning is, that is, whether it is out of greed, so that they will become rich and be promoted, or out of curiosity and vainglory, or out of charity, that is, so they can serve God and edify their neighbours. If they are masters, whether they teach any of the abovementioned things. If they gave anything for the licence to teach. If they have instructed their pupils negligently or received presents or other small gifts from them so that they would give them feast days off or make them free for other games and leisure, and consequently waste the time of their youth. About the vice of gluttony, he can be asked If he has sought out overly luxurious and costly foods or drinks. If he has consumed food to excess, passionately and greedily. If he has ever been drunk or has made a habit of it. If he has vomited because of excessive drinking or drunkenness and how often, and especially if this happened to him soon after he had received the body of Christ. If he has forced himself or others to drink to excess or got them drunk unnecessarily, and some other sin happened to them as a result of this. If he has knowingly eaten meat at an inappropriate time and without great necessity. If he has broken the fasts imposed on him or laid down by the Church unnecessarily, or led others to do this. If he has eaten before mealtimes without a rational cause. If on Sundays and other principal feast days he has eaten before hearing the divine office. If he has been in the habit of eating spices or electuaries on fast days simply for pleasure or to take away the boredom of fasting in this way and not for a medicinal reason etc., as is set out in the verse: Hurriedly, splendidly, too passionately, eagerly. Concerning the sin of lust one should ask cautiously and according to people’s conditions She can be asked if she is a virgin or not. If she says she is a virgin she can be asked whether she has been tempted by the devil, or been stimulated by her own flesh or by another person to sins of this kind. If she says yes, she can be asked how she resisted. If the pleasure was prolonged or intense, or if they ever consented to it, or would have been willing to carry out the act if the opportunity had permitted.

What to ask in confession 97 If she did not carry out the deed with a man (or a man with a woman) because of shame or the fear of a child, or relatives, or a similar reason, more than because of the offence to God. If any pollution came from their flesh in this kind of desire, or followed on it, or if they tried to fulfil that lustful desire by themselves in some way. If he has dreamed of this sin, and if he has taken any pleasure in a dream of this sort or any pollution happened to him as a result. If they are a married man or woman, they should be asked if they know of some impediment between them and their spouse. If they have kept the faith of the marriage bed. If they had sexual intercourse before the marriage was celebrated according to the statutes of the Church. If [they had intercourse] after childbirth, before purification. If they have asked for the marriage debt in sacred places or times. If they have ever had intercourse solely to satisfy their lust, and not in order to have children or avoid fornication or pay the marriage debt. If [they had intercourse] when the woman said she was ill, or if the woman pretended to have a natural infirmity because of desire.65 If they had intercourse when the woman was pregnant and close to giving birth, and especially if some harm resulted from this, either to the child or to the woman herself. If she has ever miscarried, and for what reason or whose fault66 this happened. If he has ever allowed a newborn child to die without baptism through his negligence; or to die in infancy even once baptised, through his lack of care or malice, or through negligence [to die] without confirmation. If he has ever said that another person’s child was his; and if he says yes, he should be asked more deeply how and for what reason. It should be asked generally of non-virgins, whether men or women, with how many people they have sinned. And the confessor should try to get the penitent to give a number, because people are often very negligent about this when confessing, and the penitent should be examined carefully about the names of the persons with whom they have sinned, and about the places in which they kept company. Also, how many married women, how many widows, how many virgins, how many prostitutes, how many who were simply not virgins. If any of them (female or male) was a religious and how many, from which religious order, without giving the name of the person. If there was any consanguinity or affinity between some of these people, or between them and the person confessing.

65 The meaning is not entirely clear: it may refer to sex during menstruation, or to women pretending to menstruate in order to avoid sex. 66 Or: ‘sin’.

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Catherine Rider If they ever came together to perform that act other than in the natural way that one should; and this should be asked carefully, because people generally sin in this. If he has ever avoided generation. If they have ever kissed some woman or man lustfully or anywhere other than on the mouth, and if they have put their tongue in someone’s mouth lustfully, or permitted [someone’s tongue] to be put in their mouth. If he has ever groped someone disgustingly and dishonourably, or disrobed as people do in stupid games; or willingly permitted himself to be groped by someone or groped himself, perhaps in childhood or after he came to the age of discretion. If he ever permitted this kind of sin to happen in his house or under his protection. If he has ever acted as a messenger between some people who were committing sins of this kind; or sent other messengers between himself and the persons with whom he was sinning; or asked some people to do this, or consented to sinners. If they have ever fulfilled that wretched desire while awake other than in the natural way, as a man should with a woman or a woman with a man. If in childhood boys or girls played with one another dishonourably and what they did, and what kind of intention they had, or if they felt any desire in these games. If he has a cure of souls, that is if he is a priest or the rector of a church, he can be asked if he ever violated one of his flock or asked some woman for this; and especially when she came to confession, or in a sacred place, or [if she was] a woman whom he had baptised or whose confession he had heard.

About this vice and the others listed above a confessor can inquire more or less deeply, as seems appropriate to people’s conditions. And he should ask carefully about whether they lingered in their sin, and if by the boldness of their action they led others into sinning. Sins of the Tongue Although it has been partly touched on above under the sin of lust, nevertheless the penitent can be asked if he is accustomed to vain speech [or] idle words, or if he has made a habit of offering disgusting and scurrilous words or listening to them with pleasure. If [he has made a habit of] lying, and what kind of lies. If he has been in the habit of perjuring falsely or in vain by the name of God and the saints and similar oaths. If he has ever incited or compelled someone to perjury. If he has mocked others.

What to ask in confession 99 If he has complained against God and the saints because of an illness or some damage or trouble or poverty, or the loss of money or friends. If a poor person has complained against those who did not wish to help him, or cursed them. If he has made any vow that he has not carried out. If he has slandered anyone and in what way. If he has willingly publicised or exaggerated the bad things he has heard about others, or invented such things himself. If he has been a flatterer or deceitful, or a sower of quarrels, or freely spread rumours or listened to them, and other things of this sort, as seems most appropriate according to the confessor’s discretion.

5

Songs and sermons in thirteenth-century England Helen Deeming

In looking for connections between pastoral care and music in the middle ages, perhaps the most obvious context would be the sung recitation of the liturgy that was heard by worshippers in secular churches. But music outside the liturgy could also play a role in pastoral care, as this chapter hopes to demonstrate through a study of song manuscripts from thirteenth-century England whose contents suggest links to the practices of preaching and ministry. Strikingly, no complete manuscript of non-liturgical music is extant from thirteenth-century England. It is of course possible that songbooks and compilations of other secular music once existed and have since been lost, but the evidence that does survive rather suggests that such music – still, for the most part, orally transmitted – was not systematically copied into dedicated manuscripts. All the songs for which we do have musically notated copies from this period are found individually or in small groups among the pages of miscellany manuscripts, whose contents are largely not musical and apparently unrelated. Some of these songs were added to the manuscripts after the first phase of their compilation, on pages originally left blank, but others were included from the outset, jostling incongruously alongside diverse texts.1 Whatever the implications of this evidence for the modes of transmission of non-liturgical music in thirteenth-century England, one curious pattern emerges: a large number of the miscellanies containing songs are compilations of texts geared towards pastoral instruction, including sermons and other pastoralia. This chapter sets out to investigate – by means of a case-study of one such manuscript, London, British Library, Arundel MS 248 – whether this pattern is merely coincidence, or whether explanations may be sought in the production or use of such books for the appearance of songs and sermons as such curious bedfellows. Twelve manuscripts originating in England between the end of the twelfth and the end of the thirteenth century contain notated music alongside contents of a pastoral nature: brief descriptions of the contents of these manuscripts, together with any evidence pointing to their places of origin or early provenance, may be found in Appendix 1. The pastoral contents include sermons, exempla, short treatises on moral, doctrinal or devotional themes and excerpts from patristic and other auctoritates. The texts in these manuscripts are typically short and are not usually arranged according to any identifiable scheme. Their sermons, for instance, tend not to be assembled according to criteria of authorship or liturgical use, but more

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haphazardly: in Siegfried Wenzel’s taxonomy of sermon manuscripts, these are ‘random sermon collections’, whose sermon-texts are ‘very often . . . interspersed with short passages that must have been felt to be useful for preachers: theological commonplaces, distinctions, mnemonic verses, exempla with or without moralizations, and the like’.2 Such manuscripts seem likely to have been used in various pastoral contexts, ranging from preaching per se, to reading aloud in the monastic or collegiate refectory, and more individualised religious instruction and private devotional reading.3 Their musical contents are similarly wide-ranging: six of the manuscripts contain a single musical item, whereas the others typically contain a small group of three or four pieces. The songs have texts in all three of England’s literary languages (Latin, Anglo-Norman French and Middle English), in some cases side-by-side in a single manuscript, and span a thematic spectrum from secular love-songs to high-brow lyrics on devotional and theological topics. In terms of their physical construction, the books vary: many are informal, booklet compilations, whose various parts were copied by several scribes at different times; others were originally created in a single phase, though in some cases a once unitary construction is now somewhat disguised by additions (in the form of further leaves or quires, or texts written in originally blank spaces) not envisaged by the book’s first producers. One such manuscript is Cambridge, St John’s College, E.8 (111), whose main contents were copied at the start of the thirteenth century by a single scribe (though they comprise a plethora of short texts and extracts), but further pages were then added in the later thirteenth century, including its single musical item. By contrast, and more typical of the manuscripts considered here, London, British Library, Harley MS 524 is made up throughout of parchment leaves that differ in size and quality, and includes numerous gaps between texts, pages left blank and supplementary leaves tipped in, all apparently for the purpose of adding further materials when they came to hand. These ad hoc collections are not the ‘accidental’ creations of post-medieval bibliophiles, however: evidence in the form of hands that recur in different parts of the books, schemes of minor decoration that are consistent through more than one section, and medieval crossreferences between different pages make it clear that these manuscripts – however heterogeneous they appear – were owned and read as single entities by medieval readers, who must often themselves have been the books’ compilers. A better sense of the nature of these miscellanies may be gained from a more detailed examination of one of them: containing twelve pieces of music, London, British Library, Arundel MS 248 (hereafter Arundel 248) is the most significant of the manuscripts from a musical point of view, but is nonetheless comparable to the other miscellanies in that its music forms only a small part of the overall contents of the book. Several scribes, working around the end of the thirteenth century (to judge from the characteristics of their hands), were responsible for its production, and the recurrence of hands across different sections of the book suggests that they worked in parallel rather than successively. Its non-musical contents include short treatises on a variety of religious and moral topics, including Jerusalem, the interpretation of Biblical names, and on internal and external conflict.4 Sermons are found singly or in small, unordered groups throughout the collection, as are

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verses on religious topics, in addition to those found with musical settings. There are extracts from both scriptural and patristic texts (once again found either in isolation or in disordered assortments), numerous epigrams and sentences, and an incomplete collection of proverbs arranged alphabetically. Among its texts relating to practical ministry are exempla demonstrating various virtues and vices, and an anonymous, diagrammatic Arbor virtutum et vitiorum;5 it also contains meditations and verses on the Blessed Virgin, and others on the subjects of confession and mercy. Finally, Arundel 248 includes some non-doctrinal materials, such as a text on weights and measures and two texts on speaking: Albertano of Brescia’s Ars loquendi et tacendi and another text entitled De modis docendi et disputandi. Whilst these texts might seem to connect the collection to the scholastic practice of disputation, the overall tone of Arundel 248 seems to be practical rather than scholarly. Even the manuscript’s inclusion of the Speculum missae by the Dominican Hugh of St Cher, who was a master of theology in Paris in the early 1230s, need not necessarily indicate a scholar’s book, since – like the two texts on public speaking, which could have been equally useful to preachers – the appeal of this work certainly extended beyond the university milieu. Arundel 248’s lack of organisation and the fact that few of its texts are attributed to authors rather seem to set it apart from the reading and writing habits of university scholars, and suggest that it may have had uses in preaching and ministry instead.6 The manuscript has been described as containing ‘things that might be useful to a preacher’,7 and is testament to the wide variety of materials on which its readers could draw in preparation for preaching or religious instruction of other kinds. The musical contents of Arundel 248, listed in Table 5.1, focus on moral and devotional themes, expounding them in three languages and in musical settings Table 5.1 The musical contents of Arundel 248 folio incipit(s)

language(s)

theme

musical setting

153r 153v 153v 154r

Latin Latin Latin/French Latin/ English English English

Transience of earthly life Mary Magdalen BVM Annunciation

2 voices 1 voice 1 voice 1 voice

O labilis, O flebilis Magdalene laudes plene Flos pudicitie/Flur de virginité Angelus ad virginem/Gabriel fram evene king 154r Þe milde Lomb 154r Worldes blis ne laste no throwe 154v Spei vena, melle plena 154v Jesu Cristes milde moder 155r Salve virgo virginum/Veine pleine de duçur 155r Bien deust chanter 200v Alleluia: Virga ferax (incomplete) 201r Risum fecit Sare

Crucifixion Transience of worldly joys Latin Mary Magdalen English Crucifixion Latin/French BVM

1 voice 1 voice

French Latin

BVM BVM

1 voice 2 voices

Latin

BVM

2 voices

1 voice 2 voices 3 voices

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for single voice and in two-and three-part polyphony.8 Most striking are those songs that are provided with alternative texts in two languages.9 In the case of the Latin-French pair Flos pudicitie and Flur de virginité, and the Latin-English pair Angelus ad virginem and Gabriel fram evene king, the scribe has written out the music once only, with both texts copied beneath: it seems that both texts are designed to be sung to identical music, and have been carefully constructed, in line-length and metre, to fit the music with minimal need for adjustment. The Latin-French pair Salve virgo virginum and Veine pleine de duçur differs from the other paired texts, in that the French text does not match the Latin exactly but rather adds an additional line to each stanza: its music correspondingly repeats a musical phrase to accommodate the extra line. In this case, the scribe has written out the music twice, once for the Latin text, and once in adapted form for the differently constructed French text. The practice of contrafactum – substituting a new song-text to an existing song-melody – is evinced in Arundel 248 not just by these three text-pairs but also by links between its songs and others not copied in the manuscript itself. Two songs – Magdalene laudes plene and Flos pudicitie/ Flur de virginité – are labelled with rubrics that identify source-melodies of which they are contrafacta. Magdalene laudes plene is denoted ‘Sequentia de Magdalena post notam Letabundus’ (‘a sequence concerning the Magdalen, after the tune of Letabundus’), referring to the widely transmitted liturgical sequence Letabundus exultet fidelis chorus whose melody it adopts.10 Flos pudicitie/Flur de virginité is headed ‘Cantus de domina post cantum Aeliz’ (‘song of our Lady, after the tune Alice’), and though the melody referred to has not been identified, numerous references to ‘la bele Aelis’ across the secular and romance literature of this period suggest the kind of environment from which such a song may have been drawn, and its melody turned to new use in praise of the Virgin.11 Furthermore, Bien deust chanter ky eust leale amie, though not explicitly labelled as such in Arundel 248, is also a contrafactum, this time of the love song Bien doit chanter qui fine amours adrece by the trouvère Blondel de Nesle.12 Both the juxtaposition of and the interchangeability between the three languages is matched by the musical settings: songs with one, two and three voiceparts are placed side-by-side, and one of the songs (Angelus ad virginem/Gabriel fram evene king) is found in other manuscript sources with alternative musical settings in two and three parts. In this sense, the songs of Arundel 248 encapsulate a tendency found across the repertoire of songs in thirteenth-century English manuscripts, namely the flexibility with which songs were reconfigured with new texts, new musical settings, or both. Such flexibility may have had its origins in performance practice, in which songs might not have been expected to remain identical in every performance: comparisons between the versions of songs found in Arundel 248 and other contemporary manuscripts suggest further ways in which slight musical differences between performances could be encoded by their musicscribes.13 In general terms, the inclusion of two-and three-part polyphony (still comparatively unusual at this period) suggests that those responsible for copying the songs into Arundel 248 were highly trained musicians, as well as cultivated readers with knowledge of and interest in all three of medieval England’s literary

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languages. All the songs are devotional or moral in tone, though only the incomplete Alleluia: Virga ferax is a piece specifically designated for liturgical use. For the rest of the songs, their original performance contexts remain elusive, as no surviving evidence can link them explicitly to any particular occasions or circumstances of singing. We could speculate that some of the songs, especially those in Latin, might have found a use in liturgical or para-liturgical celebration, perhaps to supplement the pre-ordained repertory of plainchant on feast days of special local importance, or to provide music for newly instituted or locally celebrated rites. It is also possible that the songs were used as a kind of pious entertainment in religious houses, separate from formal worship as such. But beyond the strong likelihood that they were sung by clerics (the only members of society likely to have had the skills necessary for reading both text and musical notation), the only certain evidence we have of the songs’ earliest performers and the functions which they might have served is that implied by their assembly within the pages of this pastoral miscellany. A sense of the complex codicological make-up of Arundel 248 may be gained by closer examination of the sections of the manuscript in which the musical items are found. The first ten songs are found together on fols 153r-155r, which constitute the second, third and fourth folios of the manuscript’s 22nd quire (two bifolia forming fols 152r-155v). This quire is the last in a group of three quires containing an alphabetically arranged list of Biblical names, the first two of which are quaternions (i.e. eight folios each). The end of this text occupies only fols 152r-153r and would therefore have fitted on a single bifolium: if the scribe had planned his work carefully and wished to avoid wasted parchment, he could have selected a smaller quire of one bifolium for the end of his text. Instead, however, his text came to an end on the second recto, leaving more than half the quire empty to start with. This suggests that the scribe may have started with a third quaternion, only later reducing its size by removing the two central bifolia once it was clear that his text required much less space. Even with this reduction in size, however, the remainder of fol. 153r, its verso, and two more complete folios remained unused, and a subsequent scribe filled them with the ten songs. That the folios were not intended from the outset to accommodate the music is clear from their layout: ruled in two columns for text, the music-scribe initially attempted to write the songs in columns, but encountered numerous difficulties doing so, eventually abandoning the original ruling and copying the music right across the width of the page.14 Yet the hand of the music is not noticeably later than that of the preceding text, both being casual book-hands of the end of the thirteenth century.15 The first scribe’s attempt to reduce the size of quire 22 to avoid too much wastage at the end of his text on Biblical names, as well as the second scribe’s adaptation of the existing layout to accommodate the music (two processes that were evidently not separated by any substantial period of time), point to a writing environment that was not carefully controlled, but rather one in which the book was put together piecemeal, one text or group of texts at a time, with several scribes working on different sections of the book either simultaneously or successively. In contrast to the practices typical of a monastic scriptorium, in which

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complete texts were copied carefully from authorised exemplars, often under the governance of a house style for book production as well as script, the modes of production hinted at here seem altogether more informal. Quire 27, which contains the other two musical items, demonstrates similar processes of ad hoc additions to, and adaptation of, the writing space. The main text of this section – a set of moral exempla – comes to an end halfway down the second column of the penultimate verso (fol. 200v). Immediately following the conclusion of the text, another scribe of similar date (end of the thirteenth century) began a piece of music (Alleluia: Virga ferax) but left it unfinished at the foot of the page.16 The scribe of the exempla wrote a very short text on the next recto and a third scribe added a second piece of music (Risum fecit Sare) to the final verso of the quire, switching to a full-width layout instead of two columns. We cannot know the order in which these additions were made: perhaps the scribe of the main text left the rest of fol. 200v blank and immediately added the shorter text to fol. 201r, then two subsequent scribes filled the remaining blanks with the musical items; equally, it is possible that the music on fol. 200v was the first addition, and that the scribe of the exempla returned to the book later to add the text to fol. 201r. However it was done, these modifications to quire 27 of Arundel 248 demonstrate three scribes – one of whom was involved in the original phase of production – choosing short items specifically to fit in spaces once left blank. The copying procedures at work in quires 22 and 27 of Arundel 248 are found throughout this manuscript and the other miscellanies considered in this chapter; between them, they exemplify many of the features that have been identified by codicologists as evidence of composite or ‘non-unitary’ book production. Arundel 248’s production in separable sections (such as the group of three quires, 20–22, in which the text on Biblical names was copied) is reminiscent of what has been termed ‘booklet’ compilation; and its manipulation of quire sizes (such as that found in quire 22) is also typical of booklets produced individually and only later assembled into a whole book.17 In analysing added materials or ‘enrichments’, such as those found in quire 27 of Arundel 248, J. P. Gumbert proposes a useful distinction between those that are ‘monogenetic’ (copied by the same scribe), ‘homogenetic’ (those that originated around the same time in the same circles), and ‘allogenetic’ (produced under entirely separate conditions).18 Identifying the enrichments in quire 27 as mono- and homo-genetic is useful in pointing to a situation in which several scribes worked in parallel over a period of time, as distinct from the case of additions made to a manuscript under circumstances entirely divorced from the book’s original producers. Thus, though the songs in Arundel 248 might be considered serendipitous inclusions, added to fill up spaces originally left blank, the circumstances of production of this and similar manuscripts suggests that such enrichments formed a normal part of the way a miscellany was put together. Rather than being planned carefully from the outset, the materials in these miscellanies were gathered one by one over time, and songs – for whatever reason – seem to have been especially prone to being added in this fashion. Yet the trouble that has been taken to record written copies

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of songs, accurate in both song-text and music, is a marker of their value to at least one medieval scribe. This account of the contents and construction of Arundel 248 highlights some significant elements that are encountered among all the miscellanies listed in Appendix 1. Their organisation is haphazard, not simply in terms of their copying procedure, but also in their mixing of topics and kinds of texts. Their contents are so diverse that several potential functions for the books could be hinted at, including the compilation of sermons and preparation for preaching and public speaking, private devotion and individual meditation and the assembly of useful materials (both religious and non-religious) for passing on to others either orally or through further copying. The works within these collections are almost all very short and not attributed to authors by the scribes: lacking finding apparatus, such as contents lists or running titles, the manuscripts’ usefulness would in practice be limited to those who knew their contents very well, perhaps most especially the owner-producers who selected and incorporated their materials. There has been a tendency to associate miscellanies like these with the friars, although there is no concrete evidence that any one of these collections originated in a specific mendicant community or was owned by an individual friar. Where a manuscript’s contents seem to have a lot to do with the practice of preaching, this has occasionally been seen as enough to establish a tentative connection to the friars.19 Of Arundel 248, E. J. Dobson wrote: ‘to judge from its contents, the manuscript is one which might have belonged to a Franciscan house’, and speculated, from the dialect of some of the book’s English items, that a house in an East Anglian town, such as Bury or Cambridge, could have been responsible for its compilation.20 More tangibly, the method of production of these manuscripts displays a strong similarity with the writing and collecting practices of the friars, who are known to have copied both whole books and unbound booklets (or quaterni) for themselves (in addition to those they purchased from commercial booksellers). Friars’ books were frequently compiled by individuals for their own personal use, and this personal quality is reflected in their unique combinations of contents and – very often – the appearance of textual variants that seem to be a product of deliberate choice to adapt a text, rather than simple miscopying.21 On the other hand, neither the involvement in preaching and pastoral care, nor the use of informal methods of book production, were unique to the mendicant orders at this period, and other groups of clerics may also be suggested as the first owners of these pastoral miscellanies. Compendia of pastoral and theological materials were compiled extensively by English Cistercians in the thirteenth century. C. R. Cheney commented on collections from Rufford, Revesby and Fountains, and noted that medieval catalogues of Cistercian libraries point to even more manuscripts of this type;22 of the manuscripts from Buildwas, Jennifer Sheppard has noted that ‘the interest in sermons, those of others and resources for writing one’s own, over-rides all other interests in many of these later [i.e. thirteenth-century] books’.23 Indeed, Arundel 248 has been tentatively connected to the Cistercian abbey of Kirkstall, whence it may have been acquired by its

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sixteenth-century Yorkshire owners, Thomas Bromhead, Thomas Foxcroft and Henry Savile.24 Another pastoral miscellany, now separated into six portions and bound as London, British Library, Burney MSS 357, 246, 285, 295, 341 and 344, has more concrete Cistercian links, in the form of an early ex libris of Thame Abbey. Similarly, manuscripts discussed in this chapter contain clear evidence of origin in Benedictine communities (Evreux, Bibliothèque municipale, MS lat. 2, owned by the Benedictine abbey of Lyre in Normandy and probably produced at one of its dependent cells in England) and both Benedictines and Cistercians are known to have had involvement in pastoral care, even if not to the same extent as the friars. Houses of Augustinian canons also owned pastoral miscellanies, such as London, British Library, Harley MS 524, which was in the possession of the Augustinians of Osney Abbey at least by the fifteenth century, and Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 59, which features in early library catalogues from the Augustinian priory of Llanthony Secunda. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 1285, which belonged to the Augustinian priory at Southwark early in its history, contains sermons that are designated by the thirteenth-century contents list as ‘in conventu et ad populum’, a rubric that resonates with the known involvement of the Augustinian canons in preaching to the laity in thirteenth-century England.25 Another feature that has sometimes been taken to point to the friars among collections such as these is their portability, and the evidence in some of them that their contents were collected or copied in different places. But itinerancy was not a phenomenon exclusive to the mendicant orders, since a common traffic also existed of monks and canons between abbeys and their dependent cells,26 and in some cases from religious houses to the universities and back.27 The diverse production contexts and readerships of these miscellanies, as well as the heterogeneity of their contents, call into question the appellation ‘preachers’ books’ that has sometimes been applied to them. Moreover, the role of written texts in the actual delivery of medieval sermons is still an open question, and it is likely that in many cases preachers spoke ex tempore, even if their oral performance was based on a previously studied written text.28 Thus even where miscellanies such as Arundel 248 contain sermons, their precise function in relation to the practice of preaching remains unclear. Other possible functions also exist for such books. They could be used for personal devotions (in Arundel 248, the meditations and verses on the Blessed Virgin seem fit for such use) or for private reading and study.29 Some could have been used for reading aloud in the monastic chapter or refectory: recent studies of surviving lists for mealtime reading reveals that combinations of sermons, tracts and patristic excerpts were all commonly used in this way.30 Outside a religious community, these materials could have been called upon as resources by those who acted as priests and confessors to the laity, in the contexts of individual pastoral care and religious instruction. The regular appearance of materials in English and French seems to accord with this function, as the overall increase in the number of religious texts written in or translated into the vernacular during the thirteenth century is attributable to the desire for better pastoral care for the whole Christian community in the decades surrounding

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Lateran IV (1215).31 But whilst some vernacular texts are linked explicitly to lay readers, in many cases these materials were read by members of religious orders. Where vernacular texts appear in these collections, therefore, they may be an indication not of their intended readerships, but rather of the freedom and creativity with which those involved in pastoral care selected whatever materials they felt could best convey the teachings of the Church.32 The recurrent themes among their texts also align with the reforming spirit of the thirteenth-century Church: the large number of items on confession, sin and virtue fit into a doctrinal environment where all the faithful had recently been required to make regular confession and deep concern was expressed about the rise of heresy. Pragmatic guidance for living a Christian life, whether as a member of a religious order or as a lay-person, lies at the heart of books like Arundel 248, and their compilers drew their materials from an extraordinarily rich variety of sources. What, then, are we to make of the inclusion of poetry, and more specifically songs, in collections such as these? One telling piece of evidence is the discovery that some of these songs are quoted in other contemporary pastoral literature (found elsewhere). This evidence that the authors of such texts found the songs to be useful sources of extracts to exemplify doctrinal points may hint at the reason for their inclusion in miscellanies: perhaps they – just as much as the other contents of these books – were regarded as raw materials with instructional potential by those engaged in pastoral care. Five songs found among the miscellanies of this study have texts that are known to have been quoted in other religious writings, but these examples must be seen in the wider context of a tradition of quoting verse in such texts: the practice was so widespread that it seems eminently possible that more instances of song-quotation may yet await discovery. It is well known that late medieval preachers quoted from poetry and songs in their sermons, and examples of this practice survive in significant numbers from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in particular.33 But poetic quotation was never a phenomenon limited to the sermon genre, and rather features among other kinds of pastoral and didactic texts, including manuals, exempla and distinctions. Two songs found among the miscellanies considered here, namely Man mei longe (in Maidstone Museum, MS A 13) and Stand wel moder (in Cambridge, St John’s College, MS E 8),34 were quoted in sermons. Two further songs, Licet eger cum egrotis (in Evreux, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS lat. 2) and Veni sancte spiritus (in London, British Library, Sloane MS 1580), are quoted in a collection of distinctions. Lastly, Angelus ad virginem (in Arundel 248) is quoted in a compilation of exempla. Man mei longe (a song concerning the brevity of life and the need for repentance) is quoted in two thirteenth-century Latin sermons,35 and was also used by the compiler of the fourteenth-century devotional manual, London, British Library, Arundel MS 57, which consists principally of Dan Michael of Northgate’s Ayenbite of Inwit. In all these locations, the theme is the danger of dying unrepentant; evidently Man mei longe was widely considered to be a useful and memorable way of encapsulating that theme. Quotations from Stand wel moder, an English version of Stabat iuxta Christi crucem (a meditation on the sorrows

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of Mary at the Crucifixion), are found in the text of a fragmentary Latin sermon preserved on the flyleaves of London, British Library, Royal MS 8 F ii.36 For both these songs, then, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the scribes responsible for their copying in the miscellanies recognised their potential value as material for religious instruction. Furthermore, a thirteenth-century sermon found in the literary miscellany, Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B 14 39, opens by quoting phrases from the secular song Bele Alis matyn se leva; the complete song is not recorded here, but it was apparently a favourite source of refrains in secular literature, and Flos pudicitie/Flur de virginité, which is labelled ‘post cantum Aeliz’ in Arundel 248, may perhaps also be related to it.37 Such quotation in sermons of literature drawn from the sphere of secular romance may fit in with a crossfertilisation of ideas between romance and sermons already identified by David d’Avray in his study of medieval marriage preaching.38 Certain collections of distinctions, including Alan of Lille’s Liber in distinctionibus dictionum theologicalium, Richard of St Victor’s Liber exceptionum, and the Dominican Thomas of Cantimpré’s Bonum universale de apibus, also quote extensively from verse texts. The use of verse is even more prevalent in the Cistercian Distinctiones monasticae et morales, where Latin sacred poems are frequently quoted as exemplifications of particular words.39 Two songs preserved in miscellanies are quoted in the latter collection. Veni sancte spiritus (found in London, British Library, Sloane MS 1580) is used in a distinction of the word ‘mater’, in which the Holy Spirit is interpreted as the mother of the church. Lines from Licet eger cum egrotis (preserved in Evreux, Bibliothèque municipale, MS lat. 2) are quoted as part of a section on simony.40 The Franciscan exempla collection, Speculum laicorum, also quotes a miscellany song, namely Angelus ad virginem found in Arundel 248.41 The song is referred to during the course of an anecdote concerning the theologian and poet, Philip the Chancellor (chancellor of Notre Dame of Paris from 1217 until his death in 1236), to whom the story attributes the song. Though this attribution has been questioned by modern scholars, it is significant that – to the compiler of these exempla – the song was associated with so weighty a figure.42 Since only the first words are quoted, it is possible that some other song beginning similarly may have been meant by the writer of the Speculum laicorum; likewise the Angelus ad virginem sung by Chaucer’s clerk Nicholas in The Miller’s Tale was perhaps not the song recorded in Arundel 248, though the remarkable longevity and wide geographical distribution of the Arundel 248 song makes it at least possible in both cases.43 Songs and lyrics were also employed for quotations in treatises and manuals on Christian life and devotion, most notably the Anglo-Norman versified penitential treatise, Le manuel des pechiez.44 This manual incorporates the lyric Duz sire Jesu Crist aiez merci de mei (preserved without music in the miscellany Dublin, Trinity College, MS 432), as well as Duz sire, ray de gloire, a translation of Dulcis Jesu memoria (found in several English miscellanies, though not the ones considered in the present study).45 Among Latin religious treatises, Albertano of Brescia’s De amore et dilectione Dei et proximi et aliarum rerum et de forma vite quotes the

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opening lines of Cur homo, qui cinis es (found without music in London, British Library, Sloane MS 1580), as part of a warning against the sin of avarice.46 These examples make clear that the practice of poetic quotation was not limited to a single language: texts both in Latin and in the vernaculars drew on poetry and songs as sources for quotations, and some authors even mixed languages within a single text, by writing in one but using quotations in another.47 Though by no means all the songs in the miscellanies listed in Appendix 1 have been found quoted in such literature, it may well be that further instances may yet be unearthed. The list of examples of song-quotation increases, as we have seen, if songs that survive without their music are taken into account, and grows still further if other miscellanies (beyond those with specifically pastoral contents) are considered, reinforcing the sense that these instances may represent the tip of an iceberg. But even if not, it is also plausible that much of the practice of quoting took place in oral contexts that were never formally recorded in writing. Since preachers often spoke to some extent ex tempore, they may have woven in quotations to their sermons in the moment of delivery. We can know still less about what precisely was said during sessions of religious instruction taking place between members of the laity and their confessors, but once again it seems possible that instructors might select extracts for quotation that seemed pertinent at the time.48 The organisation of certain miscellanies seems to imply that verses were intended for such use: Maidstone A 13 opens with a long series of topics for religious instruction; in the lists below each topic-heading, verses are included alongside references to appropriate Biblical and patristic passages. We may extrapolate from the written traces that do survive of songs being quoted in pastoral literature, as well as the evidence hinting at further, oral practices, that those engaged in religious instruction regarded these items as useful material, offering one explanation for their inclusion in the pastoral miscellanies studied here.49 Almost all the songs are on themes that could have made them suitable for exemplification of religious or moral messages: indeed the use of the secular song Bele Alis in a sermon seems to indicate that almost any poetic text could be imaginatively employed for a mnemonic, didactic, or pastoral function. The specific function of verses within these written or oral contexts was presumably to leave the reader – or perhaps even more importantly, the listener – with a concise and memorable summary of the teaching imparted to them. Indeed, the quotation tradition must be seen alongside a general fashion for versified texts in this period. Devotional, historical, hagiographical and even biblical texts were frequently rendered in verse, a phenomenon that may point to a recognition that verse could serve important ends in religious instruction, making texts more engaging to read or hear, and easier to memorise. When the twelfth-century English writer Alexander of Ashby wrote that ‘the particular value of verse is that, by its concise form, it greatly aids the memory’, he was merely repeating a widespread acknowledgement, stretching back to classical antiquity, that poetic texts were ideally suited to mnemonic purposes.50 Short verse texts, such as the lines from songs and verses discussed here, could be learnt by heart even by those

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not formally schooled in mnemotechnics, and could act as memorable summaries of doctrine or morality.51 Hence verses could be particularly useful for those whose access to religious learning would be through listening rather than reading. At the same time, verses could also be called upon to give authority, particularly when attributed to famous and well-respected writers. It was normal practice among writers of distinctions to quote from the auctoritates, and the attribution of particular interpretations and exegesis to respected theologians was of paramount importance. The Distinctiones monasticae et morales, like others of its type, shows this tendency with regard to its poetic quotations, thus according a status and authority to the words similar to those of the Church Fathers. In this text, Veni sancte spiritus is attributed to no less a figure than Archbishop Stephen Langton.52 Alan of Lille and Richard of St Victor’s collections of distinctions frequently attributed their poetic quotations to the renowned poet Adam of St Victor,53 and we have already seen that the song Angelus ad virginem is attributed to Philip the Chancellor in the exempla collection, Speculum laicorum. If the texts of songs were sometimes useful to preachers, priests and confessors, what was the specific role of their music? In the textual contexts where the songs are quoted, their texts alone are recorded. Yet in the pastoral miscellanies housing the songs, an effort has been made to copy their musical notation. In one sense, the presence of music could be said to enhance both the practical and symbolic purposes of the poetry in these contexts. Although it seems unlikely that preachers would break into song during the course of their sermons, in less formal instructional contexts, it is not difficult to imagine teachers singing songs to enable their flock to memorise and recall aspects of Christian doctrine. Such uses would accord well with the known activities of the Franciscan friars in Italy, who were responsible for the composition and dissemination of many laude spirituali, or simple, devotional songs to be sung by laypeople in their own language.54 These laude had an explicitly pastoral purpose, in capturing the attention of the laity, and imparting religious truths in a memorable way. The songs recorded in English pastoral miscellanies such as Arundel 248 are not of the same kind: their texts and music are often too complex and extended to be easily taken up by untrained singers, but the songs could nevertheless have been sung to an audience of laypeople by a cleric, and short snippets thereof could certainly have been anchored in their memories. In those texts where poetry is quoted because of its connection to a respected figure of authority, the reverence attached to the words could be increased if the music were also attributed to that figure. It can be difficult to establish whether the music played a role in this network of authority, since attributions are not generally worded so as to specify the music as well as the words. Yet either way, those responsible for the assembly of these didactic miscellanies may well have appreciated the value of the music as well as the texts of songs, and took the trouble to record both, if they had the facility and available manuscript space in which to do so. Within the miscellanies themselves, the presence of musical notation is visually arresting, causing the songs to stand out from their immediate environment

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of un-notated texts: because of this, the miscellany songs are striking on a purely visual level, and may have been appreciated as such, even in contexts where their musical notation was not rendered in sound. The transmission history of many of these poetic and musical texts outside the miscellanies points to a tradition of their use for instructional purposes. As we have seen, the later history of particular items as sources for quotation in other texts, as well as the arrangements of certain of the miscellanies themselves, suggest that poetry and music were deemed to have important values useful to those engaged in teaching or pastoral care. Verse texts were easy to memorise, even more so if accompanied by a catchy melody: in the songs, the beguiling patterns of rhythm and rhyme, the recurrence of textual phrases and musical gestures, all assisted in allowing the message of the text to be readily impressed upon and lodged in the mind. Verse also enabled a message to be stated succinctly, and thus could prove a useful tool for summarising and digesting points of doctrine or morality. Lastly, the attractive character of poetic texts, again enhanced where musical settings existed or where laid out arrestingly on the page, could draw in a listener or reader, enabling them to be more easily engaged by the topic concerned. The topics explored in the songs are, in the majority of cases, themes on which preachers and confessors might have wished to discourse: warnings against the perils of sin, advice on the Christian life and the succour afforded by devotion to the saints, especially the Blessed Virgin. It would be overstating the case to suggest that all poetic and musical items in miscellanies were gathered explicitly for didactic purposes, but the evidence suggests that some thirteenth-century scribes developed habits of ad hoc compiling that led them to note down lyrics and songs, with at least half an eye on their potential utility for such activities. The questions of language raised by the songs should be viewed in the same light: when translations or vernacular versions were made, it was not always or necessarily with the intention of making texts accessible to new audiences, but may nonetheless have stemmed from a habit of increasing one’s pool of potential resources for the instruction of others, in the imaginative and creative ways inspired by the spirit of pastoral reform in the first decades of the thirteenth century.

Notes 1 Further analysis of the sources of songs from this period may be found in H. Deeming, Songs in British Sources, c.1150–1300, Musica Britannica, 95 (London: Stainer and Bell, 2013). For an overview of the songs’ miscellaneous manuscript contexts, see H. Deeming, ‘Record-Keepers, Preachers and Song-Makers: Revealing the Compilers, Owners and Users of Twelfth-and Thirteenth-Century Insular Song Manuscripts’, in: T. Shephard and L. Colton (eds.), Sources of Identity: Makers, Owners and Users of Music Sources before 1600 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), pp. 63–76. 2 S. Wenzel, ‘Sermon Collections and their Taxonomy’, in: S. G. Nichols and S. Wenzel (eds.), The Whole Book: Cultural Perspectives on the Medieval Miscellany (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1996), pp. 7–21, 15. 3 V. Gillespie, ‘Doctrina and Predicacio: The Design and Function of Some Pastoral Manuals’, Leeds Studies in English n.s. 11 (1980), 36–50; B. M. Kienzle, ‘The

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Twelfth-Century Monastic Sermon’, in: B. M. Kienzle (ed.), The Sermon, Typologie des sources du Moyen Âge occidental 81–83 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), pp. 298–9. Catalogue descriptions may be found online at www.bl.uk; at the time of writing, different descriptions were available in the ‘Explore Archives and Manuscripts’ and ‘Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts’ sections. The Tractatus de conflictu interiori et exteriori (unique to this manuscript) is listed as no. 5696 by Morton W. Bloomfield et al., Incipits of Latin Works on the Virtues and Vices, 1100–1500 A.D. (Cambridge MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1979). Fols 179v-180r. The use of a tree as a symbol for exemplifying the hierarchy of vices and virtues was especially common; see R. Newhauser, The Treatise on Vices and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular, Typologie des sources du Moyen Âge occidental 68 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), pp. 160–61, and the literature cited there. On the reading and copying habits of scholars, see R. H. Rouse and M. A. Rouse, ‘Statim invenire: Schools, Preachers and New Attitudes to the Page’, in: M. A. Rouse and R. H. Rouse (eds.), Authentic Witnesses: Approaches to Medieval Texts and Manuscripts (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991), pp. 191–219. E. J. Dobson and F. Ll. Harrison, Medieval English Songs (London: Faber and Faber, 1979), p. 162. Critical editions of all the songs, together with English translations and commentary, may be found in Deeming, Songs in British Sources; for discussion of the musical contents of Arundel 248 and the mise-en-page questions they raise, see H. Deeming, ‘Isolated Jottings: The Compilation, Preparation, and Use of Song Sources from Thirteenth-Century Britain’, Journal of the Alamire Foundation 6 (2014), 139–52. On this phenomenon in general, see H. Deeming, ‘Multilingual Networks in Twelfthand Thirteenth-Century Song’, in: M. Carruthers (ed.), Language in Medieval Britain: Networks and Exchanges, Harlaxton Medieval Studies 25 (Donington: Shaun Tyas, 2015), pp. 127–43. Further discussion of this relationship is found in H. Deeming, ‘Music, Memory and Mobility: Citation and Contrafactum in Thirteenth-Century Sequence Repertories’, in: G. Di Bacco and Y. Plumley (eds.), Citation, Intertextuality and Memory in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, Vol. 2: Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives on Medieval Culture (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2013), pp. 67–81. For further discussion, see J. Stevens, Words and Music in the Middle Ages: Song, Narrative, Dance and Drama, 1050–1350 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 80–83, 178, n. 54, and A. Buckley, Lyric Lais, 2 vols. (Newton Abbot: Antico Edition, 1992–94), ii. I, V and 8. J. Stevens, ‘Alphabetical Check-List of Anglo-Norman Songs, c.1150–c.1300’, Plainsong & Medieval Music 3 (1994), 1–22, no. 2. A detailed examination of the textual and musical differences between the various manuscript witnesses to one of Arundel 248’s songs, Worldes blis ne laste no throwe, is to be found in A. Butterfield and H. Deeming, ‘Editing Insular Song across the Disciplines: Worldes Blis’, in: V. Gillespie and A. Hudson (eds.), Editing Medieval Texts from Britain in the Twenty-First Century (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 96–104. Further discussion of these layout difficulties in Arundel 248 are to be found in Deeming, ‘Isolated Jottings’. The difficulty of dating and identifying these casual hands is compounded when texts accompany musical notation, because the demands of the musical layout required the text to be more or less compressed (both horizontally and vertically), giving it a rather different appearance in different pieces. Consequently, it is not even possible to be certain whether a single hand, or more than one, wrote the texts for all the songs in this gathering. The attempt to add the music was abandoned because the syllables of the sung text – copied before the musical notation – were too closely spaced for the notes to be properly aligned; see Deeming, ‘Isolated Jottings’, pp. 148–9.

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17 Pamela Robinson coined the term ‘booklet’ to describe ‘a small but structurally independent production containing a single work or a number of short works’ in her essays ‘The “Booklet”: A Self-Contained Unit in Composite Manuscripts’, in: A. Gruys and J. P. Gumbert (eds.), Codicologica 3: Essais Typologiques (Leiden: Brill, 1980), pp. 46–69, and ‘Self-Contained Units in Composite Manuscripts of the Anglo-Saxon Period’, Anglo-Saxon England 7 (1978), 231–8; the term was widely taken up, especially to denote the entities produced speculatively and sold by late medieval booksellers, but Robinson’s use of the term was broader in application. Ralph Hanna’s critique of Robinson’s work, which suggests that the codicological features she identified as evidence of booklet production may also be found in other kinds of composite codices, may in fact be more justifiably levelled at subsequent scholars’ appropriations of Robinson’s term rather than the original work itself; R. Hanna, III, ‘Booklets in Medieval Manuscripts: Further Considerations’, in: R. Hanna (ed.), Pursuing History: Middle English Manuscripts and Their Texts (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996), pp. 21–34, esp. pp. 30–34; (a revised version of his article of the same title originally published in Studies in Bibliography 39 (1986), 100–11). 18 ‘Codicological Units: Towards a Terminology for the Stratigraphy of the Non-Homogenous Codex’, in: E. Crisci and O. Pecere (eds.), Il codice miscellaneo: tipologie e funzioni, Segno e Testo 2 (Cassino (Frosinone): Università degli studi di Cassino, 2004), pp. 17–42, 27. Other recent work that has helped to refine the analysis of composite manuscripts includes B. M. Olsen, ‘L’élément codicologique’, in: P. Hoffmann (ed.), Recherches de codicologie comparée: la composition du codex au moyen âge en orient et en occident (Paris: Presses de l’École normale supérieure, 1998), pp. 105–29; M. Maniaci, ‘Il codice Greco “non unitario”: Tipologie e terminologia’, in: Crisci and Pecere (eds.), Il codice miscellaneo, pp. 75–107; E. Kwakkel, ‘Towards a Terminology for the Analysis of Composite Manuscripts’, Gazette du Livre Médiéval 41 (automne 2002), 12–19. 19 On the friars’ activities, see D. d’Avray, The Preaching of the Friars: Sermons Diffused from Paris before 1300 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). On their connection with proliferation of English texts, see S. Wenzel, Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986), passim, and J. V. Fleming, ‘The Friars and Medieval English Literature’, in: D. Wallace (ed.), The Cambridge History of Medieval English Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 349–75. 20 Dobson and Harrison, Medieval English Songs, p. 162. 21 See D. d’Avray, Medieval Marriage Sermons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), introduction; and idem, Medieval Marriage: Symbolism and Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), pp. 45–57, for a fuller discussion of the friars’ book production and collecting habits. 22 C. R. Cheney, ‘English Cistercian Libraries: The First Century’, in: C. R. Cheney (ed.), Medieval Texts and Studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), pp. 328–45; see also The Libraries of the Cistercians, Gilbertines and Premonstratensians, ed. D. N. Bell, Corpus of British Medieval Library Catalogues 3 (London: The British Library in association with the British Academy, 1992). 23 J. M. Sheppard, The Buildwas Books: Book Production, Acquisition and Use at an English Cistercian Monastery, 1165-c.1400 (Oxford: Oxford Bibliographical Society, 1997), p. liv. 24 A. G. Watson, The Manuscripts of Henry Savile of Banke (London: Bibliographical Society, 1969), p. 38. 25 R. Hanna, III, ‘Augustinian Canons and Middle English Literature’, in: A. S. G. Edwards, V. Gillespie and R. Hanna (eds.), The English Medieval Book: Studies in Memory of Jeremy Griffiths (London: The British Library, 2000), pp. 27–42; J.-P. Pouzet, ‘Quelques aspects de l’influence des chanoines augustins sur la production et la transmission littéraire vernaculaire en Angleterre (XIIIe-XVe siècles)’, Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres: Comptes rendus (2004), 169–213.

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26 As evinced by Evreux, Bibliothèque municipale, MS lat. 2: see H. Deeming, ‘Music in English Miscellanies of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2005), i. pp. 74–5, and the references cited there. 27 See the following essays in H. Wansbrough and A. Marett-Crosby (eds.), Benedictines in Oxford (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1997): Campbell, ‘Gloucester College’, pp. 37–47; A. Léotaud, rev. R. McHardy, ‘The Benedictines at Oxford, 1283–1539’, pp. 20–36; J. Greatrex, ‘From Cathedral Cloister to Gloucester College’, pp. 48–60. See also M. Sheehan, ‘The Religious Orders, 1220–1370’, in: J. Catto (ed.), The History of the University of Oxford, Vol. 1: The Early Oxford Schools (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), pp. 193–223; T. Sullivan, Benedictine Monks at the University of Paris A.D. 1229–1500: A Biographical Register (Leiden: Brill, 1995). Though no concrete links are apparent between the miscellanies considered here and the universities, such traffic may help to explain the presence in these collections of texts more usually associated with scholastic readers, such as the texts on disputation found in Arundel 248. 28 Kienzle, ‘Introduction’, in: Kienzle (ed.), The Sermon, pp. 159, 168. 29 See N. Morgan, ‘Books for the Liturgy and Private Prayer’, in: N. Morgan and R. M. Thomson (eds.), The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, ii: 1100–1400 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 291–316, 306–16, on prayer collections for private, extra-liturgical recitation. Another example from a pastoral miscellany, London, British Library, Harley MS 524, is discussed by H. Deeming, ‘French Devotional Texts in Thirteenth-Century Preachers’ Anthologies’, in: J. Wogan-Browne (ed.), Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England c. 1100-c. 1500 (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 2009), pp. 254–65, 254–9. 30 D. Nebbiai-Dalla Guarda, ‘Les listes médiévales des lectures monastiques: contribution à la connaissance des anciennes bibliothèques bénédictines’, Revue bénédictine 96 (1986), 261–326. 31 On these reforms in general, see the essays by B. Bolton, Innocent III: Studies on Papal Authority and Pastoral Care (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995) and L. E. Boyle, Pastoral Care, Clerical Education and Canon Law, 1200–1400 (London: Variorum, 1981). 32 I. Short, ‘Patrons and Polyglots: French Literature in Twelfth-Century England’, AngloNorman Studies 14 (1991), 229–49; A. Bennett, ‘A Book Designed for a Noblewoman: An Illustrated Manuel des Péchés of the Thirteenth Century’, in: L. L. Brownrigg (ed.), Medieval Book Production: Assessing the Evidence (Los Altos Hills, CA: AndersonLovelace, 1990), pp. 163–81, at 163. 33 D. L. Jeffrey, The Early English Lyric and Franciscan Spirituality (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1975); S. Wenzel, Verses in Sermons: Fasciculus Morum and Its Middle English Poems (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1978); Wenzel, Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric; A. J. Fletcher, Preaching, Politics and Poetry in Late Medieval England (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998). The above studies all concentrate on the use of English verses in sermons, but Latin songs were also sometimes used in this way: C. Page, ‘Angelus ad Virginem: A New Work by Philippe the Chancellor’, Early Music 11 (1983), 69–70; T. B. Payne, ‘Aurelianis Civitas: Student Unrest in Medieval France and a Conductus by Philip the Chancellor’, Speculum 75 (2000), 589–614; J. Moore, ‘Rex Omnipotens: A Sequence Used in an Old English Ascension Day Homily’, Anglia 106 (1988), 138–44; see also B. Millett, ‘The Songs of Entertainers and the Songs of the Angels: Vernacular Lyric Fragments in Odo of Cheriton’s Sermones de Festis’, Medium Aevum 64 (1995), 17–36. 34 This song is also found in another miscellany, London, BL, Royal MS 12 E 1, the contents of which are mainly hagiographical rather than specifically pastoral in tone. 35 These are in London, BL, Add. MS 11579, and Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud MS misc. 471.

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36 Wenzel, Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric, p. 51; Dobson and Harrison, Medieval English Songs, pp. 153–4. 37 On these pieces see H. Deeming, ‘The Performance of Devotion: Multi-Lingual Networks of Songs and Sermons in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, Basler Jahrbuch für historische Musikpraxis (forthcoming, 2019). 38 See, for example, the discussion of the qualities of the ideal husband in the romances of Chrétien de Troyes and the sermons of Gérard de Mailly by d’Avray, Medieval Marriage, p. 63. 39 P. Lehmann, ‘Mittellateinische Verse in Distinctiones monasticae et morales vom Anfang des 13. Jahrhundert’, Sitzungsberichte Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-philologische und historische Klasse (1922), 2. Abhandlung; R. W. Hunt, ‘Notes on the Distinctiones monasticae et morales’, in: B. Bischoff and S. Brechter (eds.), Liber floridus: Mittellateinische Studien Paul Lehmann zum 65. Geburtstag (St Ottilien: Eos, 1950), pp. 355–6. 40 These references are to be found in the selections from the text edited by J. B. Pitra, Spicilegium Solesmense, complectens Sanctorum Patrum scriptorumque ecclesiasticorum anecdota hactenus opera, selecta e Græcis orientalibusque et Latinis codicibus, 4 vols. (Paris: Prostat apud Firmin Didot fratres instituti Franciae typographos, 1852–1858), iii, 130 and 264. 41 Page, ‘Angelus ad virginem’, p. 69. 42 Peter Dronke has raised doubts over the attribution, suggesting that the poetic style of the song is unlikely to make it the work of Philip the Chancellor; ‘The Lyrical Compositions of Philip the Chancellor’, Studi medievali 3rd series, 28 (1987), 584. 43 For the Chaucer reference, see The Riverside Chaucer, ed. L. D. Benson, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), p. 68, line 3216; for further discussion of the transmission history of Angelus ad virginem, see J. Stevens, ‘Angelus ad Virginem: The History of a Medieval Song’, in: P. L. Heyworth (ed.), Medieval Studies for J. A. W. Bennett (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), pp. 297–328. 44 For bibliography, see R. J. Dean and M. B. M. Boulton, Anglo-Norman Literature: A Guide to Texts and Manuscripts (London: Anglo-Norman Text Society, 1999), no. 635, and Bennett, ‘A Book Designed for a Noblewoman’. 45 H. E. Allen, ‘The Mystical Lyrics of the Manuel des Pechiez’, Romanic Review 9 (1918), 154–93; Dean, Anglo-Norman Literature, no. 888. The English miscellanies preserving Dulcis Jesu memoria are Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud MS 668 (with music); Oxford, Bodleian Library, Rawlinson MS C 510; and London, BL, Royal MS 12 E I. 46 The treatise was edited by S. L. Hiltz, ‘De amore et dilectione Dei et proximi et aliarum rerum et de forma vite: An Edition (Latin Text)’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 1980); the quotation is in Book III, chapter VIII. 47 In addition to the examples mentioned above, Gérard of Liège’s Quinque incitamenta ad deum amandum ardenter is a Latin treatise which frequently quotes French lyrics in their original language; N. van den Boogaard, ‘Les insertions en français dans un traité de Gérard de Liège’, in: J. de Caluwé (ed.), Marche romane: mélanges de philologie et de littératures romanes offerts à Jeanne Wathelet-Willem (Liège: A. R. U. Lg., 1978), p. 683. The quotation of French lyric verse in Gerald’s treatise was first noted by P. Dronke, Medieval Latin and the Rise of the European Love-Lyric, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), i. 59–63. 48 This suggestion is reinforced by certain confessors’ manuals that include verses, such as the fourteenth-century Fasciculus morum; see Wenzel, Verses in Sermons. 49 This possibility is explored, for Anglo-Norman lyrics, by D. L. Jeffrey and B. J. Levy, The Anglo-Norman Lyric: An Anthology Edited from the Manuscripts with Translations and Commentary (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1990), pp. 3–6. 50 Quoted by A. G. Rigg, A History of Anglo-Latin Literature, 1066–1422 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 131.

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51 The various functions of verse in religious instruction are outlined by Wenzel, Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric, pp. 80–1. 52 Pitra, Spicilegium, iii. 130. 53 On Adam, see M. Fassler, Gothic Song: Victorine Sequences and Augustinian Reform in Twelfth-Century Paris (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 206–10. 54 See C. Barr, The Monophonic Lauda and the Lay Religious Confraternities of Tuscany and Umbria in the Late Middle Ages (Kalamazoo MI: Medieval Institute Publications, Western Michigan University, 1988).

Select bibliography Deeming, H., ‘French Devotional Texts in Thirteenth-Century Preachers’ Anthologies’, in: Jocelyn Wogan-Browne (ed), Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England c.1100–c.1500 (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 2009), pp. 254–65. Deeming, H., ‘Record-Keepers, Preachers and Song-Makers: Revealing the Compilers, Owners and Users of Twelfth-and Thirteenth-Century Insular Song Manuscripts’, in: T. Shephard and L. Colton (eds), Sources of Identity: Makers, Owners and Users of Music Sources Before 1600 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), pp. 63–76. Deeming, H., ‘Songs in British Sources, c.1150–1300’, Musica Britannica 95 (London: Stainer and Bell, 2013). Fletcher, A. J., Preaching, Politics and Poetry in Late Medieval England (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998). Stevens, J., Words and Music in the Middle Ages: Song, Narrative, Dance and Drama, 1050–1350 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). Wenzel, S., Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986). Wenzel, S., Verses in Sermons: Fasciculus Morum and Its Middle English Poems (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1978).

Appendix 1 English pastoral miscellanies containing music

Fuller descriptions of all the manuscripts cited here will be found in the catalogues of the libraries concerned. For further information on their musical contents, see the commentary to Helen Deeming, Songs in British Sources, c.1150–1300, Musica Britannica, vol. 95 (London: Stainer and Bell, 2013). Cambridge, St John’s College, MS E 8 (111) Pastoral contents: Extracts concerning the vices and virtues; songs, lyrics, prayers.1 Music: Song on the Crucifixion, with Latin and English texts: Stabat iuxta Christi crucem/Stand wel moder. Date/origin/early provenance: Main contents s. xiiiin; songs added towards end of s. xiii. Dublin, Trinity College, MS 432 (fols 1–22) Pastoral contents: Booklet compilation, including extracts from Gregory the Great’s Dialogi miraculorum, devotional texts and verses. In its current form, this MS is bound with several separate booklets, one also of the thirteenth century, others later.2 Music: French song urging repentance before death: Quaunt le rossinol se cesse. Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiii1. Evreux, Bibliothèque municipale, MS lat. 2 Pastoral contents: Sermons, patristic and classical excerpts, proverbs.3 Music: Six Latin songs: Dic qui gaudes prosperis (on the perils of earthly riches); Ego mundi timens naufragium (on corruption in monastic life); Ave virgo Maria (on the Blessed Virgin); Planctus ante nescia (lament of Mary at the Crucifixion); Licet eger cum egrotis (on corruption in the Church), and Est tonus sic (on the musical intervals). Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiiimed; MS ultimately owned by the Norman abbey of Lyre (OSB), but probably originating at one of its dependent cells in England.4

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Helen Deeming London, British Library, Arundel MS 248 Pastoral contents: Sermons, exempla, proverbs, scriptural and patristic excerpts, short religious and moral treatises, verses.5 Music: See Table 1 above. Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiiiex; the names of sixteenth-century owners Thomas Bromhead, Thomas Foxcroft and Henry Savile appear within its pages: these may have acquired the MS from Kirkstall Abbey (Cistercian) in Yorkshire.6 London, British Library, Burney MSS 357 / 246 / 285 / 295 / 341 / 344 Pastoral contents: a booklet compilation, now separated into six separate bindings, containing sermons, tracts, extracts and exempla.7 Music: Latin song for two voices on the Holy Spirit and Pentecost: Amor patris et filii. Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiimed; ex libris of Thame Abbey (Cistercian). London, British Library, Harley MS 524 Pastoral contents: sermons, treatises, lists and diagrams explaining doctrinal matters; verses and devotions.8 Music: Latin song for two voices on the Incarnation: Veri floris sub figura. Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiii; MS in possession of Osney Abbey (Augustinian) by s. xv (letters from abbot added to final leaf). London, British Library, Sloane MS 1580 Pastoral contents: Sermons, tracts including Philippe de Thaon’s Comput, devotional poetry.9 Music: Five Latin songs: Inter flores electorum (on St Alban); Dulci voce mente munda (on St Gregory); Veni sancte spiritus (on the Holy Spirit/ Pentecost, elsewhere sometimes attributed to Pope Innocent III); Consolator alme (on the Holy Spirit, laid out with staves but the music not filled in); Verbo celum quo firmatur (for two voices, on the Resurrection). Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiii1. London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 457 (fols 133–192) Pastoral contents: Booklet compilation; the second booklet (fols 133–192) contains French sermons of Maurice de Sully, a Latin sermon, tracts on confession, the passion, virtues and sins and patristic excerpts.10 Music: Three Latin songs and the partially erased remains of a fourth, all for two voices: Miro genere sol de sidere (on the Incarnation); Astripotens famulos (a trope of the Agnus Dei); Mater Dei lumen rei (on the BVM); Mortis dira (incomplete; a trope of the Agnus Dei).

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Date/origin/early provenance: This booklet’s main contents are late s. xii or early s. xiii, with the music added s. xiii2/3. Now bound with another booklet of c. 1200 and one of the fifteenth century. Maidstone Museum, MS A 13 Pastoral contents: Sermons, lists of Biblical references, classical and patristic excerpts, proverbs and short tales arranged by preaching topic, lyrics and prayers.11 Music: English song warning of the perils of dying unconfessed: Man mei longe him lives wene. Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiii, but compiled and added to over some time. By early s. xiv, MS may have been at the Hospital of St John, Northampton, whose accounts have been added to the book.12 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ashmole MS 1285 Pastoral contents: Booklet collection containing Latin devotional and doctrinal tracts, patristic extracts, Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy, Ailred’s Speculum caritatis and a rule of St Augustine.13 Music: French song of unrequited love: De ma dame. Date/origin/early provenance: Booklets originating in s. xii and s. xiii: some may have circulated separately and unbound initially. According to two ex libris inscriptions, at least some of the booklets were owned in s. xiv by Brother Hugh of Wendover of the Augustinian priory of Southwark.14 Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 59 Pastoral contents: Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy and Alan of Lille’s Anticlaudianus, both glossed and annotated; short theological and devotional texts and poetry.15 Music: Three songs, two in Latin: Recitemus per hec festa (on St Kyneburga), and Orbis honor celi scema (on the BVM); and one in English: Edi beo þu (for two voices, on the BVM). Date/origin/early provenance: s. xiii2 (probably after 1275, given presence of an epigram for Humphrey de Bohun who died in that year). MS was in the library of the Augustinian canons of Llanthony Secunda early in its history,16 and the manuscript contents make it likely that the book was compiled there (the priory had a chapel dedicated to St Kyneburga and was the burial-place of Humphrey de Bohun).

Notes 1 M. R. James, A Descriptive Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of St John’s College, Cambridge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913), pp. 144–5. 2 M. L. Colker, Trinity College Library Dublin: Descriptive Catalogue of the Mediaeval and Renaissance Latin Manuscripts, 2 vols. (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1991), ii. 855–66.

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3 H. Omont, Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques de France – Départements, tome 2: Rouen . . . Evreux . . . Montivilliers (Paris: Plon, 1888), pp. 402–4. 4 Deeming, ‘Music in English Miscellanies’, i. 74–5; C. Guéry, Histoire de l’abbaye de Lyre (Evreux: Imprimie de l’Eure, 1917), p. 365; C. Hohler, ‘Reflections on Some Manuscripts Containing Thirteenth-Century Polyphony’, Journal of the Plainsong and Mediæval Music Society 1 (1978), 2–38, at p. 11. Details of the five dependent cells may be found in D. Knowles and R. N. Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses: England and Wales (London: Longman, 1971), pp. 85, 93 (Wareham); 83, 88 (Hinckley); 83, 87 (Carisbrooke); 84, 89 (Livers Ocle and Llangua). 5 British Library online catalogue of manuscripts: . 6 Watson, The Manuscripts of Henry Savile of Banke, p. 38. 7 For further information on the make-up of the now dismembered MS, see R. Gameson, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England, c.1066–1130 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 96; N. R. Ker, Medieval Libraries of Great Britain: A List of Surviving Books, 2nd ed. (London: Royal Historical Society, 1964), p. 188; Olsen, ‘L’élément codicologique’, pp. 122–3. 8 H. Wanley, A Catalogue of the Harleian Manuscripts in the British Museum, 4 vols. (London: Record Commission, 1808–12), i. 339–41. See also Deeming, ‘French Devotional Texts’, pp. 254–9. 9 British Library online catalogue of manuscripts: . 10 H. J. Todd, A Catalogue of the Archiepiscopal Manuscripts in the Library at Lambeth Palace (London: Law and Gilbert, 1812), p. 59; M. R. James, A Descriptive Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library at Lambeth Palace (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1930–32), pp. 635–8. 11 N. R. Ker, Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries, 3: Lampeter – Oxford (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983), pp. 317–21. 12 Ker, Medieval Libraries of Great Britain, pp. 135–58; C. Brown, ‘A Thirteenth-Century Manuscript at Maidstone’, The Modern Language Review 21 (1926), 1–12; C. Brown, ‘The Maidstone Text of the “Proverbs of Alfred”’, The Modern Language Review 21 (1926), 249–60; Deeming, ‘French Devotional Texts’, pp. 259–62. 13 W. H. Black, A Descriptive, Analytical and Critical Catalogue of the Manuscripts Bequeathed . . . by E. Ashmole, Bodleian Quarto Catalogue 10 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1845–1866), cols 1044–6. 14 Ker, Medieval Libraries of Great Britain, p. 180. 15 H. O. Coxe, Catalogus codicum mss qui in collegiis aulisque Oxoniensibus hodie adservantur, vol. 2/4 (Oxford: E Typographeo Academico, 1852), pp. 21–2. 16 Ker, Medieval Libraries of Great Britain, p. 112; T. Webber and A. G. Watson (eds.), The Libraries of the Augustinian Canons, Corpus of British Medieval Library Catalogues 6 (London: The British Library in association with the British Academy, 1998), p. 76; C. Brown, ‘A Thirteenth-Century Manuscript from Llanthony Priory’, Speculum 3 (1928), 587–95.

6

Pastoral care, pastoral cares, pastoral carers Configuring the cura pastoralis in pre-Reformation England1 Robert Swanson

Among the many significant legacies of the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, possibly the most widely inherited was its concern for the reform of pastoral care. The programme sketched and initiated at the Council gained form and substance in the subsequent pastoral revolution, as the church took its message to the people.2 Over the remaining pre-Reformation centuries, the proliferation of pastoralia, textual guides for clergy and laity, created and reinforced both a catechism and a means for its delivery, a checklist of Christianisation.3 In England the first stages of this pastoral revolution culminated in the syllabus proclaimed for the province of Canterbury at the Lambeth Council of 1281 in the decree Ignorantia sacerdotum, and recapitulated in its equivalent for York, promulgated in 1347.4 The obligation placed on parochial clergy to disseminate the required knowledge of the faith encouraged the production of a mass of pastoral literature, alongside extensive sermonising. Through such means the faith was inculcated and reinforced, its doctrines providing the core to which the accretions of ‘traditional religion’ would adhere, secure until shattered by Reformation.5 So far, so straightforward. Yet, was it so straightforward? Pastoral care was a vital issue throughout the medieval western church, not just in England. In the ‘landscape of pastoral care’ the clergy were its obvious agents. The parochial clergy had the primary responsibility, teaching and guiding the laity in their charge, shepherding their flocks towards salvation; but the regulars also played an important part. However, an exclusive focus on priests as the agents and conduits of pastoral care, with pastoralia as its medium, may canalise the concept and its analysis too much, especially as the message was received and taken into hearts in the later medieval centuries. The main contention of this chapter is that its reception generated quasi-ministerial relationships among the laity, reshaping the spiritual landscape and expanding the scope, mechanisms and responsibility of and for pastoral care. This diffused pastoral care became a manifestation of caritas, the mutual care and responsibility which was the duty of each and every Christian. Ultimately, ideally, everyone participated in the duty of pastoral care: everyone should be a pastor, even if canonically incapable of exercising the sacramental cure of souls ascribed to priesthood.

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Care or cure? The concept of pastoral care is so much interwoven into church history and the continuing Christian traditions that its meaning seems self-evident: it is the preserve of priests and ministers, those engaged with pastoral theology. On closer inspection, however, and particularly when approached historically, the concept almost dissolves. It appears concrete yet proves elusive; the search for a clear historic and historical definition produces blind alleys and intangible phantoms. It was all very well for the Fourth Lateran Council to proclaim – following Pope Gregory the Great in his seminal work On Pastoral Care – that the ‘cure of souls is the art of arts’,6 using that tag to set off the pastoral revolution of the thirteenth century and initiate the associated flood of pastoralia; but what did it actually mean? Something which historians can call pastoral care had certainly existed in the preceding centuries, with works which can be treated as pastoralia; but what this caring actually entailed – the task description – seems to have evaded clear and definitive formulation. Nevertheless, it appears fully justifiable to talk of a ‘pastoral contract’ between priests and people in Anglo-Saxon England,7 and to extend its term through to the Reformation: pastoral care was bilateral, even if usually depicted in a one-sided manner. What ‘pastoral care’ entails can become a somewhat shapeless bundle. This may derive from its priestly associations, and an inherent ambiguity in the concept itself. Even when medieval authors attempt to give it shape, they may provide little more than an outline. Addressing the pope and cardinals at Lyons in 1250, Robert Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln, offered one such outline: the work of pastoral care consists not only in administering the sacraments, saying the canonical hours, and celebrating mass . . . but in the true teaching of the truth of life, the terrifying condemnation of vices, the severe and stern correction and strict castigation of vices where this is necessary. . . . It also consists of [performing the Corporal Works of Mercy]8 . . . especially to one’s own parishioners, to whom the temporal goods of the churches belong, [so that] by examples of those Works the people are instructed and informed about the holy deeds of the active life.9 Grosseteste points to a central source of confusion, between a performatively devotional and liturgical approach to the pastorate, and an educative and socially active emphasis. That ambiguity needs immediate attention. The problem lies in the Latin: how should we understand the cura of the cura animarum, of the cura pastoralis? Should it be translated as ‘cure’, with that word’s healing and medicinal overtones drawing attention to the curative properties of confession and penance, concentrating the mind on sin and its avoidance or remission and specifically (because of the sacramental nature of absolution as the culmination of the ‘healing rite’) constructing the priest as a healer of souls?10 Or should it be understood as suggesting a more general ‘care’, something like spiritual social

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work which priests undertake – but responsibility for which need not be limited to priests? That ambiguity is further complicated when the idea of ‘cure of souls’ is made into something even more concrete, when an ecclesiastical benefice becomes ‘a cure of souls’. This is particularly important at the parochial level: rectors and vicars hold ‘the’ cure of souls within their parishes, over their parishioners, as a jurisdiction and disciplinary status.11 Yet this may be only a temporary role – not all priests were automatically such curates, and a parochial cure could be assumed and demitted.12 To further complicate matters, not all rectors were priests: if appointed when in lower orders they could, and had to, delegate the cure to a priest acting in their stead. That was also formally required in cases of non-residence, where a stipendiary replacement had to be provided;13 while for appropriated benefices (where the rectory was assumed by an ecclesiastical corporation, or annexed – for instance – to the office of a specific bishop or cathedral canon or dignitary), and in other parishes where the rectory was treated as a sinecure, English conciliar legislation of the thirteenth century resulted in the creation of perpetual vicarages, whose holders were required to be priests (and perpetually resident) precisely because they were taking on the rectorial cure of souls.14 A path must be picked through these ambiguities; but the present discussion can only be a path-finding exercise rather than a full analysis. This initially requires some reconsideration of the concept of ‘cure’ as a pastoral role – what it entails as a general requirement rather than a host of specific components (although those components obviously matter and will receive some attention in due course). Thereafter, the distribution of the obligation needs some attention: who were the curatores, and what relationships and obligations existed among them? Throughout, the concept of pastorate is important: inherently, the idea of pastoral care emphasises the pastor’s role, and a hierarchical, top-down relationship between shepherd and flock. Arguably, it is not that straightforward: the simplistic binary approach could not apply in a society where all were, by definition, imperfect sinners, and all needed pastoral care of some kind if their souls were indeed to be saved.

Content The top-down construction of pastoral care owes much to the way in which its initial summaries were promulgated. The syllabus of 1281 was, after all, intended to combat ignorantia sacerdotum, to equip priests to instruct their parishioners. That process of channelled dissemination to the laity via priests was reiterated in the York text of 1347.15 These works were not the first pastoralia to be produced in England (and certainly not across catholic Europe in general): much conciliar and synodal legislation of the thirteenth century would fit the bill, as would sermons and other works – but they do provide a template, a basic summary which allows subsequent works to be identified generically as ‘pastoralia’. (It is worth recalling that the generic term is a recent, and academic, coinage:16 modern scholars do the pigeonholing.)

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The pigeonholing is generally consistent, because the content can be tested against the catechetical list offered by Pecham and Thoresby. That needs little detailed dissection here: the standard package comprises the Apostles’ Creed, Our Father, Hail Mary, Commandments, Sacraments, Virtues, Sins, Works of Mercy, all of which, in various interpretations and combinations and in all of England’s languages and regional accents, were analysed and disseminated through to the Reformation.17 Priests were aware of what they had to teach, and (if they did their jobs properly) parishioners could hardly avoid the teaching. That many of the texts were produced in vernacular languages meant that laypeople who could read could also teach themselves, and then others – a point to be noted, but not immediately developed. The complete catechism encapsulates ‘pastoral care’; but within it some elements are more pastoral in their emphasis than others. Certainly, it lays out the knowledge required to be a good Christian, the full skeleton of the faith;18 but the obligations imposed on those being taught also need some consideration. While there was basic learning, of the lists, and of the core prayers, the more detailed analyses extended firmly into action – actions to be avoided, or to be encouraged. Much of the positive action can be set under the obligation of mutual assistance imposed on Christians by the demands of Christ’s Second Great Commandment to ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself’, represented most succinctly in the Seven Corporal Works of Mercy – the ‘humanitarian aid’ of clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, burying the dead and so on. The Corporal Works of Mercy provided a strong strand of late medieval English Catholic practice: they underpin the extensive scholarship on charitable activity and donations, of care for the poor and sick, and – by extension – of care for the dead through post mortem commemoration. However, the tradition of late medieval pastoralia often – but not invariably – enhanced the original catechism by including an additional seven Spiritual Works of Mercy. This addition to the ingredients of ‘being a good medieval Catholic’ is not often prominent in the pastoralia themselves, and certainly receives little consideration in scholarly discussions,19 yet for present purposes does merit some consideration. Building on the Second Great Commandment, if concern for self meant a concern for one’s own salvation, then a concern for one’s neighbour necessarily brought concern for his or her salvation, and therefore an obligation to maintain a kind of pastoral responsibility in assisting him or her to attain salvation – and to intervene should he (or she) be seen to be deviating from the required path. An elaboration of the potential significance of the Spiritual Works provides the spine to what follows. ** The early history of the Seven Spiritual Works of Mercy is elusive. They may have been first codified by Aquinas, in the mid-thirteenth century,20 and presumably passed into general circulation via Dominican and academic networks. As an accretion to the normal syllabus, their tradition is less firm and formalised than that for the Corporal Works; biblical foundations are rarely sought (or, at least,

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offered). The listings vary slightly between authors; but what matters is that a list existed and imposed what amounts to a broadly distributed duty of pastoral care on all Christians. As recorded by Aquinas, these tasks were ‘instructing the ignorant, giving advice to those in doubt, consoling the sorrowful, reproving sinners, forgiving offences, putting up with people who are burdensome and hard to get on with [portare onerosos et graves], and . . . praying for all’, with the first separated into ‘advice and instruction’. The clumsiness of ‘putting up with’ is condensed into one mnemonic word (fer), which corresponds to the endurance or sufferance more often prescribed in such lists.21 The Spiritual Works of Mercy undeniably entered the catechism but seem to receive little direct attention or elaboration in the English pastoralia – and are sometimes surprisingly omitted (they are absent from John Mirk’s Instructions for parish priests). They are listed, briefly and with differences, among the confessional matter in the Pupilla oculi;22 the Quattuor sermones of the fifteenth century are slightly more expansive, but give little detailed commentary.23 Elsewhere, they appear with varying degrees of discussion and expansion. In Jacob’s Well, for instance, a whole chapter (or sermon) is devoted to them – although with a slightly different listing.24 Perhaps significantly, they occur in the Layfolks’ Catechism, the text officially sponsored as an English equivalent to the catechism of 1347, despite their omission from the Latin model text.25 There are also treatments in the Speculum Christiani and the English Speculum vite.26 Sometimes they appear in works tinged with dissent or Lollardy (neither of which really matters for present purposes): one of Wyclif’s Latin sermons (where they provide an opportunity for criticism of clerics);27 a supposedly Wycliffite tract in English on the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy (again used to target bad priests);28 and one version of the Layfolks’ Catechism.29 Further work is needed to determine the scale and depth of the integration of the Spiritual Works into late medieval English spiritual life.30 Even so, it seems likely that they deserve more attention that they have so far received. One immediate potential misconception has to be eliminated. The distinction between Corporal and Spiritual Works invites their treatment as contrasting sets, applying respectively to the active and contemplative lives.31 This would be mistaken. The Spiritual Works were firmly part of the active life: they demanded direct engagement with others, and personal internal struggle. Their enactment as advice would leave few traces; but they still were unavoidably active. The fact that the Spiritual Works demand types of action which would rarely impact on records – they would leave no traces in accounts and wills, and are less easily converted into meaningful images than the Corporal Works – may explain why they have been neglected by scholars; so may their basic ubiquity as normal elements of community life, or the potential for their demands to be subsumed in other elements of the catechism.32 For the clergy, the fact that their roles were so much imbued with their performance (at least theoretically) may mean that they were taken for granted and not spelled out. For the laity, they were perhaps too normal to record, except when things went wrong. Yet, in terms of spiritual direction, of pastoral care, the Spiritual Works were possibly the most significant component

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of the whole catechism, creating obligations and responsibilities shared – but developed in differing ways – by both clergy and laity.33

Pastoral carers: clergy The commonality of pastoral care established by the Spiritual Works of Mercy begins to shift the perspective in the evaluation of pastoral care in general. However, while an argument can be constructed about lay involvement, the clergy were undeniably the main agents across the late medieval centuries. Reading the pastoral revolution as an essentially top-down movement which gradually implemented the programme of Lateran IV primarily through clerical channels produces a structured and necessarily hierarchical view of pastoral care. Its pivotal figure is the priest – especially the parish priest or incumbent – at the interface between ‘the church’ and ‘the people’, providing both spiritual guidance and control through his disciplinary and jurisdictional status and authority. While not incorrect, that depiction is probably insufficiently nuanced. The structural hierarchical organisation was inherent in the fact that pastoral care was an ecclesiastical and clerical responsibility, widely shared among the clerical order. In extending the Fourth Commandment’s obligation to honour one’s parents to the (right-living) clergy, the author of the early fifteenth-century tract, Dives and Pauper, identifies the clerics who count as ‘our spiritual father who has cure of our souls’. He works through the church’s structure: ‘the pope and our bishop, our prelate, our parson, our vicar, our curate, our confessor’.34 In the church of the papal monarchy the supreme pastor was indeed the pope, as universal ordinary, exercising his fullness of power to deal with human frailty by reason of sin.35 Yet that authority had to be shared: pastoral care invoked jurisdiction and discipline, but was distinctly different from rulership and governance. It can perhaps be broadly equated with the pars solicitudinis which even the thirteenth-century popes acknowledged they shared with the bishops – although that solicitude was not restricted solely to pastoral care.36 Late medieval ecclesiology identified the papacy as not merely the church’s ultimate authority, but as the concentration of all authority within it, and the epitome of priesthood; yet nevertheless able to share – or delegate – that authority down to bishops and priests.37 Priests always had been pastors, but they also participated in the pars solicitudinis, sharing and collaborating with the superior ecclesiastical hierarchs in the power to act by reason of sin when dealing with their own parochial subjects. For the parochial clergy, this spiritual authority was primarily delegated from the diocesan bishop and was perhaps conceptually different from the temporal and fiscal rights associated with the benefice as property.38 This may be hinted in the obscure verbal distinction between admission and institution maintained when recording a cleric’s appointment to a parochial benefice by the bishop. Admission may have been specifically to the cure of souls, the spiritual obligations, with institution (if not itself a commitment of spiritualities) being to the church and its physical and fiscal appurtenances, the temporalities (with formal induction generally then delegated to the archdeacon, or some other cleric). Accordingly, ‘it

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is the bishop’s office to admit the person who is presented and to charge him with the cure of souls; for he says, Accipe curam tuam et meam [receive that cure/care which is yours and mine]’.39 Archdeacons also exercised a cure of souls and also therefore had to fit into the hierarchy of pastoral care, between the priestly parochial incumbent and the bishop. An archdeaconry itself counted as a ‘cure of souls’, as a benefice tenurially incompatible with another benefice with cure unless appropriately dispensed and with due arrangements made for providing the cure.40 Here the ‘cure’ perhaps mainly entailed disciplinary oversight exercised through rights of visitation and the archidiaconal courts, pastoral only in a somewhat indirect sense. Yet it remained focussed on souls and their protection: in the standard phraseology of the church courts, a priest accused of consorting with prostitutes might be summoned before the archdeacon’s court pro correccione anime sue – ‘for the correction of his soul’.41 ** This structural distribution of the duties of pastoral care, which maintained the separation of clergy and laity and the former’s superiority over the latter, was complemented by a more theological argument to explain and validate that pastoral relationship. Central here were theories about the relative status of laity and clergy developed during and after the twelfth century and based on the theology of pseudo-Dionysius (a sixth-century author mistakenly identified with an immediate companion of St Paul).42 His two key works, On Celestial Hierarchy and On Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, were read as complementary texts; by the thirteenth century the parallels between the two hierarchies were almost a commonplace among intellectuals, although how far the ideas had spread beyond academic circles is unclear. That it appears in the (continental) Manipulus curatorum indicates some basic dissemination at least among readers of that text.43 Dionysian thought constructed a triadic hierarchy, of functions and status, where processes of perfection, purification and purgation could be associated with the spiritual hierarchy of prelates, priests and people. In this analysis, the role of the clergy was to instruct the laity and bring them to perfection. In the absence of extensive work on the influence of pseudo-Dionysius in late medieval England, proof that English clerics adopted and urged this view is elusive. However, there clearly was some awareness of pseudo-Dionysian ideas, and the relevant continental scholarship did circulate. Robert Grosseteste in the thirteenth century was one thinker to adopt it (although for rather different purposes);44 John Colet was clearly influenced by it in the early sixteenth century, writing his own commentaries on the two key texts. His discussion repeated many of the stock ideas of the relationship between priests and people; hints of their influence may appear in his sermon to the Convocation of Canterbury in 1512.45 More widely distributed references to the clergy as equivalent in status to the angels (if not higher) may also suggest awareness, or at least a blurring of perceptual boundaries; but some of these comments approach the commonplace, lacking the specific implicit hierarchical meaning.46 The reverberations of the

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anti-fraternal movement in thirteenth-century Paris, where the friars were challenged as intrusions into the pseudo-Dionysian hierarchy (notably in the work of William of St Amour), may also have spread the ideas – Richard FitzRalph invoked the scheme in his anti-mendicant campaign of the 1340s.47 This antifraternal strand was incorporated into the work and interpretations of the French theologian Jean Gerson, probably the most influential late medieval continental writer to adopt a pseudo-Dionysian approach to priesthood. In his formulation, the highest order (the prelates) ‘purges, illumines, and perfects, and not the opposite; the lowest [the laity] is to be purged, illuminated, and perfected, and not the opposite. The middle [rank – the clergy] shares in both [sets of processes]’.48 While evidence of direct awareness of Gerson’s ideas in England appears negligible, it cannot be entirely ruled out;49 but if similar views were already floating around from earlier evolutions, direct dependence would not have been needed. ** Angelic or not, how the priest conducted himself as a human being whose ordination gave him a superhuman status certainly mattered. Equally important was how he conducted himself in his priestly roles as ritual actor and guide to souls seeking salvation, especially by hearing confession and granting absolution. Priesthood was a union of two distinct roles: the sacramental and the pastoral. The former climaxed in the mass, and the priest’s role as celebrant appears in works like the Quattuor sermones of 1483 as the basic rationale for the sacrament of ordination.50 The other salvific sacraments of baptism and extreme unction were also priestly, providing buffers – but not barriers – against damnation. Absolution was also valued, cleansing the soul from sin, especially on the deathbed. Priests who failed or refused to provide baptism and last rites endangered souls, and provoked complaints.51 To some extent this sacramental aspect of priesthood was purely functional, almost mechanical – except where sacramental distribution was exclusively the prerogative of the parish priest (almost never entirely the case) it was technically separate from the pastorate, and indeed from the cura pastoralis.52 Yet the focus on sin and redemption, especially through the annual confession and communion which became obligatory after 1215,53 linked the sacramental and pastoral elements. However, they were in tension: even clerics can be found (and not just Wycliffites) asserting that it was better to hear a sermon than attend a mass, because the sermon was potentially life-saving, and therefore more effectively soul-saving.54 The pastoral aspect of priestliness mattered. The duty of pastoral care – the care/ cure of souls – involved both teaching and healing.55 The laity had to be taught how to live Christian lives, to avoid sin, to share in Catholic faith and practices, to take responsibility for their own salvation, and to die fully prepared for the afterlife. As sinners, they would repeatedly fall short of their goals; their defects – their sins – had therefore to be healed, by confession and absolution, in order to remove the guilt of the sin with penance and assuage the divine demand for satisfaction, either in this world or the next.

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The basic teaching responsibilities of pastoral care were unchanging across the centuries, and ubiquitous. Their early history is only patchily revealed in the sources; they become increasingly visible after 1215 and the onset of the ‘pastoral revolution’, and the widespread production of pastoralia and sermons. An essential stability across the late medieval centuries is reflected in the appeal and use of the same texts across time and space. Confessors’ manuals of the late thirteenth century remained in circulation, and passed into print, in the late 1400s and after;56 so did the major handbooks for priests. After extensive circulation as manuscripts, the Manipulus curatorum (produced in the mid-fourteenth century) and the Pupilla oculi (compiled in 1384) also went into print.57 The priest’s role as confessor also went back into the early medieval period. However, its extent and import only fully emerges from the shadows after 1215, developing with the impact of the pastoral revolution. As confessor, the priest became keeper of his flock’s secrets; this placed him in an ambivalent position. Clearly, he had power which could be misused, and which might make people wary of him. A major priestly fault was the revelation of information passed on in confession, a failing which formally merited suspension, even deposition, from the cure.58 A notable – yet so far apparently unnoted – aspect of the pastoral side of priesthood is how far it matches the requirements of the Seven Spiritual Works of Mercy. A priest ‘instructed the ignorant’ whenever he delivered a sermon; while confession provided the occasion to chastise wrongdoers. The other works can similarly be plotted against pastoral activity. It may not be excessive to claim that the list of the Spiritual Works provides the desired summary of the non-liturgical and sacramental duties of priesthood in general, a definition of ‘pastoral care’. It is one which may apply all the way up the chain of those with a cure of souls. Archbishop Neville of York was certainly ‘counselling the doubtful’ when he talked with Agnes, wife of Roger Mawson of Mickleby, on the Yorkshire moors in 1375, seeking to rebuild the faith which she thought she had lost, and offering an indulgence to all who prayed for her to encourage them to become co-operators in the task.59

Pastoral carers: the laity Neville doubtless expected most of those who prayed for Agnes Mawson to be laypeople, sharing in the pars solicitudinis and working one of the Spiritual Works. While the clergy had the main responsibility for pastoral care, it could not be their monopoly. The potential for a lay pastorate adds a further nuance to the complexity of pastoral care in pre-Reformation England. That the laity had pastoral obligations is exemplified in Dives and Pauper, written in the early fifteenth century. ‘Pauper’ elaborates these (essentially patriarchal) obligations when discussing the Fourth Commandment. Drawing on St Augustine’s comment ‘that each man in his own household should perform the office of a bishop in teaching and correcting common matters’, and using canon law, Pauper asserts that ‘the office of teaching and chastising pertains . . . to every

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governor according to his title and status: to the poor man governing his poor household; to the rich man governing his attendants [mene]; to the husband governing his wife; to the father and mother governing their children; to the justice governing his province; to the king governing his people’.60 Pauper also cites St Peter to argue that ‘every neighbour should teach each other’, for ‘every man should minister to others the grace which he has received from God’.61 The catalogue is extensive, its application potentially capacious. The imprecision of the focus and content of the Spiritual Works of Mercy could accommodate many activities which would not normally be treated as ‘pastoral care’, but which nevertheless related to sin and its control. The thrust is top-down and patriarchal; but there was also potential for subversion. Pastoral care could not be left exclusively to the clergy; it had to be shared more widely. If the Christian life was a pilgrimage, the journey from birth to afterlife was not performed in isolation, or even solely with priests as guides. The laity had their part. This was exemplified at birth in the appointment of godparents, who assumed in the child’s name the responsibility for spiritual development as guides and pastors. According to the Pupilla oculi, written in 1384, godparents were fideiussores (guarantors) for their godchildren before God; in guiding them towards God, they ought frequently to urge them to maintain chastity, love justice, maintain charity and should teach them the Creed and Lord’s Prayer.62 Other writers shared this view,63 although social realities may often have been different.64 It was no accident that the notion of spiritual incest which barred sexual relations between godparents and godchildren also applied to relations between priests and their parishioners (and to the relationships created at confirmation).65 The most urgent act of pastoral care at the birth – baptism itself – was a sacrament that even laity could perform (and if performed by the parents did not create an impediment to their remaining married).66 The pastoral responsibilities of the natural parents reinforced, augmented and expanded the godparents’, notably to ensure that the children learnt the basic prayers speedily and were presented to a bishop for confirmation. How much this responsibility was shared is unclear: the Pupilla oculi assumed that ‘education’ was primarily a maternal responsibility.67 This maternal teaching is often treated mainly as a matter of learning to read;68 but this ignores parental teaching in bookless houses (which must have been the norm). The ‘lewd’ learning their rote prayers, which could still earn salvation when recited to secure indulgences or served as the counterpoint to the priestly mass as a lay liturgy, were also engaging in self-help, pastoral self-care.69 Indeed, that was a legitimate element in pastoral care: everyone was their own pastor to some extent. Arguably, loving one’s neighbour as oneself also legitimated self-love, self-help and a degree of self-centredness in the search for salvation, if not carried to extremes. Implicit in much of the pastoralia was an emphasis on developing individuals to allow them to secure their own salvation through their own efforts, within the Christian community. Walter Hilton’s Epistle of the Mixed Life perhaps encapsulates this approach: the addressee is advised on how to conduct his own life, balancing the obligations of the active and contemplative strands, but in the former always living up to the obligations and responsibilities of his status.70

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As a life approached its end, laypeople were also expected to gather round a deathbed, and again became involved in pastoral care. Fifteenth-century ars moriendi literature represents the deathbed as a scene of exhortation and support, urging the dying Christian through to salvation, discouraging too much selfassurance (which, as pride, brought damnation), and encouraging trust in divine mercy (to preclude despair and self-condemnation). Laypeople here act with guardian angels in a defence force which keeps the circling demons at bay, finally allowing the soul to pass to God – and then immediately initiating the post mortem round of prayer which constituted a cura animarum to speed the passage through Purgatory.71 ** The actuality of this lay pastoral care is unavoidably elusive. Once again, a key element may have been the Spiritual Works of Mercy. Where they are discussed in the pastoralia, their accessibility and feasibility, for all, are highlighted. In fifteenth-century Beccles, for instance, John Drury noted that while the Corporal Works were realistically feasible only for those with the necessary resources, the Spiritual Works could be performed by anyone, so that ‘no creature can excuse himself, be he never so poor’:72 they offered a more democratic route to salvation than the Corporal Works. One version of the Layfolks’ Catechism declares that God urges performance of the Spiritual Works more than the Corporal ones, claiming that they are ‘better and easier to fulfil’.73 Indeed, ‘Euery man pore and riche may do alle þese; whanever he wyl . . . Therefore as þe sowle is better þan þe body, So þese gostly mercyes be better þan þe bodyly mercyes’. Because the Corporal Works ‘are not as easy or as profitable’ as the Spiritual Works, neglect of the latter merits divine condemnation.74 Implicitly, the Spiritual Works were ubiquitous, despite being elusive in the sources. However, they do appear. The prime lay exponent is probably Margery Kempe, both in giving pastoral care (whether desired or not), and receiving it from the likes of Richard Caistor, the saintly Norwich vicar, and from Julian of Norwich.75 That she was not alone appears from articles against alleged heretics at Northampton in the 1390s, which included one that ‘it is licit for any Christian to instruct his brother in the Ten Commandments and holy gospels, so that he has knowledge of them and can teach them [et predicet], and that each paterfamilias should answer for himself and for the actions of his household’.76 That imagined household may be represented in the unknown addressee of the ‘Instructions for a Devout and Literate Layman’, who taught through the readings and ‘expounding’ to his family and household at dinner.77 A more confrontational form of pastoral care appears when access to communion was challenged to force satisfaction for unrighted wrongs, or resolve disputes; such interventions to restore charity could prove provocatively disruptive.78 That somewhat aggressive (or ‘pro-active’) form of pastoral care perhaps found biblical foundations in Matthew 18:15–17, which encouraged fraternal correction to draw a ‘brother’ from sin. If that failed, the process became more communal, potentially more formally disciplinary. Perhaps significantly, the text immediately precedes (at verse 18) one version of Christ’s commission to bind and loose, in a

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form which implicitly gives every Catholic the obligation and power to undertake pastoral care – to win the brother over – ratione peccati. As ‘castigation’ this process becomes a Spiritual Work, but one which could be institutionalised through the ecclesiastical courts. As a formal denunciatio evangelica it justified disciplinary action to recall a sinner from vice to virtue and from error to truth, and to restore peace.79 Continental formulae indicate its use where someone was acting in a way which should have been against conscience, and thereby endangering his soul. He thus had to be brought out of danger – being urged if defeated in court to abandon his sin, if necessary under canonical sanctions.80 Formal use of this process in England seems to occur (or has only been noticed) only after the Reformation; but even without its formal invocation, the underlying principle can perhaps be detected in a range of disciplinary activities in the pre-Reformation church, including parochial visitations and heresy proceedings.81 By inviting accusations, either through the check list of faults in visitation articles or the summonses which preceded heresy investigations, the authorities certainly acted ‘top-down’; but the responses were ‘bottom-up’, nominally ‘fraternal correction’. Such activity may well have occurred before formal procedures were invoked; or without leading to formal procedures at all.82 In both cases evidence is elusive. Parish visitations certainly report rumours, without disclosing earlier discussion with those whose fama was adversely affected by them. However, visitation presentments often suggest that the underlying issue was long-standing, with formal action the last resort – and even that resolution was not necessarily a disciplinary imposition, but an agreed resolution. To see some elements of visitation as a lay appropriation of processes for a communal form of pastoral care does not ignore the complexities of assessing the motivations and functions of the visitation process as such. Visitations reflected complex local power relations, allowing individuals and groups within a community to enhance their own positions. They also allowed top-down episcopal oversight (itself pastoral care) to ally with bottom-up anxieties and desire for improved clerical services (and bottom-up opportunism), perhaps primarily to exert pressure on the local clergy to conform to agendas currently – if only seemingly – shared. A concern for pastoral care is reflected in presentments dealing with moral and spiritual lapses among the laity, or with failings in performance by the clergy. Evolutions in visitation processes in the thirteenth century coincided with the implementation of the first stages of the pastoral revolution at parish level, providing a framework for the laity to assume a degree of agency to implement a moral and social agenda which, while often serving sectional interests, conferred a pastoral role on the community as a self-policing and self-regulating body.83 Even if the parishioners lacked formal disciplinary authority, and were reporting fama rather than making formal accusations,84 they were engaged in the extended process of fraternal correction, reporting their concerns to the visitatorial authorities and expecting them to act. However, such pastoral care could backfire in the intricacies of parochial power relations: inappropriate or subversive denunciations might be countered with defamation charges, forcing the denouncers to defend themselves in the church courts.85

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The lay appropriation of a role in pastoral care itself challenged and undermined any clerical monopoly. They did not directly challenge the clergy’s status; but the laity did want their clergy to live up to their own self-fashioning as angellike Christ substitutes. The laity accepted priestly instruction, but faced the basic problem with hierarchy: quis custodiet ipsos custodes?; quis curat curatores? Pastoral care had to apply to the clergy as well as the laity, and the laity claimed a role in the process. The texts which used the Spiritual Works of Mercy as justification for attempts to reform bad priests were not far off the mark: here parishioners could and did complain against defective priests, and ally with bishops to ensure that the pastors were up to their task. The obligations of the Spiritual Works also validated face-to-face denunciations all the way up the hierarchy, from blunt ripostes to parish clergy who failed to cultivate charity among their flock, up to Margery Kempe’s denunciations of the households of the two archbishops, Arundel of Canterbury and Bowet of York.86 As the author of Dives and Pauper had noted, this lay pastoral responsibility permeated the whole of society, even to its head. However, what it entailed becomes increasingly elusive, because of the imprecision and imaginable extent of the Spiritual Works. The regulations of some guilds and fraternities included moral and devotional requirements, imposing self-discipline and collective brotherhood and reconciliation, with breaches punished by expulsion. This can be portrayed as social discipline, but it can also be read as a claim to pastoral authority.87 Town rulers sometimes assumed similar responsibilities. Administrative programmes which suggest a concern with moral reform were also actions to repress sin, implicitly pastoral. The reform programme instituted by the civic leaders in Coventry in 1492 has been labelled as ‘Lollard’, linking it with contemporary heresy and an early ‘godly magistracy’.88 However, the programme has similarities to the equivalent long-running moralist campaigns in late medieval London, characterised as an opposition between caritas and luxuria. Its overlaps with factionalism among the ruling elite complicate matters, but without necessarily undermining or invalidating the appeal to pastoral imperatives.89 The king had foremost responsibility for the welfare of his subjects, a welfare both spiritual and temporal. His obligation to preserve justice was a duty to repress sin (by definition unjust); he had a duty to maintain peace, which would allow his subjects to work to secure their salvations. After 1370, the royal remit extended to protecting souls against heresy. The king’s role as paterfamilias for the nation could give a pastoral tinge to many aspects of government, as action ratione peccati.90 How far any individual king saw his position in these terms is impossible to determine (perhaps only his confessor knew), until Henry VIII began to take it seriously, but with a distinctive agenda.91

Conclusion As here presented and formulated, the bricks of this argument contain limited amounts of straw. Only fuller investigation will determine whether they are strong enough to construct a sound edifice. Yet, despite its speculation and limitations, the argument does suggest that scholarly approaches to medieval pastoral care

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should be more comprehensive in their scope. The clergy were the main topographical features in the landscape of pastoral care, but the laity also assumed a significant role, mapping out networks and relationships which can be considered at least as quasi-ministerial in intent.92 The traditional syllabus of pastoral care assumes top-down delivery and an active lay life whose chief imperatives were the avoidance of sin (by obeying the Ten Commandments) and the acquisition of merit (principally through the Corporal Works of Mercy and works of devotion). The expansion of the basic syllabus to include the Spiritual Works of Mercy considerably extended the scope of this lay active life to imprecisely identified quasi-priestly activities which, as love of neighbour and participation in the pars solicitudinis, became both pastoral care and something like a cure of souls. This was, ultimately, a responsibility which went unavoidably with the claim to be a Christian; it was universal, universally shared and universally mutual. It was also a manifestation of caritas, that rewardingly meritorious love of neighbour which was an essential pillar of medieval Catholicism.

Notes 1 Some of the ideas expressed in this article were developed while holding a Leverhulme Trust Major Research Fellowship on ‘The Parish in Late Medieval England’, and will be further elaborated as that work progresses. I am extremely grateful to the Leverhulme Trust for their support for this project. 2 C. Morris, The Papal Monarchy: The Western Church from 1050 to 1250 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), pp. 489–96. 3 On pastoralia, L. E. Boyle, ‘The Fourth Lateran Council and Manuals of Popular Theology’, in: T. J. Heffernan (ed.), The Popular Literature of Medieval England, Tennessee Studies in Literature 28 (Knoxville: University of Tennesee Press, 1985), pp. 30–43. 4 Both together in The Lay Folks’ Catechism, ed. T. F. Simmons and H. E. Nolloth, EETS o.s. 118 (1901), pp. 2–98. For the English developments in the thirteenth century, see A. Reeves, Religious Education in Thirteenth-Century England: The Creed and Articles of Faith (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2015); W. H. Campbell, The Landscape of Pastoral Care in Thirteenth-Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 5 For ‘traditional religion’, E. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1400–1580 (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1992; 2nd edn. 2005). The broader European picture is developed in R. N. Swanson, Religion and Devotion in Europe, c. 1215-c. 1515 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 6 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. N. P. Tanner, 2 vols. (London and Washington, DC: Sheed & Ward and Georgetown University Press, 1990), i. 248; PL 77, col. 14. 7 V. Thompson, ‘The Pastoral Contract in Late Anglo-Saxon England: Priest and Parishioner in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Miscellaneous 482’, in: F. Tinti (ed.), Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005), pp. 106–20. 8 As in Matthew 25: 35–40; he does not include ‘burying the dead’. 9 E. Brown (ed.), Fasciculus rerum expetendarum et fugiendarum, 2 vols. (London: Impensis Richardi Chiswell, 1690), ii. 253. 10 R. N. Swanson, ‘Apostolic Successors? Priests and Priesthood, Bishops and Episcopacy in Medieval Western Europe’, in: G. Peters and C. C. Anderson (eds.), A Companion to Priesthood and Holy Orders in the Middle Ages (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2016), p. 26.

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11 W. Lyndwood, Provinciale (seu Constitutiones Angliæ) (Oxford: excudebat H. Hall Academiae Typographus, impensis Ric. Davis, 1679), pp. 117 (Personatibus), 135 (curam animarum). 12 T. Aquinas, Summa Theologica: Volume 47, the Pastoral and Religious Lives (2a2ae. 183–9), ed. J. Aumann, O.P. (London/New York: Blackfriars, 1973), pp. 42–3, 254–5. 13 Johannes de Burgo, Pupilla oculi (Paris: Francois Regnault, 1518), fol. 153v. 14 Councils and Synods, with Other Documents Relating to the English Church, II: A.D. 1205–1313, ed. F. M. Powicke and C. R. Cheney, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), i. 249; de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fol. 154ra. 15 Above, n. 4. 16 J. Goering, ‘Leonard E. Boyle and the Invention of Pastoralia’, in: R. J. Stansbury (ed.), A Companion to Pastoral Care in the Late Middle Ages (1200–1500) (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 7–20. 17 The scale of production in England indicated in R. R. Raymo, ‘Works of Religious and Philosophical Instruction’, in: A. E. Hartung (ed.), A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050–1500, vol. 7 (New Haven, CT: The Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1986), pp. 2255–372, 2470–577. For sermons and pastoralia: H. Leith Spencer, English Preaching in the Late Middle Ages (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), ch. 5; S. Wenzel, Latin Sermon Collections from Later Medieval England: Orthodox Preaching in the Age of Wyclif (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 346–53. 18 N. Tanner and S. Watson, ‘Least of the Laity: The Minimum Requirements for a Medieval Christian’, Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006), 395–423. 19 I detect no discussion of them in, for instance, Duffy, Stripping of the Altars; J. Hughes, Pastors and Visionaries: Religion and Secular Life in Late Medieval Yorkshire (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1988) – or, for that matter, R. N. Swanson, Church and Society in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989); Swanson, Religion and Devotion. 20 T. Aquinas, Summa Theologica: Volume 34, (2a2ae. 23–33) Charity, ed. R. J. Batten, O.P. (London/New York: Blackfriars, 1975), pp. 240–41. The translation refers to them as ‘usually listed’, but that stretches the Latin slightly. 21 Ibid, pp. 240–41. 22 de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fol. 52vb. 23 N. F. Blake (ed.), Quattuor sermones, Printed by William Caxton, Middle English Texts 2 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1975), pp. 45–6. 24 V. O’Mara and S. Paul (eds.), A Repertorium of Middle English Prose Sermons, 4 vols., Sermo 1 (Turnout: Brepols, 2007), iv. 2367–9 (esp. 2368). I have used the text as edited in C. Atchley, ‘The “Wose” of Jacob’s Well: Text and Context’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Washington, 1998), pp. 69–74 [= Salisbury Cathedral Library, MS 103, fols 102v – 103v]. I am extremely grateful to Prof. Atchley for providing a copy of these pages of his thesis. 25 Lay Folks’ Catechism, ed. Simmons and Nolloth, pp. 74–7. 26 Speculum Christiani: A Middle English Religious Treatise of the 14th Century, ed. G. Holmstedt, EETS o.s. 182 (1933, for 1929), pp. 44–6; Speculum Vitae: A Reading Edition, vol. 1, ed. R. Hanna, EETS o.s. 331 (2008), pp. 252–7, 264–6. 27 Iohannes Wyclif Sermones, ed. J. Loserth, 4 vols. (London: Trübner and Co., 1887–90), i. 248–52. 28 Select English Works of John Wyclif, ed. T. Arnold, 3 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1869–71), iii. 177–8. 29 Lay Folks’ Catechism, ed. Simmons and Nolloth, pp. 75, 77; see also A. Hudson, ‘A New Look at the Lay Folks’ Catechism’, Viator 16 (1985), 243–58 (the Lollard association challenged at pp. 254–8). 30 Evidence need not be explicit. Probable allusions appear, for instance, in John Colet’s ‘catechism’ for pupils at St Paul’s school, London: J. H. Lupton, A Life of John Colet, D.D., Dean of St Paul’s and Founder of St Paul’s School (London: G. Bell, 1887), pp. 288–9.

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31 A trap perhaps fallen into by P. H. Cullum, ‘“Yf Lak of Charyte Be Not Ower Hynderawnce”: Margery Kempe, Lynn, and the Practice of the Spiritual and Bodily Works of Mercy’, in: J. H. Arnold and K. J. Lewis (eds.), A Companion to the Book of Margery Kempe (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004), pp. 177–93, see esp. pp. 185–6. The more active elements make appearances at pp. 189, 192. 32 The Manipulus curatorum conflates both sets of Works of Mercy with the obligations of the Fourth Commandment, with the comment that ‘Also under the names of “father” and “mother” are to be understood all neighbors to whom works of mercy are to be shown’: Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates: A Late Medieval Manual on Pastoral Ministry, trans. A. T. Thayer (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2011), p. 301. 33 This is explicit in treatments which identify both clergy and laity as engaged in the Works: Atchley, ‘The “Wose”’, pp. 70–71; Speculum vitae, vol. 1, ed. Hanna, pp. 253– 4. It is implicit in the accountability for souls damned by failure to undertake tasks which can be understood as the Works, and a failure to ‘love thy neighbour’: Richard Morris’s Prick of Conscience: A Corrected and Amplified Reading Text, ed. R. Hanna and S. Wood, EETS o.s. 342 (2013), pp. 162, 165 (which basically matches Speculum vitae, vol. 1, ed. Hanna, pp. 254–6). 34 Dives and Pauper, ed. P. H. Barnum, 2 vols in 3, EETS o.s. 275, 280, 323 (1976–2004), 1/i. 330. 35 K. Pennington, Pope and Bishops: The Papal Monarchy in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984), pp. 43–6, 56–60. 36 Ibid., pp. 45–7. 37 Swanson, ‘Apostolic Successors’, pp. 39–41. 38 Aquinas, Pastoral and Religious Lives, pp. 44–5. 39 J. H. Baker (ed.), Year Books of Henry VIII. 12–14 Henry VIII, 1520–1523, Selden Society 119 (London: Selden Society, 2002), p. 75. 40 Many archdeaconries were endowed with appropriated rectories, but their parochial cure of souls was usually exercised by a perpetual vicar. 41 R. L. Storey, ‘Clergy and Common Law in the Reign of Henry IV’, in: R. F. Hunnisett and J. B. Post (eds.), Medieval Legal Records Edited in Memory of C. A. F. Meekings (London: HMSO, 1978), pp. 341–408, at 367. 42 This and the following paragraph draw on, and elaborate, elements of Swanson, ‘Apostolic Successors’, pp. 36–9. 43 Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, p. 110. 44 C. Taylor Hogan, ‘Pseudo-Dionysius and the Ecclesiology of Robert Grosseteste: A Fruitful Symbiosis’, in: J. McEvoy (ed.), Robert Grosseteste: New Perspectives on His Thought and Scholarship, Instrumenta Patristica 27 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1995), pp. 189–213. 45 Two Treatises on the Hierarchies of Dionysius, by John Colet, D.D., Formerly Dean of St. Paul’s, ed. J. H. Lupton (London: Bell and Daldy, 1869), see esp. pp. 18, 53, 102, 116–17, 129–30; John Colet on the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy of Dionysius: A New Edition and Translation with Introduction and Notes, ed. D. J. Nodes and D. Lochman (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 126–7, 226–9, 259–63, 291–5. J. B. Trapp, ‘John Colet and the Hierarchies of the Pseudo-Dionysius’, in: K. Robbins (ed.), Religion and Humanism, Studies in Church History 17 (Oxford: Basil Blackwell for the Ecclesiastical History Society, 1981), pp. 127–48, does not consider this aspect of the issues. See also J. P. Gleason, John Colet (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1989), pp. 304–5. 46 For some possibilities, see e.g. de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fol. 28ra; Four English Political Tracts of the Later Middle Ages, ed. J.-P. Genet, Camden 4th ser., 18 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1977), p. 162. 47 P. R. Szittya, The Antifraternal Tradition in Medieval Literature (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 138–9. For William of St Amour, G. Geltner, The Making of Medieval Antifraternalism: Polemic, Violence, Deviance, and Remembrance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 21–2.

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48 Jean Gerson: Œuvres complètes, ed. P. Glorieux, 10 vols. (Paris: Desclée, 1960–73), x. 135; Swanson, ‘Apostolic Successors’, pp. 37–9. 49 D. Hobbins, Authorship and Publicity before Print: Jean Gerson and the Transformation of Late Medieval Learning (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), pp. 213–14. 50 Quattuor sermones, ed. Blake, pp. 42–3. 51 S. Brigden, ‘Religion and Social Obligation in Early Sixteenth-Century London’, Past & Present 103 (1984), 67–112, at p. 83; Dives and Pauper, ed. Barnum, 1/ii, p. 24. 52 See the comment of Robert Rypon at Wenzel, Latin Sermon Collections, p. 336. 53 Decrees, ed. Tanner, i. 245. 54 Wenzel, Latin Sermon Collections, pp. 335–6; Dives and Pauper, ed. Barnum, 1/ii, p. 23. 55 R. N. Swanson, ‘Pastoralia in Practice: Clergy and Ministry in Pre-Reformation England’, in: T. Clemens and W. Janse (eds.), The Pastor Bonus: Papers read at the British-Dutch Colloquium at Utrecht, 18–21 September 2002 [= Dutch Review of Church History/ Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 83 (2003)] (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2004), pp. 104–28, at 117–18; R. N. Swanson, ‘Before the Protestant Clergy: The Construction and Deconstruction of Medieval Priesthood’, in: C. S. Dixon and L. Schorn-Schütte (eds.), The Protestant Clergy of Early Modern Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), pp. 39–59, 200–9, at 47–8. 56 T. N. Tentler, Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977). 57 Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates; W. A. Pantin, The English Church in the Fourteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955), pp. 213–14; de Burgo, Pupilla oculi. 58 de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fols 49, 58va. 59 R. N. Swanson, ‘Will the Real Margery Kempe Please Stand Up!’, in: D. Wood (ed.), Women and Religion in Medieval England (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2003), pp. 141–65, at 155. 60 Dives and Pauper, ed. Barnum, 1/i, p. 328. 61 Ibid. 62 de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fol. 12ra. 63 Quattuor sermones, ed. Blake, p. 38. 64 Colet castigates unworthy godparents: Two Treatises, ed. Lupton, pp. 160–62. 65 Quattuor sermones, ed. Blake, p. 38; de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fol. 133v. 66 Quattuor sermones, ed. Blake, p. 37. 67 de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, fols 122rb, 136rb. 68 P. Cullum and J. Goldberg, ‘How Margaret Blackburn Taught Her Children: Teaching Devotional Instruction in a Book of Hours’, in: J. Wogan-Browne, R. Voaden, A. Diamond, A. Hutchison, C. M. Meale and L. Johnson (eds.), Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts in Late Medieval Britain: Essays for Felicity Riddy, Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts, vol. 3 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), pp. 217–36, at 228–36; W. Scase, ‘Saint Anne and the education of the Virgin’, in: N. Rogers (ed.), England in the Fourteenth Century: Proceedings of the 1991 Harlaxton Symposium (Stamford: Paul Watkins, 1993), pp. 81–96, at 92–6. A broader approach, including continental examples, in P. Sheingorn, ‘“The Wise Mother”: The Image of St. Anne Teaching the Virgin Mary’, Gesta 32 (1993), pp. 69–80. 69 R. N. Swanson, ‘Prayer and Participation in Late Medieval England’, in: K. Cooper and J. Gregory (eds.), Elite and Popular Religion, Studies in Church History 42 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press for the Ecclesiastical History Society, 2006), pp. 130–39; R. N. Swanson (ed.), Catholic England: Faith, Religion, and Observance before the Reformation (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993), pp. 83–91. 70 Swanson (ed.), Catholic England, pp. 104–25 (the Spiritual Works mentioned at p. 105 as part of the active life). 71 Swanson (ed.), Catholic England, pp. 125–47, esp. pp. 143–7; Brigden, ‘Religion and Social Obligation’, pp. 83–5; Duffy, Stripping of the Altars, pp. 313–27. 72 Swanson (ed.), Catholic England, pp. 55–6.

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73 Lay Folks’ Catechism, ed. Simmons and Nolloth, p. 75. Aquinas’s judgement seems more equivocal at Aquinas, Charity, pp. 246–9; but he declares in favour of the Spiritual Works (if these do in fact equate to the eleemosynæ spirituales of the Latin) at Aquinas, Pastoral and Religious Lives, pp. 194–5. 74 Lay Folks’ Catechism, ed. Simmons and Nolloth, p. 77. The Speculum Christiani also counts non-performance as sinful: Speculum Christiani, ed. Holmstedt, pp. 98–9. See also Works of Wyclif, ed. Arnold, iii. 178. 75 M. B. L. Davis, ‘“Spekyn for Goddes Cawse”: Margery Kempe and the Seven Spiritual Works of Mercy’, in: B. Nagy and M. Sebők (eds.), The Man of Many Devices, Who Wandered Full Many Ways . . .: Festschrift in Honor of János M. Bak (Budapest: Central European University Press, 1999), pp. 250–65. I find Cullum, ‘“Yf Lak of Charyte Be Not Ower Hynderawnce”’, a less successful treatment. 76 Royal Writs Addressed to John Buckingham, Bishop of Lincoln, 1363–1398: Lincoln Register 12B: A Calendar, ed. A. K. McHardy, Canterbury and York Society 86/Lincoln Record Society 86 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1997), no. 446 (p. 142). See also A. K. McHardy, ‘Bishop Buckingham and the Lollards of Lincoln Diocese’, in: D. Baker (ed.), Schism, Heresy and Religious Protest, Studies in Church History 9 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), pp. 131–55, at 137–45. For the legitimacy of such teaching, see Wenzel, Latin Sermon Collections, p. 348, esp. n. 7. 77 W. A. Pantin, ‘Instructions for a Devout and Literate Layman’, in: J. J. G. Alexander and M. T. Gibson (eds.), Medieval Learning and Literature: Essays Presented to Richard William Hunt (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), pp. 398–422, at 399–400, 421. 78 Brigden, ‘Religion and Social Obligation’, pp. 73–4. See also the exemplum (although here engineered by a priest) in Middle English Sermons, Edited from British Museum MS Royal 18.B.xxiii, ed. W. O. Ross, EETS o.s. 209 (1940), pp. 61–3. For disruptive intervention, see the case discussed in T. Johnson, ‘The Preconstruction of Witness Testimony: Law and Social Discourse in England before the Reformation’, Law and History Review 32 (2014), 127–47, at pp. 128–9, 135–6, 138. 79 H. Coing, ‘English Equity and the Denunciatio Evangelica of the Canon Law’, Law Quarterly Review 71 (1955), 223–41, at pp. 226–7. 80 Coing, ‘English Equity’, pp. 227–9. 81 R. H. Helmholz, The Oxford History of the Laws of England, Vol. 1: The Canon Law and Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction from 597 to the 1640s (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), pp. 606–7. 82 For informal reconciliations see e.g. Brigden, ‘Religion and Social Obligation’, pp. 72–3. 83 See, in general, I. Forrest, ‘The Transformation of Visitation in Thirteenth-Century England’, Past & Present 221 (2013), pp. 3–38, esp. the succinct summary at p. 35; also I. Forrest, The Detection of Heresy in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 227–8. 84 For fama, see Forrest, ‘Transformation of Visitation’, pp. 23–6. 85 I. Forrest, ‘Defamation, Heresy and Late Medieval Social Life’, in: L. Clark, M. Jurkowski and C. Richmond (eds.), Image, Text and Church, 1380–1600: Essays for Margaret Aston, Papers in Mediaeval Studies 20 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2009), pp. 142–61, at 150–1 (the heresy cases at pp. 155–7 fit less straightforwardly – but one may be an instance of priestly pastoral care which likewise backfired). 86 E.g. Johnson, ‘Preconstruction’, p. 143; Swanson, Catholic England, pp. 261–7; The Book of Margery Kempe, trans. B. A. Windeatt (London: Penguin, 1985), pp. 72, 162–6. See also below. 87 B. R. McRee, ‘Religious Gilds and Regulation of Behavior in Late Medieval Towns’, in: J. Rosenthal and C. Richmond (eds.), People, Politics and Community in the Later Middle Ages (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1987), pp. 108–22, at 113; Brigden, ‘Religion and Social Obligation’, pp. 96–7.

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88 P. J. P. Goldberg, ‘Coventry’s “Lollard” Programme of 1492 and the Making of Utopia’, in: R. Horrox and S. Rees-Jones (eds.), Pragmatic Utopias: Ideals and Communities, 1200–1630 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 97–116, at 104–8 – the ‘well-ordered city’ described at p. 108 almost recapitulates the list of lay pastorates from Dives and Pauper (above, at n. 59). 89 F. Rexroth, Deviance and Power in Late Medieval London (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), the characterisation at p. 307. For London in the early 1500s see Brigden, ‘Religion and social obligation’, p. 71. 90 E.g. Four English Political Tracts, ed. Genet, pp. 10–11. 91 To deal with the pastoral implications of the Henrician Supremacy is impossible here. Indicative are the hints of pseudo-Dionysian hierarchy in the frontispiece to the Great Bible of 1538; the pastoralia of the Royal Injunctions of 1526 and 1538; and the king’s role in the promulgation of doctrinal statements like the Ten Articles of 1535 and the King’s Book of 1543. 92 For one recent sign of its recognition, D. Harry, ‘Monastic Devotion and the Making of Lay Piety in Late Medieval England’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Bristol, 2013), pp. 313–22.

Select bibliography Brigden, S., ‘Religion and Social Obligation in Early Sixteenth-Century London’, Past & Present 103 (1984), 67–112. Coing, H., ‘English Equity and the denunciatio evangelica of the Canon Law’, Law Quarterly Review 71 (1955), 223–41. Cullum, P. H., ‘“Yf lak of Charyte be Not Ower Hynderawnce”: Margery Kempe, Lynn, and the Practice of the Spiritual and Bodily Works of Mercy’, in: J. H. Arnold and K. J. Lewis (eds), A Companion to the Book of Margery Kempe (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004), pp. 177–93. Duffy, E., The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1400–1580 (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1992; 2nd edn. 2005). Forrest, I., ‘Defamation, Heresy and Late Medieval Social Life’, in: L. Clark, M. Jurkowski, and C. Richmond (eds), Image, Text and Church, 1380–1600: Essays for Margaret Aston, Papers in Mediaeval Studies 20 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2009), pp. 142–61. Forrest, I., ‘The Transformation of Visitation in Thirteenth-Century England’, Past & Present 221 (2013), 3–38. Johnson, T., ‘The Preconstruction of Witness Testimony: Law and Social Discourse in England before the Reformation’, Law and History Review 32 (2014), 127–47. Pennington, K., Pope and Bishops: The Papal Monarchy in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984). Swanson, R. N., Religion and Devotion in Europe, c.1215–c.1515 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). Swanson, R. N., ‘Apostolic Successors? Priests and Priesthood, Bishops and Episcopacy in Medieval Western Europe’, in: G. Peters and C. C. Anderson (eds), A Companion to Priesthood and Holy Orders in the Middle Ages (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2016), pp. 4–42.

7

Enforcing religious conformity in late medieval England Lateran IV canon 21 and the church courts Peter D. Clarke

One of the most famous decrees of the Fourth Lateran Council is its twenty-first canon. H. C. Lea called it ‘the most important legislative act in the history of the Church’.1 The canon made it the duty of all adult Catholics to confess all their sins at least once a year to their own priest, to perform as far as possible any penance consequently enjoined on them, and to receive communion at least at Easter on pain of exclusion from church and denial of Christian burial. Canon 21 also obliged priests not to reveal what they heard in confession, otherwise they should suffer deposition from office and enclosure in a strict monastery to do perpetual penance.2 Lea considered this canon so important because in his view regular confession did not exist in the Western Church until 1215 when canon 21 required this. Subsequent historians have disputed this view; Alexander Murray has argued that confession was already becoming more frequent in the twelfth century, and Sarah Hamilton claims that it was widely practiced as early as the tenth century even at the lower levels of society.3 The emerging scholarly consensus is that canon 21 built on existing religious practices and the teachings of twelfth-century theologians. Historians still disagree about how frequent confession was before 1215 but debate much less how common confession or mass-attendance were after 1215, for they generally suppose that canon 21 largely succeeded in making them obligatory, at least on an annual basis as the canon required.4 Local ecclesiastical authorities certainly recognised the canon’s importance in defining the minimal religious duties of Catholics.5 In English synodal and episcopal legislation immediately following 1215 the provisions of canon 21 were those most often repeated of all the Lateran IV decrees. Similarly, in Flanders by the fourteenth-century diocesan statutes instructed priests to remind parishioners of their annual duty to confess before receiving communion at Easter. Many studies of late medieval Christianity suggest that these local attempts to enforce canon 21 were effective, even encouraging more frequent religious observance than the canon stipulated. Eamon Duffy has even found evidence of daily mass-attendance among the English nobility by the fifteenth century.6 Thomas Tentler and John Bossy have similarly observed a growing frequency in confession by the late Middle Ages; Tentler cites as evidence the widespread diffusion of confessional handbooks aimed at the laity in this period (not to mention the proliferation of pastoral manuals for confessors).7 Such historians also suggest that these religious

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practices were increasingly driven by popular demand rather than a sense of duty created by canon 21. Some evidence nevertheless indicates that not all later medieval laity complied with the obligations of canon 21, hence it appears that these were not universally popular. In late medieval Flanders synodal legislation required priests to report to diocesan authorities the names of those who had not confessed before Easter, which presupposes that not all did so; statutes of Tournai diocese also instructed priests in 1481 to publish a weekly list of excommunicates in their parish, including those excommunicated for neglecting their Easter duties under canon 21.8 Likewise in thirteenth-century Italy mendicants observed inadequate compliance with canon 21, complaining that ‘many’ did not confess and had not done so for ten or twenty years, and those making the obligatory annual confession (and many allegedly limited themselves to this) rarely showed genuine contrition or did penance properly.9 Church councils in fourteenth-century France and fifteenthcentury Germany similarly complained that many Catholics never or rarely made confession or attended mass, let alone once a year at Easter.10 It is hard to know what to make of such evidence, however. Clergy in any age are inclined to lament poor church attendance in order to encourage greater devotion from their flock, and such complaints hardly allow us to gauge accurately how widespread the problem was. Visitation records provide a more precise indication, since by the fourteenth century they include actual instances of abstention from the Easter sacraments in the parishes, as Norman Tanner has shown for England and Paul Adam for France.11 Tanner, however, notes that such instances occur infrequently in English visitation records, and when they do appear there, other charges were normally listed against the offender, suggesting that Easter abstentions were taken seriously only when other offences were alleged; in other words visitation records may underrepresent the scale of the problem. Likewise, in late medieval Flanders it is unclear how far priests obeyed their superiors’ orders to denounce parishioners neglecting their Easter duties; Toussaert suspected them reluctant to enforce canon 21 and its sanctions, which again suggests that non-compliance with its obligations went underreported.12 Underutilised sources for enforcement of canon 21 are, however, the medieval church court records. They survive plentifully for England from the thirteenth century onward, so much so that this paper will limit itself to evidence from ecclesiastical courts in three dioceses, all in south-east England: Canterbury; London; and Rochester. Late medieval Act Books recording proceedings in these courts survive particularly well, especially for Canterbury diocesan court, and Act Books provide the main evidence for church courts enforcing canon 21.13 Act Books generally record either one or the other of the two main classes of legal action before the church courts, namely instance cases and office cases.14 Instance cases, as the name implies, were brought into court at the instance of one party against another and are broadly comparable with modern civil litigation. Negligence of religious duties did not apparently fall into this class; in 1494 when Thomas Coryde of St Peter’s parish in Sandwich (Kent) attempted to sue a fellow parishioner for Sabbath-breaking, the Archdeacon of Canterbury’s court

Enforcing religious conformity 145 dismissed the case and charged costs to the plaintiff for ‘improperly’ (inepte) bringing this ‘instance action’.15 Indeed Act Books generally record violations of canon 21 among office cases, so called as these concerned offences against canon law prosecuted by ecclesiastical judges by virtue of their ‘office’ (ex officio), in other words criminal cases. How such offences came to the attention of the church courts is not always clear. Some might have been detected on diocesan visitations, but Brian Woodcock claimed that few office cases in Canterbury diocesan courts arose from visitation before the Reformation, although Richard Wunderli considered visitation a more likely source of office cases in London’s commissary court.16 Act Books for our three dioceses generally do not specify that cases involving violations of canon 21 resulted from visitations.17 But in one case a parishioner cited before London commissary court in 1470 for not receiving communion that year was said to be ‘detected by credible (probabiles) and honest persons’.18 Possibly these were churchwardens or other prominent men in the parish, and such persons may have reported lay violations of canon 21 to the ecclesiastical courts through visitations if not directly.19 Wunderli notes that by the early sixteenth century parish churchwardens presented alleged offences at visitations in Lincoln diocese and probably in London too, and the visitors then turned these presentments into office cases. Groups of parishioners also denounced their clergy for disregarding canon 21, by revealing their confessions or not even hearing their confessions or celebrating mass for them at all let alone at Easter. Such complaints also came to the attention of church courts and resulted in office cases, notably in fifteenth-century Rochester diocese. In at least one case there the allegations against the parish priest were investigated at a visitation of his parish, but it is unclear whether they became known to the local diocesan court through the visitors.20 Other violations of canon 21 were seemingly denounced to the church courts by specific individuals. Doubtless parish priests reported some of their parishioners for not making annual confession or communion with them, but again specific evidence of this is hard to find.21 Certainly parish clergy denounced those not attending their churches at other times to ecclesiastical courts.22 Act Books recording office cases do not usually name an individual reporting an alleged offence, but they do when the office case was said to be ‘promoted’ by this accuser. For example, an office case was ‘promoted’ by the vicar of Newington (Kent) in 1472 against a parishioner accused of not frequenting his church.23 ‘Promoted’ office cases hence resemble instance cases in that Act Books represent them as one party’s action against another. Accusations against parish priests of revealing the confessions of specific individuals probably also became known to church courts in this way, either through the individuals in question or others harmed by such revelations.24 For example Thomas Loke, chaplain of St George’s parish, Canterbury, was charged at Canterbury consistory court in 1469 with revealing a female parishioner’s confession by calling her ‘the whore of dominus Sampson Parys’; the case was promoted against Loke by Sampson Parys, a clerk who also faced ex officio charges of adultery with this woman in the same session, doubtless since the revelation had become a matter of public gossip which the court could

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not ignore.25 Indeed violations of canon 21, like other office cases, probably also became known to church courts through public rumours about a person’s fama or reputation.26 In 1470, for example, the allegation that one London man had not received communion for three years was doubtless based on his public fama and denied by him, as he sued a fellow parishioner in the London commissary court for defaming him by this allegation.27 Likewise another London man was cited before the same court in 1495 for defaming a fellow parishioner of not receiving the sacraments the previous Lent, but he denied the charge claiming that another man had spread this rumour.28 Once alleged violators of canon 21 were reported, how many faced charges in our three medieval church courts and with what outcomes? In other words, how strictly did these courts enforce canon 21 in practice? Remarkably few cases involve clergy. Revelation of confessions, which canon 21 prohibited to priests on pain of severe sanctions, only gave rise to four known cases in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Canterbury diocese.29 Few Office Act Books survive for its courts admittedly, and all four cases indeed occur in the same consistory court Act Book for the period 1468–74, indicating an average of one case every one or two years. The record is even sparser for our other two dioceses. Only one case is known from London commissary court Act Books from the period c. 1470–1501, and two from Act Books of Rochester diocesan courts for the years 1437–68, 1472–5 and 1481–1500.30 None of these cases appeared to result in the conviction and punishment of the clerks involved. Two of the clerks did not even appear in court, and no proceedings apparently followed; the proctor representing one of them alleged that his client was too afraid to appear (presumably of aggrieved parishioners) but this defendant was also charged with incontinence.31 In the other five cases the clergy denied the charge of revealing confessions, including Thomas Loke, and three of them were subsequently acquitted by means of purgation, a standard canonical procedure where a defendant produced a certain number of compurgators in court, in effect character-witnesses, who testified their belief in his/her plea of innocence. Loke was offered the opportunity of purgation but the outcome is unrecorded, as in the other case where the charge was denied, which was merely said to have continued. We might interpret these cases as evidence of laxity in the church courts’ enforcement of canon 21 against clergy, but they are not untypical of office cases in general, where most ended in acquittal if the result is even known. London commissary court Act Books suggest that defendants often settled out of court with the individuals allegedly harmed by their offence, even in office cases where they had denied their guilt, and perhaps priests did the same when accused by aggrieved parishioners of revealing their confessions.32 Church courts appear to have taken more seriously charges of parish clergy neglecting to celebrate mass or hear confession, and even deprived some of them of their benefices, especially in fifteenth-century Rochester diocese, but usually when such charges were coupled with others, particularly non-residence.33 More often church courts simply let off these offenders with a warning. In 1447 when the rector of St Paul’s Cray (Kent) was accused of not hearing a parishioner’s confession, the bishop of Rochester’s official sent a letter instructing him to hear it by Easter on pain of a 40d. fine or show cause for not doing so.34 Clergy in our three

Enforcing religious conformity 147 dioceses were rarely charged, however, with failing to administer the sacraments at Easter specifically; such violations of canon 21 are usually subsumed within generic charges of neglecting the cure of souls and are, therefore, hard to quantify. Three cases, nevertheless, appeared before the London commissary court in the late 1490s.35 In 1497 a clerk was denounced for refusing to administer the Eucharist to a man in East Ham parish the previous Easter; the individual allegedly affected had doubtless brought this to the court’s attention, but no proceedings were recorded. In the two other cases clergy were accused of refusing the sacraments to several parishioners, who had doubtless also reported this to the court. A curate of Stepney parish was cited to appear on this charge shortly after Easter 1499, while in 1497 a curate of All Hallows London Wall parish was specifically accused of withholding the Eucharist from various parishioners the previous Easter.36 The first curate did not answer the citation and was suspended from office for non-appearance, but the case apparently went no further. The second curate appeared on a range of charges, including refusing sacraments to the sick without prior payment and frequenting women of ‘ill repute’ day and night, but he denied all these charges and was acquitted by purgation and restored to good ‘fame’. Hence no church court in our three dioceses seems to have convicted or disciplined any priest for withholding the Easter sacraments specifically. Conversely, lay violations of canon 21 are far more evident and more numerous in Act Books from our three dioceses. Twenty-three cases of laity allegedly violating canon 21 occur, for example, in Act Books for Canterbury diocese dating between 1395 and 1504. Though the records only cover about half of the intervening period, this still represents an average of only one case every two to three years. The charges in these cases include either not making confession during Lent, not receiving communion at Easter, or both.37 In nine cases both sacraments were at issue; in twelve, communion alone; and in a mere two, only confession, but it is unclear in the latter cases whether the defendants had still received communion at Easter despite allegedly not making the prerequisite confession. Fifteenth-century diocesan courts in Canterbury and London certainly treated receiving communion without making prior confession as an offence in itself.38 A similar number and pattern of cases occur in the earliest extant pre-1500 Act Books of the London commissary court. These record thirty-six cases of suspected lay violations of canon 21 but over a much shorter period, some thirty years falling between 1470 and 1501, representing an average of one or two cases each year. The higher ratio compared with Canterbury diocese partly arises from the fact that this court only dealt with office cases and partly from the greater population density of the city in contrast to rural Kent. The charges are nevertheless more strictly comparable and comprise seventeen cases of not receiving communion, three of not making confession and sixteen of not partaking of either sacrament.39 In many instances it is not specified that neglect of these religious duties occurred at Easter, but it can be inferred since several cases seem to be clustered around that time of year while some defendants allegedly failed in such duties ‘for that year’ (isto anno) or over longer periods.40 One man even pleaded guilty to the charge of not having made confession before he got married, while another man confessed to not letting his daughter attend mass in their parish church for eight or nine years.41

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Likewise, several alleged offenders were noted in Rochester diocesan court Act Books as not partaking in either sacrament during a particular year. These accounted for only six cases between 1444 and 1468 but twelve more between 1481 and 1500, an average of one case every four years in 1444–68 rising to one every two years in 1481–1500, admittedly not a high number overall but this was one of the smallest English dioceses.42 The low frequency of cases in all three dioceses may partly reflect inadequate detection and thus understate the true extent of lay evasion of canon 21. Indeed some laity were only cited before church courts in these dioceses, notably London, after disregarding canon 21 for several years: in four cases for two years; in three cases, three years; and in two cases, as many as nine years.43 One of these offenders was not even reported until after his death, when it emerged that he was a habitual non-attender of his church in Rochester diocese on Easter Sunday, collecting wood whilst others went to receive the Easter sacraments.44 Evidently not all parish authorities were as vigilant as at Aldermanbury where five laity were denounced to London commissary court in 1485 for not receiving communion that year; indeed such exposure of multiple offenders was unusual.45 How then did church courts in our three dioceses deal with laity violating canon 21? In a few cases from Canterbury and Rochester dioceses and most from London we do not know, as the Act Books recorded no further proceedings beyond citation of the accused. In these cases, a court summons was maybe enough to make offenders fall into line, but this was hardly in keeping with the letter of the law, which called for spiritual sanctions to be imposed. Similarly, in thirteen cases the accused did not show in court and so was suspended for contumacy (i.e. excluded from church for ignoring the summons); three of these defendants were then excommunicated for further non-appearance. Again, no more proceedings were recorded in eleven of these cases, suggesting that court officials decided not to pursue them; judges certainly dismissed the remaining two cases, letting off one of the accused with a warning to amend their life (sub spe melioris vite).46 In most other cases where proceedings are known the defendants tried to contest the charges (in common with local clergy charged with violating canon 21). One layman accused of not being present the previous Easter at the Lord’s Table (in mensa domini) i.e. mass, claimed that he had received the Easter Eucharist in his own church.47 Another charged with not receiving this in his parish church denied being of the parish in question, but still had to prove that he had communicated at Easter elsewhere.48 The most common defence plea was indeed that the accused had allegedly received the Easter sacraments, or whichever of these was in question, outside their parish and from some priest other than its curate. Eight defendants claimed to have attended another parish church or the local cathedral at Easter; four others allegedly received the Easter sacraments from religious, especially friars; and one man accused of not receiving communion in his parish church at Easter merely asserted receiving it elsewhere (alibi).49 Of these thirteen defendants four were required to prove their plea, and two settled out of court with their curate.50 Five other defendants charged with not receiving the Easter sacraments in their parish church that year were required by Rochester diocesan court

Enforcing religious conformity 149 to prove where they had received them, implying that they had done so in some other church, even if they are not recorded as pleading as much.51 Nevertheless, canon 21 had required adult Catholics to make their annual confession to their ‘own priest’ specifically, which canonists took to mean their parish priest, or more precisely the priest administering the cure of souls in their parish.52 The only exception which the canon admitted was where parishioners gained permission from their own priest to confess to another priest. By the midthirteenth century canonists recognised that if one’s own priest refused this permission, it might be requested from his superior, and subsequently laity could even gain papal licences to choose a personal confessor.53 Presumably church courts required defendants to produce proof of such permission when they alleged having made their annual confession to another priest, but the Act Books examined for our three dioceses rarely specified this.54 Rochester diocesan court merely required three defendants to present a legitimate document proving where they had received the Easter Eucharist, and two others, similar written proof of where and by what authority they had communicated elsewhere at Easter, presumably including their curate’s licence.55 Church courts in Rochester and Canterbury dioceses also dismissed the plea of three defendants that they had received the Easter sacraments from another priest, probably since they lacked their curate’s licence to do so or could not produce it. The court even warned one of them not to do so again without his permission. London commissary court specifically charged two men from the same parish with receiving the Easter sacraments in another London parish without their curate’s licence; (one of them settled with his curate out of court).56 Laity who had to produce written proof of where they received the Easter sacraments doubtless sought this from the priest administering these to them, but our church court records do not suggest that parish priests routinely issued letters, at least to their own parishioners, confirming their reception of the Easter sacraments. Detection and prosecution of violations of canon 21 would doubtless have been greater if they had done so. What then was the outcome of these cases involving laity? Church courts in our three dioceses convicted the three defendants above whose pleas of receiving the sacraments elsewhere were dismissed as well as fifteen others charged with violating canon 21.57 In these fifteen cases one accused denied the charge but somehow failed in his purgation, another initially claimed to have received the Easter Eucharist elsewhere but doubtless for want of proof then submitted to correction, and the other thirteen accused submitted likewise or explicitly confessed the charges.58 Did these courts enforce the sanctions of canon 21 against those convicted of violating it? Act Books imply that the courts at least required exclusion of such violators from church if not from Christian burial. In 1468 for example Canterbury consistory court ordered a defendant accused of not receiving the Easter sacraments to explain why he should not be excommunicated. Furthermore, in this and fifteen other cases where defendants were convicted of violating canon 21, the ecclesiastical courts enjoined public penances or the accused swore to perform whatever penance judges assigned.59 This suggests that the courts absolved and reconciled them on completion of their penances, thus any exclusion resulting

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from their violations was only temporary, but again the Act Books examined are not explicit on this point. What, therefore, can we conclude from this body of evidence? Firstly, it seems that non-compliance with canon 21 was not common, especially among parish priests, or at least medieval English church courts did not often prosecute offenders against the canon. In a few cases persistent offenders were involved, which suggests that offences against the canon might go undetected for long periods and doubtless some were never reported to the courts, so non-compliance could have been a bigger problem than the small number of prosecutions indicates. It might also be that lower church courts dealt with such cases more routinely than diocesan courts, but it is hard to tell for their records rarely survive. Secondly most of those charged with violating the canon were not ultimately convicted by the church courts. Of the seventy-seven cases of lay violations noted in our three dioceses above only eighteen, i.e. just under a quarter of cases, ended in conviction; even then it is difficult to find evidence of judges enforcing the sanctions of the canon, especially against clergy. Possibly the church courts deemed these sanctions too harsh, in particular considering exclusion from church a counter-productive means to discipline laity who were already reluctant to attend church even for the Easter sacraments; judges clearly thought public penances a more effective means of correction, humiliating offenders into resuming their annual religious duties. Finally, it is necessary to see our evidence in the context of more general non-attendance at church and Sabbath-breaking; such wider neglect of religious observances is much better documented in medieval English church court records, and I intend to publish a larger study of this material in due course.60 What lay behind this neglect, notably regarding canon 21, is not always easy or possible to determine. Laziness might be one reason, as in the case of one London parishioner accused in 1485 of lying in bed instead of attending church on feast days and receiving communion ‘that year’.61 Distraction by worldly preoccupations might be another, such as the eccentric from Rochester diocese who preferred collecting wood to receiving the sacraments on Easter Sunday. In particular some laity were accused of preferring sinful earthly pleasures to church attendance, notably playing games such as dice, drinking in pubs, frequenting prostitutes and in the case of one adulterous London butcher, lying in bed with his mistress till 10am one Sunday! Likewise, several laity were charged before church courts with working and even opening shops at Easter although not specifically with violating canon 21; this fits into a wider pattern of breaches of the church’s ban on trading on Sundays and feasts, and, as Wunderli noted, London cobblers and butchers were notorious offenders against this ban.62 Either greed or poverty may be motives in such cases; one defendant asserted that he had milled on Easter day ‘out of necessity’. But few laity accused of violating canon 21 before church courts in our three dioceses were apparently suspected of heresy on this account, even though Lollard scepticism about the Real Presence could potentially underlie non-reception of the Eucharist in late medieval England. Indeed, only four such cases occur. One man was denounced before Rochester diocesan court in 1495 as a heretic for nonreception of the Eucharist but was merely assigned several penances and absolved. In 1493, a woman appeared before the London commissary court charged with

Enforcing religious conformity 151 heresy for not receiving the Easter sacraments (and eating meat in the fasting period between Easter and Pentecost) the previous three years but was acquitted by purgation. Another woman was similarly accused of heresy before the same court in 1498 for not making Lenten confession nor receiving the Easter Eucharist, but no proceedings followed. Finally, the same court suspected a man in 1494 of heresy not for his own non-reception of the Easter sacraments but since he had not let his daughter attend mass for ten years; he confessed that his daughter had not attended church for eight or nine years, but again the record of the case went no further.63 The Act Books examined from our three dioceses also refer to defendants reputedly not showing proper reverence for the Eucharist, but only once to a layman deemed heretical for allegedly denying the Real Presence and once to a clerk likewise suspected of heresy for telling a parishioner that the host was only material bread.64 Otherwise these records are generally reluctant to characterise alleged behaviour and speech expressing impiety as heresy; in one case where a Canterbury man reportedly claimed that commutation of public penances into cash payments was extortion, a heresy charge was even struck out in the court act book in 1471. Other similar examples of impiety not classed as heresy include the case also from 1471 of John Cotyng of Lynsted parish, Kent, who in twenty years rarely attended the celebration of Christ’s resurrection at Easter, so it was alleged, since he claimed that Christ was only resurrected once and priests ‘wrongly caused him to rise again each year’. Likewise, Helen Dallok of St Mary’s Abchurch parish was cited before London commissary court in 1493 on various charges of scandalising neighbours with her unorthodox opinions, such as refusing to make confession to her parish priest since she claimed that he knew nothing of her spiritual life, but on this occasion she was not formally charged with heresy.65 Historians have found comparable examples in other parts of Europe, notably Murray for thirteenth-century Italy, Wakefield for thirteenth-century France, and Edwards for fifteenth-century Spain, and seen them as evidence of religious doubt, scepticism and even disbelief.66 As John Arnold has argued, such evidence points to a ‘middle’ group of medieval Christians between the orthodox and heretics. Eamon Duffy rather gives the impression that late medieval English religion was polarised between the majority of devout Catholics with Books of Hours in hand and a minority of Lollard heretics.67 The evidence of late medieval English ecclesiastical court records, however, suggests some measure of lay non-conformity with Catholic belief and practice, even if not outwardly heretical, and underlying some of this, including non-compliance with canon 21, there may indeed have been religious doubt and scepticism.

Notes 1 Quoted by M. Gibbs and J. Lang, Bishops and Reform 1215–1272, with Special Reference to the Lateran Council of 1215 (London: Oxford University Press, 1934), p. 97, from H. C. Lea, A History of Auricular Confession and Indulgences in the Latin Church, 3 vols. (London: Swan Sonnenschein, 1896), i. 230. 2 Constitutiones Concilii quarti Lateranensis una cum Commentariis glossatorum, ed. A. García y García, Monumenta Iuris Canonici, Series A: Corpus Glossatorum, vol. 2 (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1981), pp. 67–8.

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3 A. Murray, ‘Confession before 1215’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, no. 3 (1993), 51–81; S. Hamilton, The Practice of Penance 900–1050 (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2001), pp. 173–206. 4 Cf. N. Tanner and S. Watson, ‘Least of the Laity: The Minimum Requirements for a Medieval Christian’, Journal of Medieval History 32/4 (2006), 395–423, at pp. 405–10. 5 On what follows: Gibbs and Lang, Bishops and Reform 1215–1272, pp. 123–4; J. Toussaert, Le sentiment religieux en Flandre à la fin du Moyen-Age (Paris: Libraire Plon, 1963), pp. 104–22. 6 E. Duffy, ‘Elite and Popular Religion: The Book of Hours and Lay Piety in the Later Middle Ages’, in: K. Cooper and J. Gregory (eds.), Elite and Popular Religion, Studies in Church History 42 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2006), pp. 140–61, 153. 7 J. Bossy, ‘The Social History of Confession in the Age of the Reformation’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 5th series, no. 25 (1975), 21–38; T. N. Tentler, Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977). Cf. L. G. Duggan, ‘Fear and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 75 (1984), 153–75, which also cites the popularity of indulgences by the late middle ages (at p. 160) as indirect evidence of widespread confession, because letters of indulgence stipulated that only the confessed might benefit from them; Nicholas Vincent for the same reason sees the growth of indulgences from the eleventh century as stimulating more frequent confession before 1215 in England; ‘Some Pardoners’ Tales: The Earliest English Indulgences’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 6th series, no. 12 (2002), 23–59. Bossy, however, has pointed out that confession was less closely related to indulgences by the fifteenth century, when one only needed to have confessed once in the year before an indulgence was issued to benefit from it; J. Bossy, Christianity in the West 1400–1700 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), pp. 54–6. 8 Toussaert, Le sentiment religieux, pp. 109–10, 436. 9 A. Murray, ‘Piety and Impiety in Thirteenth-Century Italy’, in: G. J. Cuming and D. Baker (eds.), Popular Belief and Practice, Studies in Church History 8 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1972), pp. 83–106, at 94. Cf. id. ‘Religion among the Poor in ThirteenthCentury France: The Testimony of Humbert de Romans’, Traditio 30 (1974), 285–324, at pp. 301–3 on mendicant complaints from the early 1270s about poor church attendance generally in France. 10 P. Adam, La vie paroissiale en France au XIVe siècle (Paris: Sirey, 1964), p. 269; Duggan, ‘Fear and Confession’, 160. 11 Tanner, ‘Least of the laity’, 407, 408–9; Adam, La vie paroissiale, p. 270. 12 Toussaert, Le sentiment religieux, pp. 110–11, 121; Tanner, ‘Least of the Laity’, 408. 13 For a general survey: The Records of the Medieval Ecclesiastical Courts, Part II: England: Reports of the Working Group on Church Court Records, ed. C. Donahue, Jr. (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1994), esp. pp. 89, 105–8, 185–8, 192–3 on the extant Act Books of our three dioceses. Other studies exploiting these for evidence of lay religiosity, but not observance of canon 21 specifically, are: B. L. Woodcock, Medieval Ecclesiastical Courts in the Diocese of Canterbury (London: Oxford University Press, 1952), pp. 80–81, R. M. Wunderli, London Church Courts and Society on the Eve of the Reformation (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1981), pp. 122–3 (non-observance of Sundays and feast days). 14 Some Act books, however, comprise a mixture of business, e.g. Canterbury Cathedral Archives (hereinafter CCA), DCb J/Y.4.2 (Archdeacon of Canterbury’s court, Instance, Office and Probate Act Book, 1487–95). 15 Ibid. fol. 50r. 16 Woodcock, Medieval Ecclesiastical Courts, p. 69 (cf. Tanner, ‘Least of the Laity’, p. 419); Wunderli, London Church Courts, pp. 31–40, esp. pp. 35–7. 17 One Canterbury man cited for not attending services in his parish church was said to be ‘detectus in visitacione’ in 1490, however: Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), PRC 3/1 (Archdeacon of Canterbury’s court, Office Act Book, 1487–1504), fol. 20r.

Enforcing religious conformity 153 18 London Metropolitan Archives (hereinafter LMA), MS 9064/1 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, 1470–73), fol. 48v. 19 Wunderli, London Church Courts, pp. 35–7; Woodcock saw this practice as largely a post-Reformation development in Canterbury diocese (see n. 16). 20 Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/2 (Consistory and audience courts of the bishop of Rochester, Composite act book, 1444–56), fols 63v (vicar of Brenchley), 65(bis)v (vicar of Aylesford), 88r-v (visitation of Aylesford), 90v (rector of Swanscombe). 21 Two cases which hint at this are one where a man accused of not confessing to his curate asserted before London commissary court in 1471 that he had confessed to his parochial chaplain at Easter but doubted whether the chaplain knew who had confessed to him or not, and another where a woman of Molash parish (Kent) was cited by her curate in 1474 before Canterbury consistory court on a charge of not receiving communion the previous Easter: LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 86v; CCA, DCb J/Y/1.11 (Canterbury consistory court, Office Act Book, 1468–74), fol. 332r. 22 Wunderli, London Church Courts, pp. 38, 122. 23 CCA, DCb J/Y/1.10 (Canterbury consistory court; Probate, Instance and Office Act Book; Romney, Hythe and Dover sessions, 1468–78), fol. 133r. 24 CCA, DCb J/Y/1.11, fols 45r (celebrant at Ruckinge, Kent, revealing a husband’s confession to his wife and vice-versa), 60r (rector of St Mary Bredman, Canterbury, revealing the confession of John Nele’s wife), 114r (rector of Reculver, Kent, revealing confession of William Rycheffeh). 25 Ibid. fol. 57v. Cf. Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/2, fol. 69r: Rochester consistory court in 1447 received the complaint of a parishioner that the rector of St Paul’s Cray refused him the sacraments, including hearing his confession. 26 Woodcock, Medieval Ecclesiastical Courts, pp. 49, 69; Wunderli, London Church Courts, pp. 32, 35, 37–8 (Wunderli, however, doubts Woodcock’s assumption that the courts’ summoners gathered these notices of ‘ill fame’). 27 LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 17v; ultimately the defamation charge was denied so the parties tried to settle out of court. Cf. ibid. fol. 161r: a man of St Andrew’s, Cornhill, was similarly charged in 1473 with defaming the rector there of refusing to administer the Eucharist at Easter to his parishioners who owed parochial dues. 28 LMA, MS 9064/6 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, May 1494–March 1496), fol. 119v. 29 CCA, DCb J/Y/1.11, fols 45r, 57v, 60r and 114r. 30 LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 66v; Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/2, fols 65(bis)v, 88r-v; ibid. Drb/Pa/3 (Consistory and audience courts of the bishop of Rochester, Composite act book, 1456–68), fol. 364r. 31 CCA, DCb J/Y/1.11, fol. 45r; Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/3, fol. 364r. 32 Likewise, lay parishioners not receiving the Easter sacraments at their parish church might settle out of court with their parish priest, as in the case of one London man in 1491: LMA, MS 9064/4 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, 1489–91), f. 254r. 33 Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/2, fol. 90v (rector of Swanscombe threatened with seizure of his benefice); ibid. Drb/Pa/3, fol. 327v (vicar of Burgham required to resign his benefice). 34 See n. 25. Cf. CCA, DCb J/Y.1.11, fol. 186r (vicar of Blean, Canterbury diocese, accused of not celebrating mass being enjoined to do so). 35 LMA, MS 9064/7 (London commissary court (Middlesex & Barking deaneries) judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’ November 1496-March 1501), fols 16v (East Ham), 63r (Stepney); MS 9064/8 (London commissary court (city of London), judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, November 1496-April 1501), fol. 69r (All Hallows London Wall). 36 The Stepney curate was cited to appear on 18 April; Easter Sunday that year fell on 31 March. The London Wall curate was noted for this and other offences ‘publica fama

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referente’; his alleged habit of sitting and drinking with women of ill repute was specifically said to have been discovered by some of his parishioners. The Act Books cited below cover between them about fifty-seven years, i.e. 1395–1410, 1449–57, 1462–78 and 1487–1504. Both sacraments: CCA, DCb, J/X.1.1 (Canterbury consistory court, Deposition and Office Act Book, 1449–57), fols 44r, 122r; J/Y.1.5 (Canterbury consistory court, Instance Act Book, 1454–57), fol. 122v (recorded in the context of an instance case where the defendant was also charged with assaulting a clerk); J/X.8.3 (Canterbury consistory court, Instance and Office Act Book, 1462–68), fol. 94r; J/Y.1.11, fols 2r, 126v, 345r; J/Y.4.2, fol. 111r; Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), PRC 3/1, fol 79v. Communion only: CCA, DCb, J/X.8.1 (Canterbury consistory court, Office Act Book, 1395–1410), fols 54v, 59v; J/Y.1.10, fols 318v, 337v; J/Y.1.11, fols 43r, 125r, 220v, 223v, 332v (2); Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), PRC 3/1, fols 6r, 115v. Confession only: CCA, DCb, J/X.1.1, fol. 120v; J/Y.1.11, fol. 2r. CCA, DCb J/Y.1.10, fol. 341v; LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 86v. The defendants in the latter cases asserted, however, that they had made the prerequisite confessions. Both sacraments: LMA, MS 9064/1, fols 85v (2), 86r, 151r, 152r; MS 9064/2 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, 1483–89), fols 112v, 228r, 294v; MS 9064/3 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, 1475–77; 1480–82), fol. 128r; MS 9064/4, fols 254r (2), 263v, 300v; MS 9064/5 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, October 1492-February 1494), fol. 80v; MS 9064/6 (London commissary court, judicial ‘acta quoad correctionem delinquentium’, May 1494-March 1496), fol. 33v; MS 9064/8, fol. 117v. Communion only: LMA, MS 9064/1, fols 17r, 48v, 86r-v (2; but both defendants had allegedly made their Lenten confession late, on the second day of Easter week), 147v; MS 9064/2, fols 109v (4!), 110v, 111v, 236v, 254v; MS 9064/3, fols 13r, 131r; MS 9064/7, fol. 17r. Confession only: LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 86v (but received communion: see n. 38); MS 9064/3, fol. 269v; MS 9064/4, fol. 283r. Cases recorded in London commissary court Act Books are not divided into dated sessions as in Act Books for Canterbury and Rochester church courts, hence they can usually only be approximately dated based on occasional references to dated hearings in surrounding entries. LMA, MS 9064/4, fol. 283r (no confession before marriage); MS 9064/6, fol. 33v. By the late fifteenth century Catholics were expected to make confession from the age of seven, but Catholic men might not give present consent to marry until aged fourteen. Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/2, fol. 262v; Drb/Pa/3, fols 301v, 377v, 483v, 528v, 542v. Nevertheless, in all but the second and fourth cases these were specified as the Easter sacraments. The earliest such Act Book (ibid., Drb/Pa/1) for the years 1437–45 contains no such examples but principally recorded instance cases. Further examples occur in ibid., Drb/Pa/4 (Consistory and audience courts of the bishop of Rochester, Composite act book, 1472–75, 1481–1500) fols 204r, 234v, 235r, 237v (2), 269r, 270v, 334r (2), 334v, 336v, 341v; but none relate to the period 1472–75 and all except one (from 1487) are clustered in the years 1493–5. Of the latter twelve examples ten regard non-reception of the Eucharist only, in six cases specifically at Easter; another concerns non-participation in either confession and communion at Easter; and a further case regards non-reception of the sacraments in general. Two years: Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), PRC 3/1, fol. 115v; LMA, MS 9064/2, fol. 294v; MS 9064/3, fols 13r, 269v. Three years: CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.11, fol. 220v; LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 17r; MS 9064/3, fol. 128r. Nine years: CCA, DCb, J/X.8.1, fol. 59v; LMA, MS 9064/6, fol. 33v. Cf. CCA, J/Y.1.11, fol. 345r (for 18 months). Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/3, fol. 528v (reported by six ‘jurors’ of Westerham (Kent) seeking to demonstrate that the deceased was not compos mentis in order that his widow might be admitted to the administration of his goods). LMA, MS 9064/2, fol. 109v. Four parishioners (including a married couple) from West Ham were denounced to the same court for not receiving the Eucharist in 1497 (LMA,

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MS 9064/7, fol. 17r) and three from Cowden parish to Rochester’s diocesan court for non-participation in the Easter sacraments in 1493; Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fol. 334r-v. Canterbury diocese: CCA, DCb, J/X.8.1, fol. 59v; J/X.1.1, fol. 44r (excommunicated); J/Y.1.10, fol. 318v; J/Y.1.11, fol. 223v (dismissed sub spe melioris vite); Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), PRC 3/1, fol. 79v (dismissed). London commissary court: LMA, MS 9064/1, fols 85v (excommunicated), 86r; MS 9064/2, fol. 111v; MS 9064/3, fol. 13r. Rochester diocese: Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/ Pa/2, fol. 262v. Another case not involving non-appearance was also simply dismissed: ibid. PRC 3/1, fol. 115v. Ibid. fol. 6r. Cf. CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.10, fol. 341v (defendant accused of communicating while unconfessed alleging to have confessed to his curate); LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 86r (defendant on same charge alleging to have confessed at Sheen (Carthusian priory) then at Easter to his curate). CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.11, fol. 332r; presumably the parish’s curate had denounced him to Canterbury consistory court. Cf. LMA, MS 9064/2, fol. 236v (denies being subject to London commissary court’s jurisdiction). Both sacraments: CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.11, fols 95v (at Langdon Abbey (Premonstratensian), Kent), 126v (from the vicar of Goudhurst, Kent); Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/3, fols 301v (from the curate of Capel, Kent, where the accused was staying for work), 483v (at the London Carmelites), 542r (at ‘Sutton’, probably Sutton Valence, Kent); LMA, MS 9064/4, fol. 254rv (two men of All Hallows the Great parish at St Martin Vintry parish church, London). Confession: LMA, MS 9064/3, fol. 269v (at St Paul’s Cathedral). Communion: CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.10, fol. 337v (from an Austin friar); J/Y.1.11, fols 2r (at Canterbury Cathedral), 345r (at St Mary’s, Dover); Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fol. 336v (the defendant had to show where he had received communion the previous Easter and presumably alleged having done so from Austin friars as he had to produce their order’s privilegium, doubtless to prove that they were licenced to administer him the Easter Eucharist), 341v (alibi). Proof required: CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.10, fol. 337v; J/Y.1.11, fols 95v (this defendant also had to prove that the abbot of Langdon was authorised to administer the Easter sacraments to him), 126v, 345r. Settlement: LMA, MS 9064/3, fol. 269v; MS 9064/4, fol. 254; cf. Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fol. 270v (the judge published a composicio, presumably a settlement, in the case of an Aylesford man charged with not paying tithes to the vicar of Aylesford nor receiving sacraments in his parish church). Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fols 204r, 234v, 235r, 334r-v (2). Hostiensis (Henricus de Segusio, d. 1271), Lectura super quinque libris decretalium, 2 vols. (Strassbourg, 1512) on X 5.38.12 v. proprio (vol. ii, Book V, fol. 340vb); Johannes Andreae (d. 1348), In primum-quintum decretalium librum novella commentaria (Venice, 1581) ibid. (Book V, fol. 126va). One reason why some parishioners preferred confessing to another priest was maybe that their own was indiscrete: see nn. 29–30 on priests revealing confessions. Bernard of Parma (d. 1263), Glossa ordinaria on X 5.38.12 v. obtineat, printed in margins of Decretales Gregorii IX (Paris, 1529), fol. 586rb; Pope Innocent IV (d. 1254), Apparatus in quinque libros decretalium (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1570), ibid. (fol. 545vab); v. a sacerdote (fol. 545vb): ‘hanc licentiam etiam dabit episcopus.’ One did not apparently need such permission to receive the Easter Eucharist from another priest since canon 21 did not technically forbid anyone to do so. A more ambiguous scenario is represented by a case in Rochester diocese where the defendant justified not receiving the Easter sacraments from his curate by claiming that he was no longer domiciled in the latter’s parish but travelled around for work and received these sacraments in another parish where he was staying (see n. 49). By the mid-thirteenth century canonists accepted that travellers might make their annual confession out of necessity wherever they happened

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to stay but concluded that it was safer for them to obtain their priest’s permission to do so beforehand: Innocent IV, Apparatus on X 5.38.12 v. solvere (fol. 545vb); Hostiensis, Lectura, ibid. v. a proprio sacerdote (vol. ii, Book V, fol. 341va); Johannes Andreae, Novella, ibid. v. sacerdote (Book V, fol. 127ra-rb). It is unclear whether Rochester consistory court followed this teaching in the case above. As n. 51. LMA, MS 9064/4, fol. 254v. CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.11, fol. 2r; Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/3, fols 483v, 542r (warning not to reoffend). Further convictions: CCA, DCb, J/X.1.1, fol. 120v (failed purgation); J/X.8.3, fol. 94r; J/Y.1.11, fol. 2r (bis!), 43r (defendant allegedly ate meat at Easter and did not receive communion then but six days later; confession implied), J/Y.4.2, fol. 111r; LMA, MS 9064/1, fol. 85v; MS 9064/2, fol. 228r (confession implied); MS 9064/4, fol. 283r (confessed; penance assigned); MS 9064/6, fol. 33v (confessed); Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fols 234v (confessed), 235r (confessed and swore to do penance), 237v (submitted), 269r (penance assigned), 341v (initially alleged receiving Easter sacraments elsewhere but submitted; penance assigned). Remarkably two of those confessing still had to prove where and by what authority they had received the Easter sacraments outside their parish church; Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fols 234v, 235r. A London parishioner who denied charges of not receiving the Easter sacraments and of eating meat during the fasting period between Easter and Pentecost was, however, acquitted by purgation (LMA, MS 9064/5, fol. 80v). CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.11, fol. 2r (penance enjoined for three Sundays); see n. 57 for the other ten cases. The penances are sometimes specified in detail: for example, Canterbury consistory court in 1466 enjoined Henry Wenston, Snave parish (Kent), to say the Pater noster publicly ‘in moro penitenciali’ during the Saturday market at Romney standing in the middle of the marketplace holding a candle worth 1d., dressed in his shirt and breeches (ibid. J/X.8.3, fol. 94r). See Wunderli and Woodcock’s treatments of this at n. 13. LMA, MS 9064/2, fol. 111v. Similar examples occur in MS 9064/4, fol. 316v; MS 9064/5, fol. 149r. CCA, DCb, J/X.1.1, fol.67r; J/Y.1.11, fol. 131r (digging garden during services in Easter week); Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), PRC 3/1, fols 23v (opening shop on Good Friday and refusing to close when warned), 138v (causa necessitatis); LMA, MS 9064/3, fol. 211v. Cf. n. 39 and a case of three men accused of playing quoits on Easter day instead of attending vespers (CCA, DCb, J/X.1.1, fol. 105r). Playing games: Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fol. 172v; LMA, MS 9064/6, fol. 17r (dice). Frequenting taverns or brothels: LMA, MS 9064/4, fol. 292r; MS 9064/5, fol. 161v; MS 9064/6, fols 31r, 44r, 205r. Adultery: MS 9064/4, fol. 316v. Kent History and Library Centre (Maidstone), Drb/Pa/4, fol. 269v; LMA, MS 9064/5, fol. 80v; MS 9064/6, fol. 33v (the father allegedly impeding his daughter’s mass-attendance was also suspected of fornicating with her and not having her baptised); MS 9064/8, fol. 117v. CCA, DCb, J/X.1.1, fol. 114(bis)r, 118(bis)v (leaving church when host elevated); J/Y.1.11, fols 90v, 110v; LMA, MS 9064/3, fol. 160v (‘ipse est hereticus, dicit quod sacramentum altaris est panis materialis’), MS 9064/8, fol. 24r (chaplain allegedly teaching a female parishioner, whose husband had reported this to the archdeacon of London’s official). CCA, DCb, J/Y.1.11, fol. 110v (John Cotyng), 123v; LMA, MS 9064/5, fol. 85r. W. L. Wakefield, ‘Some Unorthodox Popular Ideas of the Thirteenth Century’, Medievalia et Humanistica 4 (1973), 25–35; J. Edwards, ‘Religious Faith and Doubt in Late Medieval Spain: Soria c. 1450–1500’, Past and Present 120 (1988), 3–25; Murray, ‘Piety and Impiety’ (cf. also his ‘Religion among the Poor’); S. Reynolds, ‘Social

Enforcing religious conformity 157 Mentalities and the Case of Medieval Scepticism’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 6th series, no. 1 (1991), 21–41; R. N. Swanson, Religion and Devotion in Europe, c.1215-c.1515 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 329–40; J. H. Arnold, Belief and Unbelief in Medieval Europe (London/New York: Hodder Arnold, 2005), pp. 217–31. 67 E. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, c.1400-c.1580 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1992).

Select bibliography Arnold, J. H., Belief and Unbelief in Medieval Europe (London and New York: Hodder Arnold, 2005). Bossy, J., Christianity in the West 1400–1700 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). Duffy, E., The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, c.1400–c.1580 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1992). Duggan, L. G., ‘Fear and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 75 (1984), 153–75. Edwards, J., ‘Religious Faith and Doubt in Late Medieval Spain: Soria c. 1450–1500’, Past and Present 120 (1988), 3–25. Murray, A., ‘Piety and Impiety in Thirteenth-Century Italy’, Popular Belief and Practice, in: G. J. Cuming and D. Baker (eds), Studies in Church History 8 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 83–106. Swanson, R. N., Religion and Devotion in Europe, c.1215–c.1515 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). Tanner, N., (with S. Watson), ‘Least of the Laity: The Minimum Requirements for a Medieval Christian’, Journal of Medieval History 32/4 (2006). Toussaert, J., Le sentiment religieux en Flandre à la fin du Moyen-Age (Paris: Libraire Plon, 1963). Wakefield, W. L., ‘Some Unorthodox Popular Ideas of the Thirteenth Century’, Medievalia et Humanistica 4 (1973), 25–35. Woodcock, B. L., Medieval Ecclesiastical Courts in the Diocese of Canterbury (London: Oxford University Press, 1952). Wunderli, R. M., London Church Courts and Society on the Eve of the Reformation (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1981).

8

Robert Mannyng and the imagined reading communities for Handlyng Synne Ryan Perry

The following essay will engage with some methodologically challenging tasks. Its aim is to discuss the utilities that pastoral texts such as Handlyng Synne may have served, or – much more problematically in terms of codicological enquiry’s usual reliance on manuscript evidence – those they were intended by its author to serve. There was a scholarly tendency in the past to merely classify pastoral texts: to organise them according to type, but to fail to explore the ways in which such texts might have been intended to function among reading communities. This is for good reason – excavating the utilities of texts that have long since fallen out of active use among readers and hearers is by no means straightforward. Even more problematic then is analysing the ways in which authors predicted their texts would be accessed by the audiences that they imagined for their texts. Herein is a crucial and intractable problem, in that there is clearly a difference between the actual utilities religious texts served – evidenced obliquely in the extant manuscript record, and the intentions or imaginings of the original author. As Paul Strohm states: [T]he observer of texts cannot fail to notice their ups and downs, their surprising changes in fortune, their varied and unpredictable uses. These vicissitudes register the presence of centers of authority beyond textual bounds, the ultimate reliance of a text upon those contending processes that determine reception and circulation, interpretation and application.1 It is also almost certainly the case with a work as long and complex as Handlyng Synne, that the text was always intended to serve multiple utilities, and perhaps, to reach various audiences too. Ultimately this essay is about authorial ambition, as opposed to an actual transmission history of Mannyng’s book, something that, whether it was realised or not, nonetheless reveals how an early fourteenth century author might imagine the unpredictable interfaces between a vernacular text and its audiences. It is into this epistemological quandary that the following essay will delve. So, before I continue to set out some of these imponderables, I will briefly introduce Handlyng Synne, to supply some of the background to this fascinating text.

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Introducing Handlyng Synne Handlyng Synne is an English vernacular adaptation of Manuel des Péchés, a thirteenth-century Anglo-Norman work usually attributed to William of Waddington (perhaps the seneschal of Walter de Grey, archbishop of York, 1215–55). The English adaptation is around 12,600 lines in length and it emulates the basic structure of an early version of the Manuel.2 Through its use of tales, commentary, diatribe and anecdote, it expounds on areas of basic catechesis: the Ten Commandments, the Seven Deadly Sins, Sacrilege, the Seven Sacraments, the Twelve Points of Shrift and the Twelve Graces of Shrift.3 These sections correspond to books 2–5 and 7 of the Manuel. The English version represents a translation of only half of the 8,500 lines in the Manuel’s books intact, contains twelve freshly added tales (some with no other traceable written precedent) and interpolates a considerable amount of original didactic commentary and direction into the text. Nine of the tales in the French original are excluded and two other tales contained in the Manuel appear to have been retranslated from differing sources.4 Handlyng Synne was written by a man who identifies himself as Robert Mannyng. The author appears to reveal that he wrote the work in Sempringham priory, a double house of Gilbertine canons and nuns in South Lincolnshire, where he tells us he was living for at least fifteen years, and where, given Gilbertine restrictions on ornate literary composition, his work was undoubtedly an extraordinary undertaking.5 From the anecdotal/bibliographical material in this text and in the verse chronicle he finished writing some twenty years after he completed Handlyng Synne, we are told that he came from Bourne (probably the village about six miles from Sempringham priory in the Kesteven region of South East Lincolnshire).6 He also tells us that he was educated at Cambridge, and might well have been resident at the Gilbertine foundation there, St. Edmund’s priory. We also get an idea of when he was writing. Mannyng states at the beginning of Handlyng Synne that he began the work in 1303 and internal evidence in the text suggests that it was completed around 1318. His verse chronicle was finished, he tells us, in 1338, in Sixhills Priory, another Lincolnshire Gilbertine house around forty miles north of Sempringham (at a point roughly midway between Lincoln and Grimsby). In comparison with other English vernacular translations and adaptations of pastoral material produced in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, anonymous and only broadly locatable texts like the Cursor Mundi, Northern Homily Cycle and South English Legendary, this relatively clearly articulated sense of provenance is rare. Mannyng’s unusual desire to situate his writing will be an issue that I return to below. The manuscript record of Handlyng Synne reveals a relatively poor rate of survival in comparison with the Anglo-Norman text from which it was adapted. Manuel des Péchés survives in twenty-seven copies, and provenance evidence suggests that the text was, within a few decades of its composition, disseminated across England.7 Matthew Sullivan has hinted at the possibility of some sort of official promulgation of the text along ecclesiastical conduits: [T]he speed with which the Manuel was circulated, starting from . . . York, and spreading north to Durham, south all the way to the Isle of Wight, east to

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Bury, and west perhaps as far as Ludlow, is evidence that medieval official publications . . . did not necessarily circulate haphazardly.8 The idea of the ‘official publication’ of Manuel des Péchés is perhaps misleading. The term suggests an organised process of mass production and dissemination through ecclesiastical lines for which there is no convincing evidence. Nevertheless, the text’s wide geographic spread and the quality of productions within the corpus do suggest that the Manuel entered reading and dissemination networks that allowed it to be communicated reasonably efficiently. The text was evidently situated within the sorts of social networks (including networks of high ecclesiasts and amongst members of noble and magnate classes) where the potential for recopying and dissemination was maximised.9 The text, where provenance information is verifiable, soon ended up in the possession of the professional religious and being owned by private patrons of noble rank.10 The quality of the surviving manuscript witnesses from the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries means that there is a wealth of material evidence for the early transmission of the text. Mannyng’s English text has a rather feeble material testimony of dissemination by comparison. Handlyng Synne is extant in only nine manuscript witnesses in total, and only three of these copies are complete versions of the text, with six copies that are either fragments or excerpts. Here is a list of the manuscript witnesses:

Manuscript Pressmark/complete or excerpt?

Production Location

Production date

Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley MS 415 (complete and followed by Meditations on the Supper of Our Lord) British Library, MS Harley 1701 (complete and followed by Meditations on the Supper of Our Lord and two other short texts) Folger Library, MS V.b.236; pt 1 of the ‘Clopton manuscript’ (complete and followed by Meditations on the Supper of Our Lord – the original codex contained a further 4 texts)11 Dulwich College, MS XXIV (probably once complete)12

Ashridge College (Bonshommes canons), Herts. Ashridge College (Bonshommes canons), Herts. Worcs. (and probably decorated in London) South Lincolnshire/ Cambridgeshire/ Norfolk, fenlands border region Durham

c. 1400

Yale University, Beinecke Library, MS Osborn a. 2 (fragmentary, but probably once complete MS of Handlyng Synne) ‘Vernon manuscript’, Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Poet A.1 (excerpt form Mannyng’s treatment of the sacrament of the altar interpolated into the narraciones in the Northern Homily Cycle for the feast of Corpus Christi)14

Lichfield (?)15

ca. 1400 1403–c. 1425 c. 1400–25

c. 1435– 145513 c. 1390– 1410

(Continued )

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(Continued) Manuscript Pressmark/complete or excerpt?

Production Location

Production date

’Simeon MS’, British Library, MS Additional 22,283 (excerpt from Mannyng’s treatment of the sacrament of the altar interpolated into the narraciones in the Northern Homily Cycle for the feast of Corpus Christi) Cambridge University Library, MS Ii.4.9 (excerpt; the ten commandments from Handlyng Synne, titled, ‘Decem Precepta’; the fifteenth of twentyfour miscellaneous religious texts) Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 61 (excerpt; a single tale from Handlyng Synne)

Lichfield (?)

c. 1390– 1410

Norfolk

c. 1475

Leicester (?)

1475–1500

Of the nine extant manuscripts of Handlyng Synne only three contain complete texts – a very closely related group of manuscripts – Bodley 415, Harley 1701 and Folger MS V.b.236. The first two of these may both have been produced in the first decade of the fifteenth century in the scriptorium of Ashridge College, a house of Bonshomme canons near the Hertfordshire/Buckinghamshire county border, with the Harley manuscript probably copied from the Bodley text.16 The production of multiple copies of Mannyng’s treatise in this religious house may be related to Ashridge’s increased pastoral responsibilities in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, as the house was in the process of appropriating a small empire of local satellite churches at this time.17 The Folger manuscript was probably made in the first quarter of the fifteenth century, and holds a very close genetic link with the Bodley and Harley manuscripts. Indeed, there is evidence to suggest the text may have been copied from the exemplar used in the making of the Bodley manuscript.18 A further two copies, Osborn MS A.2 (made in the Durham area and between 1435 and 1455 according to the evidence of the watermarks in this paper codex) and Dulwich College MS 24 (with dialectal evidence suggesting a provenance somewhere around the South Lincolnshire/Cambridgshire/Norfolk fenlands region) are now fragmentary, but probably once housed the entirety of Mannyng’s text. Four other miscellaneous codices contain excerpts of Handlyng Synne. Ashmole MS 61, the famous narrow book signed by ‘Rate’, contains only a single tale, the ‘Tale of the Forgiving Knight’.19 Cambridge MS Ii.4.9, a Norfolk anthology of Middle English religious literature that appears to have been compiled by a priest includes all of Mannyng’s section on the Ten Commandments. A portion of Handlyng Synne also found its way into those mammoth compendia of Middle English devotional literature, the Simeon and Vernon manuscripts, which preserve a subsection from the seven sacraments dedicated to the sacrament of the altar. And that is it: the entire, rather undistinguished corpus of books containing Handlyng Synne. Several features are striking about this corpus. Excluding Vernon and Simeon there is a general regional concentration in the eastern counties of England (where

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Gilbertine houses are also exclusively located). It is also the case that there is not a single book that was made remotely near the period in which Robert Mannyng completed his text. To put it into perspective – if we think of the dissemination history of Handlyng Synne as being concentrated in the span of 157 years between 1318 and 1475, then there are no material witnesses to the existence of the text from the first half of this period. We have no early, Gilbertine produced manuscripts from which we may get a better sense of how the text may have initially been used, and who the text’s first consumers may have been. To gain some sense of possible utilities for the text in the period, and particularly in the earliest phase of its dissemination, we are reliant on how Mannyng imagines his text in action, how the author, in effect, projects a sense of how it will function among the reading communities with which he associates his text. Delineating Mannyng’s intended and implied audiences will act as a platform from which one might understand the ‘actual’ audiences for the extant manuscripts of the text, and thus, perhaps to gauge the extent of the disparity between actual and imagined audiences.20 It is unfortunate that not only do we lack an early Gilbertine Handlyng Synne but we also lack meaningful insight into any other books the order’s houses may have possessed.21 We absolutely lack, for example, the sort of library catalogues and inventories which have provided insight into the libraries of other monastic orders. There are a few oblique references to Gilbertine owned books in the lists made c.1533 by John Leyland, the antiquary of Henry VIII, and in the lists compiled several years earlier in British Library, MS Royal App. 69, but they contain no useful descriptive information on the few manuscripts they recorded at Gilbertine institutions. Handlyng Synne was not amongst those works that the lists documented. This, however, is far from surprising given the scope and purpose of Henry VIII’s surveys. The fact that, ‘[h]e was especially interested in theological, historical and legal works by English authors (especially rare works by lesser known English authors)’ might lead us to think that Mannyng’s work, in particular his Chronicle which recounts the history of the kings of England, might have surfaced in the survey, but once we consider that the purpose of the lists was to provide works which would provide authoritative support for Henry VIII’s divorce, it becomes clear that Mannyng’s works would have been manifestly unsuited to this function.22 Nevertheless, even if Handlyng Synne had matched the ideological manifesto behind these surveys and even if catalogues of the Gilbertine libraries survived, it is possible that there would still be no recording of a Gilbertine manuscript of Handlyng Synne. A typical oversight of monastic catalogues, and most probably of the surveys of Henry VIII, is that such an appraisal would often ‘confine itself only to the Abbey book-room and ignore all the various liturgical materials and service books which were to be found elsewhere (in the church for example.)’23 According to the mode of transmission and imagined audience implied by Mannyng’s text it is possible that a Gilbertine manuscript of Handlyng Synne would not have resided in the rarified setting of the monastic library but in locations of its active transmission, locations beyond the confines of the monastic building.

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Imagining textual transmission Lacking any manuscripts to reconstruct the early Gilbertine audiences of Handlyng Synne it will be necessary to look at the terms in which Mannyng situated his text, or, one could say, the manner in which he imagined his text would reach and be understood by the audiences he targeted. Naturally, the idea of an author delineating an audience within the imaginative setting of a book raises certain problems. Walter Ong has demonstrated the manner in which writers must necessarily fictionalise their audiences, indicating the different protocols which bridge the gulf between writer and audience in a way that is not necessary between an orator and audience: Context for the spoken word is simply present, centred in on the person speaking and the one or ones to whom he addresses himself and to whom he is related existentially in terms of circumambient actuality . . . writing comes provided with no such circumambient actuality[.]24 Because of this temporal and spatial fissure between writer and audience Ong argues that readers adopt ‘roles’, indeed, are obliged to adopt ‘roles’ to access written material. The case with Handlyng Synne is complicated because the work is written in a style which often reads like a direct address by the author and as if the work is designed to be accessed aurally. The work is replete with direct addresses and reprovals which make this piece of writing read like oration. Nevertheless, because we may safely assume that Handlyng Synne was penned by Mannyng and not the record of an oral performance, the Gilbertine author was still required to fictionalise the audience of his work, and provide an imaginative register by which they might access it, whether as hearers or readers. As Hans Robert Jauss has stated, cultural productions necessarily operate on a ‘preconstituted horizon of expectations . . . to orient the reader’s (public’s) understanding and to enable a qualifying reception’.25 Mannyng immediately locates his work, providing an approximate template for reception against the entertaining but idle stories which enthral his audience, ‘Yn gamys, yn festys & at þe ale/Loue men to lestene tröteuale’, (47–48) and offers to substitute the corrupting influence of ‘tröteuale’ (idle tales or foolish talk) with his own morally instructive tales.26 Indeed, the Gilbertine introduces many of his tales with generic markers such as ‘borde’, ‘spelle’ and ‘geste’, expressions more typically associated with secular storytelling than with religious exempla.27 In some respects Mannyng thus situates his text as a form of counter-genre, both a reaction to, yet emulation of the idle stories which gripped the imagination of his envisaged audience. The imaginative precedent by which Mannyng orientates his audience, however, was not, I believe, confined to the morally ambiguous exemplar of those ‘talys and rymys [folk] wyl bleþly here’, (46) but also relies upon the success of a positive, recently arrived cultural phenomenon, that is, the vernacular sermons of the friars. A Franciscan house was founded in Grantham only thirteen years before Mannyng began his work, and passages in Handlyng Synne

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appear to assume a familiarity with the preaching of the mendicants that Mannyng shares with his audience.28 Indeed, in one of Mannyng’s many digressions from his source text, he authorises his tale by relating it to a Franciscan informant, ‘Y shal yow teche, as y herde telle/Ones a frere menor spelle’ (9597–8). As mentioned above, when one reads Handlyng Synne, one of the most instantly conspicuous aspects of the style in which Mannyng adapted his source, is that the Middle English text reads almost like a transcription of an oral performance. One early scholar commented that Handlyng Synne ‘has the striking phraseology, the clearness, vividness, and directness of the successful spoken sermon’.29 Mannyng’s ‘horizon of expectation’ thus appears to be based not on literary precedents, but on oral traditions of storytelling and homily, which were previously accessible to a wide variety of audiences. Mannyng’s work implies its transmission to groups of listeners and one can imagine churches and other places of public gathering such as local marketplaces as imagined sites for Gilbertine promulgation of the text. Because each significant Gilbertine institution had varying degrees of interest in more than one church, and social gatherings other than the strictly religious would have been likely scenes of oral dissemination, it is entirely possible that a single manuscript could be moved between locations, perhaps serving many reading (or hearing) communities. Amongst Mannyng’s addressees in the prologue to the poem he hails the ‘gode men of brunne’, (58) the village near Sempringham, and presumably that of the author’s birth.30 A.I. Doyle has asserted the possibility that Mannyng sent ‘a copy to the parish priest or the Augustinian house there, as a measure of publication’.31 Equally likely is the possibility that he envisaged ‘reciting it personally’, or indeed, that another agent of the Gilbertines would recite it there.32 Joyce Coleman has argued that Mannyng may have been Sempringham priory’s hostillarius, the canon responsible for the pilgrim guest house, and that the text was produced to entertain and instruct pilgrims visiting Sempringham to venerate the shrine of Saint Gilbert, and whilst this seems a plausible site for the performance of Mannyng’s text, there are reasons, as this essay will go on to consider, to think that Mannyng believed his text would move further afield.33 Mannyng’s addresses to audiences within the text signal that the author imagined his work would circulate beyond the confines of Sempringham priory or other Gilbertine houses.34 The text also reveals means of transmission other than its oral recital. Although an affected posture of a homiletic, oral performance runs through the work, Mannyng’s prologue appears to imagine more private perusals of his text. The lines, ‘On þys manere handyl þy dedes/And lestene & lerne wan any hem redys’, (117–8) suggests a conflation of modes of transmission, with listening and reading both potential methods of accessing the text. Indeed, within a few lines Mannyng more definitely articulates the possibility of private access to the text whilst still reiterating the potential for the work’s oral transmission: Whedyr outwys þou wylt opone þe boke, Þou shalt fynde begynnng on to loke. Oueral ys begynnyng- oueral ys ende,

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Ryan Perry Hou þat þou wylt turne hyt or wende. Many þynges þer yn mayst þou here; Wyþ ofte redyng mayst þou lere. Þou mayst nout wyþ onys redyng knowe þe soþe of euery þyng. (121–128)

Mannyng’s imaginative creation of readers of his work alongside listeners suggests that he believed the work could be accessed in differing ways. His ideal reader will return to the work to reappraise the common origins of sin – ‘þou darst neuere recche whar þou begynne/For euery whare ys begynnyng of synne’ (119–120). Unless Mannyng or another Gilbertine reader is to read and re-read sections appropriate to the ‘begynnyngs’ the listener needed to attend to, the possibility is implied that the work could be owned or at least held for substantial periods of time by private audiences. We may note the pun, ‘Hou þat þyou wylt turne hyt or wende’, containing the double meanings of his audience both turning the pages of his book to find sin’s ‘begynnyng’, and also stating his work will inform them how to reverse (‘turne’) such ‘begynnyngs’ in their own lives. If one were to appraise Mannyng’s audience, the ‘lewed men’, for whom he says he writes, as being an entirely illiterate demographic, one might attribute Mannyng’s references to the acts of reading and re-reading down to trope.35 The Gilbertine and his fellow canons would have understood a book as something approached (and re-approached) as a reader, and Mannyng’s construction of an audience may have been programmed according to the imaginative register of a member of a culture that defined itself through its very literateness.36 Handlyng Synne, however, is far from being the only Middle English text which conflates the acts of reading and listening. Gower’s lines in Confessio Amantis, ‘whan I of here loves rede/Min Ere with the tale I fede’, or Chaucer’s apology in the prologue to The Miller’s Tale, ‘who so list it noght yhere/Turne ouer the leef, and chese another tale’, are examples which similarly (to someone with modern notions of reading) appear to confuse listening to text and absorbing it with the eye.37 Such conflations demonstrate that reading was understood as an act, whether in settings like a household, or in arenas such as a church, which normally involved more than one person.38 Reading the text aloud to an assemblage, perhaps to family or friends, or indeed to a congregation was a cultural norm (though not a cultural absolute) and for most of society, private, internal reading was atypical. It is certainly also possible that later-medieval conceptions of reading and listening were so utterly melded, that even a solitary reader might regard themselves as listening (via the internal soliloquy) to the text at which they gazed.39 Ultimately, I concur with the emphasis Joyce Coleman has placed on the potential for textual ‘bimodality’, where texts might be accessed both through private or public reading.40 However, in the terms of my own discussion, Coleman’s dichotomising of acts of internal and public reading is not the central issue. My argument requires a different dichotomy. In terms of the production history of Handlyng Synne, or indeed any devotional text emanating from within a religious institution, dissemination almost certainly

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will involve the leaking of the text into contexts beyond the religious order – , when the text becomes owned, copied or transmitted by audiences other than the original, institutional progenitors of the text. That the potential for the ownership of Handlyng Synne in secular settings is tacitly recognised by Mannyng is made apparent through comparison with the Northern Homily Cycle (hereafter NHC), a text with which Handlyng Synne is often bracketed as a contemporary product of a national pastoral initiative in the years following Pecham’s Lambeth decree of 1281 (in which the archbishop of Canterbury imposed a syllabus for the instruction of the laity in the basic tenets of Christian belief). The NHC sets out within the prologue a particular mode and setting for the transmission of the text in a manner that is completely lacking in Handlyng Synne: For namlic on the Sunenday Comes the lawed men thair bede to say To the kirc, an for to lere Gastlic lare that thar thai here . . . For [thi] wil Ic on Inglis schau, And ger our laued brether knawe, Quat alle tha godspelles saies That falles tille the Sunnendayes[.] (99–112)41 Whereas Handlyng Synne is situated against the idle tales of his audience’s leisure time, the NHC is located within the Church service, the primary locus for lay spiritual instruction. The NHC is constructed to match the liturgical cycle of the Church service and this is the prescribed setting for the work’s transmission – explaining the Latin ‘godspelles’ within the service to the ‘laued’ listeners. This text was written with no authorial regard for privatisation by its lay audience, but only to mediate between the ‘Clerk wit lar of Godes worde’ (39) and his non-Latinate Sabbath and holy-day congregations. That Handlyng Synne was not specifically written to function as part of the religious service is indicated not only by the author’s allusions to his audience’s recreational activities, ‘yn gamys, yn festys & at þe ale’, (46) occasions on which the text will provide instructive entertainment, or by Mannyng’s reference to his audience re-approaching the text. The fact that the author carefully provides biographical and anecdotal material in both Handlyng Synne and the Chronicle, beacons for the texts’ provenance that are so rare in literature of the period, may indicate the author’s belief that his works would be accessed in arenas other than the strictly religious or in settings beyond direct Gilbertine influence. Mannyng’s biographical and institutional markers might be viewed as a means of promulgating the spiritual achievements of the Gilbertines, without necessitating the active transmission of the text by agents of the order, or for that matter, within settings of Gilbertine control.42 Mannyng may have believed that clerical readers, such as chaplains and reading priests (or ‘listers’ to use the Middle English designation), would perform the text in settings outside of the church, and beyond typical pastoral obligations such as preaching.43

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Imagining Mannyng’s ‘lewed’ folk What is absolutely certain is that Mannyng imagines his text would be both read and heard. Mannyng, despite his imaginative (and possibly sometimes active) role as orator of the text, was not the only performer of Handlyng Synne – he was not an exclusive promulgator, reading his work aloud to communities in the environs of Sempringham priory. The text acknowledges that ‘clerkys’ would read the work, and Mannyng on occasion manifests defensiveness against their potential approbation, such as when he asserts that he will not reveal to his lay audience any details about certain varieties of sexual sin (presumably because discussion of these ‘pryutees’ might give them ideas): Þe pryutees wyle y nouʒt name, For noun þerefore shuld me blame . . . Of þys clerkys wyle y nouʒt seye; To greue hem y haue grete eye, For þey wote þat ys to wetyn And se hyt weyl before hem wretyn. (31–40) Interestingly these lines suggest he is addressing priestly readers/hearers at this point, or at least, he is thinking of clerks qualified to administer the sacrament of confession. These clerks, ‘wote þat ys to wetyn’ – they know what there is to know about such sins because they ‘se hyt weyl before hem wretyn’; they can access writing about these sins – presumably in confessors’ manuals. Concluding the section on the ‘Sacrament of the Altar’, Mannyng addresses both readers and listeners and appears to differentiate actively between those ‘clerkys’ who might access the text directly, and the ‘lewed’, whom he tells us are the primary audience for his work. After telling the tale of a wife who feeds her trapped husband through spiritual gifts, Mannyng imagines settings of his work’s transmission: Ne no clerk þat þys ryme redes Shal fynd a womman of so kynd dedes. Ʒe men þat are now yn present Þat haue herd me rede þys sacrament, How ouer al þyng haþ powere, Þe sacrament of þe autere, As y haue here to ʒow shewed, Nat to lered onely but eke to lewed. Þe lewed men, y telle hyt yow, Þese cle\rkes kunne hyt weyl ynow. (10805–10814) Again Mannyng strikingly fictionalises his work in performance, imagining himself addressing and reading to an assemblage of ‘lewed’ and ‘lered’ listeners, even

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as he paradoxically admits a clerical lector for his work – the ‘clerk þat þys ryme redes’. Mannyng perhaps reveals something of the dynamics of medieval reading practice, where the clerical agent reading a text to a gathering of listeners might, in effect, perform the role, indeed, becoming the vocal embodiment of the author. The clerical reader might not only read Mannyng’s words, but affect his voice, to be Robert Mannyng as he reads, bringing his distinctive didacticism and personal asides to life. Such an understanding of voicing by those performing texts to groups of readers makes sense of articulations in Handlyng Synne that otherwise appear confusing and contradictory. There is no precise definition of the social make-up of the ‘lewed’ in Handlyng Synne, but a definition of the author’s understanding of the term is suggested in the prologue to Mannyng’s Chronicle.44 He states that he writes: Not for þe lerid bot for þe lewed For þo þat in þis land wone Þat þe Latyn ne Frankys cone. (6–8) Mannyng here indicates that his audience for the Chronicle will be analogous to the ‘lewed’ audience he addressed in Handlyng Synne. ‘Lewed’, in this case appears simply to equate to non-competency in Latin or French, an interpretation which for Turville – Petre implies a more precise social classification. In both ‘Politics and Poetry’ and England the Nation Turville-Petre has constructed a portrait of Mannyng as a highly polemical writer, championing the cause of the ‘unfree’ English, and chafing against the repression of their Anglo-Norman overlords.45 TurvillePetre argues that Mannyng ‘sees the lords as Norman and the “lewed” as English’.46 To judge that English monolingualism, even in the first half of the fourteenth century, indicated low social rank, however, is to greatly over-simplify the dynamics of later medieval linguistics. Textual evidence indicates that neither the entirety of those of higher social status were competently francophone, nor those of lower rank utterly monolingual. Simplistic equations on medieval linguistics are confounded by diverse and contradictory assertions by writers, ranging from a twelfth-century monastic claim that ‘Que en Franceis le poent entendre/E li grant and li mendre’ (both the great and the least can understand it in French), to the assessment contained in the Auchinleck manuscript that ‘Many noble ich have useiye/that no Frenynsche couthe seye’.47 Froissart indicates that as early as 1329, many of the eminent members of Edward III’s court who visited France ‘did not know French well enough to complete the act of homage in due form’.48 As Carol Meale writes of mapping language usage along social lines, ‘the assumption that linguistic difference can be simply equated with social difference [. . .] can no longer be sustained without qualification’.49 Scholarship such as John Thompson’s studies of the Cursor Mundi, a text approximately contemporary with Handlyng Synne, further suggests the problematic nature in delineating the social status of imagined audiences of Middle English texts.50 Thompson has shown that whilst the ‘Cursor-poet’ states his intention

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to write for ‘the commun at understand’, in particular those who do not understand French – ‘na frankis can’, the poet simultaneously alludes to the literary vogues of a polyglot audience in creating a context for the work’s reception. This English vernacular work is thus indicative of the fact that literary vernacular English was increasingly a cultural option even amongst those who were capable of accessing material in Latin or French, and Thompson has related the Cursor-poet’s audience to those of manuscripts such as ‘the early trilingual collection’, British Library MS Harley 2253.51 One could alternatively argue that the literary tastes of francophone society were filtering both aurally and literately into the cultural repertoire of the non-French speaking public. Akin to the Cursor Mundi, Mannyng’s Chronicle refers to romance, a genre typically associated in the early fourteenth century with polyglot audiences. However, Mannyng does so in the context of the discussion of rhymes in ‘Inglis’, revealing that the romances of Anglo-Norman and French origin were circulating in the English vernacular.52 Mannyng laments that such tales have not been scrupulously retold, including (evidently) his own favourite, the tale of Sir Tristan: I see in song, in sedgeyng tale Of Erceldoun & of Kendale, Non þam says as þai þam wroght, & in þer saying it semes noght; Þat may þou here in Sir Tristrem; Ouer gestes it has þe steem, Ouer alle it that is or was, If men it sayd as made Thomas. (93–100)53 Mannyng’s words reveal the existence of both polyglot and monolingual audiences for English versions of romances such as Sir Tristan. Mannyng is himself exemplary – being a polyglot, and evidently a reader of both French and Latin writings (from which he drew to write Handlyng Synne and the Chronicle), he reveals in this passage his own appetite for English romance verse.54 It would thus be wrong to apply a precise demographic to the audiences for the tales of the ‘disours’, ‘seggers’ and ‘harpours’ (minstrels, professional oral narrators and harpists) that Mannyng refers to in the Chronicle.55 As he did in the prologue to Handlyng Synne, Mannyng addresses an audience disposed to hearing tales (presumably in English) in their leisure time, people who ‘beyn of swyche manere/þat talys & rymys wyle bleþly here’, (Handlyng Synne 45–6) whilst simultaneously deriding the performative ability and the moral scruples of the purveyors of such material.56 The substance of Handlyng Synne, although ostensibly directed at a socially universal audience, appears most pertinent to those members of society with some degree of disposable income, ranging from south-Lincolnshire’s emergent protogentry to established knightly families.57 Certainly, in the case of the Chronicle, it is difficult to support Turville-Petre’s notion that Mannyng wrote solely with a

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peasant audience in mind. Joyce Coleman has articulated the most likely audience which Mannyng imagined the Chronicle work would reach: Unlike the peasantry, the gentry would have the means to reward the Gilbertine Order for providing the text; the clerks or other literate household members capable of reading (and explicating) it to them; and the leisure time to take in thousands of lines.58 Coleman further argues that Mannyng, akin to other translators of historical literature such as Gaimar, may have acquired his source texts through wealthy patrons, ‘many of which were unlikely to have been available at Sempringham or Sixhills (the two priories with which Mannyng is associated.)’59 Of course, Coleman might be said to be guilty of overlooking the considerable fluidity of economic standing within demographic designations, and I have previously argued that I agree with Turville-Petre that ‘rich peasants’ (‘Politics’ 18), a caste that might be understood as a kind of proto-gentry, were included in Mannyng’s imagined audience for Handlyng Synne.60 However, given that Handlyng Synne is clearly involved in promoting the advantages of purchasing prayers and other spiritual commodities from Sempringham it also seems likely that members of the more established gentry, time-honoured benefactors of the Gilbertines, would have been among the audiences targeted by the author.61 Interestingly, Mannyng addresses his audience as ‘lordes lewed’ in his prologue to the Chronicle, no doubt as part of a troped form of address rather than the definition of a social demographic. Nevertheless, the fact that the words might be used together without a hint of ironic pretension is indicative that the terms did not necessarily refer to mutually exclusive social groupings. Undoubtedly, throughout Handlyng Synne, Mannyng appears to speak directly to the upper tier of manorial society: Ʒe lordynges þat haue ynow, Þys tale haue y told for ʒow, Þat ʒe ne repente ʒow of larges, Þat ʒe ʒyue to ʒour almes. (7069–72) Mannyng’s mention of ‘larges’ makes it apparent that he is not here invoking a polite address topos to an imagined peasant audience. Largesse, described by Heal as ‘that quality of magnanimity that the Aristotelian tradition placed at the heart of the true aristocracy’, was a culturally specific characteristic associated with the nobility, and would certainly have been an entirely inappropriate term to apply to even the wealthiest peasant.62 Mannyng also frequently adopts a similarly direct form of address for other prominent social types within the manorial system, such as his lecture to officers of manorial courts: Þarfore ʒe stywardes on benche, Þer on shulde ʒe all þenche.

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As Sullivan has written, the ‘point of such interjections is lost unless the subjects are likely to be found among the audience’.63 Certainly, Mannyng indicates in the text that ‘lewed’ might simply equate to ‘lay’. Warning his audience against standing in the chancel during the service, the author makes it clear that an eminent man might also be tagged ‘lewed’: Þe lewed man holy cherche wyl forbede To stonde yn þe chaunsel wyl men rede. Who so eure þar to ys customer, Þogh he be of gret power, Boþe he synneþ & doþ greuaunce Aʒens þe clergye ordynaunce. (8807–8812)64 A ‘lewed’ peasant audience, makes less sense than a classification where ‘lewed’ equates to a socially and economically diverse laity.

Imagining scenes of transmission Referring to Mannyng’s statement in the prologue of Handlyng Synne, that men love to hear stories ‘[y]n gamys, yn festys & at þe ale’, Turville-Petre has declared that Mannyng attempts ‘to draw his listeners away from the frivolity of taverntales’.65 Turville-Petre here engages in a subtle demographic categorisation of Mannyng’s imagined audience, hinting that the author competes with tale-tellers who perform in village taverns, and hence amongst a predominantly peasant clientele. Perhaps a more likely cultural space in which Mannyng imagined his stories would vie against those of secular storytellers for the attention of his audience was in the manorial halls of the regional lords with whom the Gilbertines had links. In such sites Mannyng’s text might approach the diverse strata his didacticism addresses throughout Handlyng Synne, ranging from the ‘grete lordyngys’ (2998) and ‘[r]yche ladyys’, (3230) to their gentry affinity, ‘Iustyses, shereues and baylyues’, (6795) ‘cunseylours’, (5409) ‘legysters’, ‘acountours’ (5410), ‘domes men’ (5483) and ‘stywardes’ (5439), and to the household staff, ‘men þat serue knʒtys & squyers’. (7270) Mannyng’s text is filled with such designations relating to a community that revolves around a regional gentry household. On special feast days the tenants of a lord might customarily be invited to enter the ‘gamys and festys’ of the manor hall, particularly at times such as Christmas and at the culmination of the summer harvest. As Heal writes, the ‘gestum, or tenant feast, was the occasion for hospitality given by the lord’, a festival at which the gathering could anticipate entertainment such as ‘[s]ongs and carols’.66 We are provided with a flavour of the manorial gestum in the Gawain-poet’s Cleanness,

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in which the author draws on the parable of the Wedding Feast.67 Instilling his poem with a sense of lively contemporaneity, the poet depicts an event where the low-born (seated appropriately according to their station) dine, and are treated to the performances of minstrels within the noble hospicium: Wheþer þay wern worþy oþer wers, wel wern þay stowed, Ay þe best byfore and bryʒtest atyred, Þe derrest at þe hyʒe dese, þat dubbed wer fayrest, And syþen on lenþe bilooghe ledez inogh. And ay as segges serly semed by her wedez, So with marschal at her mete mensked þay were. Clene men in compaynye forknowen wern lyte, And ʒet þe symplest in þat sale watz serued to þe fulle, Boþe with menske and with mete and mynstrasy noble, And alle þe laykez þat a lorde aʒt in londe schewe. (113–22)68 Such occasions for festivity, amongst varied demographics, may be precisely the cultural settings in which Mannyng imagined his works being performed. Potential households that the text may have reached could include the manor of Irnham, the home of the Luttrell family (and the house for which the spectacular Luttrell Psalter was commissioned); or of the Beaumont family, who had both been patrons of the Gilbertines (indeed, the Luttrells sent female members of the family into Gilbertine nunneries).69 Turville-Petre has dismissed the possibility that Mannyng’s Chronicle might have been intended for an audience of such standing, stating ‘the powerful and the educated already had their histories, such as Langtoft, in French’.70 The French-born Henry Beaumont (c. 1280–1340) Turville-Petre argues, ‘would not, and probably could not, have read the Chronicle’.71 Whilst this is potentially true, it must be considered that longer established seigniorial houses may not have been as competently francophone as the Beaumonts, and that Henry would necessarily have staffed his household with English speakers and formed a gentry network of affiliates, who may not have been able to access complex literature in languages other than their native vernacular. It certainly seems plausible that even the Beaumont household might have embraced cultural amusements in English, particularly if we consider that in the context of increasing tensions between England and France in the period, a recently arrived outsider might be particularly anxious not to alienate himself from the surrounding community. Additionally, it could be argued that members of such seigniorial families had good reason to invest in an English work which ‘emphasized the just claims of the English Crown to Scotland’, in a period in which regional lords needed both to staff their military retinues, and burden the local tenants and gentry with war taxes.72 French Histories, such as that by Langtoft, would ultimately be of little use to propagandise the necessity for the protracted war against the Scots amongst the greater majority of the local populace who suffered the bane of its economic impact. The Chronicle might thus not have been written to be read by French

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speakers such as Beaumont, but plausibly may have still been patronised by men in his position who could utilise the more universal appeal of English verse as a political tool. Interestingly, Turville-Petre’s argument that the Chronicle contains ‘polemic . . . which would not have appealed [to the seigniorial class]’, has been tempered by subsequent studies of the work. Douglas Moffat argues that rather than radicalising racial issues, ‘Mannyng seems to point the way . . . to a possible integration of the “English” and “French”’.73 If it is true that Mannyng held the ‘Norman party line’ on the issue of the conquest that Turville-Petre holds as being contentious, then it is possible that noblemen such as Luttrell and Beaumont may have actively encouraged the recital of Mannyng’s Chronicle at both festal and more intimate gatherings.74 Most importantly, local lords, along with their gentry affiliates, were more likely to be in an economic position to obtain copies of Mannyng’s texts, in the manner suggested by the author’s implication (that the text would be repeatedly re-approached by its audience) in the prologue to Handlyng Synne. Through such privately owned copies of Mannyng’s text, Handlyng Synne could have been publicised throughout the various strata of a regional community, amongst the adherents and tenants of a regional lord. The work would not need Mannyng, or a Gilbertine reader of the text, but could be read by household clerics to gatherings within the noble household, with these men perhaps voicing Handlyng Synne and performing Robert Mannyng. Therefore, the imagined secular ownership of the text does not contradict Mannyng’s dichotomy of ‘lewed’ listeners and clerical readers. Ultimately, Mannyng’s creation of a fictive oral setting for his work defines the relationship envisaged in the text between the writing and the ‘lewed’. In creating an illusory oral setting for his work, Mannyng delimits the relationship between his text and his lay audience in a manner that imaginatively necessitates a clerical reader and lay listener. He contextualises his own act of writing, his speaking from the pages, by fictionalising himself as the ‘lered’ who reads to the ‘lewed’ whilst tacitly acknowledging that other ‘clerkys’ will read his work, potentially, like in his fiction, to assembled members of the laity. Furthermore, because he considered his work should be accessed repeatedly by members of his lay audience, he subtly acknowledges the enabling processes of copying and dissemination which might take Handlyng Synne into local households. Naturally, such scenes of transmission (of reading, of listening, the work perhaps read aloud by a family member or more appropriately, according to Mannyng’s own equation of transmission, by a cleric associated with or employed by a family)75 could not have been homes of the lower peasantry. The possibility of such a model for transmission could only be within the houses of those of sufficient standing, who either might afford the making of a copy, had the leisure time and ability to create their own book, or perhaps secure the loan of the text through exertion of their status and affiliations. Indeed, Mannyng’s insistence on the ‘lewed’ nature of his audience might best be understood in political terms. The writer’s characterisation of his audience as ‘lewed’ might be seen as a subtle reminder to those gentry, perhaps locally significant in secular power, of their essential ignorance and fallibility in spiritual matters. By emphasising a universal clerical/‘lewed’ dicotomy Mannyng asserts a sense of unqualified spiritual authority over his audience, regardless of social rank.

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Where are the books? Of course, there is a problem with the scenario I have set out: where then are the books that testify to Mannyng’s projected audience? The books of Handlyng Synne produced in the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries must, of course, have had ancestors – there must have been some now lost books that were produced during Mannyng’s lifetime, though how many is now impossible to assess. Idelle Sullen produced a stemma for Handlyng Synne that posited at least six missing ancestors to manuscripts within the extant corpus, but admits her posited relationships are ‘very problematical’.76 Ian Doyle suggested that the relatively poor survival of Handlyng Synne might be through what he punningly called ‘hard handling’ – that is, Mannyng’s text circulated widely, but in utility grade books that were destroyed through regular use. Added to Doyle’s assessment of the potentially poor quality of books containing this text is the nature of the communities to which the Gilbertines were connected and the timing of Mannyng’s project. Whereas foundations of other orders tended to be ‘affiliated to supra-national organisations of one kind or another’, the Gilbertines, predominately concentrated in eastern England, tended to have support on a localised level as opposed to having succour from ‘the great magnates of the realm’.77 As such the benefactions on which Gilbertine foundations were based were not large, and Gilbertine houses did not have the pecuniary safety net which could be supplied by the eminent magnates of England. The early benefactions on which Sempringham and the other Gilbertine houses were formed were drawn from aristocratic families who were of regional rather than national significance.78 Indeed, of the forty named donors who were the early benefactors of Sempringham only ten were of baronial class, and of these few were ‘families of more than local importance’.79 The vast majority of Sempringham’s benefactors were relatively minor members of the knightly class. The pre-eminent house of the order was endowed by families that had relatively limited lands and properties to go with their titles, families for whom the possession of vernacular books would have been novel. The Barons’ wars, late in the reign of Henry III, in which the Lincolnshire seigniorial class were deeply complicit, had left a legacy of debt throughout the county’s peerage. Huge debts to the Crown were inherited by the heirs of those who had fought against Henry III, and Edward I proved eager to collect these. Major landholders near Sempringham, such as the Gant family, may have felt ill-disposed to make endowments to the Priory when they had so recently incurred a massive ₤2,000 penalty for their complicity in rebellion.80 War with Scotland was also exacting a heavy burden from Lincolnshire’s knightly class with early deaths resulting in numerous failures to continue family lineage.81 There was as a result a change in the face of the Lincolnshire seigniorial class, and by the early fourteenth century only half of the baronial estates had passed from the hands of their Doomsday owners.82 The dissemination context of Mannyng’s text thus contrasts powerfully with its Anglo-Norman source, the Manuel des Peches, and with later examples of vernacular religious texts from monastic progenitors that proliferated successfully like Nicholas Love’s Mirror, a text that the Carthusian prior communicated to

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two of the greatest magnate families in England.83 Such texts were produced with wealthy and influential patron audiences in mind who acted as conduits for the text’s dispersal and transmission. With the cataclysm of the pestilence in the midfourteenth century, a disaster from which Gilbertine income and influence never recovered, Handlyng Synne it seems, had limited opportunity of finding audiences that might have allowed it to spread widely. Robert Mannyng’s imaginative context for his work, where his text would provide pious entertainment for manorial communities, quite simply, may have been unfulfilled. Handlyng Synne, despite the ambitions and the imaginings of its author, was perhaps always doomed to a limited circulation.

Notes 1 P. Strohm, Hochon’s Arrow: The Social Imagination of Fourteenth-Century Texts (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), p. 7. 2 All references from Handlyng Synne are taken from the most recent edition of the text based on Bodley 415, Handlyng Synne, ed. I. Sullens (Binghampton, NY: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, 1983) although I have also found the earlier EETS edition useful: Robert of Brunne’s ‘Handlyng Synne’, A.D. 1303: with those parts of the Anglo-French treatise on which it was founded, William of Wadington’s ‘Manuel des Pechiez’, ed. F. J. Furnivall, EETS o.s. 119 (1901), which predominantly represents the text from British Library, Harley MS. 1701 supplemented by Bodl. 415, and for the Manuel uses Harley MSS 273 and 4657. It is from this edition that I have taken my citations from Manuel des Péchés. I have preferred to employ the readings and line numbers from Bodley 415 because it is the most complete version of the text. Both the editions by Sullens and Furnivall contain several errors, and I have crossreferenced my readings against the manuscripts. 3 For general discussion on Handlyng Synne and its author Robert Mannyng of Brunne see R. Raymo, ‘Works of Religious and Philosophical Instruction’, in: A. E. Hartung (ed.), A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050–1500, vol. 7 (New Haven, CT: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1984), pp. 2255–7. 4 For a study which deals mainly with Mannyng’s ‘original’ tales and traces probable sources, see S. A. Sullivan, ‘A Study of Robert Mannyng of Brunne’s Handlyng Synne and Its Relation to Other Instructional Works, in Order to Establish the Place of the Poem in Its Genre’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1978), pp. 153–87. 5 The Gilbertines were institutionally opposed to ornate literary activity, strictures which extended to even the private letters of the canons; the Rule of St. Gilbert states: “He whom writes letters shall write simply and above all, shall avoid the vanity of profound and swelling words”; translation from R. Graham, St. Gilbert of Sempringham and the Gilbertines: A History of the Only English Monastic Order (London: E. Stock, 1901), p. 61. 6 The wording is slightly oblique at this point in the text and an alternative biography to that proposed here and usually accepted by scholarship has been proposed by A. W. Taubman, ‘New Biographical Notes on Robert Mannyng of Brunne’, Notes and Queries, 56/2 (2009), 197–201. 7 See C. W. Marx, The Devil’s Rights and the Redemption in the Literature of Medieval England (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1995), p. 76. 8 M. Sullivan, ‘Readers of the Manuel des Péchés’, Romania 113 (1992), 233–42, at pp. 241–2. 9 In this the Manuel might be compared with The Mirror of the Blessed Life of Jesus Christ, another vernacular religious text that has been understood as an ‘official publication’; see R. Perry, ‘“Thynk on God, as We Doon, Men That Swynk”: The Cultural

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Locations of Meditations on the Supper of Our Lord and the Middle English PseudoBonaventuran Tradition’, Speculum 86/2 (2011), 419–54, at pp. 428, 448–51. See A. Bennett, ‘A Book Designed for a Noblewoman: An Illustrated Manuel des Péchés’ of the Thirteenth Century’, in: L. Brownrigg (ed.), Medieval Book Production: Assessing the Evidence (Los Altos, CA: Anderson Lovelace, 1990), pp. 163–81. This is the first part of the so-called ‘Clopton Manuscript’, a large codex now dismembered into three sections, the other two manuscripts being, in order of their original position in the manuscript, Princeton University Library, Taylor MS 10 (Mandeville’s Travels) and London University MS. S.L. V. 17 (Piers Plowman, Estorie del Evangelie and Assumption of Our Lady); for descriptions and suggested dating of the handwriting contained in these two portions of the Clopton manuscript see G. Russell and G. Kane, Piers Plowman: The C Version (London: Athlone Press, 1997), pp. 1–2; A. I. Doyle, ‘Remarks on Surviving Manuscripts of Piers Plowman’, in: G. Kratzmann and J. Simpson (eds.), Medieval English Religious and Ethical Literature: Essays in Honour of G. H. Russell (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1986), pp. 35–48, 44; A. G. Mitchell, ‘A Newly Discovered Manuscript of the C-Text of Piers Plowman’, Modern Language Review 36 (1941), 243–4; M. Canney (ed.), The Sterling Library: A Catalogue of the Printed Books and Literary Manuscripts Collected by Sir Louis Sterling and Presented by Him to the University of London (Cambridge: Privately Printed, 1954), pp. 544–5; M. C. Seymour, ‘The English Manuscripts of Mandeville’s Travels’, Edinburgh Bibliographical Society Transactions IV 5 (1966), p. 198; J. W. Bennett, The Rediscovery of Sir John Mandeville (New York: M.L.A., 1954), pp. 289–90; N. R. Ker, Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries, 4 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969–92), i. pp. 376–7. The manuscript was ‘probably’ made for Sir William Clopton (d. 1419) according to T. Turville-Petre, ‘The Vernon and Clopton Manuscripts’, in: D. Pearsall (ed.), Studies in the Vernon Manuscript (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1990), pp. 29–44 (36); an alternative understanding is suggested by R. Perry, ‘The Clopton Manuscript and the Beauchamp Affinity: Patronage and Reception Issues in a West Midlands Reading Community’, in: W. Scase and R. Farnham (eds.), Vernacular Manuscript Books of the English West Midlands from the Conquest to the Sixteenth Century (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), pp. 131–59. The Dulwich manuscript now contains only 21 leaves retaining only the prologue and the greater majority of the Ten Commandments of Handlyng Synne, ending imperfectly on line 2894. Catchwords at the foot of fol. 21v (‘ʒoure wikkid vowys’) demonstrate that the production would have continued beyond this point; the fact that the scribe has copied the prologue to the work, in which Mannyng outlines the scope of the entire text, (lines 14–26) would suggest that the Dulwich MS was once a complete version of Handlyng Synne. The dates and site of production have been established through analysis of the watermarks on the manuscript. For published descriptions see Handlyng, ed. Sullens, pp. xxvii–xxxi; W. H. Bond and C. U. Faye, Supplement to the Census of Manuscripts in the United States and Canada (New York: Bibliographical Society of America, 1962), p. 97, no. 5. For an analysis and partial edition of the Beinecke manuscript see S. A. Schulz, ‘An Edition of Robert Mannyng of Brunne’s Handlyng Synne’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, New York University, 1973). For discussion of the political implications of the use of this section of Handlyng Synne in the Vernon/ Simeon Northern Homily Cycle see R. Perry, ‘Editorial Politics in the Vernon Manuscript’, in: W. Scase (ed.), The Making of the Vernon Manuscript (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 71–95. For the palaeographic evidence for associating the Vernon and Simeon manuscripts with Lichfield, see S. Horobin, ‘The Scribes of the Vernon Manuscript’, in: Scase (ed.), The Making of the Vernon Manuscript, pp. 27–47. For the argument that these copies were similarly produced in Ashridge see chapter 3 in R. Perry, ‘The Cultural Locations of Handlyng Synne’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, Queen’s University of Belfast, 2005).

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17 Ibid., pp. 206–7. 18 Ibid., pp. 133–6. 19 Handlyng Synne, ll. 3799–912; the tale is item 18 in the manuscript, and occurs on fols 26v-27v. 20 The theoretical implications of the terms ‘implied’, ‘intended’ and ‘actual’ audiences are discussed by P. Strohm, ‘Chaucer’s Audience(s): Fictional, Implied, Intended, Actual’, Chaucer Review 18 (1983), 137–45. 21 For discussion of the service books the Gilbertines habitually reproduced see Graham, St. Gilbert of Sempringham and the Gilbertines, p. 61. 22 The Libraries of the Cistercians, Gilbertines and Premonstratensians, ed. D. N. Bell, Corpus of British Medieval Library Catalogues 3 (London: British Library in association with the British Academy, 1992), p. xxviii; Leyland’s lists are also reproduced in J. R. Liddell, ‘Leyland’s Lists of Manuscripts in Lincolnshire Monasteries’, EHR 54 (1939), 88–95. 23 Libraries, ed. Bell, p. xxvii. 24 W. J. Ong, ‘The Writer’s Audience Is Always a Fiction’, PMLA 90 (1975), 9–21, at p. 10. 25 H. R. Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception (Brighton: Harvester Press, 1982), p. 79. 26 See the online Middle English Dictionary, ‘trotevāle’, available at [accessed 1 July 2015]. 27 For discussion of the implications of such generic terminology with respect to secular texts see P. Strohm, ‘Storie, Spelle, Geste, Romaunce, Tragedie: Generic Distinctions in the Middle English Troy Narratives’, Speculum 46 (1971), 348–59. 28 The Franciscan house in Grantham, no more than ten miles from Sempringham, was founded c. 1290; see D. Knowles and R. N. Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses: England and Wales (London: Longmans, 1971), p. 191. 29 H. E. Fosgate, ‘Studies in Robert Mannyng’s Handlyng Synne with an Edition of His Thirteen Original Stories’ (unpublished MA dissertation, Mount Holyoke College, 1914), p. 18. 30 J. A. W. Bennett has suggested an alternative birthplace for Mannyng, in Yorkshire. This seems very unlikely given the clear regional affinity that is developed in Handlyng Synne with the fen-edge areas below the river Witham in Lincolnshire; see J. A. W. Bennett, Middle English Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), pp. 41, 478. 31 A. I. Doyle, ‘A Survey of the Origins and Circulation of Theological Writings in English in the 14th, 15th and Early 16th Centuries with Special Consideration of the Part of the Clergy Therein’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1953), p. 60. 32 Ibid., p. 60. 33 J. Coleman, ‘Handling Pilgrims: Robert Mannyng and the Gilbertine Cult’, Philological Quarterly 81 (2002), 311–26. 34 Contra the now outmoded view expressed by Derek Pearsall that Handlyng Synne was composed for explicit use in Sempringham, to be read to ‘Lay Brothers and Novitiate Canons at the Priory’, in Old and Middle English Poetry (London: Routledge/Kegan Paul, 1977), p. 108. 35 For a general appraisal of the semantic evolution of the term ‘lewed’ see P. A. Knapp, Time-Bound Words: Semantic and Social Economies from Chaucer’s England to Shakespeare’s (Basingstoke/London: Macmillan Press, 2000), pp. 98–107. Also see MED, s.v. leued, where the meaning can vary from ‘ignorant’ to ‘non-clerical’. 36 For the idea that monastic society defined itself according to literacy and correspondingly that the laity were characterised by monastic writers according to their illiteracy see S. Justice, Writing and Rebellion: England in 1381 (Berkeley/London/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1981), esp. pp. 13–66 (‘Insurgent Literacy’). 37 For discussion of this phenomenon with reference to Mannyng see R. Crosby, ‘Oral Delivery in the Middle Ages’, Speculum 11 (1936), 88–110. 38 For an essay which discusses reading activity within such settings see R. Perry and L. Tuck, ‘“[W]heþyr þu redist er herist redyng, I Wil Be Plesyd Wyth þe”: Margery Kempe and Locations for Middle English Devotional Reading and Hearing’, in: M. C.

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40 41 42 43

44

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46 47

48 49 50

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Flannery and C. Griffin (eds.), Spaces for Reading in Later Medieval England (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), pp. 132–48. For a thorough discussion of medieval modes of textual transmission, particularly the prevalence of ‘public reading’ over private reading, see J. Coleman, Public Reading and the Reading Public in Late Medieval England and France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Ibid., p. 228. Here cited from The Idea of the Vernacular: An Anthology of Middle English Literary Theory, 1280–1520, ed. J. Wogan-Browne, Nicholas Watson, Andrew Taylor and Ruth Evans (Exeter: Exeter University Press, 1999), p. 128. For a contradictory view, where it is suggested that Handlyng Synne was intended for explicit use from the pulpit, see Sullivan, ‘Study’, pp. 68–96. For a discussion of such ‘reading priests’, see Perry and Tuck, ‘“[W]heþyr þu redist”’, in: Flannery and Griffin (eds.), Spaces for Reading, pp. 133–48; for the OED definition of ‘lister’ see “† lister, n.1”, OED Online, June 2016, Oxford University Press, available at [accessed 28 July 2016]. For discussion and bibliographic references to Mannyng’s Chronicle, see E. D. Kennedy, ‘Chronicles and Other Historical Writing’, in: A. E. Hartung (ed.), A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050–1500, vol. 8 (New Haven, CT: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1989), pp. 2625–8, 2811–8; for an edition (from which all the following quotations are excerpted) see The Story of England by Robert Mannyng of Brunne, A.D. 1338, ed. F. J. Furnivall, Rolls Series 87, 2 vols (London: HMSO, 1887). See T. Turville-Petre, England the Nation: Language, Literature and National Identity, 1290–1340 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), p. 18; as Joyce Coleman points out, this politicised view of Mannyng has become something of a ‘neo-fact’, impacting for example on the contextualising of Mannyng’s Chronicle in the Idea of the Vernacular (see below); see J. Coleman, ‘Strange Rhyme: Prosody and Nationhood in Robert Mannyng’s Story of England’, Speculum 78 (2003), 1214–38, at 1215; N. Watson, ‘The Politics of Middle English Writing’, in: Wogan-Browne (ed.), The Idea of the Vernacular, p. 334. For another study which challenges Turville-Petre’s assertions see D. Moffat, ‘Sin, Conquest, Servitude: English Self-Image in the Chronicles of the Early Fourteenth Century’, in: A. J. Frantzen and D. Moffat (eds.), The Work of Work: Servitude, Slavery and Labor in Medieval England (Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 1994), pp. 146–68. Turville-Petre, England, p. 18. In the text Of Arthour and of Merlin, quotation drawn from D. A. Kibbee, For to Speke Frenche Trewely: The French Language in England 1000–1600: Its Status, Description and Instruction (Philadelphia: John Benjamin’s Publishing Co., 1991), p. 39. For another useful discussion of Medieval linguistics see I. Short, ‘On Bilingualism in Anglo-Norman England’, Romance Philology 33 (1980), 467–79. Kibbee, For to speke Frenche Trewely, p. 35. See C. M. Meale, ‘“Gode Men/Wiues Maydnes and Alle Men”: Romance and Its Audiences’, in: C. M. Meale (ed.), Readings in Medieval English Romance (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1994), pp. 209–25, 210–11. For Thompson’s insights into the cultural implications of the Cursor Mundi see his ‘The Cursor Mundi, the “Inglis Tong”, and Romance’, in: Meale (ed.), Readings in Medieval English Romance, pp. 99–120; ‘The Governance of the English Tongue’, in: O. S. Pickering (ed.), Individuality and Achievement in Middle English Poetry (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1997), pp. 19–37; and his introduction to The ‘Cursor Mundi’: Poem, Texts and Contexts, Medium Ævum Monographs, new ser. 19 (Oxford: Society for the Study of Medieval Language and Literature, 1998). Thompson, ‘The Cursor Mundi, the “Inglis Tong”, and Romance’, p. 103. Mannyng’s discussion of ‘strange Inglis’ will be more full explored below. For a fascinating discussion of what she terms the ‘prosody passage’, see Coleman, ‘Strange’, pp. 1214–38.

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54 It is possible that the ‘Sir Tristrem’ to which Mannyng alludes may be analogous to the version of the poem found in the Auchinlech manuscript; see Coleman, ‘Strange’, 1219–20. 55 These terms for professional entertainers are found in the Chronicle, pp. 37–8. 56 See Coleman, ‘Strange’, p. 1218. 57 See Perry, ‘The Cultural Locations’, chapter 1. 58 Coleman, ‘Strange’, p. 1225. 59 Ibid. 60 T. Turville-Petre, ‘Politics and Poetry in the Early Fourteenth Century’, Review of English Studies 39 (1988), 1–28, at p. 18. 61 See Perry, ‘The Cultural Locations’, chapter 1. 62 F. Heal, ‘Reciprocity and Exchange in the Late Medieval Household’, Medieval Cultures 9 (1993), 179–98 (quotation at p. 180). 63 Sullivan, ‘A Study’, p. 69. 64 The opening lines of this section of the Manuel read, ‘Lay ne deit demorer/Ouek les clers en le qeor’ (6787–8). 65 Turville-Petre, ‘Politics’, 4. 66 Heal describes this seigniorial ‘duty’ being honoured by Dame Alice de Breyene, who entertained three-hundred guests of the local tenantry on New Year’s Day at Acton Hall, Suffolk, 1413; see ‘Reciprocity and Exchange’, p. 183. 67 The poet derives the tale from the Vulgate gospels according to Matthew (22: 1–14) and Luke (14: 16–24). 68 For the edition cited here see The Poems of the Pearl Manuscript, ed. M. Andrew and R. Waldron, 3rd ed. (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1996). 69 The daughter of Geoffrey Luttrell was a nun at Sempringham; see M. Camille, Mirror in Parchment: The Luttrell Psalter and the Making of Medieval England (London: Reaktion Books, 1998), p. 95; Turville-Petre, ‘Politics’, p. 21. Turville-Petre focuses on a notable altercation between Geoffrey Luttrell and the Gilbertines; however, there is no doubt that the family were important benefactors to the order. His great uncle, Robert Luttrell (not Geoffrey’s brother as suggested by Turville-Petre) for instance, alienated his manor of Stamford in 1292 so that it might act as a college for the Gilbertines. See Turville-Petre, ‘Politics’, pp. 21–2; Graham, Gilbert, p. 45. For an accurate family tree of the Luttrells see Camille, Mirror, p. 94. For Beaumont patronage of the Gilbertines see Turville-Petre, ‘Politics’, pp. 11–12; Graham, Gilbert, pp. 94–5. 70 Turville-Petre, ‘Politics’, p. 13. 71 Ibid.; see also J. R. Maddicott, ‘Beaumont, Sir Henry de (c.1280–1340)’, in: H. C. G. Matthew and B. Harrison (eds.), Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), available at [accessed 5 January 2016]. 72 Ibid., p. 12. 73 Moffat argues that Mannyng ‘intensifies’ the culpability of Harold in his depiction of the events of the conquest, simultaneously justifying William’s seizure of the Crown and exonerating the English people for the sin of Harold; see Moffat, ‘Sin, Conquest, Servitude’, pp. 159–66 (esp. p. 166). 74 Moffat, ‘Sin, Conquest, Servitude’, p. 165. 75 The model of Margery Kempe, supposedly illiterate, yet familiar with devotional works through private readings by clerics, is a possible prototype for the manner in which audiences of the emergent proto-gentry might have approached (and re-approached) Handlyng Synne. 76 Handlyng, ed Sullens, p. xxii. 77 B. Golding, Gilbert of Sempringham and the Gilbertine Order c.1130-c.1300 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 264. 78 See G. Platts, ‘South Lincolnshire at the Turn of the Fourteenth-Century: The Social, Economic and Cultural Environment of Robert Mannyng’s Handlyng Synne’

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(unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Birmingham, 1984), pp. 42–85 (‘The Social Structure of south Lincolnshire at the End of the Thirteenth Century’), in which it emerges that the region was not dominated by any single lord, but contained a conflation of minor nobles. Golding, Gilbert, p. 276; also see E. M. Poynton, ‘Charters Relating to the Priory of Sempringham’, The Genealogist 15 (1899), 158–61, 221–7, at p. 161; 16 (1900), 30–5, 76–83, 153–8, 223–8; 17 (1901), 29–35, 164–8, 232–9. See Platts, ‘South Lincolnshire’, pp. 51–62 and H. C. Maxwell Lyte (ed.), Calendar of Patent Rolls, 1258–66 (London: H.M.S.O, 1910), part III, p. 83. For further discussion of the political and economic impact of the Scottish wars see Turville-Petre, ‘Politics’, pp. 7–11. See G. Platts, Land and People in Medieval Lincolnshire (Lincoln: Committee for the Society for Lincolnshire History and Archaeology, 1985), p. 27 ff. See C. M. Meale, ‘“Oft Siis with Grete Duotion I þought What I Miȝt Do Pleysyng to God”: The Early Ownership and Readership of Loveʼs Mirror, with Special Reference to Its Female Audience’, in: S. Oguro, R. Beadle and M. G. Sargent (eds.), Nicholas Love at Waseda (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1997), pp. 19–46.

Select bibliography Coleman, J., ‘Strange Rhyme: Prosody and Nationhood in Robert Mannyng’s Story of England’, Speculum 78 (2003), 1214–38. Golding, B., Gilbert of Sempringham and the Gilbertine Order c.1130–c.1300 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995). Graham, R., St. Gilbert of Sempringham and the Gilbertines: A History of the Only English Monastic Order (London: E. Stock, 1901). Moffat, D., ‘Sin, Conquest, Servitude: English Self-Image in the Chronicles of the Early Fourteenth Century’, in: A. J. Frantzen and D. Moffat (eds), The Work of Work: Servitude, Slavery and Labor in Medieval England (Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 1994), pp. 146–68. Perry, R. and Tuck, L., ‘“[W]heþyr þu redist er herist redyng, I wil be plesyd wyth þe”: Margery Kempe and Locations for Middle English Devotional Reading and Hearing’, in: M. C. Flannery and C. Griffin (eds), Spaces for Reading in Later Medieval England (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016). Turville-Petre, T., England the Nation: Language, Literature and National Identity, 1290– 1340 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Turville-Petre, T., ‘Politics and Poetry in the Early Fourteenth Century’, Review of English Studies 39 (1988), 1–28.

9

Unclean priests and the body of Christ The Elucidarium and pastoral care in fifteenth-century England Sarah James

The Elucidarium occupies a place of unique importance in the religious instruction of the laity in the Middle Ages. Written in Latin in around the year 1100, probably at Canterbury, it circulated in rapidly multiplying manuscript copies across western Europe, and the text quickly began to appear in a large number of vernacular translations and adaptations.1 Although the author of the Latin text deliberately chose to remain anonymous, he is now widely accepted to be one Honorius Augustodunensis.2 The Elucidarium may be his earliest work and appears to be the product of his years at Canterbury, displaying clear signs of the influence of Anselm’s thought, including, it has been suggested, evidence of access to his teaching in its earliest oral manifestations.3 Written in the form of a dialogue between an eager questioning Disciple and his ever-informative Master, the Elucidarium is divided into three books. The first, De divinis rebus, discusses God and the Trinity, the Creation, the Fall of mankind, the nature of angels and devils, Christ’s Incarnation, Passion and Resurrection, the theology of redemption, the Eucharist and the priesthood. The second book, De rebus ecclesiasticis, includes questions on sin and evil, souls and baptism, marriage and the estates of persons, penance and forgiveness and death. The final book, De futura vita, is concerned with Paradise, Purgatory and Hell, the Antichrist, Judgement Day and the eternal bliss of the saved. Valerie Flint has suggested that the production of this compendious dialogue encompassing vast areas of Christian doctrine was a response to the urgent need for educated priests to discharge the duties of pastoral care brought about by the eleventh-century reforms. In such a situation, there was a clear need for a text which could be used by pastoral neophytes to brush up their own knowledge and understanding, and to which they could refer if presented with awkward questions by laymen and women eager for spiritual guidance. The Elucidarium is just such a text; breaking no new theological ground, and not attempting speculative enquiries, it instead focuses on providing ‘the sort of answers which, but for Honorius’s hard work, would have been remarkably hard to find, and furnished in a form startlingly easy to use’.4 These answers are drawn largely from the Church Fathers, especially Augustine, leavened with the more contemporary writings of Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury for at least part of Honorius’s time in residence.5 The content is largely conservative, and gives the impression that this is a dogmatic

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attempt to provide the ‘correct’ answers – correct in the sense of corresponding to established late eleventh-century doctrine – to the kinds of questions which might be of concern to clergy and laity alike. The years immediately following the completion of the Elucidarium were marked by significant developments in theological thinking, most notably the rise of scholasticism, and Honorius’s text quickly became outdated; yet this did not mark the end of its usefulness, as is attested by the multiplication of manuscripts, many apparently intended for use in monastic libraries, and by canons and the lower clerical orders.6 Surviving manuscripts and fragments of the Latin text of the Elucidarium number over three hundred and thirty and are to be found across western Europe, indicating that it enjoyed considerable popularity.7 It was not, however, destined to remain the preserve of the latinate, and it was rapidly translated into numerous European vernaculars.8 As a tool for shaping the religious understanding of generations of the lower clergy, the importance of the Elucidarium should not be underestimated; neither should its role in educating the laity in the basic precepts of Christianity. My intention in this essay is to undertake a comparison of three late medieval English versions of the Elucidarium alongside the Latin text, in order to try and understand their specific contributions to the nature of fifteenthcentury English pastoral care. Given the length of the texts and the variety of topics covered my examination is necessarily selective, and I will restrict my focus to the important subjects of the Eucharist and the priesthood, both of particular significance in late medieval England. I hope thereby to reveal the ways in which the text of the Elucidarium was reimagined in order to respond to changing contexts and the needs of different English audiences in the later Middle Ages.

The English versions There is limited but intriguing evidence of English versions of the Elucidarium before the fifteenth century. There are two fragments of the text extant in London, British Library MS Cotton Vespasian D.xiv, an early twelfth-century Old English manuscript from Rochester Cathedral Priory; the manuscript also contains a number of Aelfrician homilies, various eleventh-century texts including the Gospel of Nicodemus, and Ralph d’Escures’s early twelfth-century sermon on Mary, along with some short gnomic and prognosticatory texts.9 During Anselm’s tenure as archbishop, the sees of Rochester and Canterbury enjoyed a close relationship, with a shared commitment to the cause of reform, and these connections were reinforced when d’Escures was translated from Rochester to the archbishopric as Anselm’s successor in 1114. This being so, it is unsurprising that a Rochester manuscript should contain fragments of the work of a canon at Canterbury, and this very early vernacular manifestation of part of the text so close to its place of origin points to its rapid popularisation locally. Material from the Latin Elucidarium was also used in the compilation of the early fourteenth-century vernacular poem Cursor Mundi, although the precise mechanisms of transmission remain matters of hypothesis.10

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 185 However, the manuscript evidence suggests a distinct revival of interest in producing English translations of the Elucidarium in the later Middle Ages. Three different fifteenth-century versions are extant, of differing length and variable content, witnessed in a total of just four manuscripts. The earliest version appears in two manuscripts, Cambridge, St John’s College MS G.25, and Cambridge University Library MS Ii.6.26, both of which are dated to the first half of the fifteenth century. St John’s College MS G.25 contains religious writings in English; in addition to the Elucidarium translation (entitled Lucidarie and designated thus in this chapter) we find a commentary on the Apocalypse, selections from the gospel harmony Oon of Foure, an extract from the English version of Suso’s Horologium Sapientiae, and two sermons.11 In CUL MS Ii.6.26 the text is accompanied by twelve religious tracts concerned with Scriptural translation and other matters.12 This version is significantly shorter than the Latin and focuses primarily on the material from Book I, with just a few questions from Book II; it also includes a short series of additional questions which do not appear in the Latin.13 A second English version of the Elucidarium dated to the last quarter of the fifteenth century appears in Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS Peniarth 12, a composite manuscript containing mainly Welsh religious writings (including a Welsh text of the Elucidarium) as well as a Creed in Latin.14 This is a relatively substantial version which includes around one third of the content of the Latin text, drawn from across all three books and radically reordered. The third version, in Winchester College MS 33, can be dated close to the middle of the fifteenth century, and differs significantly from the other English versions. It is considerably shorter than both and draws its material only from the first Latin book; it also replaces the prose dialogue between the Master and Disciple with a dramatic confrontation in verse between the characters Lucidus and Dubius, after whom this dialogue is traditionally named.15 At the start of the sixteenth century the text was translated afresh from a French version into English by Andrew Chertsey, and printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1507, with a second edition in 1523; this version falls outside the scope of the present paper.16 Scholarship on the late medieval English Elucidarium has been limited in quantity and restricted in its approaches. Friedrich Schmitt, in his 1909 edition of the Lucidarie, regards it as a Lollard version of the text, a view with which Martha Kleinhans and Carmela Giordana in their much more recent articles broadly concur.17 The influence of this view is undeniable; the Middle English Dictionary describes this version as ‘Wycliffite’, and as we will see below, there are certainly aspects of the text which reveal some engagement with Wycliffite positions. However, more recent scholarship is wary of imposing definitive categories on late medieval religious texts, with Anna Lewis, for example, suggesting that both the text and its manuscript context can best be understood as revealing ‘varied theological interests’ and ‘a genuine engagement with more than one point of view . . . when developing a personal intellectual and devotional life’.18 This seems to me to be true, but it is striking that study of this text so far has remained focussed almost entirely upon its perceived doctrinal affiliations, rather than on any other aspects.

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C.W. Marx’s edition of the text in Aberystwyth MS Peniarth 12 brought to scholarly attention this previously unnoticed version, and his detailed introduction includes the suggestion that the author was translating and amending directly from a Latin exemplar. Marx notes that the reordering of the English work ‘has introduced into the text a preacherly strategy whereby many of the issues raised in the text are applied to the spiritual needs of the audience’, thus suggesting that we are correct to think of the text in the broader context of pastoral care.19 The text is discussed differently again by Jason O’Rourke, this time as part of a wider study of the multi-lingual nature of the manuscript; beyond this, it seems to have attracted no scholarly attention.20 The earliest and most substantial work on Lucidus and Dubius, by B.S. Lee, explores the sources of the text which he describes as an ‘entertaining debate . . . intermediate between a theological treatise and a morality play’.21 Other discussion of this text has been brief, and focuses either upon its quasi-theatrical credentials, or considers it within the broader manuscript context.22 In this essay I move beyond the restricted scope of previous scholarship, and turn my attention to matters which will serve to broaden our understanding of the production and reception of this important text of pastoral care in late medieval England.

The body of Christ Modern scholarship is well aware of the importance of Eucharistic theology to any discussion of medieval religious controversy, as is attested by the interventions of scholars from Gordon Leff to Paul Strohm.23 The Latin Elucidarium addresses this important topic in a series of questions at the end of Book 1, demonstrating the continued effects of the Berengarian controversy surrounding the doctrine of transubstantiation at the end of the eleventh century.24 As well as discussing the relationship between the Church and its members, and the way in which the sacrament is to be understood, Honorius takes the opportunity to extend his discussion to the difficult question of the relationship between priests and the sacrament they consecrate. None of the three late medieval English versions includes all the Latin material on this topic, and all select different elements from the Latin for incorporation into their own discussion; the treatment of this material is by far the most extensive and direct in the Lucidarie, while the other texts treat it more briefly and more obliquely. The result is three distinctively different approaches to the Eucharist arising from what is ostensibly the same text, and it is to these differences that I now turn my attention. The first Latin question on the subject seeks to establish the relationship between Christ and his Church: ‘Quomodo est Ecclesia ejus corpus et electi membra?’ [in what way is the Church his body and are the elect his limbs?] (1/179). Honorius uses the analogy of the connection between the human head and body to explain this, and then proceeds to develop a lengthy series of metaphors in which various body parts represent different sections of the spiritual and secular communities.25 Thus the prophets, with their capacity to foresee future events, are analogous to the eyes, while heretics, who are judicially excluded from the body of the church,

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 187 are analogous to phlegm, which is ejected from the nose. Both MS Peniarth 12 and the Lucidarie include this question, although their responses to it differ. MS Peniarth 12 is brief to the point of being business-like in its reply: Like as the body of man is inherit to the hed and gouernyd by hym, right so is the churche by the sacramentis of the body of Criste inyoined to hym, and so the body of Crist and the churche byn called as oon body, of whiche body all rightfull folke in ordyr byn gouernyd as membris of the body. (32/25–28) The omission of the bodily metaphors might suggest that the author sees no need to provide an elaboration of his explanation, particularly along the colourful lines employed by Honorius, preferring to rely instead on clarity and conciseness to communicate with his audience. However, he does make an important addition to Honorius’s text as he specifically states that the church is joined to Christ ‘by the sacramentis of the body of Criste’. This supplement to the Latin is significant in asserting the crucial role of the Eucharist as sacrament: that is, as a process which forges a connection between the members of the church on earth and the divine.26 Such an emphasis is, I suggest, part of that ‘preacherly strategy’ described by Marx, which seeks to make manifest the connections between the teaching of the text and the spiritual needs of its audience. In the Lucidarie the author’s response is much more extensive; while he too omits Honorius’s bodily metaphors, he also offers an important qualification in his distinctive explanation of the relationship: Riʓt as a mannes body is vndir his heed gouerned bi wit, so is hooly chirche (þat is to seie, gadering of trewe men þat louen God) body and lymes vndir Crist, gouerned bi vertu of him þat is heed of holy chirche. (25) The qualified definition of ‘hooly chirche’ as ‘gadering of trewe men þat louen God’ is suggestive; it has been suggested that the term ‘trewe men’ is one particularly favoured by Lollards when speaking of themselves, and this is one of the features of this version which has contributed to its identification as Wycliffite.27 The syntax at the end of the sentence could also be read with a Wycliffite twist; who is ‘him þat is heed of holy chirche’? The head of the church on earth is, of course, the Pope, but here it seems to refer directly back to Christ, perhaps gesturing towards a diminution or even erasure of papal authority. The response in the Lucidarie does not end here, however, and like MS Peniarth 12 veers into the realms of sacramental theology: ‘Crist of his greete curtesie lefte here amonge us his owne body sacramentali to strengþe wiþ his lymes, to resseyue in foorme of breed’ (25). The significance of the Eucharist is again emphasised, but the precise wording deserves close scrutiny. Christ’s body, we are told, is left among us ‘sacramentali . . . to resseyue in foorme of breed’. Such locutions are familiar to scholars working on the Eucharist in late medieval England, yet despite their familiarity they remain resistant to interpretation. What exactly does this

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author mean by the term ‘sacramentali’? Might its definition include the material, Galilean body of Christ, or must it be restricted to the purely symbolic?28 The collocation ‘foorme of breed’ is no clearer, since it could potentially encompass transubstantiation, consubstantion, or indeed a purely memorial interpretation of the consecrated host. The choice of words thus suggests an author who is both deeply familiar with the terminology of contemporary Eucharistic discourse, and reluctant to commit himself doctrinally; the text is ambivalent, carefully poised between orthodox and Wycliffite readings.29 In response to the question ‘So as liknes of breed and wyne leueþ stille in þis sacrament, how may it be þat it is fleisch and blood?’ (25), a question copied almost verbatim from the Latin, the Lucidarie initially focuses its response on the practicalities. The inclusion of this question seems to promise an interesting and potentially controversial theological exposition; this is the very question which lies at the heart of much Lollard criticism of orthodox Eucharistic doctrine. However, our expectations are disappointed; the Lucidarie, following the Latin source, provides a very pragmatic explanation: If þou siʓe in liknesse of fleisch and blood þat blessed sacrament, þou schuldest loþen and abhorren it to resseyue it into þi mouþ. And þerfore þe liknes of brede and wyne leueþ stille, for þi more merijte þat wolt bileeue bi goostly vndirstonding þat it is oþer þing þan þou seest. (25) Of course this response does not really answer the question asked, since it explains why the body and blood retains the appearance of bread and wine, but not how; that is, it treats the question not as technical (‘what is the process?’) but as hermeneutic (‘how are we to understand it?’).30 This is, I believe, an important distinction which emphasises the primary function of both the Latin Elucidarium and the English Lucidarie as pastoral. Although the author alludes to the philosophical distinction between substance and accidents, this is not his main concern. Instead his focus is on how the lay Christian can best understand the phenomenon of the host as Christ’s body, and that is as a supreme act of divine mercy; if the sacrament appeared as flesh and blood the recipient would be disgusted and unable to receive it, and thus its true nature is concealed by the appearance of bread and wine. The absence of any attempt to address the means by which this visual deception is effected is, in such a pastoral context, entirely logical; the technical complexities of the process would almost certainty be beyond the comprehension of most of the laity, and if misunderstood might lead to heretical opinions. Even if they were apprehended intellectually, they would not result in a more active or meaningful engagement with the sacrament. Yet there is also an acknowledgement that the audience may need further convincing, hence the explanation that the ‘liknes’ which makes the Eucharist acceptable to mankind also carries an additional benefit, since the faith required to believe that the host is Christ’s body despite appearances results in greater merit redounding to the believer. In this response

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 189 the Lucidarie follows the Latin closely, but significantly it does omit one aspect – Honorius’s emphasis on the materiality of Christ’s body which necessitates this transformation: ‘Cum vere sit illud quod Maria genuit, quod in cruce pependit, quod caelos remansit, species ideo panis et vini remansit, ne [. . .] ut vere est, sanguinem de latere stillantem’ [because it is that one which Mary bore, which hung on the cross, which is yet in heaven, therefore the appearance of bread and wine remains, not [. . .] as it truly is, blood dripping from [Christ’s] side] (1/181). It may seem that Honorius is once again providing highly visual elaboration to make his point more vividly, but his discussion here does appear to point towards the underlying theology of the sacrament, taking care to distinguish between appearance, species, and that which truly, vere, is – the kind of distinction which is critical to the theological debate on transubstantiation. For Honorius, Christ’s ‘Galilean body’, the body which hung and bled on the cross, is truly present in the consecrated host, although he makes no attempt to explain how this can be so; and it is this presence which gives rise to the need for the compassionate sleight of divine hand for the benefit of the faithful, who by God’s mercy can see only the ‘species’ or appearance of bread and wine. The decision of the Lucidarie author to omit this may simply reflect a distaste for sensational over-elaboration, but it may also suggest that he is being particularly careful to avoid too great an intrusion of Christ’s bleeding body into his discussion of the sacrament, a punctiliousness which suggests that he is fully aware of contemporary controversy surrounding this doctrine, and is once again unwilling to commit himself.31 However, the Lucidarie then develops the discussion further in order to consider the spiritual benefits of receiving the Eucharist in more detail. We learn that it strengthens the soul of ‘euery trewe man wiþ etynge of þis preciouse mete’ (25), and again we see the recurrence of the distinctive term ‘trewe man’, with its potentially Lollard connotations. This ‘etynge’ results in the union between Christ and the soul of any man – here not specified as ‘trewe’ – who participates in the sacrament ‘in memorie of his passioun, as himsilf biddiþ’ (26). Once more the author’s choice of words is worth pausing over; he is clearly referring to the synoptic gospel narratives of the Last Supper, and in particular to Luke’s gospel, in which Christ’s direction to his disciples to eat the bread and drink the wine is given a specifically commemorative character: ‘And taking bread, he gave thanks, and brake; and gave to them, saying: This is my body, which is given for you. Do this for a commemoration of me’.32 While the memorial nature of the paschal meal does not of course preclude the possibility of understanding it in terms of transubstantiation, as indeed was required by contemporary mainstream doctrine, nevertheless in the context of fifteenth-century Eucharistic theology in England it does present an opportunity for hermeneutic slippage which could allow for a purely commemorative interpretation. A different question from the Elucidarium does momentarily offer the prospect of introducing some clarity on this point: ‘Quare corpus ejus de pane et sanguis de vino conficitur?’ [how is his body prepared from bread, and his blood from wine?] (1/180). However, it is notable that none of the English versions include this question, and the reason for this is worth pondering. The response

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given in Honorius’s Latin is certainly not controversial, disappointingly eschewing theology in favour of Scripture: ‘Corpus ideo de pane, quia ipse dixit: “Ego sum panis vivus”. Sanguis autem ideo de vino, quia dixit: “Ego sum vitis vera”’. [the body from bread, because he said ‘I am the living bread’. The wine from blood, because he said: ‘I am the true vine’.] (1/180). Honorius then proceeds with his now familiar technique of drawing a series of parallels between the physical properties of bread and wine and the corresponding spiritual properties of Christ’s body and blood: Et, sicuti pane corpus nutritur, ita Christi cibo anima reficitur. Et, sicut panis ex multis granis conficitur, ita corpus Christi ex multis electis colligitur. Et, sicut panis igne coquitur, ita Christus in camino passionis assatur. [And, as bread nourishes the body, so the food of Christ refreshes the soul. And, as bread is made from many grains, so the body of Christ is collected together from many of the elect. And, as bread is cooked in the fire, so Christ is roasted in the furnace of the passion.] (1/180) Again Honorius furnishes a hermeneutic rather than a technical reply, in part perhaps indicating that he had no particular desire to enter into debate on the precise theological understanding of the nature of Christ’s presence in the host, a subject as controversial in the late eleventh century as in the fifteenth.33 However, as discussed above, this type of response is ideally suited to the pastoral needs of his audience. It provides a reminder of the Scriptural references which underpin this interpretation, followed by, in this case, analogies which are at once lively and familiar in order to press the message home. Given the preacherly effectiveness of such an approach, it is difficult to explain why the English authors should have chosen not to raise the question in their versions; had they done so, and remained close to the Latin, the answer would not have provoked controversy, and would have added to the effectiveness of their texts. Perhaps, then, the problem is with the question itself; in the context of fifteenth-century English debates about the precise nature of the Eucharist, even to ask the question ‘how is the body of Christ made from bread?’ becomes an issue fraught with difficulty. It is perhaps significant that, beyond the contribution of MS Peniarth 12 already mentioned, neither it nor Lucidus and Dubius includes the questions which address the Eucharist directly; instead they approach the topic rather more obliquely, by way of discussion of the role of priests in the consecration of the host. MS Peniarth 12, closely following the Latin, asserts that sinful priests are perfectly able to consecrate the Eucharist, since it is not they who perform the miraculous tranformation, but Christ, through them. Thus ‘the worste preste on lyve cannot apeyre [damage, impair] the sacrament, and the beste preste on lyve cannot amende hit ne make hit in no degre bettyr’ (32/33–35). Characteristically for this author, he omits the colourful simile employed by Honorius to illustrate

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 191 this point: ‘solis radius a caeno cloacae non sordidatur nec a sanctuario splendificatur’ [a ray of the sun is not soiled by the filth of a sewer, nor given lustre by a sanctuary] (1/190). By contrast, the author of the dramatic verse version Lucidus and Dubius embraces this vivid analogy; having explained that the sacrament is effected through the power of Christ and not by the priests who administer it, the learned doctor Lucidus continues: And the sunne shyne ful clere vp-on a dongehell or a gonge [privy], or vpon as feyre a thyng here as eny may may telle with tonge, nother the gongis fouleness nothir this thingis feyrnesse ne may þe same apeire ne amende. (545–51) A similar tendency to follow the Latin text’s use of analogy appears in the following question, which asks how something as beneficial as the Eucharist can ever be the cause of harm. Honorius uses the example of the Fall of mankind to elucidate the point: In paradiso nullum pomum erat malum, cum Deus fecerit omnia bona valde, sed homo bonum sibi in malum vertit, cum hoc a serpente, immo a diabolo, percipere non sprevit. [In Paradise no fruit was evil, for God made everything exceedingly good, but man himself turned the good to bad when he did not scorn to take it from the serpent, nay, from the devil.] (1/192) The author of Lucidus and Dubius employs the same example, but gives it a slightly different twist: Syr, þurgh al paradis wyde and brode al the froyt was riʓt goode, and profitable to man ynough; but whan Adam þer-of toke aʓens Goddis forbode, for his inobedyens hymself slough. So he þat is in synne wrapped, he is to God inobedyent; than shal he be dampned for þat whan he reseyueth the sacrament. (572–81)

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The author of Lucidus and Dubius, like Honorius, seems concerned to offer his audience striking imagery, presumably intended to maximise the memorability and didactic force of his discussion. This, taken together with his silence on the more technical theological aspects of the Eucharist, may suggest that this text is intended for a relatively unsophisticated audience, or at any rate one which is sufficiently diverse to necessitate an uncontentious and straightforward approach. The text’s form as a dramatic verse dialogue surely bears out such a hypothesis, assuming that it was indeed intended for some kind of performance (as distinct from simple reading aloud);34 the clarity of the message would be a major concern if its pastoral function were to be fulfilled. Crucially for that function, the author includes the last four lines here as an addition to the Latin material. These emphasise the nature of sin as disobedience to God, and the damnation that will result from receiving the sacrament while in a sinful state, thus lifting the discussion from the hypothetical realms of Adam in Paradise and bring it into direct relation with the daily lives of the audience; not only the first man, but any man ‘þat is in synne wrapped’, is guilty of such disobedience and must take individual responsibility for his actions. Such teaching is entirely appropriate to the context of pastoral care, and in its focus on obedience neatly links with questions relating to the priesthood, to which I now turn.

Unclean priests As I have suggested above, it seems likely that Honorius initially intended his text for the lower clergy, who might require both intellectual and practical assistance in order to carry out their pastoral duties successfully. Yet despite the popularity of the Elucidarium, it appears that Honorius was only partially successful; throughout the Middle Ages criticism of the clergy from both within and without its own ranks remained ubiquitous, despite repeated attempts at reform.35 The conduct of priests and the duty of obedience owed to them by the laity are matters of concern to Honorius, and they recur in the fifteenth-century English versions. As with the Eucharistic questions already discussed, the three English texts reveal significant variation in the material they include, and in the details of their interpretation. Once again, the Lucidarie is the version which engages most actively and at greatest length with these topics. In a question which directly confronts the problem of unfit priests handling the sacramental bread, Honorius refers to them as ‘sentis qui hoc indigne et contra canonum instituta agunt’ [thorns who perform [the sacrament] unworthily and against the institutes of the canons] (1/185). The author of the Lucidarie is much more specific in identifying unworthy behaviour: What seist þou of vncleene preestis þat presumen to make þis sacrament, and disposen hem to noon oþer labour bodily ne goostly, but eche day synge her masse for her salarie, and þus resseyuen it eche day vnworthily, as me semeþ? (26)

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 193 The problem of priestly unfitness is here identified with the sin of simony, in its broad sense of the exchange of material goods for spiritual office. For a fifteenthcentury English text this sin had a particular significance, especially in the light of Wycliffite and Lollard concerns about clerical possessions, and their concomitant desire to re-establish the early Christian ideals of clerical poverty.36 However, in his response to this question the author of the Lucidarie then widens his net to include a much more extensive range of sinful behaviour, including ‘vnclennesse (as in leccherye, glotenye, or foule pryde)’. More suggestively, he goes beyond the Latin to declare that such priests ‘leuen þe labour þat Crist hem bad, þat is for to preche, vndirnyme þe puple of her defautes, or ellis to schewe hem good ensaumple of trewe lyuyng in kepynge of Goddis hestes’ (26); hence they are traitors to, and crucifiers of, Christ. This failure to attend to the basic priestly duty of guiding one’s flock is, in other words, a failure of pastoral care, which is precisely the ill which this text is trying to remedy. The same complex interrelation of simony and pastoral failure appears a little later, as the Lucidarie author significantly reshapes Honorius’s question ‘Sumunt hi corpus Dei?’ [do they [unworthy priests] consume the body of Christ] (1/195). entreþ goddis body þat is maid sacramently into þe bodies of suche polluted preestes wiþ symonye and also into oþer tirauntes bodies of þis world þat haue lettrure more þan oþer lewde puple and wole not amende hem? (27) These simoniac priests are now not merely ‘vncleene’ but ‘polluted’, and their failure to preach in the earlier response is now paralleled by this attack on ‘tirauntes’ who refuse to use their ‘lettrure’ for the benefit of the ‘lewde puple’. While the precise nature of the connection between the polluted priests and the tyrants is slightly ambiguous – the reference to ‘oþer tirauntes bodies of þis world’ may suggest secular rather than clerical lordship – the general thrust of the accusation is clear; the lure of pecuniary gain distracts priests from the cure of souls which should be their primary concern, leading them to withhold their teaching and preaching, to the inevitable detriment of the laity. If at least some priests are unworthy, this raises the difficult question of how far any priest should be obeyed. Both Honorius (1/197) and the author of the Lucidarie (27–28) agree that the good should be obeyed, since to do so is to obey God, while those of whom evil is known should be shunned. However, the author of Lucidus and Dubius expresses an alternative opinion: If a preest be of euel leuynge that hath cure and soulis to kepe, shal men be to hym obeyshynge? That wolde y fayne wete. Al þough they be of noʓt levynge and hire hestis bi Goddis lawe, thou shalt obeye to hire seyinge,

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Here there is no suggestion that Dubius should be encouraged to consider the sinfulness or otherwise of a priest before deciding whether or not he is worthy of obedience; instead the author delivers an unambiguous instruction that an evil priest must be obeyed, since the obedience is due not to him, but to God. The emphasis here is clearly not on any individual priest but upon the priestly office itself, which is created by and exercised through the divine will, and is thus beyond the reproach of the laity. Such a stance might well be expected in the pastoral care context, in which the questioning of clerical worthiness (and hence authority) by the laity would surely be discouraged. Similarly in the following question, concerning binding and loosing, Lucidus and Dubius follows the Latin in stressing that the priest serves as a conduit for the power of Christ, and thus any priest with cure of souls, ‘non outake [without exception] what euer he be . . . may asoyle by þe office of þe cherche’ (603, 609). This question is the only one on this subject which is addressed by all three English texts, and all follow the Latin in asserting that the priest is the servant of divine power; but perhaps surprisingly, only Lucidus and Dubius suggests that the moral condition of the priest is irrelevant, the other two by contrast indicating that it is in fact a material consideration. MS Peniarth 12 treats the Latin only briefly and concedes that any priest can bind and loose, but notes that if he ‘stonde exclude fro the lawe and serrveys of the churche [i.e. has been excommunicated], thow owist not of no dewte to do hym reverence, but all only grete dispising and more than thou woldyst do to a laife man’ (33/6–8). The author of the Lucidarie offers a much more nuanced approach, differentiating between levels of unworthiness. For evil priests who have not been openly condemned, it is asserted that they can work to the benefit of the people, providing those people are unaware of the evil. On the other hand: whanne þei ben sclaundrouse and viciouse, þe hedes of þe chirche schulden chastise hem, and whanne þei doen not, lordes haue power of god to chastise or chace suche preestis as wolues fro scheep and prisoune hem for her uicis, til þei weren, as þei ouʓten to be þat no ruyne of þe puple falle bi cause of hem. (28) This section does not appear in the Latin, and is unusual in envisaging specific actions to be taken in order to punish wicked priests, actions which initially lie in the power of the ecclesiastical hierarchy but which, if neglected by them, can be undertaken by secular lords instead. It is highly significant that this text disregards benefit of clergy, seeking to bring errant clerics under secular jurisdiction, and for at least two reasons. First, such a suggestion is, of course, concordant with Wyclif’s views on dominion, although it is necessary to be cautious in using this

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 195 as evidence of the text’s alleged Wycliffite sympathies, since the relative power of secular and clerical authorities had long been a matter of contention.37 Second, it serves to cast some doubt over the independence of clerical from secular powers, a doubt which sits uneasily alongside the text’s presumed pastoral authority. At this point the Lucidarie departs entirely from the Latin Elucidarium, inserting a series of additional questions and answers into the text; these focus initially on the duty of the Church to chastise the wicked, before moving on to discuss the evil prevalent within the Church itself, apparently regarded as a sign of the imminent coming of the Antichrist (29–32). The English text is excoriating in its critique both of the clergy and, significantly, of the spiritual and temporal lords who fail in their duty to chastise degenerate priests. Again we encounter the polemical tone of this supplementary material that led this text’s editor to conclude that it should be categorised as Lollard.38 But such a conclusion is unnecessary, given the ubiquity of broad anti-clerical and more focussed anti-fraternal invective in this period. More suggestive of such interests, perhaps, is the Lucidarie’s excursion during this polemic into a discussion of the coming of Antichrist, arising from the Master’s assertion that the increasing corruption of the clergy by ‘grete possessiouns of temperaltees’ (29) is creating a class of ‘riccher and riccher clerkes’ who will become Antichrist’s disciples (30). The failure of lords to remedy the situation has brought Christendom to the brink of ‘þe diche of eendeles dampnacioun’, hence creating the perfect conditions for Antichrist’s coming (31). Such a position might be interpreted as an example of the kind of apocalypticism which some scholars have regarded as characteristic of Wycliffite discourse, and which Bernard McGinn distinguishes from a more general eschatology by its specific consciousness of the imminence of the end.39 Yet it is difficult to be certain. Although his outlook is irretrievably gloomy, the Master does not provide a detailed timetable for the Apocalypse, nor does he identify particular historical people or events with Scriptural examples; his invective, although impassioned, is general rather than personal in its thrust. Moreover, while the priesthood certainly bears the full force of condemnation, other classes are not exempt; the Disciple suggests that advocates and lawyers, and all those guilty of the deadly sins, also require chastisement, and the Master concurs. The inclusion of the legal professions in particular seems to suggest a more widespread anxiety about social and institutional failings and the need for reform, rather than a doctrinal position that can be identified as specifically Lollard.40 It remains to consider briefly for whom these authors imagined themselves to be writing. There is no direct evidence internal to the texts themselves, and the manuscripts pose their own particular problems; with the exception of the CUL manuscript of the Lucidarie, they all bear evidence of piecemeal production, and possibly of circulation in booklet form before being bound in composite volumes. This being the case, the evidence provided by the study of the material codices is necessarily hermeneutically challenging, and any conclusions derived from it must remain tentative and contingent, except insofar as they may enable us to hypothesise an actual, as opposed to an ideal, reader. However, I believe that the three texts do reveal some clues about their likely audiences, based on the

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different ways in which they abridge, expand and amend the Latin text. MS Peniarth 12 is perhaps the most elusive in this respect; its tendency to eschew some of Honorius’s more colourful imagery may suggest a desire to present a clear and unadorned message to its audience, although as Marx has noted, at some places not examined in this paper the author does in fact introduce elaborations of his own.41 It does, however, succeed in constructing some sense of its audience as sinners in need of instruction. By virtue of its form, Lucidus and Dubius raises at least the possibility that it was designed for some kind of performance, although under what circumstances is a matter for conjecture. Its emphasis on obedience, the construction of its implied audience as disobedient sinners, and the injunction to obey sinful as well as good priests, all suggest an author seeking to provide a message of maximum clarity and simplicity. By contrast, the writer of the Lucidarie seems to envisage a very specific type of audience, one which combines the need for pastoral care with a willingness to critique the clergy, and with some interest in contemporary anxieties about Eucharistic theology. His careful choice of vocabulary, which is so often open to both mainstream and Wycliffite interpretations, may indicate a target audience of ‘lay non-combatants’ who wished to engage with theological controversy without rigidly adopting a particular doctrinal position.42 Given the linguistic subtlety of the text, as well as its emphasis on the need for secular authorities to exercise control over unfit priests, it may not be fanciful to suggest that this author imagined an educated audience of some power and status, one which might be moved by his words to take up their own share of quasi-pastoral responsibility. Finally, how might we explain the renewal of interest in the Elucidarium in fifteenth-century England? Although it is impossible to be certain, one may speculate that the prevailing religious and political conditions in the early fifteenth century precipitated the revival. The publication of Archbishop Arundel’s Constitutions in 1407–09, which imposed a regime of ecclesiatical oversight on theological writing in the vernacular, has often been regarded as something of a watershed; although it is now acknowledged that the effects of the Constitutions were not perhaps as far-reaching as had previously been claimed, it remains clear that the production of vernacular theology, including pastoralia, in the years after publication of those provisions was potentially contentious.43 Writers of such material were faced with a complicated religious environment in which questions of orthodoxy and heresy, however they might be defined, were inextricably linked with concerns about the need for clerical reform, a desire to encourage mainstream devotional practices, and a rising demand for religious writing in English from an increasingly literate laity with the means to pay for it.44 The difficulty was in producing vernacular pastoral texts that could traverse this perilous terrain while not exciting suspicion from a clerical hierarchy which was erratically vigilant about such matters.45 One solution to the problem might be to produce texts that translated, or were closely modelled upon, works dating from well before the fifteenth century, and which might therefore be supposed to be of unimpeachable orthodoxy. By the late Middle Ages the Elucidarium had certainly attained an air of conservatism and sufficient authority to offer itself as an ideal model. All the

Unclean priests and the body of Christ 197 qualities which ensured its initial popularity remained relevant to the fifteenthcentury English context: it requires no particularly high level of theological sophistication to understand its terms; it is not rooted in the kind of mystical or contemplative experiences which might not be available to everybody; and it provides answers to pressing questions which are easily understood and reassuringly certain. However, it would be a mistake to regard the adoption of the Elucidarium as an uncomplicatedly conservative manoeuvre, given that Honorius himself was writing at a time when the Church was engaged in controversy on a number of fronts, notably in relation to Eucharistic theology and the role and moral condition of the priesthood. It is surely no coincidence that these same issues were matters of debate in fifteenth-century England, too. The doctrine of transubstantiation, the denial of which resulted in Berengar of Tours being declared a heretic in the eleventh century, remained highly contentious in the fifteenth, particularly in the light of Wyclif’s position on the Eucharist and its subsequent amplification by Lollard thinkers. The same may be said of clerical reform, a matter of grave import in the eleventh century which remained so into the fifteenth century and indeed beyond. Yet this is precisely the strength of using the Elucidarium at this time; it was perhaps the perfect vehicle for late medieval pastoral care, being simultaneously venerable enough to be beyond suspicion, yet sharing many pressing concerns with later writers.

Notes 1 The Latin text appears in PL, clxxii, cols 1109–176. The standard critical edition, unfortunately based only upon manuscripts in French collections, is L’Elucidarium et Les Lucidaires, ed. Y. Lefèvre (Paris: Boccard, 1954); references to the Latin text will be given by book and question number in this edition. 2 In the Prologue, the author writes: ‘Nomen autem meum ideo volui silentio contegi, ne invidia tabescens suis juberet utile opus contemnendo neglegi’. However, in what is probably his last text, De Luminaribus Ecclesiae, Honorius claims authorship of no fewer than twenty-two religious works, the first-named of which is the Elucidarium. Earlier scholarship, failing to make this connection, variously attributed the Elucidarium to St Anselm, Archbishop Lanfranc and Peter Abelard. The exact identity of Honorius remains uncertain, but the tireless work of Valerie Flint has resulted in a compelling, if hypothetical, biography: see V. I. J. Flint, ‘The Original Text of the Elucidarium of Honorius Augustodunensis from the Twelfth Century English Manuscripts’, Scriptorium 18 (1964), pp. 91–4; the same author’s numerous articles originally published in the Revue Bénédictine and subsequently reissued in Ideas in the Medieval West: Texts and their Contexts (London: Variorum Reprints, 1988); and her study of the author’s life and works in Honorius Augustodunensis of Regensburg, Authors of the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995), pp. 3–34. 3 See L’Elucidarium et Les Lucidaires, ed. Lefèvre, pp. 194–6, 224–30, 331; Flint, ‘The Elucidarius of Honorius Augustodunensis and Reform in Late Eleventh Century England’, Ideas in the Medieval West, pp. 178–89, 181; Flint, ‘The Chronology of the works of Honorius Augustodunensis’, Ideas in the Medieval West, pp. 219–20; Flint, Honorius Augustodunensis, pp. 6–7, 9, 12–13, 31. 4 Flint, ‘Reform’, p. 187. 5 It is notable that the earliest surviving manuscripts contain lists of sources, presumably enabling the interested reader to undertake additional investigation of

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10 11

12

13

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particular points, as well as providing authoritative support for the text’s teachings: Flint, ‘Reform’, p. 187. L’Elucidarium et Les Lucidaires, ed. Lefèvre, pp. 332–4. Flint, Honorius Augustodunensis, Appendix, p. 162. Examples are numerous, and only a representative few can be mentioned here, besides the English versions which are the subject of this paper. For a variety of Dutch and German versions see Lucidarius: de Middelnederlandse Lucidarius-teksten en hun realtie tot de Europese traditie, ed. N. Klunder (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 2005). For Old French, see Eine altfranzösische Übersetzung des Elucidarium, ed. H. Düwell (Munich: W. Fink, 1974). For Old Norse, see Elucidarius in Old Norse Translation, ed. E. Scherabon and K. Grinstad (Reykjavik: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar, 1989). For Italian, see Lucidario: volgarizzamento veronese del XIV secolo, ed. A. Donadello (Rome: Antenore, 2003). For Welsh, see The Elucidarium and Other Tracts in Welsh from Llyvyr agkyr Llandewivrevi A.D.1346, ed. J. Morris-Jones and J. Rhys (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1894). The Elucidarium extracts are on fols 159r-165r. The entire manuscript has been edited in Early English Homilies from the Twelfth-century MS. Vespasian D.xiv, ed. R. D.-N. Warner, EETS o.s. 152 (1917), pp. 140–5. Discussions of the manuscript may be found in N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), no. 209; M. P. Richards, Texts and Their Traditions in the Medieval Library of Rochester Cathedral Priory (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Association, 1988); and M. Laing, Catalogue of Sources for a Linguistic Atlas of Early Medieval English (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1993). The Elucidarium fragments in the manuscript are discussed in M. Th. W. Förster, ‘Two Notes on Old English Dialogue Literature’, in: F. J. Furnivall (ed.), An English Miscellany: Presented to Dr Furnivall in Honour of His Seventy-Fifth Birthday (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901), pp. 86–106. J. J. Thompson, The ‘Cursor Mundi’: Poem, Texts and Contexts (Oxford: Society for the Study of Medieval Languages and Literature, 1998), pp. 100, 159–68. For a description of the manuscript see M. R. James, A Descriptive Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of St John’s College, Cambridge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913), pp. 228–9; and English Wycliffite Sermons, ed. Pamela Gradon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), ii. pp. xx–xxi. For the Suso text, unidentified in these descriptions, see S. James, ‘A Previously Unnoticed Extract of Suso’s Horologium Sapientiae in English’, Notes and Queries 257 (2012), 28–30. See A. Hudson, The Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), p. 424; and S. Hunt, ‘An Edition of Tracts in Favour of Scriptural Translation and of Some Texts Connected with Lollard Vernacular Biblical Scholarship’ (D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1994). I have been unable to identify a source for the additional questions which appear in CUL MS Ii.6.26. The Lucidarie from St John’s College MS G.25 has been published as Die Mittelenglischen Version des Elucidariums des Honorius Augustodunensis, ed. F. Schmitt (Burghausen: W. Trinkl, 1909). Quotations from the manuscript are from my own transcription; however, for convenience references are given by page number in this edition. The English Elucidarium appears on fols 1–11v. For a brief description see C. W. Marx, ‘An Abbreviated Middle English Prose Translation of the Elucidarius’, Leeds Studies in English n.s. 31 (2000), 1–53, at pp. 2–3; references are given by page and line number in this edition. Marx also refers to an older description in J. Gwenogvryn Evans, The First Portion of the Welsh Manuscripts at Peniarth, Towyn, Merioneth, Report on Manuscripts in the Welsh Language, vol. 1, part 2 (London: Historical Manucripts Commission, 1899), pp. 323–5. For a transcription and discussion of the text and manuscript context, see NonCycle Plays and the Winchester Dialogues, intro. Norman Davis, Leeds Texts and

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16 17

18

19 20 21 22

23

24

25

26

Monographs: Medieval Drama Facsimiles V (Leeds: University of Leeds, 1979). References are given by line number in this edition. STC 13685.5, Wynkyn de Worde, 1507; STC 13686, Wynkyn de Worde, 1523. For an edition of the text, along with its French source, see The Late Middle English ‘Lucydarye’, ed. S. Morrison (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013). M. Kleinhans, ‘Zwischen Orthodoxie und Häresie: Die Englischsprachige Rezeption des Elucidarium’, in: E. Ruhe (ed.), Elucidarium und Lucidaires: Zur Rezeption des Werks von Honorius Augustodunensis in der Romania und in England (Wiesboden: Reichert, 1993), pp. 291–324; C. Giordano, ‘Tradurre e adattare: Il “Lucidarie” inglese medio fra Onorio D’Autun e Wyclif’, Medioevo e Rinascimento n.s. 9 (1998), 1–48. A. Lewis, ‘Rethinking the Lollardy of the Lucidarie: The Middle English Version of the Elucidarium and Religious Thought in Late Medieval England’, Florilegium 27 (2010), 209–36, at p. 224. For a more comprehensive call to avoid the unthinking use of doctrinal binaries, see S. Kelly and R. Perry, ‘Devotional Cosmopolitanism in Fifteenth-Century England’, in: V. Gillespie and K. Ghosh (eds.), After Arundel: Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century England (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), pp. 363–80; for further reflections on St John’s College MS G.25 see S. James, ‘“Hospitable Reading” in a Fifteenth-Century Passion and Eucharistic Meditation’, in: S. Kelly and R. Perry (eds.), Devotional Culture in Late Medieval England and Europe: Diverse Imaginations of Christ’s Life (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), pp. 593–606. Marx, ‘An Abbreviated Middle English Prose Translation of the Elucidarius’, pp. 21–2. J. O’Rourke, ‘English and Latin Texts in Welsh Contexts: Reflections of a Multilingual Society in National Library of Wales MS Peniarth 12’, Yearbook of English Studies 33 (2003), 53–63. B. S. Lee, ‘Lucidus and Dubius: A Fifteenth-Century Theological Debate and Its Sources’, Medium Aevum 45 (1976), 79–96. See R. Rastall, Music in Early English Religious Drama: Minstrels Playing (Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer, 2001); D. Grantley, English Dramatic Interludes, 1300–1580: A Reference Guide (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); and S. G. Nichols and S. Wenzel (eds.), The Whole Book: Cultural Perspectives on the Medieval Miscellany (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996). G. Leff, Heresy in the Later Middle Ages: The Relation of Heterodoxy to Dissent c.1250-c.1450 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1967), pp. 549–57, 573–87; Hudson, The Premature Reformation, pp. 281–90; and P. Strohm, England’s Empty Throne: Usurpation and the Language of Legitimation 1399–1422 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998), pp. 45–53. See also S. James, ‘Rereading Henry Suso and Eucharistic Theology in Fifteenth-Century England’, Review of English Studies 63 (2012), 732–42. For the eleventh-century context, see H. E. J. Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, Archbishop (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003); for a detailed account of the later stages of the Berengarian controversy, see C. M. Radding and F. Newton, Theology, Rhetoric, and Politics in the Eucharistic Controversy, 1078–1079: Alberic of Monte Cassino against Berengar of Tours (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003). Honorius’s use of these organic metaphors for the spiritual and secular communities predates that developed in John of Salisbury’s Policraticus by a number of decades; such metaphors had, however, enjoyed currency since at least as early as Plato’s Republic. See M. Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); D. Aers, Sanctifying Signs: Making Christian Tradition in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), Chapter 1; S. Penn, ‘Wyclif and the Sacraments’, in: I. C. Levy (ed.), A Companion to John Wyclif (Leiden: Brill, 2006), pp. 241–91; and James, ‘Rereading Henry Suso’.

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27 For the association of the term ‘trewe men’ with Lollards, see A. Hudson, ‘A Lollard Sect Vocabulary?’, in: A. Hudson (ed.), Lollards and Their Books (London: Hamblen Press, 1985), pp. 165–80, 166–7. 28 For a fifteenth-century example of this terminology in use, see ‘The Testimony of William Thorpe’, in: A. Hudson (ed.), Two Wycliffite Texts, EETS o.s. 301 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 24–93, 31. For a discussion of the complexities of such terminology, see Strohm, England’s Empty Throne, pp. 45–53. It is clear that a contemporary audience might be uncertain on this point: see James, ‘Rereading Henry Suso’. For the ‘Galilean body’ of Christ, see Aers, Sanctifying Signs, pp. 53–65. 29 Wyclif’s Eucharistic theology is discussed by J. I. Catto, ‘John Wyclif and the Cult of the Eucharist’, in: K. Walsh and D. Wood (eds.), The Bible in the Medieval World (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985), pp. 269–86. An early fifteenth-century expression of Wycliffite consubstantiation can be found in Selections from English Wycliffite Writings, ed. A. Hudson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), pp. 110–12; for a more extreme Lollard position see one of the depositions against the Norfolk woman Margery Baxter: Heresy Trials in the Diocese of Norwich, 1428–31, ed. N. P. Tanner, Camden Fourth Series, 20 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1977), pp. 44–5. 30 For this distinction see G. Ward, Christ and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), p. 105; and A. F. Méndez-Montoya, The Theology of Food: Eating and the Eucharist (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), p. 133. Anna Lewis notes the failure to address the question, but does not pursue the reasons: Lewis, ‘Rethinking’, p. 219. 31 Anna Lewis suggests that the Lucidarie’s response to this question, referring as it does to Christ’s flesh and blood, is ‘typical of the materialism that Wyclif abhorred’: ‘Rethinking’, p. 219. However, she does not consider the implications of the fact that the Lucidarie is in fact much less materialistic than the Latin in this respect. 32 Luke 22:19 (translation from the Vulgate). 33 See note 24 above. 34 I acknowledge that this assumption is not without its problems, which I hope to address in a future paper. 35 See, for example, H. E. J. Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, 1073–1085 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993); B. Bolton, The Medieval Reformation (London: Edward Arnold, 1983); Innocent III: Studies on Papal Authority and Pastoral Care (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995); L. E. Boyle, Pastoral Care, Clerical Education and Canon Law, 1200–1400 (London: Variorum, 1981); N. Havely, ‘Chaucer, Boccaccio, and the Friars’, in: Piero Boitani (ed.), Chaucer and the Italian Trecento (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 249–68; and W. Scase, Piers Plowman and the New Anticlericalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 36 For the sin of simony see J. Wyclif, On Simony, trans. T. A. McVeigh (New York: Fordham University Press, 1992); W. J. Courtenay and K. B. Shoemaker, ‘The Tears of Nicholas: Simony and Perjury by a Parisian Master of Theology in the Fourteenth Century’, Speculum 83 (2008), 603–28. For a discussion of Wyclif’s view of ideal priesthood, see I. C. Levy, ‘Wyclif in the Christian Life’, in: I. C. Levy (ed.), A Companion to John Wyclif, Late Medieval Theologian (Leiden: Brill, 2006), pp. 293–363, 316–23. 37 For Wyclif’s views, see Hudson, Premature Reformation, pp. 362–7; T. Shogimen, ‘Wyclif’s Ecclesiology and Political Thought’, in: Levy (ed.), A Companion to John Wyclif, pp. 199–240; and J. Canning, Ideas of Power in the Late Middle Ages, 1296– 1417 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 165–91. For a discussion of the broader background, see W. A. Pantin, The English Church in the Fourteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955), pp. 127–9. 38 Schmitt, Die Mittelenglische Version. 39 B. McGinn, Antichrist: Two Thousand Years of the Human Fascination with Evil (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000). See also C. V. Bostick, The Antichrist and the Lollards: Apocalypticism in Late Medieval and Reformation England (Leiden: Brill, 1998). For a discussion of the complexities inherent in the interpretation of Lollard

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apocalypticism, see A. Lewis, ‘Exegesis of the End: Limitations of Lollard Apocalypticism as Revealed in a Commentary on Matthew 24’, Literature and Theology 23 (2009), 375–87. See, for example, Piers Plowman, where such ideas are developed and expressed at much greater length. Marx, ‘An Abbreviated Middle English Prose Translation of the Elucidarius’, pp. 16–17. The term was coined by Fiona Somerset: ‘Introduction’, in: F. Somerset, J. C. Havens and D. G. Pitard (eds.), Lollards and Their Influence in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003), pp. 9–16, 15–16. For the classic expression of the view that the Constitutions exercised a catastrophic effect on fifteenth-century vernacular theology, see N. Watson, ‘Censorship and Cultural Change in Late-Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate, and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409’, Speculum 70 (1995), 822–64. For a more nuanced assessment of the legislation’s impact, see, for example, the contributions by Aers and Somerset, Lollards and Their Influence; S. James, ‘Debating Heresy: 15th-Century Vernacular Theology and Arundel’s Constitutions’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Cambridge, 2004); I. Forrest, The Detection of Heresy in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005), pp. 234–41; R. Lutton, Lollardy and Orthodox Religion in Pre-Reformation England (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2006); and K. Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion: Censorship and Tolerance of Revelatory Writing in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006). The latter also offers a useful corrective view which places Lollardy in a much broader context of late-medieval heresy, censorship and religious toleration. The complexities of the post-Arundelian religious environment are explored in a number of the essays in: Gillespie and Ghosh (eds.), After Arundel. See, for example, the collection of essays by Hudson, Lollards and Their Books. For specific instances of episcopal intervention, see Heresy Trials, ed. Tanner; and Hudson, Premature Reformation, p. 31.

Select bibliography Aers, D., Sanctifying Signs: Making Christian Tradition in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004). Flint, V. I. J., Ideas in the Medieval West: Texts and Their Contexts (London: Variorum Reprints, 1988). Flint, V. I. J., Honorius Augustodunensis of Regensburg, Authors of the Middle Ages 6 (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995). Hudson, A., The Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988). Levy, I. C. (ed), A Companion to John Wyclif (Leiden: Brill, 2006). Lewis, A., ‘Exegesis of the End: Limitations of Lollard Apocalypticism as Revealed in a Commentary on Matthew 24’, Literature and Theology 23 (2009), 375–87. Lewis, A., ‘Rethinking the Lollardy of the Lucidarie: The Middle English Version of the Elucidarium and Religious Thought in Late Medieval England’, Florilegium 27 (2010), 209–36.

10 The priest and the patronage of stained glass in late medieval Norfolk Claire Daunton

The chancel was fitted up and adorned by Sir Thomas Warde, who was instituted rector in 1480, name and picture on [the] screen. In the east window he stands in a rich vestment, like that he served in at the altar, over him is a shield, which is now reversed, having on it a sceptre and cross in saltire, and the letters J. W. for John Warde, alderman of London, one of his patrons, if not brother, and T. D.1

Even after two centuries of iconoclasm and neglect, the eighteenth-century Norfolk antiquarian Francis Blomefield was able to draw attention to the marks left on their churches by medieval rectors and vicars such as ‘Sir’ Thomas Warde. Recording their physical legacy to the parish was a means of securing remembrance and of expressing their calling as priest. The church building was a ‘workplace’, the place where their profession, in both its pastoral and managerial aspects, was most fully manifest: and it was the place where clergy and laity met on a daily basis. This chapter will examine ways in which the role of the priest was made visible in the decoration of Norfolk’s late medieval parish churches, looking at buildings in rural Norfolk and in the city of Norwich. It will take a broad view of the priest as pastor, noting that for the priest the building itself was a pastoral statement and that its decoration and upkeep was integral to the role of priest. The Fourth Lateran Council (1215) made clear that patrons of parish livings were to ensure that incumbents were provided with sufficient revenue to carry out their duties to the full. Subsequent English diocesan councils charged incumbents and patrons with the responsibility for chancels, whilst parishioners were to have care of the naves of parish churches.2 Two points of importance for the genesis and development of decorative schemes will be immediately clear from this situation: first, the relationship between the patron of the living and the incumbent had a major impact on the way the parish was funded and managed, and consequently on the appearance of the church; and, second, the church building was for an individual rector a significant responsibility. The installation or renewal of glazing or other decorative schemes depended on the financial health of both the patron of the living and the incumbent, as well as of the parish more generally. Factors such as commemoration, the need for spiritual instruction and keeping up with

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the adjacent parishes might prove influential in the choice of imagery; but without financial support, the church would have little decoration of any kind. Canon 32 of the Fourth Lateran Council ordained that the person appointed as rector of a parish church should receive sufficient revenue to support this office and that he should either serve in person or through a vicar.3 The priest’s responsibility for maintaining the church stemmed clearly from this directive; it was one of several dealing with the administration of benefices. The long-term effect of the Council on the running of parishes was to change practices and behaviour. Throughout the thirteenth century the response of English dioceses, through their own councils, was to set out frameworks for the local management of parishes and the training of clergy. The doctrinal summaries of these councils were designed to serve parish priests as handbooks of pastoral theology, providing them with a sure grounding for the better instruction of the laity. They also provided, over time, a set of rules concerning the upkeep of fabric and decoration of churches.4 Archiepiscopal councils also listed books, vestments and the other liturgical objects to be provided in each parish church. We know from visitation records that these injunctions were put into effect. Indeed, in fourteenth-century Norfolk, well over 90 per cent of parish churches met these requirements.5 There were, then, both a constant need of funding and clear objectives for donations on the part of both clergy and laity. The necessity of maintaining the physical fabric of the building and of ministering to parishioners’ spiritual needs coalesced, and from the working out of these obligations came much of the decorative fabric of parish churches. The connections between donor, gift and parish were complex, and any information concerning patronage of art embedded in this relationship is not always easy to disentangle.

Pastoral education Towards the end of the thirteenth century Archbishop John Pecham of Canterbury compiled a comprehensive guide for parish priests. It came to be known as Ignorantia sacerdotum, from the opening of its ninth canon: The ignorance of priests casts the people down into the ditch of error, and the foolishness and lack of learning of clerics, whom the decrees of canon law order to teach the sons of the faithful, is all the worse when it leads to error rather than to knowledge.6 Pecham required that every parish priest should instruct his parishioners in a number of basic tenets of faith four times in the year: the fourteen articles of the Creed; the Ten Commandments; the two evangelical precepts; the seven works of mercy; the seven deadly sins; the seven principal virtues; and the seven sacraments. Pecham recognised that providing a formal scheme of educating the clergy was the sine qua non for the proper guidance of the laity.7 In the early years of the fourteenth century this syllabus was expounded and elaborated for priests in a manner most useful to them in their daily lives by

Priest and patronage of stained glass 205 William of Pagula, a parish priest in Berkshire, in his Oculus sacerdotis (c. 1320). With its emphasis on preaching and on the importance of the sacrament of confession, the Oculus became an influential work of instruction for parish clergy.8 At the end of the fourteenth century John de Burgh, then Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, in the diocese of Ely, wrote another manual for parish clergy, Pupilla Oculi (1385), for which the seven sacraments provided the framework. The Pupilla went on to have a wide circulation and great influence in the fifteenth century when the seven sacraments grew in importance and the role of the priest as celebrant of the Mass and administrator of the Eucharist was emphasised, both in liturgy and imagery.9 If Archbishop Pecham’s syllabus, Ignorantia Sacerdotum, was of fundamental importance for the role of the clergy at the turn of the thirteenth century, Archbishop Arundel’s ‘Constitutions’ exercised similar influence at the start of the fifteenth.10 Arundel’s document, drawn up to combat Wycliffite heresy, was intended to ensure that the ecclesiastical hierarchy asserted sufficient control not only over what the clergy taught in their parishes, but also over the manner of the teaching.11 The ‘Constitutions’ is not, perhaps, such a radical, draconian instrument as has sometimes been claimed. It simply enjoined clerics to teach and preach according to the tradition of the Church: to participate in the sacraments, to use the Latin liturgy and Latin scriptures, and to venerate images in the appropriate manner, as hitherto.12 The efficacy of the ‘Constitutions’ in promoting orthodox teaching came not only from their contents but also from the standing of their author. Thomas Arundel was Archbishop of Canterbury at the time of the promulgation of the document but had previously been an effective bishop of Ely and archbishop of York.13 While at Ely he had gathered around him a group of dedicated clerics who were university-educated and had experience of both pastoral and administrative work. A number of these went on to work in the York diocese.14 Others trained in the University of Cambridge went on to serve in the Ely and Norwich dioceses, as we shall see below. Arundel, therefore, had men in different parts of the country whom he could trust to put into effect the precepts he had laid down in the document. Parts of East Anglia were significantly affected by Lollard interpretations of Wycliff’s teachings.15 Wycliff was not wholly opposed to the use of some imagery in churches, but rather to the excesses that occurred and to the misuse of imagery. Lollardy, however, misinterpreted Wycliff, and some of its more populist writings and preaching excoriated the use of any imagery, along with the liturgy surrounding the administration of the sacraments, and indeed the role of priests.16 Lollardy also became associated with a desire amongst some leading aristocratic laymen for a more simple piety, deprived of the outward trappings of liturgy, riches and clericalism associated with the Church in the late fourteenth century.17 Henry V, for his part, wished to have a well-ordered Church as part of a wellgoverned kingdom. He had been successful in his defeat of the rebellion led by the Lollard knight, Sir John Oldcastle; royal support for the orthodox institutions of the Church in England was clear and evident; and he was firm in his support of

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Pope Martin V, elected after a period of schism had weakened the authority of the papacy and provided conditions for heresy to flourish in other parts of Europe.18 Whilst he supported a more intense, personal piety of a meditative and simple kind, he also wanted a Church with fine, orthodox liturgical practice, observed and carried out with due ceremony.19 In terms of the clerical patronage of parish church buildings the watershed marked by the official reaction to heresy is important. There was renewed emphasis on the crucial role of the priest as the mediator of God’s word, the minister of his sacraments and celebrant of the Mass. This was intended to counteract the heretical denunciation of the sacraments and the Eucharist in particular, and of the priesthood. It was also intended to quash any notion of the laity as preachers. Preaching remained important but the subject matter of sermons was to be within the framework of orthodox teaching and instruction, as set down by the Fourth Lateran Council, and particularly the celebration of the liturgy and reception of the sacraments.

Glazing schemes in late medieval Norfolk The words of preaching were supported by images on walls, in windows, on rood screens and in the form of wooden and stone images on pillars and before altars. In windows, in particular, these images tended to conform to a pattern: the chancel windows, those over which priests and their patrons had most control, reflected the hierarchy of heaven. At the heart of the Christian doctrine was the belief that Christ was both God and Man, Son of Mary but the Second Person of the Trinity. Christ had a life and death on earth but was also King of Heaven. The main lights of the east chancel window usually contained elements of this Trinitarian story, often with tracery-light figures of angels bearing verses of the celebratory hymn to the Trinity, the ‘Te Deum’.20 Other windows in the chancel might contain images of the Virgin or of the Apostles, of the dedicatee of the Church, as well as heraldry of the patron. It was here in the chancel that the priest performed his principal duties, surrounded by imagery that instructed him and his parishioners in the life of Christ as Man and God, confirmed the priest in his role and placed him in a heavenly and earthly hierarchy. Windows beyond the chancel were filled with images of saints, along with scenes relevant to scripture. The latter were sometimes based on episodes in the apocryphal gospels and associated literature, particularly the Protoevangelium, attributed to the apostle James, which concentrated on the early life of Christ.21 This was a popular source for imagery, much of which emphasised the humanity of Christ and the domesticity of his early life.22 Equally popular were stories from the Golden Legend, a late thirteenth-century compendium of saints’ lives compiled by a Dominican friar, Jacobus de Voragine, which intertwined fact and fiction in saints’ lives in order to arouse popular interest in them as well as to edify and instruct.23 Both the apocryphal gospels and the Golden Legend provided material for preaching and for devotional literature, alongside the four canonical gospels and the documented lives of saints. For example, devotion to the Holy

Priest and patronage of stained glass 207 Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph as they appear in the bible came to incorporate their apocryphal extended family, members of which appeared in schemes of imagery.24 It was the whole corpus of imagery, each part in its place and forming a hierarchy of visual aid, which created a didactic and devotional backdrop for the work of the priest and his relationship with his parishioners. The period of rebuilding in fifteenth-century Norfolk appears to have allowed the consolidation of decorative schemes, and particularly those in the chancel, into a format that emphasised the sacerdotal and sacramental role of the clergy, as well as their role in leading the performance of the liturgy. The ‘partitioning’ of the church into separate spheres of responsibility, whilst not absolving the rector or vicar of care for the whole in terms of spiritual and devotional use, did give rise to certain patterns and expectations in relation to imagery, as noted above. The sense of place and location, of what and where was fitting for imagery, had an important pastoral message. The priest in the chancel needed to be reminded of and bolstered by those who were his ultimate, his final patrons, just as the laity would want to be close to those saints popular for their intercessory powers for whom they had the greatest devotion. In addition, the principle of proximity applied: those at the apex of the heavenly hierarchy were depicted in the windows closest to the high altar, just as those highest in the earthly hierarchy had their heraldry and other chosen images as close as possible to the location of that altar.25 Glazing schemes represented the social and ecclesiastical order, and to some extent reflected shifts in popular religious culture. Throughout the period images of martyrs of the early Church, heros and heroines of their religion, were very popular for their stories of bravery in adhering to their Christian faith, as were images of those who spoke to the daily lives of the faithful, such as St Margaret of Antioch (patron saint of pregnant women) and St Christopher, patron saint of travellers.26 These devotional and intercessory images, often funded through lay donations, complemented the more didactic and pastoral imagery often funded by ecclesiastical organisations or individual clergy. There was also a political dimension to some glazing schemes: heresy, along with social and political unrest, was seen as a threat both by royal and episcopal government.27 Preaching and associated imagery could be used both to undermine and to support any cause.28 The early fifteenth-century concentration on orthodox teaching coincided, in Norfolk, with a period when almost all churches were either being rebuilt or restored. The funding for this rebuilding came from a growing middle class. The population of Norfolk, like that of the rest of the country, fell by more than one third in the generations following the Black Death and successive episodes of plague, but recent comparative studies have indicated that East Anglia remained one of the most populous and wealthiest parts of the country.29 It owed its prosperity to its natural fertility, and to the exploitation of that by the production of wool, cloth, salt extraction and innovative farming, by a growing merchant and landed class. It was also home to a growing number of lawyers.30 Their wealth was evident in glazing schemes and other decorative work in churches.31 Alongside the landed

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gentry, merchants and lawyers was an increasing number of clergy, particularly in the Norwich diocese.32 Wealth also came into the county as a result of war overseas: some members of the growing class of landed gentry owed their wealth to success in campaigns in the Hundred Years War; and this wealth came to be reflected in churches. The motives for putting money into parish churches were several: social display; pious devotion; expiation of sin. In the case of the church at Harpley, the patron Sir Robert Knolles, a ‘war lord’, had risen to become rich and well connected through his fierce campaigns in northern France and his growing connections to royalty.33 John Drew, loyal servant of Knolles, was rector of Harpley from 1389 to 1421, and it was where he asked to be buried.34 Drew is likely to have been one of those instrumental in installing the glazing scheme in the west window in the early years of the fifteenth century to commemorate his patron, and to proclaim his allegiance to the House of Lancaster. This scheme was not only wholly orthodox in its celebration of Christ as human and divine – as one would expect from a rector – but also commemorated an affiliation to the Lancastrian cause and to its claim to royal lineage and divine right to rule. Although now fragmentary, and largely restored in the nineteenth century, this scheme displays familiar images of the royal saints – Edmund and Edward the Confessor – accompanied by saints of the early Church. Also surviving are fragments of an Annunciation scene and a scene of the Coronation of the Virgin. These figures are all supported by a series of the nine orders of angels. English society in the early fifteenth century was, then, in flux as a result of plague, war and heresy, but the role of the priest and its reflection in the appearance of the parish churches of fifteenth-century Norfolk was coming to be more clearly defined. The priest was a guardian against heresy, a support to the landed gentry, from whatever source their wealth came, a teacher of and preacher to the whole congregation of his parish, and, with them, a guardian of the church building. In order to perform these roles well he had to establish himself as a leading figure, a figure of pastoral and managerial authority in the parish; and he could do this, in part, through the decoration of his parish church. Images of priests dressed in the vestments for Mass, setting them apart as consecrated persons, came to be common on their tombs and in stained glass windows: Thomas Warde was not alone in this. Evidence in support of this statement is, of course, taken mostly from fragmentary survivals and from antiquarian accounts since no complete schemes survived either deliberate destruction or later neglect.35 The primary purpose of chancel decorative schemes was to illustrate the principal message of the Christian faith, including the role of Mary as Queen of Heaven and mediatrix with humanity and the role of the apostles as first teachers of the Faith. At Pulham St Mary Blomefield records the remains of such a scheme, one fitting for the east window of the chancel: In the east window in the chancel are represented the Father, Son and Holy Ghost; and underneath is the Blessed Virgin with Our Saviour in her arms and

Priest and patronage of stained glass 209 a lily by her as patron of this church in particular; and St Peter as patron of the church universal; with persons playing upon violins and other musical instruments on either side; and at their feet the wise men offering their censers etc, with the arms of the East Angles of Ely church and St George of England.36 It is surely no coincidence, as Blomefield reminds his readers, that the patron of the Church was Sir John Fastolf, a commander in Henry V’s campaigns in France, patron of the arts and of many churches. Fastolf’s chaplain Thomas Howes, who was also one of his executors, had been appointed rector of Pulham St Mary and spent a large sum of money in restoring the church.37 The relationships between Thomas Howes and Sir John Fastolf and that between John Drew and Sir Robert Knolles were fruitful for the institutions with which they were involved. John de Wygenhale (alias Saresson), Abbot of West Dereham, a leading cleric in fifteenth-century Norwich, had a similar enabling role to play.38 A native of the Wiggenhalls in north-west Norfolk, he had benefited from an education in Cambridge, at Trinity Hall where he had studied canon law.39 He was at the same time a lawyer and Premonstratensian canon who also served as rector in Yaxham and Oxborough, two livings held by the Premonstratensian houses of Wendling and West Dereham respectively. He later became abbot of West Dereham. He was also appointed not only dean of the College of St Mary in the Fields, the influential college of secular priests in Norwich, but also vicar general to the bishop of Norwich. His characterisation by John of Whetehampstede, the St Alban’s chronicler, as ‘vir altae discretionis . . . ’ may help explain the nature of his career as priest, abbot, administrator, mentor, patron and scholar.40 There is some evidence to link Wygenhale to a scheme depicting scenes from the Passion of Christ in Norwich, an expression of popular piety in the late Middle Ages; and to a series depicting popes and bishops at Salle.41 Such schemes link him to the devotional focus of parishioners as well as to his roles as a senior cleric within the Norfolk diocese. Wygenhale was at the heart of a network of priests for whom formal university training, often in one of the Cambridge colleges, helped to oil the wheels of clerical preferment. John Pynkney, a canon lawyer like Wygenhale, became rector of Wrentham in Suffolk, and in his will of 1440 asked for a window to be glazed in the chancel with the image of St Nicholas, the dedicatee of his church, as expected practice.42 Wygenhale was also the beneficiary of another clerical patron of glass in the person of John Savage, rector of St Clement’s in Norwich. In his will of 1448 Savage set aside 46s 8d for a window there with an image of St John the Baptist. Savage’s name saint, the last prophet and first saint who launched Christ on his own ministry, was a particularly appropriate choice for a priest.43 Bequests for images, in glass and other media, appropriate to their profession, were not uncommon in the wills of educated priests and benefactors, and often associated not only with their parishes, but also with Cambridge colleges.44 In 1445 Wimble de Hokyton (d.1445) paid for the glazing of all the windows on the south side of the library of Clare Hall (now Clare College) Cambridge, to which he also made a gift of books.45

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One of the places where the educated clergyman would have been most in evidence was the centre of Norwich and particularly in the College of St Mary in the Fields, a college of secular priests with significant standing in the city.46 The influence of the College was felt far beyond the parishes in its gift since many clergy attached to it as canons or prebendaries also served as rectors in other rural parishes. One such was Master William Wode, rector of the church of Sts Peter and Paul, Salle, from 1428 to 1441, who had organised the building and glazing of the chancel there. He had been educated at the University of Cambridge and was a canon of the College of St Mary in the Fields.47 Amongst other purposes, the glazing scheme was used by Wode to comment on church-state relations, with images of bishops and cardinals, and bears witness to his status as ecclesiastical politician, as well as educated pastor.48 The churches of St Stephen and St Andrew, as that of St Peter Mancroft discussed above, were the subject of building and glazing campaigns in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, campaigns which were partnerships between welleducated and well-connected clergy and wealthy, literate citizens.49 Recent work on the history of Norwich has indicated how closely intertwined were the lives of these citizens with both the secular and religious institutions of the city.50 The corporate body of the church was sustained by the same energy and money that made the city economically successful, a desirable place to live and a challenge to govern. City-centre churches, such as those mentioned above, were places of worship, but they also provided meeting places for leading families of the community, such as the Toppes of St Peter Mancroft and the Pastons of St Peter Hungate.51 At St Andrew’s both clergy and laity were providing support for glazing schemes in the early sixteenth century. John Reynolds, a grocer, bequeathed 10 marks (£6 13s 4d) in 1499 for a window if the parishioners built a new church.52 Building began in 1506 and in the next few years other parishioners followed Reynolds’s example and bequeathed sums of money for windows.53 Meanwhile, James Goldwell, bishop of Norwich, and his brother Nicholas, Dean of the College of St Mary in the Fields, provided funding for the glazing of the east window with typological scenes – scenes in which events in the Old Testament were a type or forerunner of those in the New Testament. At St Andrew’s the scheme included the attempted sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham, which was understood to foreshadow Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, and other Old Testament scenes, such as Moses raising the brazen serpent to remind the Israelites of their need for God, which also foreshadowed Christ’s being raised up on the cross. Increasingly, such images in glazing exhibited a close resemblance in style and subject matter to those in the Biblia Pauperum, or poor man’s bible. Printed copies of this heavily illustrated work became readily available both for clergy and literate lay parishioners from the late fifteenth century.54 These picture-books provided simple, arresting images of those Old Testament stories which introduced the Christian message in a direct manner and to a wide audience. Scenes from the Biblia reproduced in stained glass windows would have reminded the congregation of the scriptural integrity of the Old and New Testaments. This approach was appealing to both laity and clergy as a means of instruction.

Priest and patronage of stained glass 211 At St Stephen’s a simple approach to spirituality appears to have been part of the tradition of the church. The individual who held the post of rector of St Stephen’s for the first twenty years of the fifteenth century was Richard Caistor.55 Caistor established a reputation for saintliness during his lifetime that lasted well beyond his death in 1420. Margery Kempe was, perhaps, the most famous of many who came to Norwich to consult him and later to pray at his grave.56 His reputation appears to have stemmed from his devotion to pastoral care and the simplicity of his lifestyle. In his short will he asked for £10 to be set aside for the purchase of two antiphoners, but the remainder of his wealth was to be distributed amongst the poor. There is no bequest to the fabric of the church or to the high altar, or for masses or prayers to be said for his soul, and no mention of devotion to particular saints. The simplicity of the will, it has been suggested, betrays radical views and perhaps some sympathy with those of Lollardy.57 It is also possible that he was less concerned about beautifying the building than looking after the spiritual needs of his parishioners. It was, after all, not only Lollards who spurned decoration in churches. Centuries earlier both the Cistercian and Dominican religious orders were concerned about the possible distraction from prayer and preaching of elaborate imagery in churches.58 Norwich was a place where many strands of religious observance could be found. During Caistor’s active lifetime the spirituality of Norwich and the surrounding area was marked by the number of people attracted to the calling of anchorite and hermit, and the teaching and examples of Julian of Norwich, Walter Hilton, Richard Rolle and others were well known.59 There was then a climate of experimentation in the religious life of the city. It has been shown that wealthy, literate women in particular provided not only material support for parish churches but, amongst their own circles, fostered specific devotional practices.60 This diversity of approach was bound to have its effect on parishioners, clergy and the practice of liturgy and devotion as well as on the physical appearance of the city’s many parish churches. Those who succeeded Caistor as vicar of St Stephen’s in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, and inherited the legacy of his reputation, were all university men. For example, Richard Poryngland and William Chaumpneys both held doctorates and had clearly maintained close links with their Cambridge Colleges, Peterhouse and Gonville Hall respectively, as their testamentary bequests indicate.61 Norman Tanner has suggested that the radical tradition of Richard Caistor, differently interpreted, lived on in these men.62 This supposition is derived partly from the evidence of book-owning but also from the tone of wills. The wills of Caistor, Chaumpneys and the latter’s successor Robert Calton employ phrases concerning the unworthiness of the testator and the corruption of the body that can be found in the wills of known Lollards. It is important not to overstate this link since such sentiments were also expressed by those regarded as wholly orthodox; but, taken together with other evidence, they do seem to suggest that St Stephen’s was a parish in which clergy holding alternative views might have been tolerated. By the beginning of the sixteenth century there is some indication that the chancel at St Stephen’s was in a state of decay. This could also have resulted from a

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drop in income for the church, as is evident in the obedientary rolls.63 The living at St Stephen’s was potentially one of the richest in the city of Norwich, but here, along with other parishes in the care of the cathedral priory, there appears to have been a substantial fall in revenue going into these churches. One reason for this might have been a diversion of revenue to building work at the cathedral where Bishops Walter Lyhert (1446–72) and James Goldwell (1472–99) had been engaged in adding vaulting to the nave and choir: the vaulting of the choir proved particularly difficult and expensive.64 If indeed there were a tussle for funding between city parishes and the cathedral, this would not have been an unusual occurrence. Ecclesiastical institutions such as monasteries and cathedral priories which were also patrons of parish churches would routinely have encountered this dilemma. In the case of St Stephen’s, it appears to have been compounded by the fact that the vicars’ loyalties were pulled in several directions and that the financial arrangements did not endear them to their patron. If one aspect of the pastoral role of the priest was to maintain the fabric of the church in good order, then at St Stephen’s in the early sixteenth century this was to prove a particular challenge. Such was the scale of the task when Thomas Bowyer, a devoted godson of Geoffrey Chaumpneys,65 became vicar that the cathedral priory agreed not only to pay two thirds of the cost of repairs but also to reduce the amount that Bowyer had to pay in pension so that he could afford to make the incumbent’s contribution to the repairs. Bowyer, perhaps, reaping the poor harvest of years of neglect of the chancel fabric by the priory, set in motion a rebuilding scheme which occupied him and his successor, Thomas Cappe, for three decades. Bowyer and Cappe appear to have used the opportunity provided by the rebuilding to devise a new glazing scheme for the east window.66 As noted above, the glaziers employed by Cappe used a design very similar to that at St Andrew’s and to have taken their inspiration from the Biblia Pauperum. There were numerous pairings of incidents from the Old and New Testaments related to the life of Christ. Included amongst them were images of the story of Abraham and Isaac, and of the Israelites worshipping the serpent, as are extant in glass at St Andrew’s. These events were usually paired with the Crucifixion of Christ. Remaining fragments at St Stephen’s show a scene of the sacrifice of Isaac, almost identical in style to that at St Andrew’s. Glazing schemes such as these were instruments for pastoral work, for teaching scripture and the sacramental nature of Christ’s life. Such schemes also took advantage of the latest method of dissemination, printed matter largely imported from the Low Countries; and they utilised new techniques of glazing, similarly imported. Such techniques allowed for a wider variety of colours and a more painterly style of imagery in larger pieces of glass. Rectors and vicars such as Cappe, Bowyer and Chaumpneys would have seen it as part of their duty to restore the chancel, to fit it up with the latest type of glazing scheme, using the latest type of teaching material for scripture fitting for their status as highly educated priests in a city with overseas links.

Priest and patronage of stained glass 213 A more effective working out of financial and personal arrangements than that at St Stephen’s in Norwich appears to have been in place in the rural parish of All Saints Snetterton, south Norfolk. Here the gentry family of Bokenham were the patrons of the living, and in the later fifteenth century Edmund Bokenham seems to have taken a particular interest in the several churches held by the family and in the institutions in Norwich where they had a residence, and to have had good relations with the clergy. Further, the list of rectors in the parish of Snetterton indicates a long-standing habit of appointing clergy with university qualifications, from Walter de Elveden, ‘professor of civil law and precentor of the church of Hereford’ in 1352,67 to William Throgmorton LL.D in 1504.68 Edmund Bokenham chose Robert Spylman, trained in canon law at Trinity Hall Cambridge, to be rector of Snetterton in 1446. We know that Spylman was well acquainted with John de Wygenhale, also a former student of Trinity Hall. Together they bought property in Cambridge in 1444,69 and Spylman was later recruited to the household of the archdeacon of Sudbury, a post also held by Wygenhale.70 Bokenham, a devout and generous layman, frequented both the College of St Mary in the Fields and the church of St Peter Mancroft where Wygenhale’s influence was almost certainly felt. In his will Bokenham provided generous support for Snetterton and the neighbouring parish of Hargham/Harpham, as well as most of the city-centre churches and charitable institutions in Norwich. Bokenham’s own city house was in the parish of St Peter Mancroft. Another member of the wealthy and pious gentry of the county who had houses in Norwich was Anne Harling. Edmund Bokenham was part of the same circle of like-minded people, patrons of religious institutions, who gathered round Anne Harling both in Norwich and at her residence in East Harling. This was close to the college of priests established by Edmund Gonville at Rushworth, of which she was also a patron. King has shown how her wealth, piety and childlessness coalesced to provide a high-quality glazing scheme which focussed on scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary and her namesake, St Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, who remained childless until old age.71 Also indicated are Anne Harling’s links to the Yorkist royal household and to the Augustinian friar and author, Osbern Bokenham, based at Clare in Suffolk. Bokenham was the author of the widely circulated, Legendys of Hooly Wummen, lives of female saints written with pious literate women such as Anne Harling in mind.72 The links between Anne Harling and the Bokenhams, and Edmund Bokenham’s links with Robert Spylman, John de Wygenhale and other leading clergy in the county and city, are yet further proof of the existence of the interconnecting circles of influence, with clergy at their centre, that either directly or indirectly sponsored the installation of glazing schemes. These influences were at work in the church of Snetterton. This is evident from its appearance in the eighteenth century as recorded in detail by Blomefield:73 In the east window: A[n]i[m]a M[agist]ri Robert Spylman et amicor[um] suor[um] mccccl.

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Blomefield goes on to note, most probably referring to the chancel windows, that ‘the windows contain the history of the Revelations with the Apostles, each having a sentence of the Creed from his mouth’. His description continues: The east window of the north isle is filled with angels supporting these arms: Morley: gull[es] a saltire arg[ent] impaling quarterly first arg[ent] a lozenge gull[es] second arg[ent] a bend az[ure], Morley impaling quarterly De la Pole and Winfield Arg[ent] a lion rampant or, crowned gull[es] impales Buckingham viz. arg[ent] a lion rampant gull[es] surrounded with a bendlet az[ure] charged with three bezants. Bokenham single. Quarterly arg[ent] and az[ure] a bendlet gobony sable and or impaling arg[ent] a lion rampant or. Other north isle windows have the history of the Creation, of Christ’s baptism, of St Christopher etc with the legends in labels. None of this glass now remains, but Bloomfield’s description allows us to see how the partnership of patron and incumbent worked to glaze a large section of the church. In the chancel were the eucharistic emblems of priestly status alongside Spylman’s coat-of-arms, scenes from the Apocalypse and depictions of apostles with creed scrolls. The choice of religious imagery is that of a well-educated cleric, and the coat-of-arms marks his secular status as a gentleman. In the north aisle window are the arms of the secular patron, with a similarly didactic typological scheme of the story of Creation and Christ’s Baptism, alongside the more popular imagery of St Christopher. We know, again from the accounts of antiquarians, that scenes from the Creation story were installed in windows of the church at Martham. An Old Testament series has been dated to 1450 when the church was rebuilt, making it contemporaneous with the scheme at Snetterton.74 It has been suggested that the window was funded by a bequest from one Roger Clerk, this name perhaps denoting another clerical donor.75 In many Norfolk churches the increase in window space following fifteenthcentury alterations made it possible to tell the whole Christian story in glass in chancel, aisles and transepts. It was the role of the priest to ensure that the church for which he was responsible functioned well as a building and that its imagery represented clearly and accurately the Christian message, marrying words and liturgical actions with images. The parish clergy of late medieval Norfolk used their churches not only to emphasise the basic truths of the faith, but also to emphasise their own role as leaders of the congregation and mediators of the word of God and of his sacraments: the church building was their pastoral statement written in stone and glass.

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Notes 1 F. Blomefield and C. Parkin, An Essay towards a Topographical History of the County of Norfolk, 11 vols. (London: W. Bulmer and Co., 1805–10), ii. 477. 2 Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church, 1205– 1313, ed. F. M. Powicke and C. R. Cheney, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964). See, for example, i. 497–8 for detailed legislation concerning the diocese of York in 1250. 3 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. N. Tanner, 2 vols. (London: Sheed & Ward/ Georgetown University Press, 1990), i. 249–50. 4 C. R. Cheney, ‘Some Aspects of Diocesan Legislation in the Thirteenth Century’, in: C. R. Cheney (ed.), Medieval Texts and Studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), pp. 185–202, esp. p. 199. 5 A. Watkin (ed.), Norwich Archdeaconry: Inventory of Church Goods, 1368, Norfolk Record Society, vol. 19 (Norwich: Norfolk Record Society, 1948), p. ci. 6 The outline of this syllabus is set out in D. Wilkins, Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae, 4 vols. (London, 1737), ii. 54–6. For more recent work on the interpretation of the syllabus, see Decrees, ed. Tanner, ii. 227–9; L. E. Boyle, ‘The Oculus Sacerdotis and Some Other Works of William of Pagula’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 5th series, no. 5 (1955), 81–100, esp. 81–3; J. Shinners and W. J. Dohar (eds.), Pastors and the Care of Souls in Medieval England (Notre Dame IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1998), pp. 127–32. 7 Cheney, ‘Diocesan Legislation’, p. 189. 8 Boyle, ‘Oculus’. 9 R. Ball, ‘The Education of the English Parish Clergy in the Late Middle Ages with Particular Reference to Manuals of Instruction’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1977), p. 5. 10 The text of Arundel’s ‘Constitutions’ was incorporated into the Provinciale, a digest of conciliar and archiepiscopal decrees brought together for ease of use in 1430 by William Lyndwood, chancellor to Henry Chichele, Arundel’s successor as Archbishop of Canterbury. C. R. Cheney, ‘William Lyndwood’s Provinciale’, in: Cheney (ed.), Medieval Texts and Studies, pp. 158–83. 11 N. Watson, ‘Censorship and Cultural Change in Late Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409’, Speculum 70 (1995), 822–64. 12 S. James, ‘Debating Heresy: Fifteenth Century Vernacular Theology and Arundel’s Constitutions’(unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2004), p. 8; K. Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion: Censorship and Tolerance of Revelatory Writing in Medieval England (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006), pp. 397–401. 13 M. Aston, Thomas Arundel: A Study of Church Life in the Reign of Richard II (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), pp. 27–8, 319. 14 J. Hughes, Pastors and Visionaries: Religion and Secular Life in Late Medieval Yorkshire (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1988), pp. 177–84, 232. 15 Heresy Trials in the Diocese of Norwich,1428–31, ed. N. Tanner, Camden 4th series, vol. 20 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1977). 16 S. Gayk, Image, Text and Religious Reform in Fifteenth-Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 17–29; S. McSheffrey, Gender and Heresy: Women and Men in Lollard Communities, 1420–1530 (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), pp. 8–9. 17 J. Catto, ‘Religion and the English Nobility in the Later Fourteenth Century’, in: H. Lloyd-Jones, V. Pearl and B. Worden (eds.), History and Imagination: Essays Presented to H. R. Trevor-Roper (London: Duckworth, 1981), pp. 43–55. 18 C. T. Allmand, Henry V (London: Methuen, 1997), pp. 257, 282–4.

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19 J. Catto, ‘The Burden and Conscience of Government in the Fifteenth Century’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, no. 17 (2007), 83–99, esp. pp. 96–7. 20 No complete chancel schemes survived periods of iconoclasm and neglect in Norfolk. The east chancel window at East Harling, south Norfolk, contains a window reconstructed with scenes of the life of Christ and his mother. For an analysis of the medieval glass at East Harling see D. J. King, ‘Who Was Holbein’s Lady with a Squirrel and a Starling?’, Apollo 159 (2004), 42–9. 21 R. Cameron, The Other Gospels: Non-Canonical Gospel Texts (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1982), pp. 107–21. 22 The presence of midwives witnessing the birth of Christ, illustrated in the east chancel window at East Harling, or of angels rolling back the thatched roof of the stable at Bethlehem so they could gaze at the Christ child, illustrated in the east window of St Peter Mancroft Norwich, are both medieval legendary accretions to the canonical gospel accounts. 23 J. de Voragine, The Golden Legend, trans. W. G. Ryan, 2 vols. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993). 24 There are no surviving images in glass, but Blomefield (Topographical History, vii. 356) noted that a scene of the extended family of Christ was extant in one of the north aisle windows at the church of St Martin in Fincham, in the mid eighteenth century. A similar scene is still visible on the retable of the Lady altar at Ranworth. 25 M. A. Michael, ‘The Privilege of “Proximity”: Towards a Re-Definition of the Function of Armorials’, Journal of Medieval History 23 (1997), 55–74. 26 A. E. Nichols has examined the evidence for the range and frequency of images of saints in Norfolk churches in The Early Art of Norfolk: A Subject List of Extant and Lost Art (Kalamzoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications/Western Michigan University, 2002). 27 M. Aston, ‘Corpus Christi and Corpus Regni: Heresy and the Peasants’ Revolt’, Past & Present 143 (1994), 5–47. 28 J. Catto, ‘The King’s Government and the Fall of Pecock’, in: R. Archer and S. Walker (eds.), Rulers and Ruled in Late Medieval England (London: Hambledon Press, 1995), pp. 201–22, 213. 29 B. M. S. Campbell, English Seigniorial Agriculture, 1250–1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 51–2. 30 C. E. Moreton, in his survey of the Townshend family, The Townshends and Their World: Gentry, Law and Land in Norfolk, c. 1450–1551 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 10–11, notes the use of the legal profession as a means of social and economic advancement in fifteenth-century Norfolk. 31 The Pastons, for example, funded glazing schemes in the church at Great Cressingham and in St Peter Hungate, Norwich. 32 J. F. Williams,‘Ordinations in the Norwich Diocese in the Fifteenth Century’, Norfolk Archaeology 31 (1957), 347–58. 33 M. J. Bennett, Community, Class and Careerism: Cheshire and Lancashire Society in the Age of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 165–83. 34 Norfolk Record Office, Norwich Consistory Court (hereinafter NRO, NCC) Will Register Hyrning, fols 150–51. 35 In Blomefield’s Topographical History there are several references to remains of chancel glazing schemes and their clerical donors. For example, in the church of All Saints, Poringland, rectors in successive generations appear to have made their mark on the chancel either through glazing, installation of a rood screen or seating (Blomefield, Topographical History, v. 439). Both the schemes and the evidence for their installation have since disappeared. Some images of rectors on tombs remain. Amongst the best examples in brass are those in the chancel at Balsham, in neighbouring Cambridgeshire. 36 Blomefield, Topographical History, v. 395.

Priest and patronage of stained glass 217 37 Ibid. 38 Capgrave’s life of St Norbert is dedicated to John de Wygenhale: Life of St Norbert, ed. C. L. Smetana (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1940). A discussion of the commissioning of the work can be found in K. A. Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennyslvania Press, 2007), pp. 9–10; and J. Henri, ‘John Capgrave: His Patrons and Their Patron Saints’ (unpublished MPhil dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2007) provides useful background on Capgrave’s academic background and relationships with his patrons, including Wygenhale. 39 A. B. Emden, A Biographical Register of the University of Cambridge to 1500 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), p. 655; NRO, NCC, Will Register Betyns, fol. 9. 40 J. G. Nichols, ‘On Precatory or Mortuary Rolls, Particularly One of the Abbey of West Dereham, Norfolk’, in: Memoirs Illustrative of the History and Antiquities of the City of Norwich and County of Norfolk (London: Archaeological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 1851), pp. 99–114. 41 Capgrave’s influence on the work of the glazing scheme at St Peter Mancroft may have been mediated through Wygenhale, who was dean of the College of St Mary in the Fields, the patron of the living at Mancroft. See D. King, The Medieval Stained Glass of St Peter Mancroft Norwich, Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi (Great Britain) 5 (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 2006), pp. lxxxiii, cxlvii, ccxxxvi. 42 NRO, NCC, Will Register Doke, fol. 142. There is an early fifteenth-century glazed image of St Nicholas at Wrentham in the north aisle. It was probably moved here in the nineteenth century at the time of a major restoration of the church when other glazed fragments were reset, and this image cannot be linked directly to Pynkney’s bequest. 43 NRO, NCC, Will Register Aleyn, fol. 12. 44 The University and College Libraries of Cambridge, ed. P. D. Clarke, Corpus of British Medieval Library Catalogues 10 (London: The British Library in association with the British Academy, 2002), pp. 119, 537–8, 751. A donation for glazing in the library of Jesus College is also noted on p. 278. 45 Emden, Cambridge, pp. 658–9. 46 C. Harper-Bill and C. Rawcliffe, ‘The Religious Houses’, in C. Rawcliffe and R. Wilson (eds.), Medieval Norwich (London: Hambledon and London, 2004), pp. 73–119, esp. pp. 115–18. 47 Blomefield, Topographical History, viii. 274. 48 The interplay of influences in both style and iconography between the mid- fifteenthcentury schemes at Salle and St Peter Mancroft has been examined by David King; see King, Mancroft, pp. lxxvii, cxiv, cxcvi. 49 King, Mancroft, pp. xlv–cxliv, provides the most up-to-date and detailed discussion of the glazing of these churches. 50 See particularly the chapters by Finch, ‘The Churches’, pp. 49–72; and Tanner, ‘Religious Practice’, pp. 137–56. 51 The role of the wealthy citizens of Norwich in supporting churches is discussed by R. H. Frost, ‘The Aldermen of Norwich, 1461–1509: The Study of a Civic Elite’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1996), esp. pp. 194–202. 52 Register of John Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1486–1500, III: Norwich Diocese sede vacante 1499, ed. C. Harper-Bill, Canterbury and York Society 89 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), p. 95. 53 Blomefield, Topographical History, iv. 304. 54 A. Henry (ed.), Biblia Pauperum: A Facsimile Edition (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1987), pp. 98–9. 55 N. P. Tanner, The Church in Late Medieval Norwich (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1984), pp. 136, 231–3. 56 The Book of Margery Kempe, trans. B. A. Windeatt (London: Penguin, 1994), pp. 113, 215, 284–5.

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57 Tanner, The Church, p. 233. 58 The rule that glass should be without colour and without images was introduced into the Cistercian order by St Bernard in 1134 and reinforced in 1159 and 1182: Statuta Generalium Capitulorum Ordinis Cisterciensis, ed. J. M. Canivez, 8 vols. (Louvain: Bureaux de la Revue, 1933–41), i. 31, 70, 91. In 1263 a Dominican General Chapter issued a similar warning against the use of too many distracting images: Acta Capitulorum Generalium Ordinis Praedicatorum, ed. B. M. Reichert, 9 vols. (Rome: In domo generalitia, 1898–1904), i. 117. 59 Tanner, ‘Religious Practice’, pp. 138–9. See also Jonathan Hughes’s comments on the spirituality of late medieval Norfolk and the circulation of the works or Rolle and others in Pastors, pp. 225–6. 60 C. Hill, Women and Religion in Late Medieval Norwich (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2010), esp. pp. 49, 112–17. 61 Poryngland left his books on medicine and medical instruments to Norwich cathedral priory; to Peterhouse library he left his copy of Petrarch’s, De remediis utriusque fortune. Chaumpneys left all his books, including a copy of Repingdon’s Sermones, to the library at Gonville Hall. See University and College Libraries of Cambridge, ed. Clarke, pp. 178, 274. 62 Tanner, The Church, p. 233. 63 P. Cattermole, ‘Some Norwich churches as seen in the Obedientary Rolls of Norwich Cathedral Priory, 1276–1356’, (Norwich, 1985: unpublished MS deposited by the author in Special Collections in the Library of the University of East Anglia, Norwich), pp. 35–6. 64 F. Woodman, ‘The Gothic Campaigns’, in: I. Atherton, E. Fernie, C. Harper-Bill and H. Smith (eds.), Norwich Cathedral: Church, City and Diocese, 1096–1996 (London: Hambledon Press, 1996), pp. 158–96, at 187–9. 65 In his will Bowyer refers to his indebtedness to Chaumpneys who appears to have brought him up and paid for his education; NRO, NCC, Will Register Palgrave, fol. 81. 66 Blomefield, Topographical History, iv. 150. 67 Emden, Cambridge, p. 210. 68 Blomefield, Topographical History, i. 421. 69 Trinity Hall Cambridge, MS 62. 70 Emden, Cambridge, p. 607. 71 D. J. King, ‘Reading the Material Culture: Stained Glass and Politics in Late Medieval Norfolk’, in: L. Clark (ed.), The Fifteenth Century, VIII: Rule, Redemption and Representations in Late Medieval England and France (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2008), pp. 21–45; and ‘Anne Harling Reconsidered’, in: J. Boffey and V. Davis (eds.), Recording Medieval Lives: Proceedings of the 2005 Harlaxton Symposium (Donington: Shaun Tyas, 2009), pp. 204–22. 72 A. S. G. Edwards, ‘The Transmission and Audience of Osbern Bokenham’s “Legendys of Hooly Wummen”’, in: A. J. Minnis (ed.), Late-Medieval Texts and their Transmission: Essays in Honour of A. I. Doyle (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1991), pp. 94–104. 73 Blomefield, Topographical History, i. 420. 74 King, Mancroft, p. cxxxv and n. 277. 75 P. Cattermole and S. Cotton, ‘Medieval Parish Church Building in Norfolk’, Norfolk Archaeology 38 (1983), 235–79, at p. 255.

Select bibliography Boyle, L. E., ‘The Oculus Sacerdotis and Some Other Works of William of Pagula’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, no. 5 (1955), 81–100. Cheney, C. R., ‘Some Aspects of Diocesan Legislation in the Thirteenth Century’, in: Medieval Texts and Studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), pp. 185–202.

Priest and patronage of stained glass 219 Hughes, J., Pastors and Visionaries: Religion and Secular Life in Late Medieval Yorkshire (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1988). King, D., The Medieval Stained Glass of St Peter Mancroft Norwich, Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi (Great Britain) 5 (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 2006). Rawcliffe, C. and Wilson, R. (eds), Medieval Norwich (London: Hambledon and London, 2004). Tanner, N. P., The Church in Late Medieval Norwich (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1984).

Index

Note: Numbers in italics indicate figures and numbers in bold indicate tables on the corresponding page. Ælfric, Abbot of Eynsham 2, 10–11, 14; Catholic Homilies 21, 37; and confessional prayers 24; Dedicatio Ecclesie 8; De Oratione Moysi 9; and the Elucidarium 184; and making books for pastoral care 30, 41, 43, 46, 50, 59; Pastoral Letters 45, 47, 49 Alan of Lille 112, 121; Liber in distinctionibus dictionum theologicalium 110 anger 69, 89 Animetur primo 68–70; text 74–86; translation 86–99 Anselm (Archbishop) 183–4, 197n2 Aquinas 126–7 Arundel, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury 5, 135, 196, 205 Augustine 131, 183 Augustinian Order 3, 108, 165, 213 avarice 23, 68, 70, 90–6, 111 Beaumont family 173–4 Benedictine Order 3, 108 Benedictine Reform 24 Black Death 207 Blair, J. 13–14 body of Christ 23, 90, 96, 186–93 books 132, 209, 211, 218n61; booklets 3, 31, 41, 48, 106–7, 115n17, 119–21, 195; bound 41–42; gospel books 25; handbooks 131, 143–4, 204; making books 29–50, 174; and music 101–9; pastoral books 25; picture-books 210; prayer books 56n87; psalters 22, 24–5, 87, 94, 173; service books 163, 178n21; see also Act Books; Elucidarium; Handlyng Synne Bossy, John 143, 152n7

Bowet, Henry, Archbishop of York 135 Bowyer, Thomas 212, 218n65 Boyle, Leonord 67, 69 Caistor, Richard 133, 211 Calton, Robert 211 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 201 37–42, 44, 50; contents of 61–4; quire structure of 38 Cambridge, St John’s College, MS E 8 109, 119 Canterbury 123, 129, 144–9, 167, 183–4, 204; Christ Church 22, 24; see also Arundel, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury Cantilupe, Walter, Bishop of Worcester 67 Cappe, Thomas 212 chastity, clerical 11, 16n14, 24, 46 Chaucer, Geoffrey 110, 166 Chaumpneys, Geoffrey 211–12, 218n61 Christ see body of Christ church courts 129, 143–51, 154n40; Act Books 144–51, 152n14, 154n40 churches, dedication of 2, 7–15, 22–3, 49 churches, reform of see reform movement Church Fathers 112, 183; see also Augustine Cistercian Order 3, 107–8, 110, 211; Distinctiones monasticae et morales 110, 112 cleanliness 12, 23; see also Elucidarium Colet, John 129 confession 1–2, 5, 21–5, 45–6, 67–71, 109; and the cura pastoralis 130–1; and indulgences 131, 152n7; and religious conformity 143–51 confessional prayers 2–3, 21–25

Index conformity 143–51 Corradini, Erika 2, 5 Coryde, Thomas 144 Council of Winchester [1070] 22, 30–1, 43–4, 49 courts see church courts Cubitt, Catherine 2, 5 cura animarum 124, 133 cura pastoralis 124–5, 130; see also pastoral care Dallok, Helen 151 Daunton, Claire 3–4 d’Avray, David 110 Deeming, Helen 3–4 de Voragine, Jacobus: Golden Legend 206 Dominican Order 3, 69, 110, 126; and stained glass 206, 211, 218n58 Dublin, Trinity College, MS 432 110, 119 Dumville, David 22 Ealdred, Bishop of Worcester 16n14 Easter 143–51, 153n21, 153n27, 153n36, 154n42, 155n49–50, 155n54, 156n57–58 education see pastoral education Elucidarium 3–5, 183–6, 189, 192, 195–7; authorship of 197n2 envy 88–89 Eucharist 5, 94, 147–51, 183–4, 186–92, 196–7; and stained glass 205–6, 214 Evreux, Bibliothèque municipale, MS lat. 2 108–10 Exeter 2, 5, 7–7, 13–15, 18n35, 41; and dedication homilies 8–13; see also Leofric Eynsham see Ælfric Fastolf, Sir John 209 Fourth Lateran Council see Lateran IV Foxhall Forbes, Helen 2–3 Franciscan Order 107, 110, 112, 164–5, 178n28 Frantzen, Allen 21 Gilbertine Order 3, 160, 163–7, 171–6, 180n69 Gittos, Helen 22 glazing 4, 203, 206–14, 216n31, 216n35, 217n41 gluttony 24, 96 Goldwell, James, Bishop of Norwich 210, 212 Grantham 164, 178n28 Grimsby 160 Grosseteste, Robert, Bishop of Lincoln 2, 67, 124, 129; De Modo Confitendi 69–71

221

Haito: Visio Wettini 46–47 Halitgar’s Penitential 21 Handbook for a Confessor 21 Handlyng Synne 159–63; Ashmole MS 61 162; audiences for 168–72, 178n34; as books 175–6; British Library MS Harley 1701 161–2; Cambridge MS Ii.r.9 162; Dulwich College MS 24 161–2, 177n12; Folger Library MS V.b.236 161–2; manuscript witnesses of 161–2; Oxford Bodley MS 415 161–2; scenes of transmission for 172–4; Simeon MS 162; textual transmission of 164–7; Vernon manuscript 161; Yale University MS Osborn a.2 161 homilies 7–13, 15, 21–2, 24; and church dedication in the Exeter area 13–14; composite 15n4; and Lambeth MS 489 16n2; and making books for pastoral care 30–1, 36–7, 40–1, 45–6, 48–9 Honorius Augustodunensis 183–4, 186–7, 189–93, 196–7; and authorship 197n2 Honorius III (Pope) 69; Super specula 69, 95n64 Howes, Thomas 209 James (apostle) 206 James, Sarah 4–5 Judith of Flanders 25 Kempe, Margery 133, 135, 211 Lambeth Council [1281] 123 Lateran IV (1215) 1–2, 4–5, 67, 109, 123–4, 128; canon 21 143–51; and stained glass 203–4, 206 Leofric, Bishop of Exeter 2, 5, 7–15, 18n35, 25, 41 Lincoln 145, 160; see also Grosseteste, Robert, Bishop of Lincoln Loke, Thomas 145–6 Lollardy 4–5, 6n5, 127, 135, 151; and the Elucidarium 185, 187–9, 193, 195, 197; and stained glass 205, 211 London, British Library, Arundel MS 248 101–10, 112, 120; musical contents of 103 London, British Library, Burney MSS 108, 120 London, British Library, Harley MS 524 102, 108, 116n29, 120 London, British Library, Sloane MS 1580 109–11, 120 London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 457 120 London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 489 v, 7–10

222

Index

lust 71, 96–9 Luttrell family 173–4, 180n69 Luttrell Psalter 173 Lyhert, Walter, Bishop of Norwich 212 Lyons 124 Maidstone Museum, MS A 13 109, 121 Mannyng, Robert 178n30, 179n45; see also Handlyng Synne manuscripts 161–2; see also Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 201; Cambridge, St John’s College, MS E 8; Dublin, Trinity College, MS 432; Evreux, Bibliothèque municipale, MS lat. 2; London, British Library, Arundel MS 248; London, British Library, Burney MSS; London, British Library, Harley MS 524; London, British Library, Sloane MS 1580; London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 457; Maidstone Museum, MS A 13; Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ashmole MS 1285; Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hatton MSS 113; Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hatton MSS 114; Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 121; Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 59 Maundy Thursday 21, 49 Memoriale Presbyterorum 68 Norfolk 3–4, 161–2, 203–4, 216n20, 216n30; glazing schemes in 206–14; and pastoral education 204–6 Old English Canons of Theodore’s Penitential 21 Old English Handbook 46 Old English Penitential 21 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ashmole MS 1285 108, 121 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hatton MS 113 29–30, 36–7, 39–45, 48–50; appearance of writing in 52n23; contents of 60–61; quire structure of 33 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hatton MS 114 29–30, 36–37, 39, 41–3, 45, 48–50; appearance of writing in 52n23; quire structure of 34 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 114 3 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius MS 121 29–31, 36–7, 39–50, 52n17, 55n73; Ælfric’s homily for the Sunday after Ascension 56n92; appearance

of writing in 52n23; contents of 58–59; measurement of 56n87; possible original arrangement of 35–36; quire structure of 32 Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 59 108, 121 Parys, Sampson 145 pastoral education 204–6 pastoralia 101, 123–7, 131–3, 196 patronage 3, 203–4; and glazing schemes in late medieval Norfolk 206–14; and pastoral education 204–6 Perry, Ryan 3–4 Poryngland, Richard 211, 218n61 prayer see confessional prayers pride 69–70, 87–8, 33 priesthood 5, 10, 24, 45; and the cura pastoralis 123, 128, 130–1; and the Elucidarium 183–4, 192, 195, 197; and stained glass 206 Raymond of Peñafort: Summa de Casibus Poenitentie 69, 77 reading communities see Handlyng Synne Reformation 123–4, 126, 134 reform movement 2, 4–5, 16n14, 67 Richard of St Victor 112; Liber exceptionum 110 Rider, Catherine 2–4 Rochester 144, 146, 148–50, 184 Royal Psalter 24–5 Sandwich 144 Scriftboc 21 Sempringham 3, 160, 165, 168, 171, 175, 178n28; and Handlyng Synne 178n34; and the Lutrell family 180n69 sermons 2–5, 101–13, 129–31, 164–5, 184–5; see also homilies Sherborne 8–9, 22, 45, 52n17 simony 2, 14–15, 16n14, 92, 110, 193 sins 23–5, 45–6, 67–71; see also Animetur primo Sixhills 160, 171 sloth 68, 90 songs 3–5, 101–13 Speculum laicorum 110, 112 Spiritual Works of Mercy 126–8, 131–3, 135–6 stained glass 1, 3, 6n5, 203–4; glazing schemes in late medieval Norfolk 206–14; and pastoral education 204–6

Index St Andrew’s, Norwich 210, 212 St Stephen’s, Norwich 211–13 Sullivan, Matthew 160–1, 172 Swanson, Robert 2, 4 Tentler, Thomas 143 textual transmission see transmission Thomas of Cantimpré: Bonum universale de apibus 110 transmission 113, 159, 161, 163, 168, 176; and the Elucidarium 184; imagining scenes of 172–4; imagining textual transmission 164–7

223

Warde, Thomas 203, 208 wills 127, 209, 211 Worcester 2–3, 12; making books for pastoral care in 29–50; see also Cantilupe, Walter, Bishop of Worcester; Ealdred, Bishop of Worcester; Wulfstan II, Bishop of Worcester Wulfsige, Bishop of Sherborne 9, 45, 52n17 Wulfstan II, Bishop of Worcester 3, 10–11, 24–5, 29–30, 37, 39–47, 49–50; prayer book of 56n87 Wunderli, Richard 145, 150 Wycliffism 127, 130, 185, 187–8, 193–7, 205