Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
This collection of essays by leading experts in manuscript studies sheds new light
on ways to approach medieval texts in their manuscript context. Each contribution
provides groundbreaking insight into the field of medieval textual culture, demon-
strating the various interconnections between medieval material and literary tradi-
tions. The contributors’ work aids reconstruction of the period’s writing practices,
as contextual factors surrounding the texts provide clues to the ‘manuscript experi-
ence’. Topics such as scribal practice and textual providence, glosses, rubrics, page
layout, and even page ruling, are addressed in a manner illustrative and suggestive
of textual practice of the time, while the volume further considers the interface
between the manuscript and early textual communities.
Looking at medieval inventories of books no longer extant, and addressing
questions such as ownership, reading practices and textual production, Medieval
Texts in Context addresses the fundamental interpretative issue of how scribe-editors
worked with an eye to their intended audience. An understanding of the world
inhabited by the scribal community is made use of to illuminate the rationale
behind the manufacture of devotional texts. The combination of approaches to
the medieval vernacular manuscript presented in this volume is unique, marking
a major, innovative contribution to manuscript studies.
The aim of the Context and Genre in English Literature series is to place bodies of prose,
poetry and drama in their historical, literary, intellectual or generic contexts. It seeks
to present new work and scholarship in a way that is informed by contemporary
debates in literary criticism and current methodological practices.
The various contextual approaches reflect the great diversity of the books in
the series. Three leading categories of approach may be discerned. The first
category, consisting of historical and philological approaches, covers subjects that
range from marginal glosses in medieval manuscripts to the interaction between
folklore and literature. The second category, of cultural and theoretical approaches,
covers subjects as diverse as changing perceptions of childhood as a background to
children’s literature on the one hand and queer theory and translation studies on
the other. Finally, the third category consists of single-author studies informed by
contextual approaches from either one of the first two categories.
Context and Genre in English Literature covers a diverse body of writing, ranging
over a substantial historical span and featuring widely divergent approaches from
current and innovative scholars; it features criticism of writing in English from
different cultures; and it covers both canonical literature and emerging and new
literatures. Thus, the series aims to make a distinctive and substantial impact on
the field of literary studies.
Ted Hughes
Alternative horizons
Edited by Joanny Moulin
Edited by
Graham D. Caie and
Denis Renevey
First published 2008
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
Introduction 1
Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey
The idea for a collection of essays grew out of two sessions entitled ‘Medieval
Texts in Context’, which we organised in the summer of 2002 on the occasion of
the Sixth ESSE Conference. Some of the conference participants have contrib-
uted essays in this collection and others have generously agreed to join them. We
are aware that this book has been a long time in preparation and wish to thank all
those who have participated for their much-appreciated patience.
Without the initial interest of Marc Weide from Swets & Zeitlinger this book
would probably never have seen the light of day. We are grateful to him and
the press for their continuing support and enthusiasm for this project. Routledge
took over the project most gracefully, and we are also extremely grateful to Huw
Price and Polly Dodson for their patient forbearance and encouragements, as well
as their gentle nudges, which came our way exactly when they were required.
Our special thanks to Christopher Feeney, who has been the best copy-editor
any author could hope for – extremely knowledgeable, meticulous, observant and
friendly, and he has saved us from many a gaffe.
David Weston, Keeper of the Hunterian Manuscripts at Glasgow University
Library, has generously given us permission to reproduce some manuscripts in
this collection.
This book is dedicated to our children, Clara Maud and Joachim, Eleanor and
Peter, and we are grateful to them for allowing their fathers, with an infectious
enthusiasm and sense of humour, to bring this work to a conclusion.
Denis Renevey and Graham D. Caie
Abbreviations
Medieval Texts in Context explores, first, the manuscript context of some medieval
texts. It then naturally moves on in its second part to an exploration of the social,
historical and cultural context in which medieval manuscripts circulated. This
collection hence reflects and continues discussions which have taken place in the
last decades in the guise of what some scholars have labelled the New Philology.1
Hopefully it therefore answers, even if partially and at some micro level, some of
the questions raised by the New Philology, without, however, claiming that it is
inscribing itself specifically as a contribution to this new field, if new it still really
is, or ever was.2 However, several points raised as part of discussions related to
the emergence of this new perspective on medieval textual culture are indeed
central to this volume. Rather than the edited medieval text, it is the manuscript
which forms the core material under investigation in this volume. It implies giving
up presentation of the medieval text in the form and scientific exactitude of a
printed text with variant readings supplied.3 The object of investigation, that is the
manuscript, and the methods of enquiry which it entails, such as non-hierarchical
comparative work from one manuscript to another, makes possible an assessment
of the medieval material as one prone to generate positively change and varia-
tion, that is textual movement from one manuscript to another, in order for the
textual material to adapt itself to its new locus.4 The manuscript stands therefore
as a matrix where a dynamic interplay between ancient authorial and new scribal
voices concur in the making of a multivocal, variable and contingent production
that requires at least two modes of reading: a reading of the text and its numerous
textual glosses, as well as a reading of visual signs.5 In many cases, the codicolog-
ical evidence is the only evidence which makes possible a discussion of audience.
However, in view of the variance of the medieval artefact, and its natural movement
towards adaptation for new audiences, even careful assessment yields sometimes
minimal information about potential audience. As a culture of variance, manu-
script culture often assumes a multiple audience for which variance should also be
considered as a key concept (see for instance in this volume Gillespie’s discussion
of the complex Syon audience for The Mirror to Deuout People).6
Manuscript culture implies also consideration of the text and its co-texts which,
to adapt Fleishman’s own linguistic definition as ‘the discourse surrounding a
particular utterance’, we understand as the other texts which are part of the same
2 Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey
manuscript.7 This is of course especially true of the medieval miscellany, a very
popular kind of manuscript in the late medieval period.8 The manuscript context,
its co-texts, its textual and visual signs, its layers of discourses and multiple audi-
ences allow for a partial reconstruction of cultural and social layers which made
possible the making of texts as ‘acts of communication’.9 When the manuscript
context so generously yields evidence of that nature, then a larger context, a social
logic of the text, can be built:
And it is by focusing on the social logic of the text, its location within a broader
network of social and intertextual relations, that we best become attuned to
the specific historical conditions whose presence and/or absence in the work
alerts us to its own social character and function, its own combination of
material and discursive realities that endow it with its own sense of historical
purposiveness.10
This is not to say that text and context should be ‘collapsed into one broad vein
of discursive production’, as Spiegel warns us of cultural history’s refusal to distin-
guish text and context, thus making them concurrent textual productions with
mutual influences.11 Of course, the medieval context which we can reconstruct
is mediated by texts, be they symbolic or linguistic, but this should not prevent
us from making distinctions between the two, and from assessing their specific
relationship in a way which preserves the particular privileged position of the text
over its context.
This collection of essays provides, therefore, new insights into the ways mate-
rial and literary cultures interact to create textual information, and contribute to
a better understanding of what that information meant to the medieval subject.
The material dimension is the physical manuscript, and the literary is the witness
of the text which the manuscript contains. The underlying assumption is that the
manuscript can reveal many clues not only about the text itself but also about
the culture in which it was produced.12 Also, a consideration of information
linked to the manuscript, such as a list, a catalogue or even scribal features shared
by several manuscripts, may help in reconstructing the textual culture and the
reading practice of the time period. The chapters, therefore, look at everything
which surrounds a text in the codex and other contextual factors which would
have influenced the medieval reading of – or listening to – a text. They help us
reconstruct the medieval reading experience and give pointers as to the details on
the manuscript page which would have been significant to the reader, but which
might go unnoticed today.
A comparison might be made with the archaeologist who considers an artefact
not in isolation but in the physical context in which it is found. As Caie states in
his chapter in this collection, the archaeologist would examine the other objects
in the same find, the location, the condition and all that surrounds the object to
illuminate its use and status. Yet all too often medieval texts are presented in a
pristine condition in neat, edited form with little hint as to the manuscript context.
Such editions are necessary naturally for the modern reader who wishes to enjoy
Introduction 3
the literary work, but if one wishes to recreate ‘the medieval manuscript experi-
ence’, then the text must be examined in its manuscript context. Julia Boffey in
her contribution states that medieval lyrics, for example, are often presented in
modern editions:
New electronic devices, such as digital images placed on the web, now make it
possible for the world to see the original manuscript and the text in its setting. Many
scholars now accompany their edited text with a digital facsimile of the manuscript
and this permits us to see, for example, the signatures of early owners and some-
times information about those who commissioned the manuscript, readers, levels
of literacy, scribal habits and the dialect of the scribe. Jeremy Smith also shows
how a study of orthography can reveal new insights into textual provenance and
scribal practice. The quality of the membrane, the scribal hand, the layout or mise-
en-page point to how the book was used, while gloss, marginal comment, rubric
and page ruling all speak volumes in themselves about attitudes to authorship and
written authority, as Caie, Peikola and Horobin point out. Other contributions
to this collection examine the interface between the manuscript and early textual
communities, and address questions such as ownership and reading practices,
as well as looking at medieval inventories of books no longer extant. The list of
French books owned by Sir John Fastolf, for instance, leads Beadle into an inves-
tigation which illuminates our understanding of fifteenth-century English textual
culture. Edwards’s and Cré’s focus upon a single manuscript reveals new insights
about the reading process, both lay and monastic, in late medieval England.
Hanna, Gillespie and Renevey, via different modes of investigation, look into the
phenomenon of textual production and readership. Each contribution provides
groundbreaking insights into the field of medieval textual culture.
Caie starts his examination by discussing the significance of the choice of writing
material – wax, membrane, paper, slate, wood or cloth – as this reflects the status
of the text, its application and readership. The act of writing on membrane such
as vellum, he suggests, was a complex, major commitment, which had a great
influence on the authorial role. Then the script selected would indicate the pres-
tige and perceived intrinsic worth of the work copied, in particular the difference
between Latin and vernacular. The appearance of headings, marginal and inter-
linear glosses, historiated or illuminated capitals, lemmata and pointers suggest a
text that is meant to be silently read, as they would be useless to the audience if
such a text were read aloud. Such devices also aid the all-important function of
the book, namely as a means of committing the text to memory. He examines the
4 Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey
relationship between text and marginal gloss, in particular as an important part
of the reading experience of Latin texts and scholastic education. The appearance
of glosses in vernacular texts in the late Middle Ages is significant, as it suggests
that writers such as Gower or Chaucer, their scribes and readers, considered these
works to have auctoritas, the standing and prestige previously awarded to clerical
texts in Latin. The presentation of the vernacular poem with these trappings and
in de luxe manuscripts raises the English poets for the first time from collators and
collectors of other people’s work to true authors. Much of the evidence for such a
change in authorial status comes from the manuscript itself.
Manuscript evidence for the audience of a work is at the heart of Simon Horob-
in’s contribution. He examines the Harley 3954 manuscript in order to determine,
first, if Langland’s Piers Plowman had a clerical or a literate lay readership, and,
second, whether it had a London or a Midland audience. He tackles also the
relationship between the A and B versions of the poem, as B is thought by some
to precede A. After close manuscript analysis he concludes that the Harley version
was intended for certain religious houses in a small area of South Norfolk and
North Suffolk. There is evidence of scribal editorial activity, marked by a lack of
‘respect for the integrity of the differing versions’, which Horobin suggests was
more widespread than hitherto thought. He is able to show the way in which the
scribe-editor worked and the reasons for his changes, namely the fact that the A
version would better suit his target audience, a clerical provincial community. The
stress which the A version places on the significance of penance and the priest’s
responsibility for confession, would have appealed more to this audience. Once
more the glosses provide important pointers, as the need for vernacular margin-
alia points to the level of Latin literacy of the intended readers.
The company which a work keeps (its co-texts) provides important clues as to
how the author, or at least the medieval manuscript compiler, interpreted the
work. The boundaries between secular and religious lyrics, for example, are
generally very unclear and classification is at best unhelpful, but editors for centu-
ries separated lyrics into collections of what they considered companions. Julia
Boffey, however, stresses the need to scrutinise manuscripts, compare witnesses
and investigate the surroundings of lyrics to uncover their affiliations. She shows
how palaeographical evidence can reveal if a lyric has been added at a later date
or in another hand and is not part of the compiler’s overall plan for the collection.
As Caie suggests, our reading of the Old English poem The Wife’s Lament is influ-
enced by this unhelpful title given by modern editors and we overlook the vital
evidence afforded by the religious poetry which precedes and follows it. Similarly,
modern editors and anthologists take lyrics, probably because of their brevity, and
place them together in a heterogeneous collection or at best a grouping which
reflects the editor’s interpretation of the lyrics, without recourse to the manuscript
context. Julia Boffey takes the example of Gower’s Traitié pour essampler les amantz
marietz, which is generally attached to his Confessio Amantis; it would appear that
Gower, who was keen on supervising scribal copying of his works, wished his
readers to see a connection between the two. Other authors such as Hoccleve,
who write autograph copies of their poetry, must have desired their shorter poems
Introduction 5
to be read in manuscript sequence. The sequence of longer lyrics, such as those
associated with Charles of Orleans in Harley 682, is also significant: Boffey states
that ‘the coherence and comprehensibility of the sequence largely depends on
each short poem occupying a particular place in the unfolding story. It would be
hard to shuffle them around into a different order and still produce overall sense.’
Other manuscripts contain some of these poems in the same order, which would
point to a recognised sequence. Once more, marginal devices come to our rescue,
and Boffey demonstrates how mise-en-page, rubrication and marginal numbers both
create a unifying appearance to a sequence and also establish an order of presen-
tation designed by the author or compiler. Such manuscript investigation can cast
new light on an interpretation of many lyrics after centuries of plucking them out
of context and bundling together according to the whims of scholars.
Mise-en-page is a central topic in Matti Peikola’s article on the manuscripts of the
Wycliffite Bible. The layout of the page, as he states, ‘silently guides the reader
towards a certain reception – for example concerning his or her assumptions
about the genre of a text or the interpretation of its argument structure’. The
mise-en-page can also give us clues as to where the manuscript was copied, as there
were different ‘house rules’ for layout in different scriptoria or workshops. Also,
later copyists often kept the same appearance on the page, so one can detect the
evolution of a text by the manuscript layout. Peikola concentrates on the ruling
patterns in the manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible. This allows him to survey the
distribution data in different versions and to date and locate them, with important
consequences for the history of the production of the Bible as a book. The differ-
ences in the layout from what he characterises as the norm show ‘an inherent vari-
ation present in manuscript culture’. He makes an analogy with Middle English
language, namely an attempt to standardise, with a normative layout rather than
an exact reproduction. Peikola clearly shows the neglected potential of the study
of ruling practices in manuscripts, and suggests a database to track the many types
of page rulings. Once more, this is only possible after a close examination of the
manuscript itself.
Some of the essays also consider contexts peripheral to the manuscript. For
instance, although Beadle does not look at a particular physical manuscript, his
consideration of a list of French books that were owned by Sir John Fastolf yields
significant information about the roles played by books among the fifteenth-century
English gentry and nobility. The case of this list of French books is, however, both
peculiar to Fastolf’s eclectic tastes and indicative of new tastes among the educated
English laity. The French books owned by Fastolf, and which may have been
acquired directly, or copied, from the former French royal library bought by the
Duke of Bedford, denotes a familiarity with, and a desire to emulate, the tastes and
the interest in the vernacular humanism prevalent in French courtly circles. Such a
humanist interest in classical and late antique learning cannot be found elsewhere
among Fastolf’s English contemporaries. It is, therefore, worth while reading the
list of French books, as written down by William Worcester, who worked as Fasto-
lf’s secretary, as indicative of the recognition on the part of this bookish man of
the significance of this segment of Fastolf’s library. On the other hand, some of
6 Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey
the items found in the list reflect contemporary interest in private lay devotions,
such as the Somme le Roi or the meditations in French attributed to St Bernard.
Fastolf’s desire to emulate French princely and ducal collections by owning not
only de luxe manuscripts, but works reflecting French interest in classical and late
antique learning is revealing of translatio studii. However, one is still left with the
question about the exact use made of the French books owned by Sir Fastolf. Was
it important that he, or someone in his household, would read them, or did they
serve only as a demonstration of wealth and status, to be given as gifts to important
patrons or shown as treasures to guests visiting the much-coveted and sumptuous
residence of Caister? Beadle has good reason to believe that both uses were made
of such French books, and that only a close reading of some of those books – when
possible within their manuscript context – will yield further information about the
reading practice of Fastolf and/or members of his household.
Edwards’s contribution to this volume highlights the Hopton Hall Manuscript,
which, having been in private hands for several centuries, has received little crit-
ical attention. Edwards not only describes the contents of this small and unpre-
tentious codex, but also discusses the lay audience to whom the Middle English
texts in it would have been directed as a tool for private devotional purposes.
Using a comparison with other manuscripts (such as Bodleian Eng poet.a.1, or
Tokyo, Takamiya 15, among others), Edwards is able to construct a pattern of
compilation for some of the most popular works of this manuscript, although the
significance of local access to texts (Hopton Hall is written in a form of Norfolk
English) is not neglected. This innovative approach to a fifteenth-century vernac-
ular manuscript throws light not only on the manuscript itself, but also on the
commissioning by lay people of devotional writings, which is a mark of fifteenth-
century textual culture and lay piety.
The contribution by Cré also focuses on a fifteenth-century vernacular manu-
script, Oxford, Bodleian MS 505, which provides valuable evidence of fifteenth-
century textual diversity. Unlike the Hopton Hall manuscript it contains two
vernacular texts which are specifically addressed to a readership of enclosed reli-
gious. The discussion by Cré explores at length the intriguing juxtaposition of
two texts, one of which can be read as a commentary upon the other. Indeed, a
chapter of The Chastising of God’s Children can be read as a critique of some of the
contentious theological statements found in some parts of The Mirror of Simple Souls,
a text that, in its French garb, was considered heretical, although this point may
not have been known to those who read the Middle English version. So, how can
one make sense of the company those two texts keep in this manuscript? One
other way of reading these two texts in this particular manuscript context is to view
the radical material of The Mirror and its echoes in the second text as an instance of
elaborate probatio and discretio, which Cré defines as ‘the correct assessment of one’s
own and other people’s spiritual experiences’.
Gillespie, in his ‘The haunted text: reflections in The Mirror to Deuout People’,
makes a case for the significance of primary readership in understanding the
rationale behind the production of devotional texts. The Mirror is preserved in two
copies from around 1450, therefore several decades after the Arundel decrees of
Introduction 7
1407–9. Gillespie begins by re-assessing the role played by the Carthusians in the
production and circulation of books, arguing for a controlled dissemination of
books on their part, and a movement of books from the laity into the Carthusian
environment, rather than the other way round. Gillespie reads the Mirror in the
context of a Sheen–Syon axis, with a Carthusian monk writing for the attention
of a Syon nun. However, the context for the making and the reading of the text is
infinitely more complex and fascinating than one could anticipate. Gillespie reads
the prologue in the light of the author’s own awareness of the impressively learned
community of Syon brothers who lived next to Sheen and whose library may have
served the author in his reading and use of secondary literature. Another issue
at stake here is the text’s allusion to a more extended readership, possibly lay. A
careful assessment of the monastic context of Syon shows that the reputation of
the house attracted a large number of visitors, for whom housing, but also pastoral
care and guidance, would be provided by the Syon brothers. Gillespie’s reading of
some of the passages of The Mirror offer convincing evidence for a text written for
a very specific religious community, which, however, accommodated a number of
lay individuals within its precincts. Read in the context of this eclectic community,
The Mirror’s overall structure and its allusion to lay religious practice cast new light
on this work.
Textual community, more particularly scribal community, is also at the heart of
the next contribution. Hanna’s ‘Some North Yorkshire scribes and their context’
considers four manuscript volumes with shared vernacular material and produc-
tion features. In addition, three scribes made contributions to more than one of
the books. There is much in favour of a scribal community responsible for the
transmission of central Northern texts. Linguistic features point to an area in the
vicinity of Burneston, in the North Riding, but, as Hanna concedes, this group of
at least eleven scribes must have been working in a textual community of some sort,
rather than independently in some of the Yorkshire villages around Burneston.
The evidence points to Ripon as the most likely centre for the production and use
of the texts manufactured by those scribes. Hanna then paints a most interesting
picture of Ripon as the local centre for the manufacture of both religious and
secular texts. Clerics were fairly numerous in this small community, as they were
drawn by the activities of the Minster. The Minster, with a staff of more than
thirty, was founded by St Wilfrid in the late seventh century and played a signifi-
cant role in the development of the town. In addition to clerics working within its
precincts, the abbey itself was responsible for two schools and had to staff it with
additional clerics. There were also two hospitals in Ripon in which more than half
a dozen clerics had residence and were active in one capacity or another. Hanna
makes a case for Ripon as a likely place for the production of texts such as those
described in his chapter, and another look at Ripon reveals a community very
much devoted to the para-liturgical practices that took place in the abbey, and one
certainly eager in the practice of local lay devotions, possibly triggered by the cult
of St Wilfrid within the Minster. Hanna offers a wealth of details about some of
the most prominent gentry in Ripon, thus building up a web of social connections
among various literate families which could constitute the kind of nexus through
8 Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey
which the Ripon manuscripts were disseminated. Hanna proposes a possible late
medieval literary community for those manuscripts, an avenue of research that he
suggests could be carried out for other manuscript groups, hence contributing to a
broader awareness of late medieval English literary communities.
In his ‘Looking for a context: Rolle, anchoritic culture and the Office of the
Dead’, Renevey attempts a reconstruction of the possible cultural and textual
contexts which triggered Rolle to write a commentary on the nine lessons of the
Office of the Dead, whose core is based on some verses of the Book of Job. Although
one of the obvious reasons for the writing of a commentary on the nine lessons
could be a post-plague late medieval preoccupation with mortality, Renevey finds
evidence in Rolle’s text for a concern that is more complex than that. The chapter
therefore investigates Rolle’s personal interest in, and desire for alignment with,
anchoritic culture, and sees that tradition in which the presence of the Office of the
Dead was widespread as an important element for the making of the commentary.
The number of extant manuscripts (forty-four manuscripts of the full text) attests
to a fifteenth-century popularity for Super novem lectiones mortuorum. The chapter
speculates on the popularity of the work in Yorkshire, based on an interest in a
form of spirituality influenced by anchoritic practice and of which Rolle became a
model and proponent. That interest in the anchoritic mode of life is seen not only
among the Yorkshire clergy, with York Minster as a focal point, but also among
the merchant class and the Yorkshire gentry. Evidence of support for anchorites
among noble families speaks in favour of a relationship that was not only finan-
cially based, but also one which regarded anchorites as a source of emulation for
the practice of lay private spirituality.
The last chapter of this book brings us back to the manuscript context. The
combined study of palaeographical and linguistic data promises interesting results
which, in parallel with a consideration of the social logic of texts, further supports
a manuscript culture of variance. As no two witnesses of a text are identical,
we can gather information about the origins and provenance of a text by the
palaeographical evidence in the manuscript. Jeremy Smith shows in his contri-
bution how developments in handwriting can act independently of changes in
the sound-system and that the form of individual letters – hitherto the province
of palaeography – has to be seen as an important part of linguistic enquiry. The
fourteenth century in particular saw major orthographic changes which affected
written English all over England. One must remember that dialectal forms may
be introduced by the scribe and not be indicative of the origins of the author or of
the original text.
It is hoped that this collection of essays will encourage other scholars to examine
the manuscript and cultural context of the medieval texts which they are exam-
ining. New digital technology will undoubtedly play in the future a major role in
bringing the ‘manuscript experience’, hitherto the reserve of the scholar privi-
leged to handle the original manuscript, to a broader reading public, so they can
enjoy the multifaceted sensation of studying the medieval text in context. Such
democratic access to the manuscript context of medieval texts should also lead
scholars further in their attempt at viewing them within an historical and social
Introduction 9
logic, without, however, evading their symbolic function.14 Indeed, it is our belief
that, rather than creating a historical distance between the medieval and our post-
modern world, our attempt to reconstruct a social and cultural logic to medieval
texts will illuminate better how, despite noticeable differences, those texts still talk
to us in a way which matters and make us able to understand better our sense of
(post-) modern selfhood.15
Notes
1 We are particularly indebted to the discussions which took place in the special issue of
Speculum 65, 1990, under the editorial guidance of Stephen G. Nichols. Further refer-
ences will be made to specific articles that are part of this volume.
2 Like Wenzel, it is not without a certain scepticism that we use the term ‘New Philology’;
see Siegfried Wenzel, ‘Reflections on (New) Philology’, Speculum 65, 1990, 11–18.
3 See Stephen G. Nichols, ‘Introduction: Philology in a Manuscript Culture’, Speculum 65,
1990, 1–10 (esp. p. 2).
4 See Paul Zumthor, Essai de poétique médiévale, Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1972; see also
Bernard Cerquiglini, Eloge de la variante: Histoire critique de la philologie, Paris: Editions du
Seuil, 1989. For a discussion of the term ‘mouvance’ in Middle English literature, see
Andrew Taylor, ‘Authorizing Text and Writer’, in Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Nicholas
Watson, Andrew Taylor and Ruth Evans (eds), The Idea of the Vernacular: An Anthology of
Middle English Literary Poetry 1280–1520, Exeter: University of Exeter Press and Univer-
sity Park PA: Penn State University Press, 1999, pp. 3–15; for a discussion and use
of the terms ‘flowing series’ and ‘variance’ which respectively stand for Zumthor’s
‘mouvance’ and Cerquiglini’s ‘variante’, see esp. pp. 10–12. See also Suzanne Fleis-
chman, ‘Philology, Linguistics, and the Discourse of the Medieval Text’, Speculum 65,
1990, 19–37 (esp. p. 27).
5 See Nichols, op. cit., p. 8.
6 For a discussion of audience pertinent to this volume, and with reference to Zumthor
and Cerquiglini, see Ruth Evans, ‘Readers/Audiences/Texts’, in Wogan-Browne et al.,
op. cit., pp. 109–16.
7 See Fleishman, op. cit., p. 31, footnote 43. For an adaptation of this concept from the
field of linguistics to that of the medieval manuscript, see Jean-Claude Mühlethaler,
‘Inversions, Omissions and Co-textual Reorientation of Reading: The Ballades of Charles
d’Orléans in Vérard’s La Chasse et le Départ d’Amours (1509)’, in Adrian Armstrong and
Malcolm Quainton (eds), Book and Text in France, 1400–1600: Poetry on the Page, Aldershot
and Burlington: Ashgate, 2007, pp. 32–47.
8 For a study of the medieval miscellany, to which several of the contributors to this volume
have contributed, see Stephen G. Nichols and Siegfried Wenzel (eds), The Whole Book:
Perspectives on the Medieval Miscellany, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996.
9 See Fleishman, op. cit., p. 37.
10 See Gabrielle M. Spiegel, ‘History, Historicism, and the Social Logic of the Text in the
Middle Ages’, Speculum 65, 1990, 59–86.
11 Ibid., p. 68.
12 Nichols calls this interest in manuscript culture ‘a postmodern return to the origins of
medieval studies’. See Nichols, op. cit., p. 7.
13 See Julia Boffey’s essay within this volume, pp. 85–95.
14 See Spiegel, op. cit., p. 86.
15 On the medieval self, and on why medievalists cannot remain indifferent to seeing
how past and present bear important claims upon one another, see Lee Patterson, ‘On
the Margin: Postmodernism, Ironic History, and Medieval Studies’, Speculum 65, 1990,
87–108.
1 The manuscript experience
What medieval vernacular
manuscripts tell us about authors
and texts
Graham D. Caie
It is still normal practice to analyse, teach and even edit medieval texts with no
or only limited reference to the manuscript context. The edited medieval text
which the student confronts today is divorced from its physical surroundings
and presented in anthologies or individual editions in a clinically clean, restored
version with modern punctuation. The editor generally gives a title if the text is
untitled, thereby suggesting an interpretation, such as the Old English poem The
Wife’s Lament, which might very well be neither a lament nor by a wife. Such an
approach would never be permitted by the archaeologist, for example, who would
invariably study an artefact in its immediate surroundings, and take particular
care to note the other objects found in its proximity. In the same way, everything
that physically surrounds a text in its manuscript is potentially significant. The
medieval reader of a manuscript approached a text with a certain mindset and
expectations which are different from those of the reader of a printed text. For this
reason it is important to study the text in its manuscript context.
In the early seventeenth century John Donne suggests that the manuscript is
respected more than the printed book:
With the increase in both devotional and bureaucratic literacy and the rise
of new methods of textual organisation and analysis in the later twelfth
century, the page layout or ordinatio of the text supplanted monastic medi-
tatio [whereby words read out were meditated on and memorised]. Now
it was the physical materiality of writing as a system of visual signs that
was stressed. This shift from speaking words to seeing words, is funda-
mental to the development of marginal imagery … Once the manuscript
page becomes a matrix of visual signs and is no longer one of flowing linear
speech, the stage is set not only for supplementation and annotation but also
for disagreement and juxtaposition – what the scholastics called disputatio. …
By the end of the thirteenth century no text was spared the irreverent explo-
sion of marginal mayhem.2
Material
The material on which the text is written is significant. The choice of writing
material depended on availability and cost, as well as the purpose of the writing
and the degree of permanence the writer wished for his work. The witness of a
medieval vernacular text need not in fact be found on membrane, but on wax,
wood, papyrus, slate, stone or cloth. Wax was commonly used for a rough copy
of a text as it was less expensive than membrane, and the tablets, made of wood
covered in wax and held together by leather straps, were portable and could be
reused many times.4 It was employed for ephemeral material or as a preliminary
stage in the writing process. Paper was initially used in England in the early four-
teenth century, but it was not widely found until the following century, as it was
not considered sufficiently durable.
For example, there is in the Hunterian collection at Glasgow University an
early paper copy of The Canterbury Tales (Plate 1), written by a father and son team
by the name of Geoffrey and Thomas Spirleng and completed in January 1476, as
the colophon tells us.5 Both write in a utilitarian hand, probably for their own use,
as there are no decorations or other embellishments. Plate 1 shows the colophon
crossed out by one of the scribes, as he realized that two tales had been omitted;
the Clerk’s Tale, one of those omitted, follows this colophon, and one can sense the
frustration that the work has not been completed yet! The fact that two other tales,
those of the Shipman and Prioress, had been copied twice shows that father and
son must have made their copy over some time and perhaps in spare moments
from their day jobs in Norwich. This is the type of clue one can get from a study
of the text in its manuscript context.
There is also evidence that readers at the onset of printing treated the paper
book differently from the manuscript witness; a manuscript version of a text seems
to have attracted marginal comment more readily than printed paper versions
of the same date. There was a tradition, as the quotation from Michael Camille
implies, of adding comments to manuscripts and viewing them as loci of ongoing
discussion, something to which the reader can contribute and perhaps help shape
by adding to it during its transmission, whereas the printed book had a greater
sense of completion and finality. Electronic publishing has to some extent restored
the possibility of changing one’s work at a later date, as work in progress can be
put on a website and accessed and changed by the author at any time. The medi-
eval text in the manuscript was also forever mutating – the term mouvance is often
used – and evolving as it passed from scribe to scribe; changes are introduced if
the scribe simply makes a mistake or has access to another witness of the text or
if he thinks he can improve the text. Chaucer was obviously worried about this
problem when he gently scolds his scribe, whom he requests
Plate 1 Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales. MS Glasgow University Library, Hunter 197, folio
102v, 1476.
14 Graham D. Caie
[…] after my making thow wryte more trewe;
So ofte adaye I mot thy werk renewe,
It to correcte and eke to rubbe and scrape,
And al is thorugh thy negligence and rape [haste]
(‘Chaucers Wordes unto Adam, His Owene
Scriveyn’, lines 4–7)6
The notion of mouvance implies that the work has no authentic text prop-
erly speaking, but that it is constituted by an abstract scheme, materialized
in an unstable way from manuscript to manuscript, from performance to
performance.7
Quality control was introduced in the universities, where books were copied
by students, to avoid errors creeping in. Sections of books would be distributed to
students, who would copy pieces at a time, hence the pecia system, and pass them
on to colleagues; errors could then creep in and multiply, along the lines of the
‘Chinese whispers’ game, unless texts were periodically checked and corrected. In
addition early printers seem to have treated the manuscript as a disposable and
possibly inferior object. The Hunterian collection in Glasgow University Library
houses both the only extant manuscript of the Middle English Romaunt of the Rose
(see frontispiece), part of which is attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer, and a copy of the
1532 Thynne edition of this work. It is obvious when one studies this manuscript
that this was the one used by Thynne, not least because the printer has boldly
marked the manuscript with aids and advice for the typesetters, for example with
column divisions and marginal notes where there are textual discrepancies. When
a line is missing, for example, he adds ‘lak a lyn’ (folio 17v) and where there has
been misfoliation in the source manuscript he places marks in the margins to indi-
cate that something is wrong (folio 145r: see Plate 2).8 It is obvious that Thynne is
unaware that the problem is misfoliation, as he would have rectified it; he simply
knows that there is a break in sense and that lines are missing. Inky fingerprints
and many other printers’ symbols, e.g. to mark the columns in the printed edition,
also reflect the casual attitude of the printer to the membrane manuscript and
in this way we can learn how manuscripts were used or indeed abused in later
generations.9 The vellum often landed up as book bindings; even, in the case of an
Icelandic manuscript, as a waistcoat.10 It is easy today to forget the effort, time and
cost that went into the simple act of writing. The parchment had to be prepared,
mended if torn, smoothed, stretched and cut to shape; the page would be pricked
in the margin to allow ruling lines to be drawn to guide the scribe and then the
page would be prepared for any illustration, gloss, illuminated or capital letters. A
quill would be sharpened with a knife which would also double as an eraser, just as
Chaucer states above that he has to rub and scrape his text after his scribe makes
mistakes. Then inks would have to be prepared, whether carbon-based or iron gall
ink, and coals used to speed the drying process.11
Plate 2 The Romaunt of the Rose. MS Glasgow University Library, Hunter 409, folio 145r, c.
1440.
16 Graham D. Caie
Finally, good light and reasonable warmth were also necessary. Michael
Clanchy has suggested, therefore, that writing on vellum was a seasonal activity,
and that monks considered it as arduous as working in the fields: ‘Writing was
a similar act of endurance, requiring three fingers to hold the pen, two eyes to
see the words, one tongue to speak them, and the whole body to labour.’12 The
modern reader of a book cannot fully appreciate, Clanchy states, the value given
to parchment documents: ‘To write on parchment was therefore to make a lasting
memorial.’13 The verb ‘to write’ in early Germanic languages such as Old English
(writan) etymologically means ‘to inscribe’, ‘to tear’, and reflects the physical action
of permanent indentation or inscription on stone, metal, wood or parchment.
When one considers the cost in labour and materials needed to ‘write’ in this
sense, then one better appreciates the need to practise and prepare with inferior
materials. The nature of the membrane reflects its cost and thus suggests how
prestigious the text might be considered. The wide range in the documented cost
of parchment reflects the diversity in quality. The finest, smoothest and thinnest
membrane might come from a squirrel or in utero calves’ skins and would be used
for the exquisite miniature Books of Hours, while rougher skins would be rela-
tively cheap in a country such as Iceland or England that made much of its wealth
from its sheep. The processing of the membrane was also significant, and the work
that went into perfecting the skin was often more important than the nature of the
skin itself, while the major cost was the ink, pigments for illustrations and scribes’
time. There was a major commitment, therefore, of time, labour and money when
making the decision to write a text.
For that reason materials other than vellum were used to practise on, such as
wax and slate. Michael Clanchy gives examples in monastic settings of monks
writing on wax in order to commit the text to membrane at leisure, just as
today we might use a notebook to scribble data which will later be entrusted
to a computer or become a published article. He narrates the story of Orderic
Vitalis, who hears an interesting saint’s life when visiting another monastery, but
as it is late and too cold, he ‘dictates’ it on to wax tablets in order to ‘write’ it at
leisure in his own monastery. ‘I made a full and accurate abbreviation on tablets,
and now I shall endeavour to entrust it summarily to parchment’, he states.14
Similarly, scraps of parchment left over from books were used in this preliminary
process, as were the margins of existing books. ‘The process of composing on wax
tablets is thus described in Latin by the word dictitare (literally ‘to dictate’) … The
use of ‘writing’ (scriptitare) is confined to making the fair copy on parchment.’15
The ars dictaminis, a branch of rhetoric, laid down the rules for such preliminary
composition.16
Slate was used as well for rough notes, and we have one example in the recently
discovered fragments of Middle Scots lyrics written on slate and found in a silt
deposit in a Paisley Abbey drain. The slates, which contain fragments of lyrics and
musical notation, were discovered with other artefacts of metal, bone, pottery,
glass and wood.17 One slate (4.2 × 3.0 cm) is incised on both sides and contains the
text of a Middle Scots lyric. The incisions, which may have been made by a pin,
are not deep, suggesting that it was probably not intended for lengthy preserva-
The manuscript experience 17
tion, perhaps only to be read by the inscriber. It is clearly in a fifteenth-century
secretary hand, with a few signs of hybrid or bastard secretary. Such a cursive
hand is not the easiest or best suited to inscribe on slate, but possibly the scribe
had no training in writing the more angular textura script.18 Another slate (meas-
uring 12.2 × 6.4 cm) has a short passage in musical notation which has been taken
from one part of a polyphonic composition; indeed, coming from the mid-fifteenth
century, it is the earliest example of polyphonic music in Scotland.19 A clue as to
the status of the slate inscriptions might come from the other slate fragments with
incisions found in the drain. Some show examples of practising the formation of
letters, as in a child’s copybook; others have practice designs, for example an inter-
woven Celtic pattern that must have been complex to draw. Such practice designs
are quite common on manuscript margins and flyleaves and many contain errors,
as one might expect.
What can one learn from the fact that these texts are on slate? One might expect
slate to be a common material used for inexpensive, rough copies of texts or for
school exercises. Slate was generally used by school children throughout Europe
until the first few decades of the last century and many older people today still
associate slate with school. Chalk was, of course, the writing implement usually
associated with slate, as it could be wiped out and the slate constantly reused.
However, inscribing on slate makes it impossible to recycle and it is also difficult to
make changes to the text. One possible use might be to practise an inscription on
slate before committing it to monumental stone, just as occurred with writing on
wax.20 Another possible use is in slate tablets with musical notation issued to the
user, for example a choirboy, and returned for future use; these would be durable
objects that would withstand rough treatment.
The script
The script chosen by the scribe sends signals to the medieval reader. The finest
works of authority would be in clear, Gothic or textura script, the more pains-
taking, formal script such as the rotunda or quadrata, while by the fourteenth
century vernacular works and less important documents would normally be
in a court or cursive hand, the predecessor of our modern handwriting. There
developed, therefore, a hierarchy of scripts which carried significant associations.
Square capitals might be used for headings and less imposing minuscule script
for glosses. It was not uncommon to have the same scribe change from textura
to cursive on the same page if he were moving from a Latin to a vernacular text.
In the Old English poem, A Summons to Prayer, found in Corpus Christi College,
Cambridge 201, pp. 166–7, the scribe changes hand within each line of this maca-
ronic poem as it shifts from Latin to Old English.21 By the fourteenth century the
majority of texts were produced by professional lay scribes, as it was also a time of
pragmatic literacy. Professional scribes would prepare sample pages of scripts for
their clients to choose from and of course the cost depended on the time a specific
script took. It is significant that much (though not all) of later Lollard writings
appear in reasonably cheap manuscripts in a fast, utilitarian, cursive script, as the
18 Graham D. Caie
aim was not to produce attractive books, but to spread religious ideas as quickly,
cheaply, legibly and widely as possible.
The gloss was the mark of the privileged, authoritative or canonical texts, not
a mere afterthought. The layout itself then had an interpretative function in the
presentation of the text to the reader, as Martin Irvine points out:
In every format that was designed to include glosses, page layout and changes
in script were used to signify both the distinction between text and gloss and
the inseparable textual relationship between them. The text and gloss format,
The manuscript experience 19
and the literary methodology that it represents, continued in various forms
throughout the later Middle Ages … The layout of manuscripts in the gram-
matical tradition reveals a striking case of interpretative methodology crystal-
lizing into a visual form that disclosed an underlying principle of textuality.24
The size and type of script indicate to the reader which text on the page has
authority (generally a biblical text) and which is secondary (the commentary); then
there might be many other marginal notes, such as lemmata, which aided the
reader source the commentary, just as today we know that the footnote in smaller
type is less important than the main text on a printed page.
These glosses were not marginal additions, but an integral part of the work and
necessary for the reading experience. They were carefully planned when the page
was ruled, sometimes with a ratio of 1:2 lines for text and gloss. Glosses could
be interlinear or marginal and might provide lexical aids and translations to or
commentary on the major text. All manuscripts presented with an apparatus of
glosses and commentary would be recognised as objects of cultural value and spir-
itual significance. An unglossed Latin text was not worth consideration, just like
an unreviewed book today.25
The reason for this is the nature of the university teaching system of the twelfth
century onwards, namely scholasticism. Schools were gradually divorced from
monastic control, and with the growth in bureaucracy there was a need for more
educated men and more written material. The explosion in learning, especially
after the Black Death, meant that more and more texts were needed. Prag-
matic literacy was on the increase and ‘was becoming something of a survival
skill’.26 In the later fourteenth century members of the stationers’ guild in London
were allowed to remain open on Sundays to catch up with the growing demand
for books.27
Beryl Smalley stresses the vital importance of the glosses in teaching and
exegesis up to the seventeenth century.28 And in order to eradicate heresy one
had to ensure that the accepted, authoritative commentaries were glossed in the
margins of the texts so the palimpsest of gloss on gloss accumulated. Additional
commentary might be squeezed in between text and official commentary. This
relationship is typical of medieval textuality, namely a dialogue between text and
metatext or gloss, centre and margin.29 For this reason the medieval manuscript is
considered fair game for addenda, as it is an organic, living, regenerating object.
There were glosses on glosses in a Chinese-box fashion, and in the manuscripts of
scholastic texts the original text trickles through wide margins filled by commen-
tary on commentary, all clearly laid out with lemmata to aid the reader.
The danger is that he will ‘feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe’ and such origi-
nality is to be avoided at all costs. The narrator’s job is to ‘reherce’ or ‘recite’, as
Henryson says, as closely as possible his source or else he is being ‘untrewe’, even
if it means reciting what the foul-mouthed Miller says:
Chaucer repeats the verb ‘reherce’, for his action is that of scribe, not even
compiler. The alternative is to ‘falsen’, ‘falsify’ his material. The poet, then, goes
to great lengths to avoid any criticism of originality. In his A Treatise on the Astrolabe
(lines 59–62) he states: ‘But considere wel that I ne usurpe nat to have fownde this
werk of my labour or of myn engin. I nam but a lewd compilatour of the labour
of olde astrologers.’36
So, according to Chaucer, all the writer must do is to recite what he heard, tell
what he dreamed, recycle old material, because, as he states in The Parliament of
Fowlis:
Just as new corn grows from the earlier seed, so also new material emerges from
the works of the ancients. Once more the concept of ‘good feyth’ or ‘truth’ is
introduced as a kind of escape clause. The vernacular author, then, reproduces
and recycles the ancients.
In the fourteenth century vernacular writers were growing in confidence and
with their increased fame and power, they were usurping the privileges of the
authoritative text. This can be seen in the fact that we have the names of these
authors and in the layout of the manuscript page, for example in the use of marginal
glosses. Boccaccio was one of the first to add his own glosses to the manuscript of
his work. In his manuscript of the Teseida Boccaccio himself invented and wrote
down his own glossed commentary, in addition to rubrics and decorations.37
The manuscript experience 23
It is obviously an exemplar, not a dictamen, so that its format was intended
by Boccaccio to be copied by others. But it is a glossed book. The stanzas of
the source text are written in the large display hand reserved for ‘auctors’, and
commentary, written in the appropriate script, surrounds it in the margins.
These annotations, comments and corrections are also Boccaccio’s … In
Teseida, Boccaccio is both the originator of his text, and its reader; his own
commentary invites commentary from others … By giving his new work all
the trappings of a glossed book, Boccaccio was claiming for it the immediate
institutional status of an ‘auctor’.38
So the vernacular poets of the fourteenth century who, like Gower and Chaucer,
were aware of their talents and originality, could ensure, by adapting some of
scholastic manuscript practices, that the layout and presentation of their work
made the reader immediately aware that this was the work of an auctor, in spite of
explicit textual claims that they were mere compilers. One example is the layout of
the Gower manuscripts. Gower furnishes his Confessio Amantis with Latin apparatus
such as glosses and a Latin colophon. The marginal glosses which he composed
himself provide commentary or refer to sources. Gower, then, claims to be a mere
compiler, but, like Boccaccio, presents his own works in a manuscript setting
which would lead his contemporary readers to think that this was the work of a
genuine auctor.39 As with the Latin works there is a difference in the script between
the vernacular and the Latin. The same scribe wrote both, but with a more formal
hand for the Latin, which is rubricated and introduced with a paraph sign. Derek
Pearsall states that Gower’s plan was carefully preserved by later scribes and that
‘we have to understand … how exceptional for a vernacular work was the role that
Gower chose for the Latin apparatus.’40 Pearsall also sees a dynamic relationship
between the Latin and the English in Gower, and states that ‘Latin is the means
by which Gower’s poem is turned into a Book.’41
And what of Chaucer? Alistair Minnis writes:
Chaucer was content to assume the role of compiler and to exploit the literary
form of compilatio. Indeed, so deliberate was he in presenting himself as a
compiler that one is led to suspect the presence of a very self-conscious author
who was concerned to manipulate the conventions of compilatio for his own
literary ends. If Gower was a compiler who tried to present himself as an
author, Chaucer was an author who hid behind the ‘shield and defence’ of
the compiler.42
However, the manuscript evidence suggests otherwise. One of the earliest of The
Canterbury Tales manuscripts is Ellesmere, which is written on fine membrane in
a careful and attractive hand. It has illustrations of the Canterbury pilgrims and
space was reserved for the glosses by the compiler – they were not squeezed in
later. As Malcolm Parkes states: ‘he [the compiler of Ellesmere] clearly anticipated
the apparatus of headings and glosses, since he added a frame ruling in the outer
margins to receive it, and all the apparatus – headings as well as glosses –is placed
24 Graham D. Caie
within the ruling … In Ellesmere the scribe allowed for one- or two-line decorated
initials.’43 He used an impressive anglicana formata script for the main text and
a finer bastard anglicana (that is, with textura elements) for the heading, incipits,
explicits and any Latin in the glosses. Parkes sums up this manuscript as follows:
The Ellesmere manuscript is a large, imposing book – what today might be consid-
ered a de luxe coffee-table book, as much for display as use. Its appearance and ordi-
nation, then, immediately tell the reader that this is an impressive work and thereby
signal that its composer is an auctor, in the same way that Gower’s Confessio Amantis
or Boccaccio’s Teseida are intended to impress the reader. Of major significance
is the fact that the earliest and most authoritative manuscripts such as Ellesmere
and Hengwrt also have Latin glosses. The very presence of glosses in the same
hand (or an even more prestigious hand) with the same size of initial capital, with
paraph sign and given equal visual prominence on the page, makes it look like an
authoritative text.
I have shown elsewhere that I believe that many of the glosses in The Canterbury
Tales were authorial, just as Gower’s and Boccaccio’s were.45 The glosses, however,
have never been given their rightful place by editors, and it is only with the advent
of electronic editing and manuscript digitisation that we can see their significance.
Most glosses are in Latin and quote source material. They are found in around
thirty of the fifteenth-century manuscripts of the Tales, and were considered by
succeeding generations of scribes to be sufficiently important to copy. They are
not all source references, but comments which divert the reader’s eye from the
text to the gloss. Many critics who have studied the glosses in detail seem to agree
that it is likely that they were written by Chaucer himself. This might also explain
why they were given such prominence on the page and were faithfully copied for
a century. Robert Enzer Lewis has shown how the glosses in The Man of Law’s
Tale from Innocent III’s De Contemptu Mundi probably came from the same source
manuscript as that used by Chaucer when translating Boethius in his Boece, as the
same phrasing and errors occur in both. He states that the glosses ‘were written
either by Chaucer in his autograph copy of the Man of Law’s Tale or by a scribe
under Chaucer’s supervision from Chaucer’s own manuscript of the De Miseria, or
by a scribe shortly after Chaucer’s death from that same manuscript found among
Chaucer’s papers.’46
Some glosses simply state ‘Verum est’, for example in the Wife of Bath’s Prologue,
when the Wife says that no man can swear and lie as any woman (line 227), and
these are unlikely to be authorial. Some quote Chaucer’s Latin source, but in doing
so remind the reader of the biblical or patristic context, and on some occasions
The manuscript experience 25
by quoting the text they highlight the Wife’s deliberate, partial quotation from the
Bible in which she omits the reciprocal continuation of the text, for example ‘God
bad oure housbondes for to love us weel’ (line 161) or ‘I have the power durynge al
my lyf/Upon his propre body and not he’ (lines 158–9). Other biblical quotations
in the glosses are in fact comments: the Wife claims that no clerk ever praised a
woman (689), while the gloss adds the Proverbs 31: 10 text (here in translation):
‘The value of a virtuous woman is far above rubies’, showing that clerks do praise
women, but only virtuous ones.
At one point the Wife says she is attracted to her fifth husband ‘for his crispe
heer, shynyng as gold so fyn’ (304), ‘for his curly hair shining like fine gold’ – an
innocuous line, except that our attention is shifted to the gloss ‘Et procurator calam-
istratus’ (‘The curled darling who manages her affairs’); this quotation comes from
St Jerome’s Contra Jovinianum I, 47, and refers to the married whore who has what
today is called a toy boy, a young man with blond, curly hair. One might pass over
this comment about blond, curly hair, if the gloss had not quoted from Jerome
and reminded us of the Wife’s literary ancestry – the married whore who misuses
marriage to conceal adultery and milk the husband of his money. The glosses
attack not her sexuality as much as her textuality – not so much the sexual harass-
ment of her husbands but the textual harassment of Jerome.
The English and Latin texts are balanced on both sides of the page and so
it might be that the compiler of the manuscript wished to counterbalance the
subversive views of the Wife, which are in English, with Latin glosses from genuine
authoritative texts such as the Bible and Jerome. Ironically it is now the Latin
that has the lesser role of the commentary on the vernacular text. The glosses are
in Latin because that was the language of the source text and so the glossator is
reminding us of the original and allowing us to see how it is recast.
The new breed of English poet in the fourteenth century, therefore, verbally
claimed to be mere compilators (the Ellesmere manuscript has a colophon which
states ‘compiled by Geoffrey Chaucer’), but the manuscript evidence says other-
wise. In the visual presentation of their work poets, beginning with Boccaccio,
went to great lengths to ensure that they appeared on parchment as authoritative texts.
In fact in their own lifetime they had ‘arrived’ – they were genuine auctores. And
this evidence is conveyed on the manuscript page, contradicting the self-effacing
and traditional modesty that is protested in the text. Such a conclusion can only
come from viewing the text in its manuscript context.
Notes
1 One of the best works on this subject is by M.B. Parkes, ‘The Influence of the Concept
of Ordinatio and Compilatio on the Development of the Book’, 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. 115–41. See also Michael Camille, ‘Seeing
and Reading: Some Visual Implications of Medieval Literacy and Illiteracy’, Art History
8, 1985, 133–45, and his book Image on the Edge: The Margins of Medieval Art, London: Reak-
tion Books, 1992, pp. 11–55; Christopher de Hamel, Glossed Books of the Bible and the Origins
of the Paris Book Trade, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1984.
26 Graham D. Caie
2 Camille, op. cit. (1992), pp. 20–2.
3 See Graham D. Caie, ‘Hypertext and Multiplicity: The Medieval Example’, in A.
Murphy (ed.), Renaissance Texts: Theory, Editing, Textuality, Manchester: Manchester
University Press, 2000, pp. 30–43. For an example of such a digitised edition see the
electronic edition of the Middle English Romaunt of the Rose at http://www.memss.arts.
gla.ac.uk (accessed 9 March, 2007).
4 See Michael T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307, London:
Edward Arnold, 1987, pp. 91–2. I am indebted to Michael Clanchy for information on
writing practices.
5 MS Glasgow, Hunterian [U.1.1] 197. See more images of this manuscript at http://
special.lib.gla.ac.uk/exhibns/chaucer/works.html. See also Richard Beadle, ‘Geoffrey
Spirleng (c.1426–c.1494); A Scribe of the Canterbury Tales in His Time’, in Pamela
R. Robinson and Rivkah Zim (eds), Of the Making of Books: Medieval Manuscripts, Their
Scribes and Readers. Essays Presented to M.B. Parkes, Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997, pp.
116–46.
6 All quotations from Chaucer are taken from Geoffrey Chaucer, The Riverside Chaucer
(general editor Larry D. Benson), 3rd edn, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987.
7 Paul Zumthor, Parler du moyen âge, Paris: Les Editions de Minuit, 1980; trans. Sarah
White, Speaking of the Middle Ages, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1986, quoted by
Martin Irvine in ‘“Bothe text and gloss”: Manuscript Form, the Textuality of Commen-
tary, and Chaucer’s Dream Poems’, in Charlotte Cook Morse, Penelope Reed Doob
and Marjorie Curry Woods (eds), The Uses of Manuscripts in Literary Studies: Essays in
Memory of Judson Boyce Allen, Michigan: Western Michigan University, Medieval Insti-
tute Publications, 1992, p. 85.
8 See the online version at www.memss.arts.gla.ac.uk. This detail can be seen on
folio 17v.
9 See the Introduction to Charles Dahlberg’s edition of The Romaunt of the Rose. A Variorum
Edition of the Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1999, vol.
7, pp. 46–58.
10 An example of such a waistcoat is preserved in the Arnamagnean Institute, University
of Copenhagen.
11 See Christopher De Hamel’s excellent introduction to this process in Scribes and Illumina-
tors, London: British Museum, 1992.
12 Clanchy, op. cit., p. 217.
13 Ibid., p. 116.
14 Ibid., p. 91.
15 Ibid., p.21.
16 See Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1990, pp. 195–6.
17 See Graham D. Caie, ‘The Inscribed Paisley Slates’, in John Malden (ed.), The Monastery
and Abbey of Paisley, Paisley: Renfrewshire Local History Forum, 2000, pp. 199–204.
18 There is also textual evidence to suggest that the dialect is Scots. A phrase such as
‘I sa for me’ (‘I say for my part’), final <s> in 3rd person singular present tense verbs,
e.g., ‘maks’ and ‘blamys’, and the forms ‘sa’, ‘gud’, ‘luf” and ‘sho’(‘she’) all suggest a
Scots text.
19 See Kenneth Elliott, ‘Musical Slates: The Paisley Abbey Fragments’, in Malden, op.
cit., pp. 205–8.
20 An inscribed slate was discovered in 1998 during the Tintagel excavations; it dates from
the sixth or seventh century and was found with other slates which are inscribed with
decoration and figures. The main slate measures 3.3 × 1.85 cm.
21 See Graham D. Caie (ed.) The Old English Poem ‘Judgement Day II’, Cambridge: D.S.
Brewer, 2000, pp. 15–19.
22 See Martin Irvine, op. cit. (1992), pp. 81–119. See also Martin Irvine, The Making of
Textual Culture, Cambridge: CUP, 1994, pp. 390–3.
The manuscript experience 27
23 Carruthers, op. cit., p. 194.
24 Irvine, op. cit., pp. 89–90.
25 See Beryl Smalley, The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages, Notre Dame: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1964, pp. 56, 66 and 367.
26 Janet Coleman, English Literature in History, 1350–1400, London: Hutchinson, 1981, p.
47. See also the chapter entitled ‘Vernacular Literacy and Lay Education’ in Smalley,
op. cit., pp. 18–57.
27 Coleman, op. cit., p. 56.
28 Smalley, op. cit., p. 367. See also her chapter on the Gloss, pp. 46–65.
29 This is best demonstrated by Martin Irvine, op. cit. (1992), pp. 85–7.
30 This translation is taken from Alastair J. Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, 2nd edn,
Aldershot: Wildwood House, 1988, p. 185. I am greatly indebted to Minnis for much
of this section. Minnis continues: ‘The auctoritas belongs to God or to the divine will
as expressed by the voice of the people; he is a humble and unworthy minister of that
doctrine’, p. 186.
31 Minnis, op. cit., p. 172.
32 Carruthers, op. cit., p. 192.
33 Ralph Hanna, ‘Compilatio and the Wife of Bath: Latin Backgrounds, Ricardian Texts’,
in Alastair J. Minnis (ed.), Latin and Vernacular: Studies in Late-Medieval Texts and Manu-
scripts, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1989, p. 1.
34 All references to Robert Henryson are from Charles Elliott (ed.), Robert Henryson: Poems,
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963.
35 Minnis, op. cit., pp. 197–8.
36 Ibid.
37 Carruthers, op. cit., p. 218.
38 Ibid., p. 218.
39 Minnis, op. cit., p. 275.
40 Derek Pearsall, ‘Gower’s Latin in the Confessio Amantis’, in Minnis (ed.), Latin and Vernac-
ular, p.14.
41 Pearsall, op. cit., p. 23.
42 Minnis, op. cit., p. 210.
43 M.B. Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemi-
nation of Medieval Texts, London: Hambledon Press, 1991, p. 225.
44 Ibid., p. 228.
45 See Graham D. Caie, ‘The Significance of the Early Chaucer Manuscript Marginal
Glosses (with special reference to the Wife of Bath’s Prologue)’, The Chaucer Review 10, 1977,
354–5, and ‘The Significance of Marginal Glosses in the Earliest Manuscripts of The
Canterbury Tales’, in D.L. Jeffrey (ed.), Chaucer and the Scriptural Tradition, Ottawa: Ottawa
University Press, 1997, pp. 337–50.
46 Robert Enzer Lewis, ‘Glosses to the Man of Law’s Tale from Pope Innocent III’s De
Miseria humane conditionis’, Studies in Philology 64, 1967, 1–16, p. 13. Lewis lists (pp. 2–3)
the critics who support the argument of Chaucerian authorship. See also Daniel S.
Silvia, Jr, ‘Glosses to the Canterbury Tales from St Jerome’s Epistola contra Jovinianum’,
Studies in Philology 62, 1965, 31–3.
2 Aspects of mise-en-page
in manuscripts of the
Wycliffite Bible1
Matti Peikola
Elements of mise-en-page
Manuscript contents
Before any meaningful comparison between the mises-en-page of the manuscripts
is possible, it is important to recognise that behind the deceptively holistic title of
Wycliffite Bible the copies actually come in a number of different configurations as
regards their constituent texts. Manuscripts containing the whole Bible are quite
rare; only twenty such copies are mentioned in Lindberg’s 1970 survey. This scar-
city is probably explained in part by the status of some surviving incomplete copies
as first or second parts of two-volume Bibles whose complementary volumes have
become lost over the years.39 In any case, Lindberg’s survey clearly demonstrates
the prevalence among the manuscripts of copies containing all or part of the New
Testament. Approximately 70 per cent of the manuscripts listed by Lindberg
belong to this category. Why this is the case may relate to the prominence given
to the New Testament in Lollard theology.40 It may also reflect the use of these
manuscripts at mass or in private gatherings modelled upon the liturgical form
of that service; such use is suggested by the presence in a large number of New
Testament manuscripts of tables of lections where the beginnings and endings of
scriptural readings at mass for the whole liturgical year are given.41
The account by Deanesly, largely based on Foxe’s Acts and Monuments, gives the
impression that manuscripts of WB mentioned in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century
Lollard trials contained almost exclusively New Testament material.42 Contrary to
what might be expected on the basis of the surviving manuscripts, however, complete
manuscripts of the New Testament appear to have been relatively rare possessions
among the convicts, particularly after the mid-fifteenth century. As far as can be
gathered from Deanesly, in these later trials the most common types of manuscript
seem to have been those containing just one or two books of the New Testament
– such as the ‘Book of Luke’ and the Acts of the Apostles, owned in 1521 by Richard
Collins of Ginge and William Halliday of East Hendred, respectively.43
Surviving copies of WB also bear witness to the production of manuscripts
whose intended scope was limited to one or two New Testament books only. Such
copies include, for example, three manuscripts of Matthew and Mark together,
one of Luke and John together, one of Matthew, one of Mark and one of John on
its own, one of Acts, and one of the Apocalypse.44 These predominantly scriptural
manuscripts have to be set apart from those copies in which WB material (typically
individual books or even shorter excerpts) has been incorporated into religious
miscellanea of a more distinctively devotional or catechetical bent, or in manu-
scripts with other thematic concerns. In Worcester Cathedral F.172, for example
– copied by the so-called ‘Hammond-scribe’ – Acts appears between three peni-
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 35
tential exempla and the Scale of Perfection.45 Similarly, in BL Add. 10596, a manu-
script which once belonged to a Benedictine nun of Barking Abbey in Essex, the
book of Tobit and the Pistle of Holy Susannah (i.e. Daniel 13: 1–62) are found in
the context of various Middle English meditations and prayers.46 In Eton College
24, possibly made for Sir John Lisle of Woodhouse, Isle of Wight (d. 1471),47 the
Wycliffite translation of the Apocalypse is preceded by the Vulgate version of the
same book and followed by Berengar’s commentary; this contextualising move
essentially presents the WB text as subject to the Latin text preceding it.
Ruling patterns
While the broad distinction between single- and double-column layouts helps us
to perceive some trends in the mise-en-page design and development of WB manu-
scripts, it obscures the fact that within these two general categories almost forty
different ruling patterns are used. It is, however, these details of ruling that we
need to investigate in order to find potential evidence for more concrete produc-
tion relationships between the copies. Within the limited scope of this paper only
some aspects of the patterns can be brought up, and it is not possible to present
here a complete inventory of all types found in manuscripts of the WB sample. For
38 Matti Peikola
purposes of exact identification and further comparison of ruling patterns beyond
WB material, the patterns reviewed will be furnished with codes according to the
system presented by Muzerelle.64
The first thing to be noted about the ruling patterns is their very uneven distri-
bution: there are a few types which are relatively frequent, and a large number
which are found in one or two manuscripts only. Among double-column mises-
en-page, the pattern represented in Figure 1 in Appendix B (Muzerelle’s notation
1-1-11/0/2-2/JJ or J) is by far the most common, found in approximately 28 per
cent (N=37) of those 134 manuscripts for which exact information on ruling was
obtainable for the purposes of the present study. The second most frequent type,
represented in Figure 2 (1-1-11/0/1-1/JJ or J), occurs in approximately 14 per
cent (19) of the manuscripts, and the one in Figure 3 (1-1-11/0/2-1/JJ or J) in
approximately 5 per cent (7) of the copies. In other words, the pattern in which
the upper and lower horizontal bounding lines of the writing area are both double
(Figure 1) occurs about twice as frequently as the less complex one in which both
of these lines are single (Figure 2). This suggests that the principal motive behind
a scribe’s opting for a particular type of ruling was not the purely pragmatic need
to establish a simple frame for the text on all four sides. The choice was not made
on functional grounds, either; at least in WB manuscripts the double horizontal
line of the writing area is not intended to carry elements of the running heads or
marginal annotation, but functions in exactly the same way as the corresponding
single line. It seems likely that in adopting the double horizontal bounding lines
scribes were either closely imitating their exemplars or were relying on an estab-
lished convention for representing the text. A similar trend can be seen in copies
with a single-column layout; here, too, the pattern with double bounding lines for
both upper and lower horizontal frames (i.e. 1-1/0/2-2/J; cf. Figure 1) is clearly
the most frequent, found in fourteen manuscripts, while the single-column type
corresponding to Figure 2 (1-1/0/1-1/J) occurs in just five copies. As with the
double-column mise-en-page, the type in which only the upper bounding line is a
double line is less common than the other two, found in three manuscripts only
(1-1/0/2-1/J; cf. Figure 3).
In terms of physical size and range of contents of the manuscripts, the use of
the most common double-column ruling patterns represented in Figures 1–3 is
not confined to any particular textual configuration. The type in Figure 1, for
example, is used both in CUL Dd.1.27, a copy of the complete Bible in 62–4
text lines (writing area ca. 290 × 172 mm), and in BL Harley 5767, a copy of
the gospels of Luke and John in 23 text lines (ca. 116 × 78 mm). It seems not
unlikely, however, that even if this ruling pattern was used to produce copies of
different sizes, the scribes often retained the approximate number of text lines
in their copying. This interpretation is suggested by the fact that although the
number of lines for the pattern represented in Figure 1 ranges from 23 to 64, the
manuscripts are by no means evenly distributed along this continuum. Out of the
37 manuscripts with this pattern, no fewer than 20 have 30–6 lines; within this
range there are for example three copies of 30 lines throughout, two of 31, three of
32, three of 33, and two of 34 lines. Both Cambridge, Trinity College B.10.7 (New
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 39
Testament, LV) and JRL Eng 77 (New Testament, LV), for example, have 36
lines despite their rather differently sized writing areas (ca. 197 × 133 mm and ca.
125 × 82 mm respectively). However, among these 20 manuscripts there are also
several pairs whose writing areas are practically identical in size, such as JRL Eng
77 and NYPL MA 65 (New Testament, LV, 35 ll.); Bodley 665 (New Testament,
LV, 34 ll.) and BOD Douce 265 (New Testament, LV, 33 ll.); Cambridge, St
John’s College E.14 (Psalms–Sirach, LV, 32 ll.) and Bodley 979 (New Testament,
LV, 31 ll.); BOD Rawlinson C.237–8 (New Testament, LV, 30 ll.) and BOD Lyell
26 (New Testament, LV, 30 ll.). Although not members of any such identical
pairs, NYPL MA 66 (New Testament, LV, 34 ll.) and BOD Rawlinson C.752
(the four gospels, Apocalypse and Jude, LV, 33 ll.) also very much resemble these
manuscripts in that in all ten copies the writing areas vary by no more than ca. 2.5
cm (91–125 × 57–82 mm). With regard at least to the size of their writing area,
ruling pattern and lineation, these manuscripts concretely manifest the standard-
ising features of production earlier noted by Doyle and Hudson.65 This group will
be further investigated in the next major section with respect to the use of running
heads and initials.
Textually, a great majority of the 37 manuscripts in which the most common
double-column ruling pattern (Figure 1) is found either represent ‘pure’ LV (31
mss) or contain material from both versions (4 mss). Only two manuscripts are in
EV throughout. Incidentally, one of these belongs to those relatively few copies of
WB which are datable on other than palaeographic or stylistic grounds. The manu-
script in question is BL Egerton 617–18, a sizeable deluxe codex containing the
books from Proverbs to Apocalypse (writing area ca. 315 × 190, 46 ll.).66 Together
with its now lost companion volume, the manuscript once belonged to the library
of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester (see endnote 19). A reference to the
book in an inventory compiled after the Duke’s death establishes a terminus ante
quem of 1397, making it in fact the earliest of all copies of WB for which a date
can be assigned on the basis of external criteria.67 Doyle associates the decoration
of the manuscript with the metropolitan style and characterises it as an expen-
sive display copy of EV produced for court circles, similar in this respect to the
complete Bible now in Wolfenbüttel, Herzog-August Bibliothek MS Guelf. Aug.
A.2, once owned by the great-nephew of Gloucester, Thomas of Lancaster.68
Egerton 617–18 shows an early use of a ruling pattern which together with its
corresponding single-column type became the one most widely adopted in the
production of copies of LV during the fifteenth century.69 Compared with other
copies of EV, however, it would seem that Egerton can hardly be regarded as
a typical representative of manuscripts containing this version. This is apparent
from the way in which the ruling of text lines has been executed. In Egerton, as
in a majority of LV manuscripts, text lines have been ruled in ink and no attempt
has been made to erase them by the scribe. Moreover, the ruling of text lines does
not extend across the inter-column space, nor do the lines continue into the gutter.
The presence of ruling in either or both of these areas characterises a number
of early (s. xvi ex. or s. xiv/xv) EV manuscripts, such as BL Add. 15580 (inter-
column space ruled), BL Royal 1.B.vi (inter-column space ruled), CUL Add. 6681
40 Matti Peikola
(inter-column space ruled), CUL Add. 6682 (single-column layout, gutter ruled),
BOD Douce 369 (inter-column space ruled in the second part), BOD Hatton 111
(single-column layout, gutter ruled), and BOD Rawlinson C.258 (inter-column
space ruled). In these manuscripts the ruling seems to have been done in metal
point (or possibly crayon) rather than ink, and on many occasions the parts of the
lines supporting text have been substantially erased by the scribe.70
The different convention of ruling observed in these EV manuscripts also seems
to correlate with the quality of the parchment. In these manuscripts the parch-
ment is as a rule quite hard and there is a clear difference between the colouring of
the yellow hair and white flesh sides, in a way characteristic of the skin of mature
sheep.71 Parchment of this kind, combined with what appears to be metal point or
crayon ruling (although without the ruling of the inter-column space or the gutter),
is found in other EV manuscripts as well, such as Glasgow UL Gen. 223, whereas
the combination seems to be very infrequent in copies of LV. These features also
occur in some roughly coeval manuscripts of the Wycliffite Glossed Gospels, such
as CUL Kk.2.9 (inter-column space and gutter ruled, metal point/crayon), BL
Add. 28026 (metal point/crayon), BL Add. 41175 (inter-column space and half
of gutter ruled, metal point/crayon), and Bodley 243 (inter-column space ruled,
metal point/crayon).72 By way of further similarity, the surveyed copies of EV and
the Glossed Gospels characterised by the features in question are also often devoid
of illumination, being decorated with ink initials only; however, BL Add. 41175
and Bodley 243 form a glaring exception.73 Moreover, in several manuscripts the
scribes prefer anglicana over textura, which is the standard type of script in LV.
It is possible that this combination of features relates to the circumstances of book
production characteristic of that stage of Wycliffite biblical scholarship when the
text of LV was still in preparation and avenues of the later metropolitan multipli-
cation of regularised copies envisaged by Doyle were yet to be established.
A ‘mixed’ EV/LV manuscript Lambeth Palace 25 provides further evidence to
the effect that the ruling of the inter-column space was particularly associated with
the early transmission of EV.74 The probable dating of this copy of the whole Bible
to the turn of the fifteenth century or thereabouts makes it roughly contempora-
neous with the completion of LV, usually assumed to have taken place between
1395 and 1397.75 When examined against the backdrop provided by the date, the
contents of the manuscript can be viewed as a concrete manifestation of the tran-
sitional phase from EV to LV. The change from EV to LV at ff. 76/7 coincides
with a textual boundary between Deuteronomy and Joshua; it also coincides with
a quire boundary, and the unusual size of the last EV quire (four leaves instead of
the regular eight) suggests that the Pentateuch was copied as a separate unit and
from a different exemplar.76 Although ruled in ink and written in textura on vellum
with a velvety finish, in accordance with the rest of the manuscript, the EV part
adheres quite systematically to a ruling pattern in which the inter-column space
has been ruled (1-1-11/0/2-2/J); after the switch to LV, however, this practice
immediately becomes less regular and is soon altogether discontinued. It seems
likely that the scribe of the EV part, perhaps not identical with the one continuing
from f. 77, picked up the inter-column ruling from his exemplar – an exemplar,
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 41
it may be speculated, perhaps ruled in metal point/crayon and written in angli-
cana on coarser kind of parchment. The rapid discontinuation of the inter-column
ruling in the LV part may indicate that the EV part had been completed before its
copying commenced, and that the scribe first sought to retain the ruling pattern of
the first part of the manuscript under preparation; however, he soon abandoned
it, opting for the standard pattern of his LV exemplar, apparently devoid of inter-
column ruling (i.e. 1-1-11/0/2-2/JJ; see Figure 1).
So far the investigation has chiefly concentrated on the most frequently attested
ruling patterns, illustrated in Figures 1–3, and their single-column equivalents.
Despite the use of double horizontal lines to outline the writing area in some of
these patterns, their complexity is not very high compared to many other rarer
patterns found in the material. Such complex patterns occur almost exclusively in
double-column mises-en-page.
The most obvious element which increases the complexity of a pattern is the use
of extra lines of ruling in the margins in addition to the basic frame which outlines
the writing area. In some patterns, these marginal lines clearly have a designated
function in the mise-en-page of WB. This is the case in particular when the addi-
tional lines are double. The narrow space between vertical double lines is often
designed to contain the index letters for lections. In the upper margin, a horizontal
double line is regularly used for elements of the running head. These conventions
are most systematically used in two patterns which have a full marginal double
frame, found in the present material in six and three manuscripts respectively
(see Figures 4 and 5).77 Writing areas of the patterns illustrated in Figures 4 and
5 match the two most common WB ruling patterns illustrated in Figures 1 and
2; thus the former can essentially be regarded as more complex extensions of the
latter. Especially in the case of Figure 4, the use of a complex ruling pattern seems
to be associated with the use of quite formal textura semiquadrata or even quad-
rata bookhands and lavish decoration where illuminated initials and full borders
are used at least for major biblical books. In addition to Bodley 183 and Fairfax
11, both briefly discussed above, such manuscripts include CUL Add. 6683 and
University of California, Berkeley (UCB) 128, all copies of the New Testament in
LV. In UCB 128 the scheme and execution of the decoration closely resembles that
of Fairfax 11; for example, in addition to their remarkably similar programmes of
initials, both use pen-flourished paraphs which alternate in colour between blue
(with red penwork) and gold (with lilac penwork). As far as can be gathered from
the high-quality colour images of UCB 128 available through the Digital Scriptorium
Database at http://www.scriptorium.columbia.edu, the size of its writing area is
almost identical to Fairfax and Bodley; likewise the hand of its scribe – if not the
same as in Fairfax and Bodley – is at any rate very similar to it with regard to both
aspect and the execution of individual letter-forms, such as ‘g’. A comparison of
the colour schemes used in these three codices and the repertoire and execution of
the motifs in their borders, along the lines advocated by Scott, also strongly seems
to place UCB 128 within the same ‘commercial production line’ with which de
Hamel associates Bodley 183 and Fairfax 11.78 As to its date of production, the
repertoire of border motifs used in the manuscript is quite similar to those which
42 Matti Peikola
Scott, on the basis of her examination of the copy of WB in BOD Fairfax 2 (dated
1408), regards as ‘characteristic of the period before and around (but not long
after) 1408’.79
The present material suggests that the ruling patterns shown in Figures 4 and
5 are characteristic of complete New Testament manuscripts in LV. Among the
patterns which exhibit marginal ruling there is also one type which is found only in
two LV manuscripts of the complete Bible – CUL Mm.2.15 and Oxford, Lincoln
College lat. 119 (see Figure 6, 2-21-11/0/1-1/JJ). In addition to sharing an iden-
tical ruling pattern, both manuscripts use 66–7 text lines; despite the extensive
cropping of the margins of CUL Mm.2.15, their writing areas are very close in size
(ca. 300 × 188 mm and ca. 295 × 190 mm respectively). Such close codicological
similarities between the manuscripts are hardly coincidental; it is possible that the
presence of a heavy professional glossing apparatus in the margins of their Old
Testament parts and the occurrence of (some) text of the rare General Prologue in
both manuscripts are issues that tie in with these codicological affinities.80
In its use of double lines for the vertical delineation of the writing area, the
ruling pattern of CUL Mm.2.15 and Oxford, Lincoln College lat. 119 shown in
Figure 6 can be viewed together with six other WB manuscripts of the present
sample which show this feature. Although common in Carolingian codices, by the
fifteenth century this usage generally seems to have become an archaism.81 It may
have some significance as to the adoption of the feature in WB that in the group of
eight manuscripts using it all but one (BL Royal 1.B.vi) are heavily glossed in the
margins. Of these seven glossed codices, furthermore, four are full copies of the
complete Bible (CUL Mm.2.15 and Oxford, Lincoln College lat. 119, Figure 6;
Bodley 277, Figure 7; BL Cotton Claudius E.ii, Old Testament part, Figure 8); two
are second volumes of complete bibles (JRL Eng 91, Figure 9; BL Harley 5017,
Figure 10); and one is a manuscript of the complete New Testament (Oxford, New
College 67, part 1, Figure 11).
As to the possible association of the feature with the adoption of a glossing appa-
ratus, it is worth noting that in BL Cotton Claudius E.ii the complex pattern repro-
duced in Figure 8 is used only in the densely glossed Old Testament part of the
codex,82 whereas the very sparsely glossed New Testament, copied by a different
(de facto third) scribe, has a simpler ruling pattern which corresponds to that illus-
trated in Figure 2, with one additional horizontal line in the upper margin (i.e.
1-1-11/1-0/1-1/J). Somewhat contrasting evidence is provided, however, by the
revised EV manuscript Oxford, New College 67, which according to Hargreaves
is one of the two WB codices in which ‘systematic’ glosses to the New Testament
are present (the other one being BL Harley 5017, Figure 10).83 Here it is inter-
esting that after the heavily glossed part of the text begins, the ruling pattern in
fact becomes simpler (1-1/2-0/1-1/J) than that used in the first part (i.e. Figure
11). The possible influence of two differently ruled exemplars notwithstanding,
the change may have been occasioned by the presence in the first pattern of a
vertical double (or occasionally single) line in the outer margin – a line which the
scribe may have viewed as worth excising in order to smoothly accommodate the
extensive glosses on the manuscript page.
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 43
In other manuscripts of Lollard biblical scholarship examined, double vertical
lines bounding the writing area also feature in two s. xiv/xv manuscripts of the
Glossed Gospels (Bodley 243 and BL Add. 41175) which Scott surmises as being
‘probably part of the same project’.84 In fact, in other aspects, too, the ruling
patterns of these manuscripts closely resemble the group of WB manuscripts with
the double vertical lines. With the exclusion of the presence of inter-column ruling
in Bodley 243, its ruling is identical with that of CUL Mm.2.15 and Oxford,
Lincoln College lat. 119 (Figure 6). In BL Add. 41175, the vertical ruling in both
the marginal and writing areas is in turn identical with that of BL Harley 5017
(Figure 10); their ruling patterns also agree in the absence of any horizontal lines
in the margins.
In addition to the presence of inter-column and gutter ruling in BL Add. 41175,
the differences between its pattern and that of BL Harley 5017 lie in the execution
of the horizontal ruling of the writing area. As shown in Figure 10, in BL Harley
5017 ‘standard’ double lines are used for this purpose in both the upper and lower
horizontal frame. In BL Add. 41175, however, the upper and lower bounding
lines of the writing area are single; more notably, they are of different length, so
that the upper line runs all the way from the outer margin to the gutter in the usual
way, whereas the lower line only extends between the vertical bounding lines of
the writing area and is not present in the margins (cf. Figure 8).
This feature is also found in some manuscripts of WB surveyed for the present
study, such as BOD Rawlinson C.258 (New Testament, EV, s. xiv/xv; 1-1-
11/0/1-0/J) in which it is combined with the use of inter-column ruling as in BL
Add. 41175.85 Gumbert has observed that the absence of the marginal sections
of the upper and lower horizontal lines of the frame is a common feature in
manuscripts which have been ruled with a rake.86 In BL Add. 41175 and BOD
Rawlinson C.258, however, only the lower line is confined between the vertical
bounding lines, so the situation is not really identical to that characterised by
Gumbert. None the less, it is worth noting that in BL Add. 41175 – where the
minutiae of ruling can be scrutinised from the ¾-blank leaf 103r – every thir-
teenth text line is thicker than the rest and the distance between these thicker
lines is always the same (viz. 56 mm). While this detail may indeed betray the use
of a rake-like instrument in the ruling of this particular manuscript, a lot more
research is needed to ascertain whether the absence of the horizontal bounding
line from the lower margins is in any way relevant to the detection of rake-ruled
manuscripts.87 The presence of this feature together with inter-column ruling for
example in some mid/late-fourteenth- and early fifteenth-century biblical manu-
scripts in French indicates that despite its relative infrequency among WB manu-
scripts, it is not difficult to come by other coeval instances.88 On certain occasions,
at least, it seems to have been the case that the shortness of the lower horizontal
bounding line has resulted from its having been drawn together with other text
lines, probably not simultaneously with the execution of the rest of the ruling. This
interpretation arises from the adoption in some manuscripts of a different instru-
ment for the ruling of the two respective areas. In BL Cotton Claudius E.ii (first
part), CUL Add. 6680, and NY Pierpont Morgan Library 400, for example, the
44 Matti Peikola
text lines (including the lower horizontal bounding line) are very faint, ruled either
with drypoint or largely erased metal point or crayon, while the upper horizontal
bounding line, together with other features of ruling, is clearly visible and appar-
ently executed in ink.
Let us conclude this section by examining a few other types of complex and infre-
quent ruling patterns in WB manuscripts. In addition to BL Cotton Claudius E.ii;
Bodley 277; CUL Mm.2.15; Harley 5017; JRL Eng 91; Oxford, Lincoln College
lat. 119; and Oxford, New College 67 discussed above, the eighth manuscript of
the present survey in which double lines are used for the vertical bounding of the
writing area is BL Royal 1.B.vi – a copy of the New Testament in EV. In terms
of its contents, the codex resembles BOD Rawlinson C.258 in presenting Acts
immediately after the four gospels and in containing no prologues.89 As shown
in Figure 12, the ruling pattern of the manuscript (2-2-111/0/2-2/J) is in other
respects quite different from that of the other seven: it is devoid of any marginal
ruling and its two text columns are separated by three vertical lines instead of
the normal two. No other manuscript of the present survey exhibits the latter
feature, and the scribe’s source for the model is not clear. Muzerelle’s examples
contain some ruling patterns which have the feature (see examples 18, 19, 21, 26,
31, 39); three of them (21, 26, 39) even have similar double bounding lines to BL
Royal 1.B.vi.90 Examples 21 and 26 derive from twelfth- and thirteenth-century
biblical manuscripts, so influence from this sphere has to be considered as one
possibility.
Another infrequent feature of ruling among WB manuscripts is the presence
of double or triple horizontal through lines at the midpoint of the text-column(s)
(see Figures 13–15). According to Derolez, the function of these through lines was
primarily aesthetic.91 Four different ruling patterns of this type occur in the present
sample; these are found in no more than five manuscripts altogether, demon-
strating the clearly non-standard aspect of the feature in the production of WB.92
A common textual aspect of all five manuscripts is that they are in LV and contain
either the whole New Testament or parts of it; no additional ruling is found in
the margins of any of these copies. In all four ruling patterns the midpoint line is
identical in type with the upper horizontal bounding line of the writing area as
shown in Figure 13, but in one case it differs from the lower bounding line (see
Figure 14). In three patterns the midpoint line is a double line; in one pattern it is
a triple line (see Figure 15). Although none of these patterns occurs as such among
Muzerelle’s examples, there are several exemplary patterns from the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries which feature a double or triple midpoint line; they occur in
bibles, psalters or biblical commentaries (see examples 21, 24, 32–4). The element
does not appear to have been rare in biblical manuscripts of English origin or
early provenance, either, as suggested for example by Cambridge, Corpus Christi
College 83 (Latin biblical narrative in verse, s. xiii);93 and BL Royal 1.B.x (Genesis–
Psalter in Latin, s. xiii), both of which use a triple midpoint line. It is possible that
the adoption of this feature in manuscripts of WB was influenced by such earlier
uses; it may even have been a deliberate archaising move on the part of the book
producers.94
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 45
Running heads and initials
Early in the previous section, a group of ten LV manuscripts, mostly copies of the
complete New Testament, was singled out on the basis of their sharing of a similar
double-column ruling pattern (Figure 1) and their almost identically sized writing
area; moreover, it was observed that the number of text lines in the group falls
within the range of 30 to 35. The purpose of this section is to scrutinise further
these manuscripts (henceforth termed as ‘the LV group’) in terms of the execution
of their running heads and initials. It will be assessed how ‘standardised’ the manu-
scripts are with respect to these features and how their running heads and initials
compare with those of WB manuscripts at large. No comprehensive analysis of the
features in the sample of WB manuscripts surveyed will be attempted, however;
the enquiry is focused predominantly upon their use in the LV group, i.e. Bodley
665; Bodley 979; BOD Douce 265; BOD Lyell 26; BOD Rawlinson C.237–238;
BOD Rawlinson C.752; Cambridge, St John’s College E.14; JRL Eng 77; NYPL
MA 65; and NYPL MA 66.
Running heads
As demonstrated by Parkes, the systematic use of running heads was a develop-
ment associated with scholastic changes in the mise-en-page of manuscripts in the
High Middle Ages; together with other changes brought about by the scholastic
concept of the ordinatio, however, by the fifteenth century running heads were
no longer a technical novelty but a commonplace found in all sorts of manu-
scripts.95 It is therefore hardly surprising that all ten manuscripts of the LV group
are furnished with them. In this feature they agree with almost all other WB
manuscripts of the present survey. Only in some small-size single-column codices
with a narrow textual configuration do running heads not seem to have been
considered a required element of the mise-en-page. This may be related to the main
function of running heads in WB manuscripts, as readers’ aids to quickly locating
a particular biblical book. Glasgow UL Hunterian 337, for example, was appar-
ently intended to contain only the gospel of Mark (the text now ends imperfectly
at Mark 14: 13), so there was no need to use running heads for the designated
purpose. Another logical reason for the absence of running heads is the appear-
ance of a WB text in other than its normal context, as in the case of BL Royal
17.A.xxvi, where the gospel of John appears as a constituent of a religious miscel-
lany. The standard WB running head ‘Joon’ would hardly have made much sense
in this context. Neither of these manuscripts shows evidence of being unfinished in
terms of rubrication and decoration, so the absence of their running heads seems
intentional. In Glasgow UL Hunterian 191, however, its several unfinished ink
initials presumably indicate that the manuscript was never completed; the pres-
ence of one running head in the whole volume (f. 145r) probably means that a full
set was originally envisaged.
The book title may be regarded as the most standard feature of WB running
heads, and its use no doubt echoes a long-standing tradition of mise-en-page in
46 Matti Peikola
biblical manuscripts.96 In the present survey, there is in fact just one case where
the book title does not appear as an element of the running head. This is JRL
Eng 84, a small-size single-column copy of Acts, in which the running head only
contains the chapter number in Arabic numerals. It is not impossible that these
numbers are in fact a later addition, so that the original mise-en-page of the manu-
script would have been similar to that of Glasgow UL Hunterian 337, i.e. devoid
of running heads altogether. As in the case of Hunterian 337, the lack of a book
title in the running head implies that JRL Eng 84 was originally designed to consist
of Acts only.
Chapter numbers form a frequent but clearly optional element of WB running
heads, found in 34 per cent (N=43) of the manuscripts surveyed for the present
chapter. In the LV group, six manuscripts contain chapter numbers as part of
their running heads, so the proportion is slightly larger within this group than in
the overall data – perhaps reflecting the professional quality of its constituents.
As the book title is as a rule placed centrally above the mid-point of the writing
area, chapter numbers tend to be placed towards the edges of the text column(s)
as in JRL Eng 77 and Bodley 665. In NYPL MA 65, however, there is no attempt
to reserve different locations for different elements of the running head; both the
book title and the chapter number are placed sequentially in the mid-position of
the text columns. BOD Douce 265 differs from the standard positioning of the
elements in that in it the book title is placed above a text column; the mid-posi-
tion between the text columns is deserved for another element of WB running
heads – the paraph.
Found in 46 per cent (N=59) of the surveyed manuscripts, paraphs (¶) are a
more frequent element of WB running heads than chapter numbers. In the LV
group, they occur in five manuscripts, so the distribution conforms well with
the larger data. Although four of these five manuscripts also happen to contain
chapter numbers in their running heads, the larger data confirm that there is
no correlation between the occurrence of the two features. In WB manuscripts
paraphs are also used to separate the ending of a chapter from the beginning of
a new chapter and to flag chapter-internal subdivisions.97 There are more than
forty manuscripts where paraphs are used in either or both of these functions,
particularly the second one, but where they are absent from the running heads
(e.g. in three manuscripts of the LV group); conversely, paraphs never seem to
appear in the running heads only. This finding may reflect a simple economic
factor. As indicated by the decorator’s reckoning of his work on f. 113v in BL
Harley 5767 (a post-1450 copy of the gospels of Luke and John, LV), each paraph
was counted separately and would thus have added to the total cost of the manu-
script. If production costs had to be cut in the planning stage, it seems that in
WB manuscripts at least the use of paraphs for purposes of textual hierarchy and
division was prioritised over their purely decorative use in the running heads. It
is possible, however, that there is also an aspect of transmission involved, since in
the present data the distribution of paraphs as part of the running head is with one
exception restricted to manuscripts which are either wholly or for the most part
in LV. It remains as a possibility that the adoption of the paraph in the running
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 47
head is somehow associated with ideas of how to give the text a more authoritative
and professional appearance, an aim which could well tie in with the standardised
metropolitan production of WB manuscripts in the first decades of the fifteenth
century envisaged by Doyle.98
When it occurs in the running head, the paraph always precedes the book title;
as an additional feature, it may precede chapter numbers (e.g. BOD Laud misc.
361, New Testament, LV). The colour of the paraph is to a certain extent dictated
by the colour of the ink used for the book title. If the book title is in red ink, the
paraph is as a rule in blue ink – a feature present in twenty-four manuscripts of
the present survey; twenty-one of these are straightforward LV texts and three
represent mixed EV/LV. Red book titles also allow the use of golden paraphs
alternating with blue ones; in the present data this lavish combination of red, blue
and gold is confirmedly present only in the closely formatted New Testament
codices BOD Fairfax 11 and UCB 128, which clearly makes it an exceptional
feature.99 Book titles made in normal black or brown text ink allow more variation
in the colouring of the paraph. Here too blue is the main colour, found in fifteen
manuscripts, although manuscripts which make use of both blue and red paraphs
are not uncommon either (nine copies). In the LV group this feature character-
ises Bodley 665, where blue paraphs are used in the running heads of rectos and
red paraphs on the versos (cf. BOD Douce 240; BOD Laud misc. 361; BOD
Rawlinson C.259; Cambridge, British and Foreign Bible Society 155 in the larger
data). Of the other four manuscripts in the LV group which have a paraph in their
running heads, three have book titles in red ink, preceded by a blue paraph (BOD
Douce 265; Cambridge, St John’s College E.14; NYPL MA 65); in one manu-
script the book title is in normal ink, again preceded by a blue paraph (NYPL MA
66). None of these manuscripts exhibits the rarest combination of the larger data,
where book titles in normal ink combine with red paraphs only (five manuscripts;
e.g. BOD Laud misc. 24).
In addition to the three routine elements just reviewed – the book title, the
chapter number and the paraph – the running heads of WB manuscripts occa-
sionally contain extra features which may more readily reflect the personal
preferences of their individual scribes or decorators. For example in the closely
formatted CUL Mm.2.15 and Oxford, Lincoln College lat. 119, the paraphs of
the running heads have been elongated into blue frames shaped as parallelograms.
Other such features include the appearance of the book title between virgules (BL
Harley 5767; BOD Laud misc. 36) or within a red half-frame (Cambridge, Trinity
College B.2.8; Glasgow UL Gen. 223); underlining of the book title in red ink (BL
Royal 1.C.viii; Cambridge, St John’s College G.26; Glasgow UL Hunterian 176;
York Minster XVI.O.1); the appearance of two virgules in front of the book title
and a punctus after it (CUL Dd.1.27); or the decoration of book titles with leaf
shapes (BOD Rawlinson C.752).
In the running heads of twelfth- and thirteenth-century ‘Parisian’ bibles, book titles
and chapter numbers are often presented in alternating blue and red ‘Lombardic’
capitals, as illustrated for instance by several images in de Hamel (2001, chap. 5).
The same style was also long adopted in manuscripts of biblical glosses, such as
48 Matti Peikola
the copy of Nicholas Lyra’s Postillae, commissioned in the 1380s/1390s by William
Courtenay, Archbishop of Canterbury (i.e. Bodley 251).100 In manuscripts of WB,
however, running heads are usually written out in textura without an alternating
sequence of colours. Lombardic-style running heads are very rare, found in the
present survey in no more than four codices, three of which are manuscripts of
the complete Bible.101 As these codices represent different stages of translation and
dates of production, the adoption of the Lombardic style in them does not appear
to be connected with any single endeavour in the transmission history.102
Initials
The LV group shows no single and uniform standard in the execution of the
running heads, but is characterised by several different combinations of elements.
A similar diversity applies to the use of initials in these manuscripts, particularly
to those at the highest level of hierarchy, used at the opening of biblical books.
There is no doubt that economic factors played a crucial role in the planning
of these higher-level initials. As noted in connection with BOD Fairfax 11 and
Bodley 183, even manuscripts apparently sharing the same scribes and decora-
tors could use a different programme of initials depending on the resources of the
sponsor. This is also evident in another closely formatted pair discussed above –
CUL Mm.2.15 and Oxford, Lincoln College lat. 119 – where the use of different
types of initials and borders indicates that CUL Mm.2.15 was the more expensive
product of the two.
Although the precise programmes of initials vary between the constituents of the
LV group, it is remarkable in terms of production costs that in eight manuscripts
out of ten the initials used for books are nevertheless illuminated (i.e. using gold
or pigments, not ink); furthermore, in two manuscripts (JRL Eng 77; Bodley 665)
even some prologues to books are furnished with illuminated initials. While not
as remarkable as in the LV group, the proportion of illuminated manuscripts in
the whole data is also quite high, reaching 57 (41 per cent) of those 140 for which
exact information on initials was available. This finding concretely demonstrates
the high standards and professional quality Doyle and Hudson associate with the
production of WB manuscripts.103
In the most lavish kind of programme, used in five manuscripts of the LV group,
at least some of the biblical books have an initial which Derolez terms the foliate
initial (here abbreviated FO), also known as the sprynget initial;104 in these initials,
brightly painted leaves form the letter-shape against a gilded background, and
there is usually a border attached. Of the five manuscripts, NYPL MA 66 is partic-
ularly luxurious in having foliate initials for all books, although both its prologues
and chapters have only standard flourished initials made in ink (FL).105A similar
combination (FO–FL–FL) occurs in at least four other manuscripts in the larger
data, all in LV, of which two (Cambridge, Trinity College B.10.7; JRL Eng 80)
are copies of the complete New Testament like NYPL MA 66, while two (BOD
Selden Supra 49; CUL Add. 6684) contain only the four gospels.
In a related and even more luxurious combination, not attested in the LV group,
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 49
each level of the textual hierarchy (book, prologue, chapter) has its own type of
initial: foliate initials for books, flourished initials for chapters and dentelle initials
(DE) for the mid-level of the prologue. In the latter type of initial the letter itself
is made of gold and the background is usually coloured blue or rose, with white
indentations;106 the type is also known as the champ initial.107 FO–DE–FL combi-
nations are found for example in BL Egerton 1165; BL Egerton 1171; CUL Add.
6683; and Princeton UL Scheide 13 – all New Testaments in LV.
Since using a foliate initial for each book must have been a considerable invest-
ment, it is more common to find programmes where it is reserved for those
biblical books considered to be most important (typically the four gospels), while
less important books are furnished with lesser initials. In the LV group, Bodley
665, JRL Eng 77 and NYPL MA 65 have dentelle initials in this position; BOD
Rawlinson C.752 uses the highest grade ink initial – the littera duplex (LD, also
known as the littera partita or parted letter), where red and blue compartments of the
letter are separated by a narrow white band.108 In the larger data, there are eight
other manuscripts which use both foliate and dentelle initials for the book-level,
ranging from complete Bibles (e.g. CUL Mm.2.15) to a copy of the four gospels
(BL Add. 15517). The BOD Rawlinson C.752 usage of foliate initials and litterae
duplices for books is found in five other manuscripts, including BOD Fairfax 11
and UCB 128.
Somewhat less lavish programmes including illuminated initials comprise those
where dentelle initials (or dentelle initials combined with litterae duplices or flourished
initials) are used for the highest level of textual hierarchy. In the LV group there
are three manuscripts which display this feature, all with the DE–FL–FL combi-
nation: BOD Douce 265, BOD Lyell 26, and BOD Rawlinson C.237–8. In the
two former codices, even the line heights of initials (4–2–2) are similar for each
level of textual hierarchy. In the larger data, too, the DE–FL–FL combination
is particularly found in LV New Testament manuscripts, such as NYPL MA
64 (also 4–2–2), JRL Eng 78, BL Harley 4890, Harvard UL Richardson 3, and
Cambridge, Trinity College B.10.20. As in the programmes with foliate initials,
dentelle programmes, too, sometimes have other types of initials for less impor-
tant biblical books; in BOD Junius 29 (New Testament, LV), for example, litterae
duplices are used in this function, whereas in BL Harley 4027 (New Testament, LV)
four-line flourished initials appear.
Only in two manuscripts of the LV group are no illuminated initials used for the
biblical books. In the programme of Cambridge, St John’s College E.14 (Psalms–
Ecclesiasticus, LV), books open with 7- or 6-line litterae duplices, attached to flour-
ished (penwork) borders characteristic of this type of initial, in which blue and red
sections alternate. Both prologues and chapters have flourished initials, making the
combination LD–FL–FL. Although present in just one of the manuscripts of the
LV group, this programme is used in more than thirty codices of the larger data,
from sizeable pandects (e.g. BL Cotton Claudius E.ii) to compact manuscripts like
BOD Lyell 27, whose sole contents comprise the Pauline epistles. When illumina-
tion was not possible for one reason or another, this programme provided makers
of WB manuscripts with the most elevated penwork option.
50 Matti Peikola
The other non-illuminated manuscript in the LV group, Bodley 979, is grossly
incomplete as regards the execution of its initials; the few completed initials suggest,
however, that even for the book-level only flourished initials were intended. This
also applies to the prologues, although the height of the flourished initials is now
only two lines in contrast to that intended for the books (3–6 lines). Of the chapter
initials not a single one has been completed, but empty two-line slots appear in the
manuscript at these locations. While it is impossible to achieve certainty about the
type intended for chapters, an informed guess at the flourished initial can be made
on the basis of the larger data. First of all, in those 146 manuscripts for which the
type of chapter initial could be verified, an overwhelming majority (87 per cent)
use flourished initials in this position (in these the letter itself is almost invari-
ably blue and the flourishing is in red ink). Furthermore, in all those fifteen other
manuscripts in which only flourished initials are used for books and prologues (as
in Bodley 979), the same type is also used for chapters, with the usual height of
two lines.
In addition to flourished initials, two other types appear at chapter-openings
in the larger data, both of them clearly marginal when compared to the high
frequency of the flourished type. The very rare use of dentelle initials at this location
in BL Egerton 617–18 and NY, Pierpont Morgan Library 362 reflects the deluxe
nature of the codices; in both manuscripts, biblical books open with foliate initials
attached to exquisite illuminated borders. At the lower end of the hierarchy, fifteen
manuscripts use red plain initials for their chapter-openings; these initials are in ink
and are devoid of flourishing.109 In these codices, the initials for books are in most
cases of the same type, suggesting that no flourisher was available for their produc-
tion. There are two further aspects worth noting as regards this group. First, an
unusually high proportion (73 per cent, N=11) of the manuscripts conform either
wholly or in part to pragmatic single-column layouts; second, the majority of the
manuscripts (73 per cent, N=11) contain parts of the New Testament, such as
the four gospels (Cambridge, British and Foreign Bible Society 156), the Pauline
epistles (BOD Dugdale 46), Acts (JRL Eng 84), or the gospel of Mark (Glasgow UL
Hunterian 337). In the light of what is known about WB manuscripts possessed
by convicted Lollards, it would be tempting to associate these plainly decorated
and pragmatically ruled copies, often made of coarse parchment, with the under-
ground activities of Lollard ‘schools’ or ‘conventicles’.110 Both Hunterian 337 and
Dugdale 46, for example, have the appearance of being communal products by
several relatively inexperienced scribes. There are many corrections to the text,
but relatively little attention has been paid to the decorative aspect and the consist-
ency of the mise-en-page in comparison to most copies of WB; this suggests that
to their makers textual accuracy was paramount, consistent with what we know
about the hermeneutic interests of Lollard communities.111
Conclusion
This chapter has compared and correlated aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts
of the Wycliffite Bible, with a particular focus on ruling patterns. At the most basic
Aspects of mise-en-page in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible 51
level, its aim has been to distinguish between typical and less typical kinds of
mise-en-page and to survey their distribution data in copies representing different
versions, dates of production and textual configurations. Beyond the descriptive
level, the purpose has been to establish whether any such groupings of manu-
scripts emerge which could provide a starting point for further and more detailed
case studies of networks of book production involving the Wycliffite Bible.
The investigation of ruling patterns has shown, to start with, that in manuscripts
of the Wycliffite Bible the simple double-column patterns depicted in Figures 1–3
and their single-column equivalents emerge as common types hardly associable
with any single production endeavour. The pattern in Figure 1 may be viewed as a
prototypical ruling pattern, whose high frequency seems most readily explainable
in terms of the imitation of exemplars, perhaps throughout transmission history.
As the group of manuscripts with this ruling pattern contains a substantial number
of copies in the Later Version, typically copies of the New Testament, with almost
identical size of the writing area and number of lines (i.e. the LV group), it also
presents itself as the pattern most readily characterised as a production standard.
However, even in such similarly formatted manuscripts as those of the LV group,
several different schemes of execution were found in the running heads and
initials. This finding reflects the inherent variation present in manuscript culture.
Analogously to the incipient standardisation of the written language, character-
ised by what Smith has aptly described in terms of scribal endeavours towards ‘a
centripetal norm’, the incipient standardisation of mise-en-page represented by the
LV group may thus be better understood as attempts towards a normative layout
than as exact reproduction.112
It is surely not unthinkable that the close similarities observed between manu-
scripts of the LV group may have resulted from shared networks of book produc-
tion in London, as envisaged by Doyle more generally. Shared circumstances
of metropolitan or provincial production may similarly characterise smaller
groups of closely formatted manuscripts with less frequently occurring ruling
patterns, such as BOD Fairfax 11, Bodley 183, and UCB 128; Oxford, Lincoln
College lat. 119 and CUL Mm.2.15; or some of those EV manuscripts which are
distinguished from most other copies by their ruling technique. Actually demon-
strating that these and other similar groups share a common origin, however,
will require close cooperation between philologists, palaeographers and art histo-
rians. In this research, micro-level textual, dialectal, graphemic and stylistic data
will have to be correlated with present and future findings about mise-en-page,
preferably under the aegis of a research project dedicated to the manuscripts of
the Wycliffite Bible.
One of the most interesting findings of this chapter concerns the multitude of
complex ruling patterns present in manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible. Some of them
are shared by a handful of copies, while others occur in the present data only in
single manuscripts. This profusion begs the question of the sources of scribal inspi-
ration for these no doubt carefully designed patterns. While perhaps somewhat
too optimistic in its prospects, the remark of Farquhar that ‘ruling practices often
had local characteristics that are so individualized that even specific craftsmen can
52 Matti Peikola
be identified’ functions as a perfect reminder about the often neglected research
potential residing in the study of ruling patterns and techniques.113 In the absence
of any statistics concerning the use of different ruling patterns in late medieval
English manuscript books, the observations made here about similarities between
manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible and other coeval codices are hardly more than
shots in the dark. An informed comparison and contextualisation of these and
other patterns would require much more information about the chronological,
geographical and textual distribution of medieval English ruling patterns in
general. What we need eventually is no less than a database of ruling patterns used
in medieval English manuscripts. A logical first step towards the construction of
the database would be a systematic and exact description of ruling in manuscript
descriptions published in printed and electronic catalogues. For this work, the
coding system advocated by Muzerelle would seem to offer a sound basis for the
discussion of the patterns and their exact representation.
Appendix A
Tokyo, T. Takamiya
2 manuscripts (Lindberg, 1970, numbers 193, 219)
York Minster
MSS XVI.N.7; XVI.O.
Appendix B
Figures 1–15 illustrate some of the ruling patterns of the Wycliffite Bible discussed
in this chapter. The figures are schematic and typological; they do not represent
the exact measurements of ruling in any single manuscript. Each ruling pattern is
explicitly identified with a code based on Muzerelle’s (1999) system.
Figure 1 1-1-11/0/2-2/JJ Figure 2 1-1-11/0/1-1/JJ
All of these texts were copied by a single scribe whose dialect has been local-
ised to south Norfolk by the Linguistic Atlas of Late Mediaeval English (LALME).12
A further indication of this provenance is the unique variant in Harley’s text
of Piers at A 5.119 which replaces a reference to Winchester with Sleaforth,
a town in south Lincolnshire. Further evidence of the manuscript’s Norfolk
pedigree is shown by the appearance of the same sequence of religious lyrics
in Cambridge University Library Ii.iv.9, a manuscript which also contains a
fragment of a document connected with Norwich and Sedgeford (see LALME
1, p. 68).
B Pro 41 Wiþ hire bely and hire bagges of breed ful ycrammed
Harley of breed ful] bredful
A MSS bratful
B 4.47 And þanne com Pees into parlement and putte forþ a bille
Harley forþ] vp
A 4.34 vp
Another instance of this kind of editing may be found in the description of the
confession of Greed, a passage which appears to have been of some interest to
these scribes. Instead of describing him as having ‘two bleride eien’, the same
four A manuscripts read ‘eyn as a blynd hagge’, which is the reading of all extant
B manuscripts. Some further examples of individual readings in the A group,
3
EAMH , which appear to show contamination from the B version are given
below.
A 6.71 [And] loke þat þou leiȜe nouȜt for no manis biddyng
3
EMH [A out] [And] loke þat þou leiȜe nouȜt] In no maner ellis nout
B 5.584 In-no-manere-ellis-noȜt-for-no-mannes-biddyng
Kane’s edition of the A version generally rejects the readings of this group
of manuscripts in favour of that of the majority. In each of the above cases the
3
EAMH reading was not selected by Kane for the text of his 1960 edition of the
A version. However, Kane edited the A version without reference to the B and C
3
versions, so could not have known that the EAMH variant was also found in B
and C. In fact when he returned to the A version in 1988 for his second edition,
having completed his edition of B with E.T. Donaldson, Kane adopted several of
3
these EAMH readings into his revised text of A. Presumably having noted the
appearance of these readings in the B and C traditions, Kane concluded that these
variants must represent the authorial text of A, corrupted by all other A scribes.
This fits with Kane’s view, already mentioned above, that, in revising A to B,
Langland was not concerned with changing individual readings. However, Kane’s
response to this pattern of agreement across the A and B versions continues to
3
ignore the possibility of contamination: namely that the EAMH variants are not
genuine A readings at all, but have been imported from a manuscript of the B
text. If this possibility is accepted, then these readings cannot be viewed as A
variants and therefore should not be adopted into a text of the A version. In his
edition of A Kane is dismissive of the extent and significance of contamination
from other versions in the extant A manuscripts, citing only three manuscripts (W,
N and K) as containing material from other versions in any significant quantity and
arguing that signs of such activity are ‘happily unambiguous’. Kane’s unwillingness
76 Simon Horobin
to recognise contamination elsewhere in the tradition is presumably partly due
to the demands of editorial convenience, as well as the fact that he considered
only instances of interpolated lines and not individual readings. In fact, given that
Kane did not consult the manuscripts of the B and C versions in any detail when
editing A, he could not easily have identified individual BC readings in the A
tradition. When individual readings are considered it is apparent that the group
of manuscripts with which Harley is related contains a number of readings as well
as entire lines which appear to derive from the B version. That these readings
have been deliberately imported from the B version is further suggested by their
content, which is clearly aligned with the concerns exhibited by the edited version
of the B text considered above. For instance the lines discussed above demonstrate
the ongoing concern with confession and particularly with penance as forming an
important part of this process.
Such concerns are further demonstrated by the numerous unique variants,
omissions and additions found in the Harley scribe’s copy of A and not paral-
leled elsewhere in either tradition. A good example is found in the most substan-
tial textual omission in Harley, which comprises 8.116 to 9.96. This omission
occurs between the fourth and fifth lines of folio 116v and thus cannot have
occurred by accident during the copying of the Harley volume, although it is
of course possible that accidental loss occurred in the exemplar. However, if we
look at the content of this section, then I think we can explain the omission as
deliberate. The passage in question begins with Piers’s dispute with the priest
following the discussion of the terms of the pardon. The passage comprises the
priest’s comments about Piers’s potential as a priest, as well as Piers’s angry
reply in which he attacks the priest’s learning. This is followed by Will’s waking
thoughts on the events and particularly on the efficacy of indulgences and
penance, and the importance of deeds in securing salvation, including rather
pointed criticism aimed at the friars. This leads to the search for Dowel at the
opening of passus 10 where Will disputes with the two friars about where Dowel
is located, opposing their claim that Dowel resides among them. Will is then
approached by Thought, at which point the Harley text resumes with only a
rather superficial attempt to repair the obvious gap in the narrative caused by
the omission.
As well as omitting text, the Harley scribe also adds to and edits the text, as the
following example illustrates. This example reveals the scribe’s attitude to Lang-
land’s controversial depiction of the efficacy of the prayers of the uneducated and
the poor, in the lines with which the A version ends:
In the Harley version the poor people believe what they are taught and it is no
longer their prayers that pierce the palace of heaven but rather those of the readers
of this book. The revised version also removes the reference to salvation without
penance, an issue which evidently troubled this scribe, as we have seen, and he
replaced it with a wish for Piers to receive salvation without great penance.
In discussing the A text portion preserved in the Harley manuscript, I have
referred to three other manuscripts with which the Harley text shares a number of
its distinctive variant readings and B text additions. Within this group the Harley
manuscript is most closely allied to M (Society of Antiquaries 687) with which it
shares sixty variant readings.16 This link with M is interesting as this manuscript
was copied by four scribes using dialects of the Norfolk/Suffolk border area, not
far removed from the production of Harley in southern Norfolk.17 In addition
to its A text of Piers, M also contains a copy of the Prick of Conscience and various
religious prose texts, suggesting a similar readership to that proposed for Harley
3954. Another member of this group, Bodleian Library Ashmole 1468 (A), can
also be placed within this same geographical network, as it was copied by a scribe
whose dialect is placed by LALME in Suffolk (LP 4568). The only member of this
group whose production cannot be placed within this small area in East Anglia is
E, Dublin, Trinity College 213 which was copied much later, probably in the last
quarter of the fifteenth century in Durham (LALME 1, p. 77). The close textual
relationship and the geographical proximity of these manuscripts suggest that the
3
EAMH exemplar circulated within a restricted East Anglian network and was
copied for an audience that shared similar concerns. One possible environment for
circulation of this kind is religious houses, where the necessary resources for book
production would have been available as well as the kind of audience identified
above. Numerous religious houses existed in East Anglia in this period and there is
no further evidence in the Harley manuscript to allow us to narrow down its prov-
enance further. However, it is perhaps significant that the LALME grid reference
for Harley 3954 (583 305) places it close to Thetford, where books were produced
in religious houses, and its closest neighbour in LALME is Bodleian Library Digby
99 (583 296), containing the Prick of Conscience copied and owned by ‘Frater Iohannes
Stanys, canonicus Thedfordie’, who signed his name on the book.
78 Simon Horobin
Links with another manuscript of Piers Plowman shed some further light on the
3
provenance of the EAMH exemplar. This manuscript is Bodleian Library Bodley
851 [Z], a manuscript which was not collated by Kane for his edition of the A
version, as it contains a text of A which has been abbreviated and conflated with
a number of unique lines and passages which Kane considered to be scribal.
A.G. Rigg and Charlotte Brewer printed the Z text in their edition of 1983 in
which they presented a case for its being Langland’s first draft of the poem.18
In discussing the relationship of the Z text to the other versions of the poem,
Rigg and Brewer noted that Z shares a number of variants with the group of
3
A manuscripts discussed above, EAMH . In a number of cases of such agree-
3
ment, the reading of EAMH Z is also found in the manuscripts of the B and C
versions, thereby appearing to lend support to the authority of the readings of
this group of manuscripts and the claim for the authenticity of the Z text as an
3
early Langlandian draft. Despite this pattern of agreement between EAMH Z
and all of the B manuscripts, Kane and Donaldson frequently ignore such read-
ings in their edition of the B version in favour of the majority A reading printed
by Kane in his edition of the A version. More recently Charlotte Brewer has
cited such patterns of agreement as evidence that Kane’s editorial procedure is
3
at fault, arguing that agreements between EAMH Z and BC must represent the
correct readings, rather than those selected by Kane for his text of A.19 The fact
that Z frequently agrees with this group thus adds further strength to Brewer’s
claim that Z represents a genuine authorial version anterior to A. Brewer writes:
‘The simplest explanation for this pattern of agreements is that Kane erred in
his choice of reading for the A-Text, and that the authentic reading is that found
in the other A-MSS, together with Z and B (C). This would then support the
argument for Z’s authenticity.’20 However, Brewer’s claim does not take account
of the possibility that this pattern of agreement is the result of contamination,
3
a factor which I have argued above may explain agreements between EAMH
and BC.21
There is considerable evidence that the text of the A version preserved in this
group of manuscripts was edited with reference to a copy of the B version: a version
to which we know the Harley scribe had access when he began copying the poem.
The relationship between Z and this group of manuscripts suggests that the Z
scribe simply had access to this same exemplar, rather than offering independent
support for the authority of these readings.
3
The use of the EAMH copytext in the production of the Z text offers some
useful evidence regarding the circulation of this shared copytext. Bodley 851
contains an ex libris indicating ownership by John Wells of Ramsey Abbey, a Bene-
dictine abbey in Huntingdonshire, not far removed from the area within which
3
the EAMH archetype circulated. Ralph Hanna has argued on the basis of codi-
cological evidence that the manuscript was produced as a series of booklets in
Ramsey Abbey, not in Oxford as argued by Rigg and Brewer, and this theory fits
well with the evidence of its textual affiliations.22 M.L. Samuels has identified the
dialect of the Z text of Piers as that of south-west Worcestershire,23 although there
Harley 3954 and the audience of Piers Plowman 79
is also an East Midlands overlay which would fit with copying in Ramsey.24 In fact
the language of the continuation of the Z text by Hand Q contains certain features
which would indicate an East Anglian origin.25 Not only does the Q scribe’s dialect
point to an East Anglian origin, but the textual affiliations of this portion of the Z
text also suggest this location.26 Production in this area would also make greater
sense of the adverse comments about Norfolk and its dialect, which are more
pronounced in Bodley 851 than in any other Piers manuscript: such jokes would
surely lose their impact in Oxford.27 So the evidence of Bodley 851 shows that
3
the EAMH exemplar was available to a scribe working in a Benedictine house in
Huntingdonshire, providing further support for the theory that the circulation of
this exemplar and its copying took place in religious houses, perhaps belonging to
the Benedictine order.
Connections with another book produced in East Anglia with links with a
religious house are also suggestive, although they remain speculative. Kane
noted similarities in the hand of the Harley 3954 scribe and that of Hand C of
Arundel 327, a copy of Osbern Bokenham’s Legends of Holy Women.28 Bokenham
was a member of the Augustinian priory at Clare, Suffolk, and A.S.G. Edwards
has shown that the book was copied in distinct units, partly at Clare and at
Cambridge. Hands B and C copied the majority of the volume in Cambridge
for ‘Frere Thomas Burgh’ for presentation to a ‘holy place of nunnys’, possibly
the Franciscan nuns of Aldgate or Denny. 29
3
It is, however, possible that the copying and circulation of the EAMH exem-
plar and the production of Harley 3954 was not carried out by members of the
regular but the secular clergy. The secular clergy have been frequently identi-
fied by scholars as a likely audience for Langland’s poem and it is likely that the
areas of interest exhibited by the scribe of Harley 3954 would appeal similarly
to a group of secular clerics. In fact there are other aspects of the treatment of
the Harley text that appear to contradict the argument that it was intended for
an audience of regular clergy. For instance, in addition to its unique conjunc-
tion of the B and A versions, Harley also employs a different system of passus
divisions than that conventionally adopted for the organisation of the A or B
versions. Below is a list of all of the incipits and explicits found in the Harley
copy of Piers:
Numerous other instances of this tendency to translate the poem’s Latin may
be found in Harley (see for instance 1.201, 178, 187), suggesting that the book
may have been intended for an audience not accustomed to, or perhaps not
even capable of, reading Latin. The language of the few marginal annotations
and glosses provided by the original scribe is almost exclusively the vernacular,
the only exceptions being single instances of ‘Exemplum’ and ‘corpus’, further
indicating that the manuscript may have been intended for an audience most
comfortable with the vernacular. These glosses also serve to highlight further the
interest of the scribe and his audience in the poem’s treatment of members of the
clergy and its discussion of the religious life. For instance the episodes in the text
that appear to have caught the glossator’s attention most fully are the description
of the members of the clergy in the Prologue’s description of the field of folk, the
lines in passus 11 concerned with the active and contemplative lives, and the place
of learning within the religious life.
The evidence of the other major text in the Harley manuscript, Mandeville’s
Travels, provides some further contextual details concerning the manuscript’s
production. The Harley copy of Mandeville’s Travels carries an ambitious cycle of
miniatures, which remains unfinished, comprising ninety-nine pictures and thirty-
eight blank spaces. Kathleen Scott has attributed this programme of illustration
to two or possibly three artists, noting that the style of these drawings ‘bears some
(distant) relationship to that of Harley 2278’.31 British Library Harley 2278 is a
copy of Lydgate’s Lives of Saints Edmund and Fremund which was commissioned by
William Curteys, abbot of the Benedictine abbey at Bury St Edmunds, for pres-
entation to Henry VI, and was probably produced at Bury. The link identified
by Scott between the illustration of Harley 3954 and Harley 2278 suggests that
Harley 3954 was illustrated, as well as copied, in East Anglia. The link with a
manuscript produced in a Benedictine institution is also suggestive, given the links
with Bodley 851 described above.
Harley 3954 and the audience of Piers Plowman 81
Conclusion
The evidence of Harley 3954 shows that both A and B versions were available
within a restricted East Anglian network, and that the Harley scribe was actively
engaged in a process of collation and editing in order to produce a text of Piers
that was suitable for the audience for which it was intended. The production and
circulation of these copies of Piers may have taken place within a group of reli-
gious houses situated within a small area of south Norfolk and north Suffolk. The
process of editing undertaken in this production process shows no respect for the
integrity of the differing versions as we now view them, and this evidence suggests
that editors need to recognise the possibility that such scribal editorial activity was
more widespread than is generally supposed. The identification of such activity
in Harley 3954 has a particular significance for the way the poem is edited. For
instance, A readings preserved in Harley’s B text and no other B manuscript need
to be examined for evidence of contamination from A, and cannot be regarded as
further licence for the widespread restoration of A readings in the B text against
the testimony of all other B manuscripts. Kane–Donaldson were reluctant to
acknowledge the possibility of contamination of this kind, generally preferring
to explain such readings as instances of ‘correction’ from a better B supply. By
refusing to entertain the possibility of contamination in a manuscript where we
know the scribe had access to an A version, Kane–Donaldson were unable to
explain Harley’s textual affiliations with any conviction. The editors write of the
A readings in Harley that these ‘are not evidently or indeed at all explicable in
terms of the character of H’, suggesting that it may represent a third line of textual
transmission, whose position within the B tradition seems ‘indeterminable’.32
These difficulties are resolved once we take account of the fact that the Harley
scribe did have access to a copy of the A version and thus the likelihood that the
unclassifiable readings in Harley are not B readings at all, but readings imported
from A.
A similar situation obtains for an understanding of the Harley copy of the A
version, especially those instances where Harley and its related A copies, EAM,
contain readings characteristic of the B tradition. As with those readings in H
3
discussed above, EAMH readings should be treated with caution by editors
and cannot be automatically viewed as genuine A readings, as has been argued
recently by Charlotte Brewer, who cites their frequent agreement with Z as
support for her claim for the authenticity of the Z text as an authorial version
anterior to A.33
Such editorial activity in these manuscripts, while undoubtedly rather irri-
tating for editors of the poem, does however provide important insights into the
way the poem was copied and consumed. Harley 3954, and its closely related
manuscripts, reveal ways in which the poem was tailored for a specific provincial,
clerical community and some of the areas which such readers considered most
provocative and thus needing revision, editing or even suppression. The switch
to the A version in Harley, and a copytext which may have circulated within a
network of East Anglian religious houses, suggests that the A version was more
82 Simon Horobin
aligned with the demands of such an audience. We have seen that the Harley
scribe was especially concerned with the treatment of issues such as confession
and penance and the role of priests in the administration of pastoral care, and
such issues are perhaps more central and focused in the A version than in B and
C. John Burrow has described the second vision of Piers Plowman as based around
the ‘arc of penitential action’, comprising a plot which moves from sermon to
confession, then penance, in this case a pilgrimage, and finally to pardon.34 These
are the themes which engaged the attention of the Harley scribe most fully, and
their greater prominence in the shorter A version may have appealed to this scribe
and his audience.35 The evidence of Harley and its related A manuscripts there-
fore appears to contradict Jill Mann’s claim that the A version was intended for
a lay audience and fits more closely with Hanna’s view of the dissemination of
this version,36 although the scribe’s use of the vernacular in the rubrics, marginal
glosses and the frequent translation of Langland’s Latin lines does fit with Mann’s
theory that the A version may have been intended for an audience less competent
in the use of Latin. The evidence for scribal editing across the versions, and the
interpolation of B readings into copies of the A version also point to a readership
with a less rigid attitude to the independent status of the versions of the poem
than our modern view. Such editorial licence may have been further endorsed
and encouraged by the knowledge that the A version, rather than representing
a final authorial version, was an in-progress draft released before its completion
and subsequently superseded by the completion of the B version and its release for
circulation among Langland’s London audience.
Notes
1 A version of this chapter was presented at the Eighth Biennial Conference of the Early
Book Society held at the University of Durham, July 2003. I am grateful to the audience
for helpful feedback and to Professor Ralph Hanna for reading the essay in draft and
making many useful comments for its improvement. I should add that I am responsible
for any errors that remain.
2 J.A. Burrow, ‘The Audience of Piers Plowman’, Anglia 75, 1957, 373–84; reprinted with a
postscript in J.A. Burrow, Essays on Medieval Literature, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984, pp.
102–16.
3 Anne Middleton, ‘The Audience and Public of “Piers Plowman”’, in David Lawton (ed.),
Middle English Alliterative Poetry and Its Literary Background, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1982,
pp. 101–23 at p. 104.
4 Kathryn Kerby-Fulton and Steven Justice, ‘Langlandian Reading Circles and the Civil
Service in London and Dublin’, New Medieval Literatures 1, 1998, 59–83.
5 M.L. Samuels, ‘Dialect and Grammar’, in J.A. Alford (ed.), A Companion to Piers Plowman,
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988, pp. 201–22.
6 However, A.I. Doyle described the manuscript formerly owned by the Duke of West-
minster, a conjoint A/C text, as ‘written in an elegant set secretary of the kind employed
by Privy Seal and some other official scribes’, suggesting a metropolitan origin. See A.I.
Doyle, ‘Remarks on Surviving Manuscripts of Piers Plowman’ in Gregory Kratzmann and
James Simpson (eds) Medieval English Religious and Ethical Literature: Essays in Honour of G.H.
Russell, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1986, pp. 35–48. Ralph Hanna has informed me that
another A MS, London, Lincoln’s Inn Hale 150, can also be associated with London,
Harley 3954 and the audience of Piers Plowman 83
although it was subsequently disseminated to Shropshire.
7 Jill Mann, ‘The Power of the Alphabet: A Reassessment of the Relation between the A
and B Versions of Piers Plowman’, Yearbook of Langland Studies 8, 1994, 21–50.
8 Ralph Hanna, ‘MS. Bodley 851 and the Dissemination of Piers Plowman’, in Pursuing
History: Middle English Manuscripts and their Texts, Stanford: Stanford University Press,
1996, pp. 195–202.
9 G. Kane (ed.), Piers Plowman: The A Version, London: Athlone Press, 1960, p. 8.
10 G. Kane and E.T. Donaldson (eds), Piers Plowman: The B Version, London: Athlone Press,
1988, p. 9, n. 55.
11 For a more detailed description of the manuscript’s codicology and contents see
C.D. Benson and Lynne Blanchfield, The Manuscripts of Piers Plowman: The B-version,
Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1997, although, unlike all other manuscripts they describe,
they do not include a facsimile of this manuscript.
12 LALME, 4 vols.
13 For details of the conjoint and conflated manuscripts see G. Kane, ‘The Text’, in
Alford, op. cit. (1988), pp. 175–200.
14 Kane, op. cit. (1960), pp. 28–9.
15 G. Kane, ‘An Open Letter to Jill Mann about the Sequence of the Versions of Piers
Plowman’, Yearbook of Langland Studies 13, 1999, 20–2.
16 Kane, op. cit. (1960), p. 75.
17 Hand A is LALME LP 638, mapped in Norfolk, and Hand D is LP 639 mapped in
Suffolk. Hand B was responsible for copying Piers Plowman and his language is charac-
terised by LALME as NW Suffolk. This scribe’s language is not plotted on the LALME
map but its similarity to that of Hand C of Bodleian Library Hatton 18, a copy of the
Speculum Vitae, is noted. See LALME I, p. 137.
18 A.G. Rigg and Charlotte Brewer (eds), Piers Plowman: The Z Version, Toronto: Pontifical
Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1983.
19 Charlotte Brewer, Editing Piers Plowman: The Evolution of the Text, Cambridge: CUP, 1996,
pp. 377–8.
20 Ibid., p. 424.
21 Brewer does raise the possibility of contamination as an explanation for this pattern
of agreement and criticises Kane for not taking sufficient account of this as a factor.
However, Brewer herself does not pursue the implications of this.
22 Hanna, op. cit., pp. 195–202.
23 M.L. Samuels, ‘Langland’s Dialect’, in J.J. Smith (ed.), The English of Chaucer and His
Contemporaries, Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988, p. 85, n. 80.
24 Bodley 851 is also mapped in Worcestershire by LALME as LP 7700. Examples of East
Midlands forms found alongside Western equivalents include 3 sing. pres. indic. <-eth>,
<-es>, 3 pl pres. indic. <-es>, <-eth>, <-e(n)>, forms showing /o:/ reflected as both
<oe> and <o>, spellings with <o> and <a> before nasals, and <u> and <i, y> spellings
for OE <y>. Rigg and Brewer (op. cit., p. 26) also describe the dialect of the Z text as a
mixture of West and East Midlands forms.
25 For instance this scribe’s dialect includes the reflex of OE/hw/as <qw>, e.g. ‘qwan’,
‘qwat’, ‘qweche’. Cf. also the association in LALME of the language of Hand B (folios
139–40) with Suffolk or SE Norfolk (LALME 1, 146).
26 The Q continuation is taken from a manuscript closely related to another copy of the A
version, Oxford, University College 45 [U], and shows further similarities to the copy
preserved in Pierpont Morgan Library M 818 [J]. Both manuscripts contain dialect
evidence which places their production in the East Midlands: the dialect of U is of south
Cambridgeshire, while J can be placed in Lincolnshire. See Samuels, op. cit. (1988),
and LALME LPs 698 and 510. The textual relations are discussed by Rigg and Brewer,
op. cit., pp. 28–9 and Hanna, op. cit. (1996), p. 200.
27 For these comments see the discussion in Rigg and Brewer, op. cit., pp. 16–17. Ralph
84 Simon Horobin
Hanna has also argued that the Norfolk jokes in the Z text make best sense ‘on the edge
of East Anglia, not in Oxford’ (Hanna, op. cit. (1996), p. 314, n. 10).
28 For a facsimile of Hand C of British Library Arundel 327, see the frontispiece to the
edition of the work by Mary S. Serjeantson (ed.), Legendys of Hooly Wummen by Osbern
Bokenham, EETS, o.s. 206, 1938.
29 A.S.G. Edwards, ‘The Transmission and Audience of Osbern Bokenham’s Legendys of
Hooly Wummen’, in A.J. Minnis (ed.), Late Medieval Religious Texts and their Transmission:
Essays in Honour of A.I. Doyle, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1994, pp. 157–67.
30 The rubrics found in each of the manuscripts of the B text may be conveniently consulted
and compared in the chart compiled by R. Adams ‘The Reliability of the Rubrics in the
B-Text of Piers Plowman’, Medium Ævum 54, 1985, 208–31. See also Kane, op. cit. (1960),
and Kane and Donaldson, op. cit. for full lists of the rubrics found in the manuscripts of
the A and B versions.
31 Kathleen L. Scott, Later Gothic Manuscripts 1390–1490, 2 vols. A Survey of Manuscripts Illu-
minated in the British Isles, vol. 6, London: Harvey Miller, 1996.
32 Kane and Donaldson, op. cit., p. 61.
33 Brewer, op. cit.
34 Burrow, op. cit. (1965).
35 The scribe’s concern with questions of penance and confession is further attested by
the subject matter of the lyrics collected in the manuscript. These didactic poems focus
upon these issues, as may be demonstrated by IMEV 1901, a poem concerned with the
assertion of the importance of the seven sacraments: baptism, penance, the eucharist,
confirmation, matrimony, ordination and extreme unction. This poem is edited from
the Harley manuscript, with variants from CUL Ii.iv.9 in W.L. Braekman, ‘“Of ye
Sacramentys Seuene”: A Middle English Didactic Poem’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 82,
1981, 194–203. Similar concerns are shown by the other religious poems in Harley and
also in CUL Ii.iv.9 which deal with the seven virtues and vices and the works of mercy.
For texts and commentary, see W.L. Braekman, ‘A Middle English Didactic Poem on
the Works of Mercy’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 79, 1978, 145–51, and W.L. Braekman,
‘“The Seven Virtues as Opposed to the Seven Vices”: A Fourteenth-Century Didactic
Poem’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 74, 1973, 247–68.
36 Jill Mann’s theory concerning the order of composition of the three versions has also
received strong criticism in responses by Kane, op. cit. (1999) and T. Lawler, ‘A Reply
to Jill Mann, Reaffirming the Traditional Relation between the A and B Versions of
Piers Plowman’, Yearbook of Langland Studies 10, 1996, 145–80.
4 ‘Cy ensuent trois
chaunceons’
Groups and sequences of
Middle English lyrics
Julia Boffey
Notes
1 See, for example J.A. Burrow, ‘Poems without Contexts’, Essays in Criticism 29,
1979, 6–32; reprinted in J.A. Burrow, Essays in Medieval Culture, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1984, pp. 1–26; Rosemary Greentree, The Middle English Lyric and Short Poem,
Annotated Bibliographies of Old and Middle English Literature 7, Cambridge: D.S.
Brewer, 2001, Introduction, pp. 14–15, and the works there cited.
2 See some of the essays in Derek Pearsall (ed.), Studies in the Vernon Manuscript,
Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1990; in Susannah Greer Fein (ed.), Studies in the Harley
Manuscript: The Scribes, Contents, and Social Contexts of British Library MS Harley 2253,
Kalamazoo: Western Michigan University, 2000, and in volume 33 (2003) of the
Yearbook of English Studies; also recent facsimiles such as Edward Wilson, Introduc-
tion, The Winchester Anthology: A Facsimile of British Library Additional Manuscript 60577,
Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1981, and Phillipa Hardman, Introduction, The Heege
Manuscript: A Facsimile of National Library of Scotland MS Advocates 19. 3. 1, Leeds Texts
and Monographs, n.s. 16, 2000.
3 For the purposes of this discussion I am assuming the term ‘Middle English lyric’ to
be roughly interchangeable with ‘Middle English short poem’. For some discussion
of the problems of defining the term, see Greentree, op.cit., pp. 5–13.
4 Dino S. Cervigni and Edward Vasta (eds and trans), Dante: Vita Nuova. Italian Text
with Facing English Translation, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995;
on the illustration of lyrics generally, see Julia Boffey, Manuscripts of English Courtly
Love Lyrics in the Later Middle Ages, Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer, 1985, pp. 48–53.
5 Available in facsimile: J.A. Burrow and A.I. Doyle, Introduction, Thomas Hoccleve: A
Facsimile of the Autograph Verse Manuscripts, EETS, s.s. 19, 2002.
6 G.C. Macaulay (ed.), The Complete Works of John Gower, 4 vols, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1899–1902, vol. 1, 335–78, 379–92. See also Ardis Butterfield, ‘Articulating
the Author: Gower and the French Vernacular Codex’, Yearbook of English Studies 33,
2003, 80–96.
7 John H. Fisher, R. Wayne Hamm, Peter G. Beidler and Robert F. Yeager, ‘John Gower’,
in Albert E. Hartung (general editor), A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, New
Haven CT: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1986, vol. 7, pp. 2195–210,
2399–418 (p. 2197).
‘Cy ensuent trois chaunceons’ 93
8 Henry Noble MacCracken, ‘Quixley’s Ballades Royal (?1402)’, Yorkshire Archaeolog-
ical Journal 20, 1908, 33–50. For suggestions about the early ownership of BL MS
Stowe 951, see Derek Pearsall, ‘The Rede (Boarstall) Gower’, in A.S.G. Edwards,
Vincent Gillespie and Ralph Hanna (eds), The English Medieval Book: Studies in
Memory of Jeremy Griffiths, London: The British Library, 2000, pp. 87–99 (p. 97).
9 E.K. Whiting (ed.), The Poems of John Audelay, EETS, o.s. 184, 1931, and J. Zupitza,
‘Die Gedichte des Franziskaners Jakob Ryman’, Archiv 89, 1892, 167–338. See
also, on Audelay, Susanna Fein, ‘Good Ends in the Audelay Manuscript’, Yearbook
of English Studies 33, 2003, 97–119, and Eric Stanley, ‘The Counsel of Conscience,
or the Ladder of Heaven in Defence of John Audelay’s Unlyrical Lyrics’, in Stefan
Horlacher and Marion Islinger (eds), Expedition nach der Wahrheit. Poems, Essays and
Papers in Honour of Theo Stemmler (Anglistische Forschungen, vol. 243), Heidelberg:
Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1996, pp. 131–59, and ‘The Verse Forms of Jon the
Blynde Awdelay’, in Helen Cooper and Sally Mapstone (eds), The Long Fifteenth
Century: Essays for Douglas Gray, Oxford: OUP, 1997, pp. 99–121.
10 Versions of some of Ryman’s lyrics also exist in a fragment which is now Cambridge,
University Library MS Addit. 7350; see Rossell Hope Robbins, ‘The Bradshaw
Carols’, PMLA 81, 1966, 308–10. One of Audelay’s poems (NIMEV 858) appears
in Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS 334A.
11 Some of these collections (and those of Audelay and Ryman) are discussed by
A.S.G. Edwards, ‘Fifteenth-century Middle English Verse Author Collections’, in
Edwards et al., op. cit., pp. 101–12.
12 Mary-Jo Arn (ed.), Fortunes Stabilnes. Charles of Orleans’s English Book of Love, Medieval
and Renaissance Texts and Studies, Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Texts
and Studies, Binghamton: State University of New York, 1994.
13 Bodl. MS Hearne’s Diaries 38, fols 261–64 (roundels 9, 10, 15, 16 in Arn’s
numbering) and Cambridge, University Library MS Addit. 2585 (roundels 5, 6,
Ballades 59, 60).
14 Throughout this discussion, NIMEV numbers refer to Julia Boffey and A.S.G. Edwards,
A New Index of Middle English Verse, London: British Library, 2005.
15 NIMEV 3752, 296, 2488, 2349, 1826, 2823, 2583, 2567, 2407, 2350, 3915, 3860,
509, 2182, 3488, 3913, 2230, 2295.
16 J.P.M. Jansen (ed.), The ‘Suffolk’ Poems: An Edition of the Love Lyrics in Fairfax 16 Attrib-
uted to William de la Pole, Groningen: Universiteitsdrukkerij, 1989, and J.P.M. Jansen,
‘Charles d’Orléans and the Fairfax Poems’, English Studies 70, 1989, 206–24; Derek
Pearsall, ‘The Literary Milieu of Charles d’Orléans and the Duke of Suffolk, and
the Authorship of the Fairfax Sequence’, in Mary-Jo Arn (ed.), Charles d’Orléans in
England (1415–1440), Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2000, pp. 145–56.
17 Apart from the duplicate Charles d’Orléans poem (NIMEV 2567), the only one of
the lyrics to survive elsewhere is NIMEV 2182 (‘Right goodly flour to whom I owe
servyse’) of which an elaborated form appears in the rather later Lambeth Palace
MS 306, on fol. 137r.
18 A.I. Doyle, Introduction, The Vernon Manuscript: A Facsimile of Bodleian Library, Oxford,
MS Eng. Poet. a. 1, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1987; John Burrow, ‘The Shape of the
Vernon Refrain Lyrics’ and John J. Thompson, ‘The Textual Background and Reputa-
tion of the Vernon Lyrics’, in Pearsall, op. cit. (1990), pp. 187–99, 201–24.
19 The central text, NIMEV 2577, ‘O vernacule I honoure him and the’, exists in a
number of variant forms; in some witnesses it is preceded by NIMEV 2442, and in
others followed by NIMEV 1370. See Rossell Hope Robbins, ‘The “Arma Christi”
Rolls’, Modern Language Review 34, 1939, 415–21.
20 Indexed collectively as NIMEV 672; see W. Hübner, ‘The Desert of Religion. Mit
dem Bilde des Richard Rolle of Hampole. Nach drei Handschriften zum erstenmal
herausgegaben’, Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen 126, 1911,
94 Julia Boffey
58–74; K.L. Scott, Later Gothic Manuscripts, 1390–1490, 2 vols, London: Harvey
Miller, 1996, vol. 2, pp. 192–4.
21 G. Holmstedt (ed.), Speculum Christiani, EETS, o.s. 182, 1933; Siegfried Wenzel
(ed. and trans.) Fasciculus Morum: A Fourteenth-Century Preacher’s Handbook, Univer-
sity Park PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1989; P.H. Barnum (ed.), Dives
et Pauper, 2 vols, EETS, o.s. 275 and 280, 1976, 1980. Verses in sermons, and
lyrics incorporated in longer secular texts, should be considered alongside these
categories; for some discussion, see Siegfried Wenzel, Preachers, Poets, and the Early
English Lyric, Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986, and Julia Boffey,
‘The Lyrics in Chaucer’s Longer Poems’, Poetica 37, 1993, 15–37.
22 For a description of Harley 1706, see A.I. Doyle, ‘Books Connected with the Vere
Family and Barking Abbey’, Transactions of the Essex Archaeological Society n.s. 25,
1958, 222–43. Parts of this sequence appear in Cambridge, University Library
MS Ff. 2. 38, BL Harley 2239, Lambeth Palace MS 491, and (more sporadically)
in other manuscripts. The items unique to Harley 1706 are edited by V.J. Scat-
tergood, ‘Unpublished Middle English Poems from British Museum MS Harley
1706’, English Philological Studies 12, 1970, 35–41.
23 IMEV 2770, 469, 3040, 3262, 1815, 1126, 505, 475, 1746.
24 See, for example, the series of proverbs described by Sanford B. Meech, ‘A Collec-
tion of Proverbs in Rawlinson MS D 328’, Modern Philology 38, 1940, 113–32, and
by Sarah M. Horrall, ‘Latin and Middle English Proverbs in a Manuscript at St
George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle’, Mediaeval Studies 45, 1983, 343–84; and the
collections of verse medical recipes mentioned by Susan Powell, ‘Another Manu-
script of Index of Middle English Verse No. 2627’, Notes and Queries 232, 1987,
154–6.
25 Russell Hope Robbins (ed.), Historical Poems of the XIVth and XVth Centuries, London:
OUP, 1959, pp. 166–8, 338.
26 Manchester, Chetham’s Manuscript Mun. E. 6.10 (4); see Christine Carpenter
(ed.), The Armburgh Papers: The Brokholes Inheritance in Warwickshire, Hertfordshire and
Essex c. 1417–c. 1453, Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1998, pp. 155–6, 58–9. A satir-
ical love letter and reply, NIMEV 3832 and 2437, survive in Bodl. MS Rawlinson
poet. 36; see R.H. Robbins, ‘Two Middle English Satiric Love Epistles’, Modern
Language Review 37, 1942, 415–21. The ‘trois chaunceons’ by Hoccleve invoked
in the title of this essay consist of a complaint to ‘la dame monoie’, her reply, a
comic description of a lady (NIMEV 3889, 1221, 2640) and a transitional couplet
(‘Aftir our song our mirthe & our gladnesse / Heer folwith a lessoun of heuynesse’)
leading on to ‘Lerne to Die’ (NIMEV 3121). For discussion of some later instances
of poems of this kind, see the sections on ‘Answer poetry’ and ‘Poetic competition’
in Arthur F. Marotti, Manuscript, Print, and the English Renaissance Lyric, Ithaca NY
and London: Cornell University Press, 1995, pp. 159–71
27 Carpenter, op. cit., pp. 3–59; the documents were copied on the roll ‘between
about 1417 and the early 1450s’ (p. 3); the clerk’s hand appears in the documents
as well as the poems, but, unlike the documents, these are not precisely dated. I am
grateful to Tony Edwards for drawing this verse to my attention; see his review of
The Armburgh Papers in Medium Aevum 68, 1999, pp. 330–1.
28 Carpenter, op. cit., p. 58
29 This poem begins rather confusingly with the words ‘En Johan roy [sic] souereigne
/ My dere loue faire and fre’, and turns out to be a variant of a lyric which appears
on fol. 6r of Bodleian MS Douce 95 with the opening ‘En jhesu Roy soueraign /
you lady fair and fre’. Possibly the ‘Johan’ addressed in the Chetham roll is Joan
Armburgh (Christine Carpenter’s suggestion). It is just about conceivable that
‘Johan’ is imagined as the male addressee of a lyric designed to answer ‘De amico ad
amicam’, although the rest of the lyric does not fit easily with this interpretation.
‘Cy ensuent trois chaunceons’ 95
30 Ralph Hanna, ‘Humphrey Newton and Bodleian Library MS Lat. Misc. c. 66’,
Medium Aevum 69, 2000, 279–91.
31 Linne R. Mooney, ‘“A Woman’s Reply to her Lover” and Four Other New Courtly
Love Lyrics in Cambridge, Trinity College MS R. 3. 19’, Medium Aevum 47, 1998,
235–56.
32 See Geoffrey Chaucer, The Riverside Chaucer (general editor Larry D. Benson), 3rd
edn, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987, p. 1078.
5 Sir John Fastolf’s
French books
Richard Beadle
There have long been good accounts of how, in the latter stages of the Hundred
Years War, the career soldier and administrator Sir John Fastolf (1380–1459)
‘distinguished, and so enriched himself’, and of how he invested his fortune largely
in property, much of it lying in East Anglia, close to his ancestral home of Caister
by Yarmouth.1 At Caister, in the early 1430s, he began to build a good-sized and
well-appointed castle, replacing the family manor house that he had inherited
from his mother, and the building was no doubt sufficiently advanced for his new
home to receive him from time to time when he retired from his official activities
in France and returned to England in late 1439.2 From that date he was at first
mostly in London, from 1446 at his newly built mansion known as Fastolf Place,
across the Thames from the Tower, in Southwark, variously involved in political
and public affairs, sometimes too closely for comfort, as when Jack Cade’s rebels
forced him to retreat to the City for safety in 1450. In 1454, at the age of 74 and in
uncertain health, Fastolf took up long-term, if not permanent residence at Caister,
accompanied by a cultivated and literate household that included his stepson
Stephen Scrope and his secretary William Worcester, both known as writers and
translators, who dedicated works to him.3 As well as investing in landed prop-
erty Fastolf also laid out considerable sums on the outward trappings necessary to
mark his status, such as a large wardrobe, expensive jewellery and abundant plate,
together with other furnishings and fittings for his principal residences, including
sculptured reliefs, stained glass, tapestries, and, as we shall see in more detail pres-
ently, some remarkable books. Little remains to indicate the style he lived in at
Fastolf Place, though some idea of its standing may be gleaned from the fact that
soon after Fastolf’s death in November 1459 the Duke of York installed his family
there, where for a time they were visited daily by the Earl of March, soon to be
Edward IV.4 Caister, whose ample furnishings have long been known from an
inventory published in Archaeologia in 1827, was coveted by his social superiors even
in his own lifetime; among those who sought at different times to acquire it were
the Duke of Norfolk, the Duchess of York, the Earl of Warwick, Lord Scales and
Lord Beaumont.5 In the event it was inherited, in controversial circumstances, by
Fastolf’s Norfolk neighbour John Paston, a mere gentleman-lawyer and a distant
relative by marriage, who had served him as one of the managers of his East
Anglian affairs since about 1450. As is well known, many of the Paston Letters
Sir John Fastolf’s French books 97
of the 1460s and 1470s reflect phases of the family’s struggles with various local
magnates to retain their Fastolf inheritance, of which Caister was the jewel.6
Fastolf was without doubt acutely conscious of the rank to which he had risen in
the world, and a sketch of how he laid out the enormous wealth he had acquired in
the French wars, and of how his ostentation matched and attracted the attention of
his superiors in the nobility, provides a necessary context for such direct evidence
as we have of his taste in books. Though he came from a relatively modest mercan-
tile background, he was wont, as a Knight of the Garter and a baron of France, to
stand on the dignity of what he had achieved and accumulated, as for example in
1452, when he made a major new enfeoffment of all his property to various impor-
tant trustees (from the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishops of Winchester
and Ely downwards), pronouncing himself ‘the kyngys trewe ligeman, soo beynge
and contynuyng, sithe I hadde aage of discrecion, norischid and broughte forthe
in the courtys and werrys of hym and the pryncys of blessid memorye, his noble
progenitourys.’7 It would be unjust to find in Fastolf the more vulgar aspects
of a parvenu’s demeanour, and it is likely that he acquired genuine cultivation
from his upbringing in the households of the Dukes of Norfolk and Clarence,
and most importantly his service to John, Duke of Bedford, brother of Henry V,
later Regent of France, and a noted connoisseur of many things, including books.8
Fastolf became master of his household in 1422, and would thus have been inti-
mately familiar with the splendour in which the Duke lived, not least his taste in
fine books.9 He certainly could not have been ignorant of the enormous library
of the French kings, formerly in the Louvre in Paris, the 853 volumes of which
Bedford appears to have bought at a knock-down price in 1425, and moved to his
headquarters at Rouen in around 1429.10 Upon Bedford’s death in 1435 Fastolf,
as one of Duke’s executors, acquired a share of responsibility for the disposal of his
abundant worldly goods, a duty which dogged him particularly towards the end
of his life, by which time he was the sole surviving executor.11 What became of
the French royal library after Bedford’s death is obscure. His inventories contain
a reference to ‘the grete librarie that cam owte of France of which my saide lord
the Cardinal had the substaunce’, which would seem to indicate that most of the
books passed into the possession of Cardinal Beaufort, one of the principal execu-
tors. About a hundred volumes are known to have survived, and it is generally
assumed that the collection was disposed of piecemeal in England.12 It is impos-
sible to say for certain whether any of these books came Fastolf’s way, but as we
shall see, he did own a collection of ‘French books’ which included a significant
number of unusual titles, several of them otherwise unknown in England at this
time, that are also found in the inventory of the French royal library.13
Direct evidence of Fastolf’s own taste in books exists in the shape of two surviving
manuscripts that he is known to have owned, the contents of both of which are
in French: Oxford, Bodleian, Bodley 179, a well-produced early fifteenth-century
copy of medical treatises by Aldobrandinus of Siena,14 and Bodleian Laud misc.
570, a copy of Christine de Pisan’s Epître d’Othéa together with a Livre des Quatre Vertus
Cardinaulx, made in London in 1450, and one of the finest illuminated vernacular
manuscripts of the mid-fifteenth century. The fact of Fastolf’s commissioning and
98 Richard Beadle
ownership of it is proclaimed by the presence of his motto, Me fault faire, incorpo-
rated into the decoration in upwards of twenty places, on one occasion entwined
with that of the Order of the Garter, of which he was plainly a devoted member.15
Its scribe was the prolific Ricardus Franciscus (as his name suggests, perhaps a
Frenchman) whose stylish secretary hand, anticipating the flamboyant lettre bâtarde
fashionable in the best books later in the century, was much in demand in London
in the 1440s and 1450s.16 The anonymous painter who executed the illustra-
tions in the Laud manuscript has been dubbed the Fastolf Master, undoubtedly a
Frenchman, whose work appears first in fine liturgical manuscripts produced for
the Duke of Bedford in Paris and Rouen. Fastolf might well have come to know
him, or at least his work, whilst overseeing Bedford’s household and its expendi-
ture in these places.17
It appears that Laud misc. 570 was evidently the second de luxe copy of the
French Othéa to have been in Fastolf’s household. The reason for thinking so is
that ten years prior to its making, in 1440, Stephen Scrope had translated the
Othéa into English, dedicating it to Fastolf.18 As C. F. Bühler demonstrated, the lost
manuscript from which he translated also went on to serve Ricardus Franciscus
as exemplar when the Laud copy of the French version was made for Fastolf in
1450, and it is likely also to have contained a set of miniatures used as models
by the Fastolf Master for his work in the same manuscript.19 Another distinctive
feature of this lost Othéa manuscript is that it was one of the few copies known to
have contained Christine’s original dedication to Jean, duc de Berry, with the
accompanying miniature showing her presenting her work to her patron. The
original is known to have been in among the Berry manuscripts in the French
royal library acquired by Bedford, which, as we have seen, would have been
under Fastolf’s purview as master of the regent’s household. Whether it was the
Berry–Royal library copy of the French Othéa that found its way into Fastolf’s own
household in 1440 so as to provide the source for Scrope’s translation must remain
a matter for speculation, though Rosamund Tuve’s study of the iconography of
the miniatures in the Othéa and its accompanying text left her in no doubt that it
indeed was.20 Nor has the copy of his English translation that Scrope presented to
Fastolf survived, though its appearance may be gauged from another manuscript
that contains it, Cambridge, St John’s College H.6, where the same text, with an
author–patron presentation miniature, is dedicated to Humphrey Stafford, Duke
of Buckingham (d. 1461). Here the hand is that of Ricardus Franciscus once again,
this time working with an English master, William Abell, who is believed to have
derived his miniatures directly from the scheme in Fastolf’s extant copy of the
French version in Bodleian Laud misc. 570.21 We have then a fairly ample mixture
of circumstantial and substantive evidence of a likely route by which high quality
French books may have come into Fastolf’s household, and of how a translation
and new de luxe copies of an original came into existence as a result. Such evidence
as there is might further be interpreted to suggest that Scrope’s dedication of his
English Othea to Fastolf was intended as a conscious reflex of a French ducal style
of patronage, which he can hardly have failed to become aware of while he too
served in France, at times with his stepfather, in the 1430s.22 If so, it would be in
Sir John Fastolf’s French books 99
keeping with that sense of status and cultivation which we have already observed
in other spheres of Fastolf’s activities in the expenditure of his fortune.
Sir John Fastolf died in November 1459, and by the early 1460s the protracted
dispute over his testamentary intentions was gathering heat. To judge by the
surviving evidence, books were not prominent among the matters over which
Fastolf’s divided executors quarrelled, but they do feature briefly in an inven-
tory and indenture drawn up by John Paston in June 1462, claiming that he had
no knowledge what had become of large quantities of Fastolf’s moveable goods,
whether at Caister or in London. He had ‘no very knowlech ner informacion’
of the whereabouts of most of the inventory of Fastolf’s wardrobe and bedding
at Caister, and the same went for the ‘inuentaré of spendyng mony, ryngges and
jouellis, clothes, silk, lyne, wollen, bokes of Frenshe, Latyn and Englyssh remay-
nyng in the chambre of the seid Fastolff’.23 He could not, he continued, account
for anything much ‘wyth-out sight and examinacion of old jnuentaries and remen-
brauns’, which were not available to him. One of the old inventories of Caister that
Paston might have had in mind, though it makes no mention of books, was the one
first printed in 1827, the lost original of which (said to be in the form of a roll) once
belonged to the eighteenth-century historian of Norfolk, Francis Blomefield. When
Gairdner reprinted Blomefield’s transcription of this document in his editions of
the Paston Letters he dated it to about 1459, assuming it must have been drawn
up at about the time of Fastolf’s death, but it is probably somewhat earlier, since
it resembles in many respects another and fuller inventory of Caister in a small
booklet now in the archives of Magdalen College, Oxford (Fastolf Paper 43), as
yet unprinted, and dated October 1448.24 Like Blomefield’s lost roll, Fastolf Paper
43 is an inventory of Fastolf’s castle, describing in turn the contents of forty-four
furnished rooms, but among the differences that it exhibits is the addition of a list
of French books, said to be kept ‘in the stewe hous’. Since this book list has not yet
been published in full detail, it is given here first in a diplomatic transcription:25
In the stewe hous of Frenshe bookes the bible the Cronycles of France the Cron-
icles of Titus leuius [London] a booke of Jullius Cesar [London] lez propretes
dez choses Petrus de Crescencis liber Almagesti liber Geomancie [cum iiij aliis
astronomie] liber de Roy Artour et Romaunce la Rose Cronicles Danglele
Veges de larte de Chevalerie Institutes of Justien Emperer Brute in ryme liber
Etiques liber de Sentence Joseph problemata Aristotilis Vice et Vertues liber de
Cronykes de grant Bretayn in ryme meditacions saynt Bernard
This list calls for comment on a number of counts, and not least because a
number of the titles mentioned are rather unusual in a fifteenth-century English
context, and in some cases are not paralleled in other insular collections of this
period, including that of its greatest bibliophile and collector, Humphrey, Duke of
Gloucester.26 It also raises a number of puzzling questions. Why is the list restricted
to French books, when we know that Fastolf, as one would expect, also owned
others in English and Latin? Does ‘French books’ in all cases mean ‘books in the
French language’, or might it also mean books that were acquired in or imported
100 Richard Beadle
from France? Assuming that most or all of the books were in French, were they
perhaps known to the compiler of the inventory to be especially valuable, or to
constitute some sort of special set in Fastolf’s larger collection? Why were they kept
in the ‘stew house’, in this context perhaps best understood as a small heated room
or study adjacent to a larger residential chamber, probably suitable on occasion
for bathing?27 Was this, again, because they were especially noteworthy in some
way, and reserved in a private room? On the other hand, these were books that
seem to have been in active use, since when the inventory was worked over at a
later date the word ‘London’ was added between the lines after two of the items,
indicating presumably that they had been removed to Fastolf Place, and that they
were worth keeping track of. It is also natural to wonder whether any of these
books still exist in modern collections, but without secundo folios, or convincing
evidence of a connection with Fastolf’s household, such as annotation in a recog-
nisable hand might afford,28 it would be hazardous to associate extant copies of the
works concerned with the bare titles in the list.
Simple answers to some of the questions raised above should not be ruled out:
the inventory’s singling out of the ‘French’ books in Fastolf’s larger collection
could be merely adventitious, a quirk of curiosity on the compiler’s part; Fastolf
had resided for many years in France, moving in cultivated circles, and merely
took the opportunity to acquire copies of some texts that interested him. On the
other hand, this would be to overlook the fact that a number of the titles listed
hang together as a group representative of the vernacular humanism prevalent
in French courtly circles in the later fourteenth century, an important intellec-
tual movement otherwise not known to have made any particular impression in
England at this time, a point to which we shall return. Simple explanations of the
inventory’s inclusion of Fastolf’s French books also run the risk of ignoring the
context established above. Fastolf’s penchant was to express his wealth materi-
ally, and his manifest taste for the very best that the book trade of his time could
provide in the way of a de luxe manuscript is palpably demonstrated in his commis-
sioning of the French Othéa in Bodleian Laud misc. 570, executed shortly after
the inventory of 1448 was drawn up. If Fastolf had a collection of French books
worthy of inclusion in an inventory substantially devoted to listing the fine things
at Caister, then it is more likely than not that they too were lavishly produced and
valuable items, among which another ‘French book’ like the Laud manuscript
would not have looked out of place.
John Paston may have disclaimed all knowledge of what happened to the books
at Caister after 1459, but one person who decided to keep track of where some
of them went, and, more importantly, knew their value, was William Worcester,
formerly Fastolf’s secretary. Fastolf Paper 70 at Magdalen College consists of a
draft schedule in Worcester’s hand, and a fair copy of it in someone else’s, detailing
monies and goods out of Fastolf’s estate that were from time to time made over
to Sir William Yelverton, a justice of the King’s Bench, and one of Fastolf’s most
prominent executors.29 It was probably drawn up in about 1470 for the attention
of William Wainfleet, Bishop of Winchester, who had lately assumed the admin-
istration of Fastolf’s will, and for whom Worcester here provided valuations of the
Sir John Fastolf’s French books 101
material items. They included £13 6s 8d in attire and expenses for Yelverton, his
wife and their entourage at Fastolf’s funeral, a cross on a chain containing a piece
of the True Cross ‘that Ser John Fastolf dyd were dayly aboute hys nek’, worth
£110, and a finger of St John the Baptist valued at £40.30 Alongside these major
treasures are listed two books, which it is natural to assume were among those
noted as being in the stew house at Caister in 1448:31
Item the seyd ser William Yeluerton had of the seyd ser Thomas a boke
clepyt Josephus v li.
Worcester was a bookish man, who spent a good deal of his time reading, writing
and travelling around the country visiting libraries, so there is no need to doubt
the valuations he placed on these particular books, which, if they were in any way
representative of Fastolf’s French manuscripts in general, suggests that as a group
they were indeed highly valuable. Comparison with the information on the price
of books in medieval England assembled by H.E. Bell indicates that valuations
such as £5 and £13 6s 8d (the latter possibly referring to a multi-volume work)
would be attached only to de luxe items.32
A number of the French works listed in the inventory of 1448 may be identified
with reasonable confidence, and summary accounts of them follow below. In other
cases the compiler of the inventory provided generic designations which could
relate to several possible texts. This may be true, for example, of ‘Vices and Vertues’,
and a ‘liber de Roy Artour’ could be one of a number of Arthurian texts, though its
companion work, ‘Romaunce la Rose’, is of course familiar enough. Another work
that is hard to identify, possibly a garbled or miswritten title for a work dealing
with the history of England, is ‘Cronicles Danglele’. The scientific or pseudo-scien-
tific ‘liber Almagesti’, the ‘liber Geomancie’ and the ‘iiij aliis astronomie’ also give us
little to go on, nor are the ‘meditacions St Bernard’ straightforwardly traceable
in an Old French version. However, surviving copies of the works that are more
or less securely identifiable are often found to exist in the sumptuously produced
manuscripts collected in the Franco-Burgundian princely and ducal libraries of the
time (for example those of Philippe le Bon, Philippe le Hardi, Charles d’Orléans
and Antoine, Le Grand Bâtard de Bourgogne),33 and notably in the French royal
library that had been in Fastolf’s charge under Bedford.
One strongly suspects that, if Fastolf had not acquired his own examples of
these books directly from such a source, then he would have commissioned similar
de luxe copies of his own, as we have observed him doing in the case of Bodleian
Laud misc. 570. Where identifiable examples of manuscripts of this kind survive
in England they are not found as a collection until the 1470s, when Edward IV
began to commission copies on a lavish scale (from Flemish sources) in emulation
of the libraries of his Continental princely counterparts; a number are still in the
Royal collection now in the British Library.34
102 Richard Beadle
Interpreting the inventory of 1448 (Oxford, Magdalen
College, Fastolf Paper 43)
‘the bible’
As we have seen, there are good grounds for thinking that this was the ‘grete
bible cum historia scolastica yn frensh’ valued at £13 6s 8d (or 40 marks) given
by William Worcester to Sir William Yelverton sometime in the 1460s. If so it
would have been a lavishly executed and illustrated copy of the Historia Scholastica
of Peter Comestor, augmented by passages from the Bible, in the late thirteenth-
century translation of Guiard des Moulins, known as the Bible Historiale. There
were several copies of it in the French royal library, and it was also in the collec-
tions of Philippe le Bon, Philippe le Hardi, Charles d’Orléans and the Bâtard de
Bourgogne.35
‘Petrus de Crescencis’
The Ruralium commodorum libri XII of Pier de Crescenzi (d. 1311), a treatise on estate
management and agriculture, drawn largely from classical sources, and translated
into French in 1373 at the instance of Charles V, under the title Rustican or the
Livre des proffits champestres et ruraulx. There were copies in the French royal library,
and it was also owned by the Bâtard de Bourgogne.40
‘liber Almagesti’
This may, but need not necessarily refer to the Almagest attributed to Ptolemy,
since the title was also loosely applied to other writings on astronomy. No French
translation of it appears to be known, though Ptolemy’s Quadripartitum had been
translated into the vernacular by Nicole d’Oresme at the instance of Charles V.
There were a number of Latin works under the title Liber Almagesti in the French
royal library, and it may be that the manuscript inventoried at Caister in 1448 was
a ‘French book’ in this sense.41
‘liber Geomancie’
A generic title that is attached to a number of manuscripts listed in the inventory
of the French royal library. A particularly fine illustrated ‘Livre de Geomancie’,
being a French translation by Gautier le Breton of a Latin work by Guillaume
de Meerbeeke, which had moved from the Louvre to England by the sixteenth
century, is now Cambridge, Trinity College O.9.35.42
‘Cronicles Danglele’
Not identified.44
‘Brute in ryme’
Presumably Wace’s Roman de Brut (1155), a translation of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s
Historia regum Britanniae, manuscripts of which continued to be copied in both
Anglo-Norman and French down to the fifteenth century.48
‘liber Etiques’
Aristotle’s Nicomachian Ethics, translated by Nicole d’Oresme in 1370–2, with a
glossary and commentary, and provided with an elaborate scheme of illustrations,
for Charles V. A copy of the ‘Ethiques en françois’ from the French royal library,
still extant, was later owned by Charles d’Orléans, ‘qui l’avait sans doute receuilli
en Angleterre’ (Delisle) during the dispersal of Bedford’s estate. Philippe le Bon,
Philippe le Hardi and Charles d’Orléans also owned copies.49
‘problemata Aristotilis’
The French translation of the pseudo-Aristotelian Problemata derives from a Latin
version by Bartholomew of Messina, with a commentary by Peter of Albano, and
deals with a wide range of scientific and humane learning, bearing especially on
medicine and health. It was made in around 1380 by Evrart de Conty, physician
to Charles V, who may have commissioned it; a number of the extant manuscripts
include illustrations. Copies were included in the French royal library, and in the
collection of Charles d’Orléans.53
‘Vice et Vertues’
This designation could refer to a number of texts, but given the general character
of this group of Fastolf’s books there must be a strong likelihood that it refers to a
copy of the widely distributed Somme le Roi, the translation of Peraldus’s Summa de
viciis et de virtutibus, made originally for King Philippe le Hardi by Laurent du Bois
in 1279, which was often given the title ‘Le Livre de Vices et Vertus’ in manu-
scripts, many of which contain schemes of illustration. There were a number of
copies in the French royal library.54
Notes
I am grateful to the President and Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford, for permission
to quote from documents among their archives, and to their archivist, Dr Robin Darwall-
Smith, for practical assistance in consulting them. The study has benefitted from comments
and corrections by Professor M.B. Parkes and Dr Daniel Wakelin; responsibility for the
views expressed and any remaining errors is my own.
108 Richard Beadle
1 See especially Kenneth Bruce McFarlane, ‘The Investment of Sir John Fastolf’s Profits of
War’, England in the Fifteenth Century: Collected Essays, London: Hambledon Press, 1981, pp.
175–97 (p. 178), and A. Smith, ‘“The Greatest Man of that Age”: The Acquisition of Sir
John Fastolf’s Estates’, in Rowena E. Archer and Simon Walker (eds), Rulers and Ruled in
Late Medieval England: Essays Presented to Gerald Harriss, London: Hambledon Press, 1995,
pp. 137–53.
2 For accounts of the building and furnishing of Caister, see A. Hawkyard, ‘Sir John
Fastolf’s “Grete Mansion by me Late Edified”: Caister Castle, Norfolk’, in Linda Clark
(ed.), The Fifteenth Century V. Of Mice and Men: Image, Belief and Regulation in Late Medieval
England, Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005, pp. 38–66; Christopher M. Woolgar, The Great
Household in Late Medieval England, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1999,
pp. 63–7, and Anthony Emery, Greater Medieval Houses of England and Wales 1300–1500,
Cambridge: CUP, 2000, vol. 2, pp. 56–61.
3 On Scrope, see George Poullett Scrope, History of the Manor and Ancient Barony of Castle
Combe, London, 1852, pp. 264–88, and for his writings, C.F. Bühler (ed.), The Dicts
and Sayings of the Philosophers, EETS, o.s. 211, 1941, and C.F. Bühler, The Epistle of
Othea, EETS, o.s. 264, 1970; on Worcester, see Kenneth Bruce McFarlane, ‘William
Worcester: A Preliminary Survey’, op. cit., pp. 199–224, and John H. Harvey (ed.),
William Worcestre Itineraries. Edited from the Unique MS. Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, 210,
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969.
4 M. Carlin, ‘Fastolf Place, Southwark: The Home of the Duke of York’s Family, 1460’,
in James Petre (ed.), Richard III: Crown and People, London: Richard III Society, 1985,
pp. 44–7. For Fastolf’s jewels see Woolgar, op. cit., pp. 175–6, who in point of value
regards them as ‘exceptional outside the royal household’.
5 T. Amyot, ‘Transcript of Two Rolls containing an Inventory of Effects formerly
belonging to Sir John Fastolf’, Archaeologia 21, 1827, 232–80; reprinted by James
Gairdner, The Paston Letters A.D. 1422–1509, London and Exeter: Chatto and Windus
and James G. Commin, 1904, vol. iii, pp. 174–89. For further details on those who
coveted Caister, see Hawkyard, op. cit., p. 65.
6 Colin Richmond, The Paston Family in the Fifteenth Century: Fastolf’s Will, Cambridge: CUP,
1996, gives the fullest account so far published of the struggle over the Fastolf legacy.
The fortunes of the Paston family in general are very ably recounted in Helen Castor,
Blood and Roses: The Paston Family in the Fifteenth Century, London: Faber and Faber, 2004.
7 Oxford, Magdalen College, Fastolf Paper 47. This and other quotations below from the
Fastolf Papers are by kind permission of the President and Fellows of Magdalen, and I
am grateful to their archivist, Dr Robin Darwall-Smith, for his assistance in making the
documents available for consultation.
8 Ethel C. Williams, My Lord of Bedford 1389–1435, London: Longmans, 1963; M.J.
Barber, ‘The Books and Patronage of Learning of a 15th-Century Prince’, The Book
Collector 12, 1963, 308–15.
9 Jenny Stratford, The Bedford Inventories. The Worldly Goods of John, Duke of Bedford, Regent of France
(1389–1435), London: Society of Antiquaries of London, 1993; J. Stratford, ‘The Manu-
scripts of John, Duke of Bedford: Library and Chapel’, in Daniel Williams (ed.), England in the
Fifteenth Century: Proceedings of the 1986 Harlaxton Symposium, Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1987,
pp. 329–50; Janet Backhouse, The Bedford Hours, London: British Library, 1990.
10 Barber, op. cit., pp. 312–3; Stratford, op. cit., pp. 95–6; Louis Claude Drouët-Darcq,
Inventaire de la Bibliothèque du roi Charles VI, fait au Louvre en 1423 par ordre du régent duc de
Bedford, Paris, 1867.
11 Stratford, op. cit., pp. 51–3.
12 Stratford, op. cit., p. 96. Most of the surviving manuscripts are enumerated in Leopold
Delisle, Recherches sur la Librairie de Charles V, 2 vols, Paris: Honoré Champion, 1907, vol. 1,
and a few others have come to light since.
13 Cf. Stratford, op. cit., p. 52: ‘If Fastolf kept plate, vestments, books or other valuables
Sir John Fastolf’s French books 109
which had once been amongst the regent’s possessions in France, or that he succeeded
in obtaining other goods in England, we are unlikely ever to know, but it is extemely
probable that he did.’
14 Falconer Madan and Herbert H.E. Craster, Summary Catalogue of Western Manuscripts in
the Bodleian Library Oxford, Oxford: Clarendon Press, no. 2074, 1922; Otto Pächt and
Jonathan J.G. Alexander, Illuminated Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library Oxford, Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1966, vol. i, p. 53, no. 676. The decoration includes a good border
and initials, and incorporates Fastolf’s arms and motto ‘Me fault fayre’ on fol. 1r.
15 K. Chesney, ‘Two Manuscripts of Christine de Pisan’, Medium Aevum 1, 1932, 35–41;
R. Tuve, ‘Notes on the Vices and Virtues’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes
26, 1963, 264–303 identifies the Livre des Quatre Vertus Cardinaulx as a selective translation
of the Breviloquium de virtutibus of John of Wales; her plates 32b, c, d and 34b reproduce
several of the miniatures in Laud misc. 570. Fastolf’s own motto and that of the Garter
were also decorative motifs in the fabric of his castle and his moveable goods at Caister;
see Woolgar, op. cit., p. 63, Emery, op. cit., pp. 57, 59.
16 The precise extent of Ricardus’s oeuvre awaits a definitive investigation, but a list of manu-
scripts variously attributed to his hand is given in L. Jefferson, ‘Two Fifteenth-Century
Manuscripts of the Statutes of the Order of the Garter’ in Peter Beal and Jeremy Grif-
fiths (eds), English Manuscript Studies 1100–1700, London: British Library, 1995, vol. 5, pp.
18–35 (p. 22), where the date in Laud misc. 570 is given incorrectly as 1440.
17 For a recent listing of the manuscripts where the Fastolf Master’s work is believed to
appear (some ten) see W.C.M. Wüstefeld, ‘A Remarkable Prayer Roll Attributed to the
Master of Sir John Fastolf’, Quaerendo 33, 2003, 233–46 (pp. 243–4). For suggestions that
the work of Ricardus Franciscus and the Fastolf Master perhaps also appear together in
Los Angeles, J. Paul Getty Museum MS 5, 84ML.723 (Book of Hours), see Sotheby’s Sale
Catalogue, 5 July 1976, lot 80, and J. Paul Getty Museum Journal 15, 1987, 202–3, no. 124.
18 Bühler, op. cit. (1970), p. xviii.
19 C.F. Bühler, ‘Sir John Fastolf’s Manuscripts of the Epître d’Othea and Stephen Scrope’s
Translation of this Text’, Scriptorium 3, 1949, 123–8 (p. 128, n. 35).
20 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p.52; cf. Tuve, op. cit., p. 281: ‘Fastolf’s access to a Berry book
undoubtedly derived from his being Master of Household to John Duke of Bedford, when
Berry manuscripts and others of the Royal Library passed into the hands of the Regent.’
21 J.J.G. Alexander, ‘William Abell “lymnour” and 15th-Century English Illumination’, in
Artur Rosenauer and Gerold Weber (eds), Kunsthistorische Forschungen Otto Pächt zu seinem 70.
Geburtstag, Salzburg: Residenz Verlag, 1972, pp. 166–72; Kathleen L. Scott, Later Gothic
Manuscripts 1390–1490, London: Harvey Miller, 1996, vol. ii, pp. 263–6. For discussion of
the distinctive iconography of the miniatures in this group of manuscripts, see Tuve, op.
cit., pp. 284–5. Other manuscripts where the work of Ricardus Franciscus and William
Abell appears together are San Marino CA, Huntington Library HM 130 (Statutes of
the Archdeaconry of London), the Tallow Chandlers’ Company of the City of London,
Grant of Arms manuscript, and London, St Bartholowmew’s Hospital, Cok’s Cartulary.
22 Poullett Scrope, op. cit., pp. 266–7.
23 Norman Davis (ed.), Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, EETS, s.s. 21, 2004,
vol. 1, p. 109, no. 64, lines 63–6.
24 McFarlane, op. cit. (1981), p. 189, n. 73. The inventory is not in the hand of Geoffrey
Spirleng, as I previously thought (see R. Beadle, ‘Geoffrey Spirleng (c. 1426–c. 1494): A
Scribe of the Canterbury Tales in His Time’, in Pamela R. Robinson and Rivkah Zim (eds),
Of the Making of Books: Medieval Manuscripts, their Scribes and Readers. Essays presented to M.B.
Parkes, Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997, pp. 116–46 (p. 122)), though he did endorse the
cover. It is the work of another of Fastolf’s household servants, the clerk John Bokkyng,
whose very similar hand is illustrated in Richard Beadle and Colin Richmond (eds),
Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, EETS, s.s. 22, 2006, vol. 3, Plate XXVI.
25 Magdalen College, Fastolf Paper 43, f. 10r. Previous printed accounts of this booklist
110 Richard Beadle
rely on the transcript given by W.D. Macray in the Eighth Report of the Royal Commission on
Historical Manuscripts, London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1881, Part I, Appendix, p. 268.
26 K.W. Humphreys, ‘Books in Private Hands in England in the First Half of the Fifteenth
Century’, in Abraham Horodisch (ed.), De arte et libris: Festschrift Erasmus 1934–1984,
Amsterdam: Erasmus Antiquariaat en Boekhandel, 1984, pp. 237–48; S.H. Cavanaugh,
‘Books Privately Owned in England, 1300–1450’, unpublished dissertation, University of
Pennsylvania, 1980. On Duke Humphrey’s collection see Alfonso Sammut, Unfredo duca
di Gloucester e gli umanisti italiani, Medioevo e Umanesimo 41, Padova: Antenor, 1980.
27 H. Kurath et al. (eds), Middle English Dictionary, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press,
1954–2000, s. v. steu(e), n. 2.
28 Cambridge, Pembroke College MS 215, a copy of Chaucer’s Boece with annotations
in William Worcester’s hand, is an example of a book that may have spent time in
Fastolf’s household; see D. Wakelin, ‘William Worcester reads Chaucer’s Boece’, Journal
of the Early Book Society 5, 2003, 177–80. The inventory in FP 43 was later in Worcester’s
hands, since he used some blank leaves for his own notes in 1454–5.
29 On Yelverton, see Richmond, op. cit., pp. 95–101, and further references there.
30 McFarlane, op. cit. (1981), p. 190, gives the valuation of the object that Fastolf wore
daily about his neck as £200, but FP 70 appears to give £100 for the piece of the
Holy Cross and £10 for the reliquary jewel that contained it. Fastolf was evidently
keen on relics: another was ‘an Angel of silver and gilt bearing the arm of St George’,
given by him to the Gild of St George in Norwich in 1433, and kept in the Cathedral;
see William Hudson and John C. Tingey, Records of the City of Norwich, Norwich and
London: Jarrold, 1906–10, vol. 2, p. 399.
31 Magdalen College, Fastolf Paper 70, quoted from Worcester’s draft. The fair copy
reads ‘Item the said ser William Yeluerton had of the said sir Thomas a boke clepyt
Josephus and a byble of Wyrcstre’, with the same valuations added in the margin in
Worcester’s hand. ‘The seyd Sir Thomas’ refers to the priest Thomas Howes, formerly
head of the household at Caister, who like Worcester, Yelverton and Wainfleet was also
among Fastolf’s executors.
32 H.E. Bell, ‘The Price of Books in Medieval England’, The Library 4th ser. 17, 1936–7,
312–32 (pp. 324–5) on methods of valuing books, which were well developed in the
university and legal circles in which Worcster moved. Worcester’s reading habits and
his interest in books and libraries have recently been surveyed by D. Wakelin, ‘William
Worcester writes a History of his Reading’, New Medieval Literatures 7, 2005, 53–71.
33 George Doutrepont, Inventaire de la ‘Librairie’ de Philippe le Bon, Brussels, 1906; Pierre Champion,
La Librairie de Charles d’Orléans, Paris: H. Champion, 1910; A. Boinet, ‘Un Bibliophile du XVe
siècle: Le grand Bâtard de Bourgogne’, Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes 67, 1906, 255–69.
34 For example BL MSS Royal 14E.vi (Petrus de Crecentiis, Rustican), 17F.ii (Les Faits
des Romains), Royal 18D.ix–x + 15D.i (Guiard des Moulins, La Bible Historiale), Royal
15E.ii (Jean Corbechon, Les Proprietez des Choses), and (a stray) the illuminated copy of
Josephus’s writings in French at Sir John Soane’s Museum in London; see J. Backhouse,
‘Founders of the Royal Library: Edward IV and Henry VII as Collectors of Illumi-
nated Manuscripts’, in Williams, op. cit. (1987), pp. 23–41 (p. 39), and for the Josephus,
E.G. Millar, ‘Les Manuscrits à peintures des bibliothèques de Londres’, Bulletin de la
Société Française de Reproduction de Manuscrits à Peintures 4, 1914–20, 89–94.
35 Samuel Berger, La Bible française au Moyen Age, Paris: H. Champion, 1888, p. 387; Delisle,
op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 20–1, and also vol. 1, pp. 148–50, for a surviving example; Doutrepont,
op. cit., nos 88, 152; De Winter, op. cit., p. 130; Champion, op. cit., pp. 54–5; Boinet, op.
cit., p. 259. See also F. Avril, ‘La Bible Historiale de Charles V’, in Rodney G. Dennis and
Elizabeth Falsey (eds), The Marks in the Field: Essays on the Uses of Manuscripts, Cambridge
MA: Harvard University Press, 1992, pp. 96–100, for a copy formerly in the French royal
library, and London, BL MSS Royal 15D.iii and Royal 17E.vii for examples of illumi-
nated copies that were in England in the fifteenth century.
Sir John Fastolf’s French books 111
36 Anne D. Hedeman, The Royal Image: Illustrations of the Grandes Chroniques de France
1274–1422, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991, pp. 187–92, provides a list
of the extant manuscripts; Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 162–3, and also vol. 1, pp. 309–18
for some surviving copies.
37 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 160–1, and also vol. 1, pp. 283–4, for the copy (still extant)
given by Bedford to Gloucester, though how it returned to France is not known;
Doutrepont, op. cit., nos. 70–1; De Winter, op. cit., pp. 131–2; Champion, op. cit.,
p. 106. Other extant copies are listed in R.H. Lucas, ‘Medieval French Translations
of the Classics to 1500’, Speculum 45, 1970, 225–53 (pp. 239–40), and see also Keith
V. Sinclair, The Melbourne Livy, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1961, for an
illustrated study of a particular example.
38 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 160; Champion, op. cit., pp. 30, 45. Extant copies, including
some from the French royal library, and several with traces of early ownership in
England, are described in Louis Fernand Flutre, Les Manuscrits des Faits des romains, Paris:
Hachette, 1932.
39 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 76, and also vol. 1, pp. 230–1, for an extant copy; Doutrepont,
op. cit., nos 81, 157, De Winter, op. cit., p. 133, Champion, op. cit., pp. 13–14, Boinet,
op. cit., p. 257. See also D. Byrne, ‘Rex Imago Dei: Charles V of France and the Livre
des propriétés des choses’, Journal of Medieval History 7, 1981, 97–113, and ‘Two Hitherto
Unidentified Copies of the Livre des propriétés des choses from the Royal Library of the
Louvre and the Library of Jean de Berry’, Scriptorium 31, 1977, 90–8.
40 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 139; Boinet, op. cit., p. 256, an illustrated copy. For the text itself
see Petrus de Crescentiis, Ruralia commoda, ed.Will Richter, Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1995.
41 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 94–5.
42 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 269–70, vol. 2, pp. 121-5.
43 See for example ibid., vol. 2, pp. 177–8, 182–3, 192–3.
44 A possibility might be a condensed form of the title of Froissart’s Chroniques de France,
d’Angleterre et des païs voisins.
45 See Lucas, op. cit., pp. 248–9, and further references there, together with Leena Löfstedt
(ed.), Li Livres Flave Vegece de la chose de chevalerie, Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia,
1982, pp. 11–16, for descriptions of manuscripts of the Vignai translation, several of
fifteenth-century English provenance.
46 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 67–8, and also vol. 1, pp. 273–4, for an extant illuminated
copy of the De Meun translation formerly in the French royal library, which seems to
have remained in England (BL Royal 20B.i); Champion, op. cit., p. 108.
47 Félix Olivier-Martin, Les Institutes de Justinien en français: Traduction anonyme du XIIIe siècle,
Paris: Recueil Sirey, 1935; Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 139–41, and also vol. 1, pp. 250–1
for the extant copy referred to; Champion, op. cit., p. 60.
48 Ivor Arnold (ed.), Le Roman de Brut de Wace, 2 vols, Paris: Société des Anciens Textes
Français, 1938–40. For a recent listing of the extant manuscripts see J. Blacker, ‘Wace’s
Roman de Brut in Anglo-Norman and Continental Manuscripts’, Text 9, 1996, 185–6.
49 Albert D. Menut (ed.), Maistre Nicole d’Oresme. Le Livre d’éthiques d’Aristotè, New York:
G. E. Stechert & Co, 1940; Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 81–2, and also vol. 1, pp. 252–3,
256–7 for extant copies; Doutrepont, op. cit., nos 91, 223; De Winter, op. cit., p. 141;
Champion, op. cit., pp. 6–7. Claire R. Sherman, Imaging Aristotle: Verbal and Visual
Representation in Fourteenth-Century France, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995,
provides an extended study of the work and its illustrations.
50 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 119; Millar, op. cit., p. 90.
51 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 55; Champion, op. cit., p. 70.
52 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 146; Doutrepont, op. cit., no. 80; Champion, op. cit., pp. 64–5.
53 P.M. Gathercole, ‘Medieval Science: Evrart de Conty’, Romance Notes 6, 1964–5,
175–81; Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 80; Champion, op. cit., p. 8.
54 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 57–9, and also vol. 1, pp. 236–47 for extant copies. See
112 Richard Beadle
also Eric G. Millar, An Illuminated Manuscript of La Somme le Roi, Oxford: Roxburghe
Club, 1953, and for an extended account of the illustrated copies of the work and
their dissemination, Richard H. Rouse and Mary A. Rouse, Manuscripts and their Makers:
Commercial Book Producers in Medieval Paris 1200–1500, 2 vols, Turnhout: Harvey Miller,
2000, vol. 1, pp. 145–72.
55 Jean-Claude Thiolier (ed.), Pierre de Langtoft: Le Reigne d’ Edouard I, Créteil: CELIMA,
Université de Paris XII, 1989, pp. 35–142.
56 André Wilmart, Auteurs spirituels et textes dévots du moyen âge, Paris: Bloud et Gay, 1932,
pp. 195, 201, 337.
57 Delisle, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 54–5. Cf. BL Royal 16E.xii, ff. 313–29, headed ‘Ce sont ci
les meditacions S. Bernart’.
58 For recent general surveys of such collections see F. Robin, ‘Le Luxe des collections au
XIVè et XVè siècles’, and G. Hasenohr, ‘L’Essor des bibliothèques privées au XIVè
et XVè siècles’, in André Vernet (ed.), Histoire des bibliothèques françaises: Les Bibliothèques
médiévales, Paris: Promodis, 1989, pp. 193–213, 215–63.
59 There were several priests and friars who were either part of or attached to the house-
hold at Caister and its private chapel. For the service books in the chapel (listed in the
inventories mentioned above) see Gairdner, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 188, and Hawkyard, op.
cit., p. 62, n. 165.
60 In 1444 Richard, Duke of York was contemplating mounting a claim for the throne of
Castile, based on John of Gaunt’s part in the Treaty of Bayonne in 1388. Fastolf and
other members of his council were secretly requested to advise and ‘to enserche the
cronicles and pedegreys conveyng the fourme and ordre of such descentys as longith to
that matier’, as Fastolf put it in a letter of 1444; see Beadle and Richmond, op. cit., no.
956, p. 49, lines 21–2.
61 For general surveys of early French humanism see J. Monfrin, ‘Humanisme et traduction
au moyen âge’, Journal des Savants, 1963, 161–90, and ‘La Connaissance de l’antiquité
et le problème de l’humanisme en langue vulgaire dans la France du XVè siècle’, in
Gérard Verbeke and Jozef Ijsewijn (eds), The Late Middle Ages and the Dawn of Humanism
outside Italy, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1972, pp. 131–70.
62 S. Lusignan, ‘La Topique de la translatio studii et les traductions françaises de textes
savants au XIVe siècle’, in Geneviève Contamine (ed.), Traduction et traducteurs au moyen
âge, Paris: Éditions du Centre national de la Recherche scientifique, 1989, pp. 303–15.
63 Sherman, op. cit., pp. 40–1.
64 John G. Nichols (ed.), The Boke of Noblesse, London: J.B. Nichols and Sons, 1860. For
references to allusions that Worcester could have taken from Fastolf’s French books see
D.L. Wakelin, ‘Vernacular Humanism in England c. 1440–1485’, unpublished disserta-
tion, University of Cambridge, 2002, p. 168, n. 41. Worcester also cites Aristotle’s Ethics
in a letter of 1460; Norman Davis (ed.), Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century,
EETS, s.s. 21, 2004, p. 203.
65 Nichols, op. cit., pp. 64–6; Sherman, op. cit., pp. 73–80.
66 Davis, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 203, no. 604, lines 1–2; Harvey, op. cit., p. 262. In the same
context (Itineraries, p. 263) Worcester also mentions another notable French book, of
similar character to those in Fastolf’s collection, though not on the list above, an
apparently valuable copy of Le Myrrour de Dames ‘cooperto rubeo corio’. A lavish copy of
this work which once formed part of the French royal library seems to have remained
in England, and (like the manuscript of Worcester’s Itineraries) is now in the library of
Corpus Christi College, Cambridge (MS. 324); see Nigel Wilkins, Catalogue des manu-
scrits français de la Bibliothèque Parker, Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, Cambridge: Parker
Library Publications, 1993, pp. 90–2.
67 See notably the reappraisal by Richmond, op. cit., pp. 78–80.
68 Wakelin, op. cit., pp. 157–205; Sherman, op. cit., pp. 93–116.
6 Journeyman manuscript
production and lay piety
The Hopton Hall manuscript
A.S.G. Edwards
The former Hopton Hall manuscript was for centuries in private hands in the
possession of the Chandos-Pole-Gell family in Derbyshire before its sale at Sothe-
by’s, on 5 December 1989, where it formed lot 89. It was acquired then by the
book dealers, Bernard Quaritch; in 1995 it was purchased by Keio University in
Tokyo from the Tokyo dealer Maruzen.
Its long sojourn in private hands has meant that the manuscript has been little
examined.1 But the Hopton Hall manuscript provides an opportunity to consider
the ways in which a medieval manuscript of such a kind and period as it represents
can be fruitfully interrogated. As I will try to suggest, both the form and contents of
this manuscript deserve study, both in their own terms and for what they can tell
us about some of the circumstances of fifteenth-century English regional manu-
script production.
Hopton Hall can be best approached initially through a consideration of its
physical form. It is written throughout by a single hand, one that is quite well
formed and evidently competent in its ability to copy quite lengthy texts in both
verse and prose with a high degree of consistency and clarity. The scribe has
made some neat corrections, carefully marked in the lower or outer margins, but
has not had cause to make very many. These facts seem sufficient grounds for
supposing that the copyist was a trained one whose work possibly involved the
regular copying of manuscripts. He may therefore have been a professional scribe.
His writing can be dated to about the middle of the fifteenth century on the basis of
its general aspect, but in terms of its palaeography it has few very distinct features:
it represents a form of bastard anglicana in which both secretary and anglicana
forms of –a- and –s- are used interchangeably, as are open and closed forms of –e-;
there is a tendency to elaborate the final descender of –h.
In one respect, however, this scribe is relatively unusual. We know his name.
Several times in the course of his copying he signs it. In its fullest form it is given as
‘Gulielmus Hallys’ (fol. 28); elsewhere he gives his surname only: ‘quod Hall’ (fol.
13v) or ‘quod Hallys’ (fol. 37). Unfortunately, this is all the information we have
about William Hall or Halls. No other manuscripts seem to survive in his hand
and his name is sufficiently common not to provide any basis for conclusions about
his life beyond the Hopton Hall manuscript.
114 A.S.G. Edwards
We can, however, gather a little about where William Hall came from. He
wrote in a form of Norfolk English. We find in the manuscript such distinctive
Norfolk forms as the replacement of what would normally be initial ‘sh’ forms, in
such words as ‘shall’ or ‘should’ by an initial ‘x’ ; the substitution of ‘w’ or ‘wh’ by
‘q’ or ‘qw’ in such forms as ‘qwan’ for ‘when’, ‘qwylke’ or ‘queche’ for ‘which’,
‘qwo’ for ‘who’ and ‘hese’ for ‘his’. 2 One of the Norfolk manuscripts discussed
below, Cambridge University Library Ii.4.9, shows an interesting consciousness
of the issues involved in the change of dialect. At the end of his copying of Rolle’s
Form of Living the scribe adds this colophon (fol. 197v):
Appendix
Notes
1 It did receive a detailed description in the recent important catalogue of Keio Univer-
sity acquisitions, to which I am indebted: Takami Matsuda (ed.), Mostly British: Manu-
scripts and Early Printed Materials from Classical Rome to Renaissance England in the Collection of
Keio University Library, Tokyo: Keio University, 2001, pp. 56–63; but it warrants more
extensive discussion and contextualisation than was possible there.
2 On the dialectal characteristics of fifteenth-century Norfolk English see Richard
Beadle, ‘Prolegomena to a Literary Geography of Later Medieval Norfolk’, in Felicty
Riddy (ed.), Regionalism in Late Medieval Manuscripts and Texts, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer,
1991, pp. 91–2.
3 For a list of these manuscripts see ibid., pp. 102–8.
4 This lacuna comprises most of Hilton’s Mixed Life, from line 119 (out of 841) in Sarah
Ogilvie-Thomson (ed.), Walter Hilton’s Mixed Life: Edited from Lambeth Palace MS 472 e,
Salzburg: Institut für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Salzburg University, 1986. This
suggests a missing gathering of probably eight leaves.
5 See P.S. Jolliffe, A Check-List of Middle English Prose Writings of Spiritual Guidance, Toronto:
Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1974, no. C 13 (henceforward cited as
‘Jolliffe’).
6 Jolliffe C 12.
7 The fullest enumeration is in Anne Hudson, ‘A New Look at the Lay Folk’s Catechism’,
Viator 16, 1985, 243–58.
8 The characterisation is Hudson’s, op. cit., p. 247; without a full edition of all the
witnesses it is impossible to say anything more specific about the Hopton Hall version.
9 The fullest listing occurs in Ogilvie-Thomson, op. cit., pp. xii–xiii, who does not,
however, include the Hopton Hall copy.
10 Jolliffe H 9 (a)–(d); to the manuscripts listed there may be added olim Bradfer-Lawrence
8, now Tokyo, Takamiya 65.
11 Hilton Mixed Life was reprinted as Book 3 of his Scale of Perfection in 1494 by Wynkyn de
Worde (STC 14042) and as part 2 of the Nova legenda anglie by Richard Pynson in 1516
as well as separately by Robert Wyer in 1530 (STC 14041). The Charter of the Abbey of the
Holy Ghost survives in three incunable editions by de Worde, printed in [1496?], [1497?]
and [1500?] respectively (STC, 13608.7, 13609, 13610).
12 See further R.N. Swanson, ‘The Origins of The Lay Folk’s Catechism’, Medium Aevum 60,
Journeyman manuscript production and lay piety 121
1991, 92–100.
13 New Haven, Beinecke Library MS 317; see George Keiser, ‘Patronage and Piety in
Fifteenth-Century England: Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, Symon Wynter, and Yale
University MS 317’, Yale University Library Gazette 60, 1985, 32–46.
14 These include Lambeth Palace 472, owned by Richard Collop, parchmenter, BL
Harley 2254, owned by Dominican nuns at Dartford and BL Harley 2397 owned by
the London Poor Clares; for details see Ogilvie-Thomson, op. cit., pp. xii–xiii, xx–xxi,
xv–xvi.
15 For a description of this work see Albert E. Hartung (general editor), A Manual of the
Writings in Middle English, New Haven: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences,
1986, vol. 7, pp. 2341–2 [186].
16 Julia Boffey, ‘The Charter of the Abbey of the Holy Ghost and Its Role in Manuscript Antholo-
gies’, Yearbook of English Studies 33, 2003, 120–30; see also Nicole Rice, ‘Spiritual Ambi-
tion and the Translation of the Cloister: The Abbey and Charter of the Holy Ghost’, Viator
33, 2002, 223–60 (pp. 245–59).
17 See George Keiser, ‘Lincoln Cathedral 91: Life and Milieu of the Scribe’, Studies in
Bibliography 32, 1979, 158–79.
18 On fols 213v–19, 223–9 respectively.
19 For a description see A Catalogue of the Manuscripts Preserved in the Library of the University of
Cambridge, Cambridge: CUP, 1857, vol. 2, pp. 498–500.
20 There is, however, an illustration on fol. 68v. For a description, see A Catalogue of the
Manuscripts Preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge, Cambridge: CUP, 1858,
vol. 3, 448–50.
21 See Beadle, op. cit., pp. 104–5.
22 See Roger Lovatt, ‘Henry Suso and the Medieval Mystical Tradition in England’, in
Marion Glasscoe (ed.), The Medieval Mystical Tradition in England II, Exeter: University of
Exeter Press, 1982, pp. 47–63.
23 Rosamond McKitterick and Richard Beadle, Catalogue of the Pepys Library at Magdalene
College, Cambridge, vol. v, Manuscripts. Part I: Medieval, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1992,
pp. 54–61.
24 For description and further references see T. Takamiya, ‘“On the Evils of Covetous-
ness”: An Unrecorded Middle English Poem’, in Richard Beadle and Alan Piper (eds),
New Science out of Old Books: Studies in Manuscripts and Early Printed Books in Honour of A. I.
Doyle, Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1995, pp. 189–206.
25 For a list of the manuscripts owned by the family see A.J. Horwood, ‘The Manuscripts
of Henry Chandos-Pole-Gell’, Ninth Report of the Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts,
London: HMSO, 1884, part II, pp. 388–403 (this MS described p. 384). There are few
other medieval manuscripts recorded, mainly legal. Several of these manuscripts are
recorded in John H. Baker, English Legal Manuscripts in the USA, London: Selden Society,
1985; see Library of Congress MS 15 and Law MS 9 (ibid., p. 9) and Michigan Univer-
sity MS 3 (owned by ‘Thomas Gell’; ibid., p. 53).
26 I am greatly indebted to Professor Toshiyuki Tamamiya of Keio University, who made
it possible for me to examine the Hopton Hall manuscript in situ and who also gener-
ously permitted me to examine his own MS 15.
7 Contexts and comments
The Chastising of God’s Children and
The Mirror of Simple Souls in
MS Bodley 505
Marleen Cré
The Chastising of God’s Children and The Mirror of Simple Souls, the only two works
contained in Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Bodley 505, seem an odd match.
The Chastising of God’s Children is a devotional compilation that centres on how the
person committed to leading a religious life should recognise and deal with temp-
tation. It is a treatise well within the limits of orthodoxy, which is accessible both
in content and in form: its logically built and fairly brief dispositions have been
ordered into a prologue and twenty-seven chapters, each of which is introduced
(and thus also signalled to the reader) by an elaborate chapter heading. On the
other hand, the Middle English translation of Marguerite Porète’s Mirror of Simple
Souls is a long, discursive text that is often obscure and illogical. With a division
into chapters that seems haphazard and a contemplative message that borders on
the heterodox, the Mirror is not an easy read, and the Middle English translator’s
decision to insert his own comments on the text after statements or passages he
thought needed further clarification can be seen as his natural response to its inter-
pretative demands. The combination of a devotional treatise that warns its readers
of the dangers inherent in the religious life and the errors easily fallen into with a
Free Spirit text that earned its author condemnation and execution as a relapsed
heretic is indeed intriguing.1
Bodley 505 is one of the three manuscripts in which the Middle English transla-
tion of The Mirror of Simple Souls, originally written in French, survives. The trans-
lator is known to us by his initials, MN, which he uses to indicate his comments
on the text. In Cambridge, St John’s College MS 71, the Mirror is the only text
in the manuscript. In London, British Library MS Additional 37790, it follows
Richard Misyn’s Middle English translations of Rolle’s Emendatio Vitae and Incen-
dium Amoris, the short text of Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love and the
Middle English translation of Jan van Ruusbroec’s Vanden blinkenden steen, texts that
have been interspersed with shorter texts and compilations. Like Bodley 505, St
John’s College 71 originated in the London Charterhouse,2 and MS Additional
37790 can also be linked to the English Carthusians.3 Apart from Bodley 505, the
Chastising survives in at least nine other manuscripts, of which one, MS Bodleian
Rawlinson C. 57, bears an inscription saying that it was a gift to Sheen Charter-
house by John Kingslow, the first Sheen recluse.4
As the Carthusians were notorious and avid collectors of texts, especially those
Contexts and comments 123
describing the religious and contemplative experience at first hand,5 it is difficult to
argue in favour of a conscious design and deliberate ordering of texts in a manu-
script in which only two texts occur.6 As part of this archival activity, the Chastising
and the Mirror could simply and coincidentally have been copied by the same scribe
one after the other, and bound into the same volume because it was practical to do
so, or perhaps because these texts especially were of significance to the scribe or a
particular reader. Still, there is an interesting coincidence about the pairing of the
Chastising and the Mirror, as the fragments borrowed from Ruusbroec’s De Geestelike
Brulocht in chapters 9 to 12 of the Chastising include those passages in which the
Brabant mystic is believed to be directly criticising the doctrine put forward in the
Mirror of Simple Souls.7 Thus, Bodley 505 contains both the Mirror, and a text incor-
porating a contemporary, not altogether favourable comment on it. Again, there
is no evidence to suggest that this was consciously intended. Though it is likely that
attentive readers noticed the forward reference to the Mirror in the Chastising, there
is no tangible proof of this in marginal annotations. Nevertheless, the co-occur-
rence of these texts does invite us to think about how the reading of the one text
could have influenced the reading of the other. In addition, both the Chastising and
the Mirror translate and adapt continental texts, and thus allow us to see how two
late fourteenth-century, early fifteenth-century English translators read and medi-
ated these continental texts on (aspects of) contemplation.
The common denominator in both the Mirror and the Brulocht fragments used in
the Chastising seems to be the heresy of the Free Spirit. Ruusbroec criticises it and
warns his readers against it, and the Mirror is considered as a text promulgating
the heresy that preoccupied continental Church authorities (mainly in Germany)
throughout the later Middle Ages.8 Marguerite Porète, the author of the Mirror,
which in its manuscript tradition is an anonymous text, was condemned as a
relapsed heretic in 1310 after fifteen articles taken from her text were pronounced
heretical by a tribunal of theologians and canonists. A year after her death, the
Council of Vienne published the decree Ad nostrum, defining the Free Spirit heresy
in eight articles that for the most part derive from Marguerite’s book, but also
reflect traditional prejudices about those believers rejecting the authority of the
clergy and the Church over their own spiritual lives.9 Armed with this decree,
which was put into effect from 1316 (when Ad nostrum was finally published),
the inquisition against Free Spirit heretics took momentum in repeated bloody
campaigns against beghards and beguines, men and women leading a religious life
outside the approved orders, who came to be identified with the heresy.10
As Lerner points out, ‘the English were not well-informed about Free-Spirit
mysticism’.11 A marginal annotation in Cambridge, Pembroke College MS 221,
in which Richard Methley’s Latin translation of the Middle English Mirror occurs,
does associate a passage in the text with Ad nostrum, but no real conclusions about
the Mirror being a text condemned as heretical seems to have been drawn from the
annotator’s recognition of some of its statements as being similar to the articles of
Clement V’s decree. That the persecution of the Free Spirit heresy did not travel
across the Channel is another argument to corroborate Lerner’s view of the Free
Spirit doctrine not as a heresy, but as a form of radical mysticism that frequently
124 Marleen Cré
skirted heterodoxy. For social and religious-political reasons, this radical mysti-
cism accrued some stereotypical heretical excesses in the minds of its critics (the
most typical being the charge of antinomianism, i.e. the belief that Christians are
liberated from the observance of the sacraments, and more generally of moral laws
when God’s grace is active),12 and was attributed to the beguines and beghards,
who posed a threat to social stability and Church authority because of their ideals
of apostolic poverty and mendicancy outside the controlled sphere of the monastic
and mendicant orders. The insular counterparts of beghards and beguines were
anchorites and anchoresses who, by virtue of their being enclosed rather than
wandering, attracted far less criticism and were left undisturbed.13 The continental
inquisition against the Free Spirit heresy would thus indeed seem to have followed
the beguine and beghard movement rather than an actual network of heretics.
This is not to say that there was no such thing as Free Spirit mysticism, a radical,
unregulated mysticism that differed from orthodox mysticism in some important
points, and we will now turn to the Chastising to glean from the text how such erro-
neous mysticism is defined in the passages borrowed from Ruusbroec’s Brulocht
(translated into Middle English from Grote’s Latin translation of the Middle
Dutch original). The error exposed in chapter 9 is the root of the errors discussed
in chapters 10, 11 and 12, and leading to the radical, passive Free Spirit mysti-
cism: it is the error of natural contemplation, a state of mind in which men seek
rest in themselves rather than in God. (This could be called mysticism of self rather
than mysticism of God.) This is a state one can easily achieve: ‘whan a man ston-
dith naked in soule without imagynacions or besynesse of kyndeli wittis, and al
voide and idel, nothing occupied with the ouer wittis of the soule, thanne bi verrai
kynde he cometh into reste’ (Chastising 130/20–131/2).14 It leads to blindness and
passivity as the person experiencing it bows down into himself ‘without any dedis
or werkis’ (Chastising 131/21). It is contrasted with rest in God (contemplation),
which is ‘aboue kynde, ... a louely biholdyng into an high cliernesse that may
nat be comprehendid’ (Chastising 132/1–2). People who mistake natural rest for
contemplative rest in God will become entirely misguided, as they feel their deified
self no longer needs to practise virtues, and no longer needs the Church and its
sacraments as a mediator between them and God.
It is chapters 11 and 12 of the Chastising that contain Ruusbroec’s criticism of
Free Spirit mysticism, the errors of which he defines in language so close to Porète’s
Mirror that it is likely Ruusbroec had read the book and knew it well.15 Ruusbroec’s
use of the Mirror has been taken as criticism of some aspects of the text, and more
specifically of people using the Mirror to inspire and justify an unchristian, heretical
lifestyle.16 The following passages from Ruusbroec’s Espousals, translated in chapters
11 and 12 of the Chastising, can indeed be matched with passages from the Mirror (I
quote both the Brulocht and the Mirror in the Middle English translation here):
1 Only God can work in the free soul. The free soul is beyond virtues. To be free from virtues
is more difficult than to practise the virtues.
Also þei seien þat no man ne god hymsilf may make hem encrese ne decreese,
Contexts and comments 125
for þei bien passed þe trauel of exercises, as þei seien, þat a man nediþ more
to traueile for to be discharged of uertues þan for to gete hem. (Chastising
140/15–19)
Þe seuenþe poynt, seiþ loue, is þis, þat men may not bineme hir. … The eiȜtþe
poynt, reson, seiþ loue, is þat men may Ȝiue hir nouȜt. (Mirror 263/7, 11)
[Soul] þerfore I seie: Uertues, I take leeue of Ȝou for euermore. Now schal
myn herte be more fre and more in pees þan it haþ be. Forsoþe I wote wel:
Ȝoure seruyse is so trauelous. Sum tyme I leide myn herte in Ȝou wiþouten
ony disseuerynge. Ȝe wote wel þis. I was in al þing to Ȝou obeishaunt. O, I was
þanne Ȝoure seruaunt, but now I am deliuered out of Ȝoure þraldom. (Mirror
254/27–255/2)
2 The free soul feels that it is united to God without intermediary, and therefore liberated from
the observances of the Church, even though it is only experiencing natural rest within itself.
Þei holden bi þat kyndeli reste þat þei haue, and bi þat ydelnesse whiche þei
haue whan þei stonden so alone vpon hemsilf, þat þei be free in spirit, and
ooned to god wiþout any meane. Also þat þei bien enhaunsid bi perfeccion
aboue al obseruaunces of hooli chirche, aboue hestis of god, aboue al goddis
lawe, and aboue al uertuous werkis þat any man may haue in excercises.
(Chastising 139/11–17)
[…] and þei seien þei bien passid al þat wherfor exercises of uertues and obse-
ruaunce in hooli chirche is ordeyned. (Chastising 140/13–14)
It is sooþ for hem þat crauen, seiþ loue, but þis soule craueþ not, for sche haþ in
hir inwardnesse no nature to desire þing þat is wiþoute hir. Now vndirstande,
reson, seiþ loue, whi desiren suche soules þese þinges aforeseid, siþþe it is so þat
god is ouer al, wiþoute þat as wel as wiþ al þat. Þis soule ne haþ þouȜt, word, ne
werk, but þe usage of þe diuine grace of þe Trinite. (Mirror 270/ 3–9)
3 The free soul feels it is perfect, and higher in rank than angels or saints.
to her owne feelyng þei bien in perfeccion, aboue al seyntis and aungels and
aboue al mede þat any man can discerue. (Chastising 141/4–6)
126 Marleen Cré
Now þer is in þis tunne of diuine drinke many fausettis. Þis woot þe manhode
þat is knyt to þe persone of God þe Sone þat dronke of þe moost noble wyne
next þe Trinite. And þe Uirgyne Marie dranke of þat aftir, and of þe mooste
hiȜe drinke is þis noble lady drunke. Aftir hem drinken þe brennynge sera-
phyns, wiþ þe whiche wynges þese fre soules fleen. (Mirror 276/22–27)
þei kepen hem fro al maner worchyng, and stonden al ydel as an instrument
of god, in a maner of abydinge and suffraunce, til god wil worche in hem. But
sumwhat þei bien contrarious to þo bifore, in as moche as þei seien þat alle
þe werkis þat god worchiþ bien more noble and medeful þan any oþer men
mowen disserue. (Chastising 142/17–22)
I owe him no werk, siþen himsilf werkiþ. If I leide þe myne, I schulde vnmake
þe his, and for þis cause it noieþ me þe werk and techinge of þe disciplis of
reson. (Mirror 317/33–35)
Of þese men, whose lyueng and opynions I haue rehersid, I hope to god þer bien ful
fewe, but sooþ it is, þer han bien suche but late in our daies, and aftir haue bien turned and
com aзen into the riзt way. (Chastising 141/20–142/2)
Colledge and Bazire’s suggestion that the translator may be alluding to William
Swinderby’s, John Ashton’s and Philip Repingdon’s recantations of 1382 here does
not convince Anne Hudson, who also points out that the second addition mentions
particular Lollard errors, but does not set out to counter them:23
Many mo I miȜt showe to make Ȝou be war of hem, as of sum þat now
holden plainli, and nat Ȝit opinli, but priuili for drede, aȜens confessions and
fastynges, aȜens worshipping of ymages, and shortli, as men seien, aȜens al
states and degrees and þe lawe and þe ordynaunce of hooli chirche. (Chastising
145/4–8)
Thus, even though it is plain that the translator was aware of the existence of
Lollard ideas, he did not alter the Ruusbroec passages to counter Lollard ideas,
but added references to them as an afterthought. Indeed, he seems to have been
assured that the ‘religious sister’ he was originally writing for was not in any great
danger of adopting Wycliffite errors, as can be seen from the sentence following
the passage last quoted: ‘But al þese I leeue, bicause it nediþ nat greteli, for I trowe
heere bin rehersid þo þat bien most in our knowing to be dred’ (Chastising 145/8–
10; italics mine). It does seem, then, that the translator considered Ruusbroec’s
descriptions of radical Free Spirit mysticism, which are closely related to the spir-
itual life, were more directly useful to his audience than a detailed description of
Lollard ideas. The Chastising, as we pointed out earlier, was to help the ‘religious
sister’ it is addressed to deal with ‘the matier of temptacions ... in comfort of youre
soule’ (Chastising 95/1, 2, 5). The text is supposed to teach the reader how to react
to temptations in order to become closer to God. The errors described in the
chapters borrowed from Ruusbroec have been included to help the reader recog-
nise them in others, so that they themselves will not be influenced by these people’s
misguided thoughts, as the translator points out in a passage at the end of chapter
8, which serves as an introduction to chapters 9–11.
And sum men in þis sikenesse [negligence] holde false opynyons in her owne
conceitis, and dampnable tofore god; of whiche men I wil declare зow more
openli foure maner sikenessis, þat зe mowe be þe more ware of hem and of
her opynions; and for as myche as зe haue seie heere bifore what infirmytees
fallen to goostli lyuers, wakeþ and preieþ þat зe falle nat into temptacion.
(Chastising 129/25–130/6)
In the Chastising, the errors described are presented as temptations that the
128 Marleen Cré
person willing to lead a religious life can easily fall into. Thus, regardless of
whether the radical, ‘Free Spirit’ mysticism links up with a social movement or
not, or whether the readers recognised this form of mysticism gone wrong, the
descriptions of its tenets fit into the Chastising, as they help the readers investi-
gate their own thoughts, feelings, behaviour and experiences. In other words, they
are aimed at discretio and probatio, the correct assessment of one’s own and other
people’s spiritual experiences,24 a function the recontextualised passages share
with the text they were borrowed from. The need for self-examination, central to
a healthy contemplative life, is expressed again and again in the refrain at the end
of every single chapter of the Chastising: ‘waketh and preieth that ye falle nat into
temptacion’.
The Middle English translator also makes a number of consistent additions to
the Ruusbroec passages that equally prove that discretio and probatio are his main
concern. In describing how it is wrong to seek rest in oneself and not in God, he
adds references to the will, which in the true contemplative is turned to God,
and in the deceived contemplative is turned into himself. This emphasis on the
role of the will is lacking in both Ruusbroec’s original and Grote’s intervening
translation:
þerfor al þei bien foule disceyued whiche beholden or tenden oonli to hemsilf,
and þei also þat bowen downward to kyndeli reste, also þat seeken nat god
wiþ a contynuel desire, or fynde nat god wiþ a lastyng loue, settyng her hertis euer to
god and in god bi a contynuel vse without chaungynge in wille.25 (Chastising 132/6–10;
italics mine)
But whan a man besieþ hym and in ful wil desiriþ to haue suche reste wiþouten
exercises and uertues, bodili and goostli, inward and outward, here is no
doute þe reste is turned into grete synne; for þanne he falliþ perelousli into a
goostli pride, þat is to sei into a ful plesaunce of his owne wil for his most reste and ese.26
(Chastising 132/25–133/5; italics mine)
Of þis зe mowen se ensample, whanne aungels weren first made. þei hadden a fre choise,
so sum in the first mouyng of the fre wille bigan to worship god bi a grete feruour of
loue, and fulli turnyden to god wiþ al þat þei had receyueden of god. Wherfor
þei were receyued of god, euere to abide in blisse, and bi þat þer wil was confermed,
so to stonde euermore without any chaungyng.27 (Chastising 133/12–18)
þe willis and the menynges bien myche discordynge and ful vnliche.28 (Chas-
tising 136/12–13; italics mine)
Whan þe loue of kynde passiþ þus of þe loue of god and charite be contrarious
wille and worchyng, þanne a man falliþ into foure perelous synnes.29 (Chastising
136/16–18)
The Chastising not only aims to put readers on their guard, it also aims to arm them
against the temptations it describes by providing remedies. With regard to the four
perilous sins of pride, avarice, gluttony and lechery, for example, the reader can
‘wake and preie that he falle nat into temptacion’ by following Mary inwardly and
outwardly, in intentions as well as in actions, as she found again the grace that
Adam, who first committed the four sins, lost by ‘mekenesse and largete, ... absti-
nence and clennesse’ (Chastising 138/4–5). The references to the will, the remedies
and the insistent incantation at the end of each chapter reinforce the Brulocht’s
message that each person should examine and search himself.
Concerns for the purity of the readers’ spiritual lives, similar to those voiced in
the Chastising, inspired MN, the translator of The Mirror of Simple Souls, to present
the text mediated by a prologue, fifteen commenting glosses and an epilogue. The
glosses illustrate MN’s eagerness for the readers to profit from the text, and to read
it correctly – i.e. in an orthodox way. Thus the insistence on discretio, rather than
the focus on the Free Spirit heresy, is the real common theme in both of the texts
contained in Bodley 505.
In spite of the condemnation of both the Mirror and its author, the book enjoyed
some popularity. It was not only translated into English, but also into Latin, and
subsequently into Italian. The translation into Latin may have been made in
order to accommodate the inquisitors in the trial against its author. The Middle
English translation, made from the original French, was itself also translated into
Latin by the Carthusian Richard Methley. It is striking that most of the surviving
manuscripts containing a version of the Mirror were owned (and therefore,
presumably, read) in orthodox monastic circles.30 It would seem that in these
orthodox communities the Mirror, which circulated as an anonymous text, i.e.
without association to the heretical beguine Porète, was considered interesting,
if not valuable and useful. The Middle English tradition of this text not only
illustrates the Mirror’s appeal to monastic religious in spite of its heterodox bent,
but also its controlled dissemination. Even though the Carthusian order played
an important role in the production of religious and devotional literature for lay
readers and religious outside the Charterhouse, the Mirror seems to have been kept
well within its walls.
130 Marleen Cré
Nicholas Watson has argued conclusively against Colledge and Guarneri’s
contention that, by adding his glosses, MN intended to bring a heretical text
back into line.31 Indeed, it is obvious that MN admired the text greatly and was
convinced of its holiness. His additions to the text in the form of a prologue, fifteen
glosses and an epilogue, show that he was eager to mediate between the text and
the audience. In his prologue, MN describes himself as a translator unworthy and
unfit to undertake the task at hand. Yet beyond the traditional humility-topos
formalities, the humble translator seems to have been truly in awe of the text he
was translating:
From this passage we learn that MN was translating the Mirouer for a second time.
The prologue tells us that the readers of MN’s first translation of the Mirror mistook
or took amiss – the verb ‘mystake’ (Mirror 247/8) can be interpreted either way
– some ‘words’ of it, and that MN resolved to explain these words in his second
translation:
Þerfore Ȝif god will, I schalle declare þoo wordes more openly; for þouȜ loue
declare þo poyntes in the same booke, it is but schortly spoken, and may be
taken oþere wise than it is mente of thaym þat rede it sodeynli and takis no
forther hede. (Mirror 247/8–11)
In order to help his readers use the text correctly, MN inserts glosses which should
guide the reader:
Therefore at suche places þere me semeth moost nede, I wole write mo wordis
þerto in maner of glose, aftir my symple kunnynge as me semeþ is best. And
in þese fewe places þat I putte yn more þan I fynde writen, I wole bigynne
wiþ þe firste lettre of my name, ‘M’ and ende wiþ þis lettre ‘N’ þe firste of my
surname. (Mirror 248/26–30)
MN’s decision to retranslate the text and to provide glosses does not need to
mean that the audience of MN’s first translation thought that the text was heret-
ical, though they may have found the text too radical to their liking. They may
not have associated the antinomian passages with the Free Spirit heresy, but they
could have recognised the text’s stance on the virtues and sacraments in isolated
passages as unchristian. MN’s interventions in the text frame these passages in the
realities of the contemplative life and the textual expression of this life in the Mirror.
As he stresses that he inserts the gloss ‘at suche places þere me semeth moost nede’
and ‘as me semeþ is best’, it would seem that MN is not only answering his audi-
Contexts and comments 131
ence’s criticism (which is only referred to in general terms and therefore difficult
to recover), but is also responding to interpretative challenges which he himself
found in the text.32
While the prologue announces the translator’s intentions and suggests that his
glosses react to comments made by readers of his first translation, it also character-
iszes the text as elliptical (‘it is but schortly spoken’) and implies that MN believed
that the criticism of the first translation was due to the readers’ misreading of it (it
‘may be taken oþere wise than it is mente’). In other words, MN was convinced
that the Mirror’s message was sound and spiritually useful when read in the right
way, which would be the opposite of reading it quickly and without taking heed.
In a prayer that forms part of MN’s epilogue, the right way of reading the book is
defined as a reading inspired by divine grace. MN again voices his conviction that
the book is ‘deuoutly ymente’:
Bisechynge Ȝou, eternalle god, Ȝif it be plesynge to Ȝou, þat þoo þat redes this
booke ne mysse take no worde. But goode lorde, of Ȝoure grete benygnite
gyffe tham the grace of goostly felynge. Enspire þam with Ȝoure holigoste,
that þay may fully by the vertu of loue vndirstande it in the same holy wise
as it is deuoutly ymente, that it may turne to Ȝowe worschippe and to þam
profite of soule, be Ȝoure endles myȜt and bounte. (Mirror 355/8–13)
In some of the glosses MN provides, he states explicitly that he wants the readers
to make out for themselves what this difficult text means. The glosses serve as
pointers to aid the readers. When MN writes, in his third comment, that ‘many
mo oþir wordis that be written before and after, semes fable or erroure, or hard to
vndirstande’ (Mirror 256/17–18), he implies that they need not be so, and that the
readers can discover their meaning when they read the text attentively. Central to
his own attentive reading of the text is the understanding that contemplative union
is a brief and fleeting state of consciousness, and that all the seemingly heterodox
statements in the Mirror must be read as applying only to this moment of union.
In his thirteenth comment, MN calls for a metaphoric reading of the Mirror when
he interprets a statement by the soul that she need no longer work. MN interprets
this statement as referring to the moment of union with the divine only, not as a
permanent state of the Free Soul. He adds:
RiȜt þus alle siche wordis bus be declared with in tham silfe that redes this boke. For
þis derke wordis and hyȜe matters derkly spoken in this writynge, it is done
forto make þe saules of þe reders that be disposid to gastli felynges to circuye
and enserche bi sotilte of wit to come to þese diuine vndirstandinges, bi þe
whiche þay may be the mare able to receyue and folowe these heuenli vsages
of goddis werk. (Mirror 304/35–305/3; italics mine)
In other words, the readers have to be aware that they are dealing with descrip-
tions of divine realities, the meaning of which is not always easily revealed. In
his fourteenth comment, MN points out again that the state of freedom the soul
132 Marleen Cré
describes applies only to the brief moment of union of the soul with God. He
addresses his audience again:
Lo, Ȝe þat studies this boke, thus Ȝe muste withynne Ȝoure selfe glose suche derke
wordis, and Ȝif Ȝe may nouȜt come sone to the vndirstandynge þereof, offerith
it mekeli vp to god, and bi custome of ofte redynge þeron Ȝe schalle come
þerto. (Mirror 314/1–4)
MN’s main motif for his additions is guidance: he offers his readers an explana-
tion of the Mirror in order to ‘brynge Ȝou in þe weie’ (Mirror 314/5), as he himself
tells them. He offers them a framework in which they can make sense of the text,
but also tells them that they will have to ponder the difficult passages themselves in
order to be able to make sense of them. The right way that MN guides his readers
towards is an orthodox reading of the Mirror, away from a more radical interpreta-
tion that would associate the text with the antinomianism of Free Spirit heretics,
as his fourth gloss shows:
Þerfore this that loue says, that these saules ne desires masses, ne sermons,
fastinges ne orisons, it schulde not be so tane that they schulde leue it vndone.
He were to blynde that wolde take it in þat wise; but alle suche wordes in this
boke moste be take gostely and diuynely. … Now god for bede that any be so
fleschly to thenke þat it schulde mene to giffe to nature eny luste that drawis to
fleschly synne, ffor god knowes welle it is not so ymened. For synne moste be
had in conscience, wille a man or nyl he so, in the tyme or aftir. This may euery
creature wele witt that hase any witt and discrecion. (Mirror 259/8–12, 20–24)
Thus, the Ruusbroec passages translated in The Chastising of God’s Children and
the translator’s reading of The Mirror of Simple Souls alert the reader to the same
problems inherent in the contemplative life: misinterpretation of spiritual experi-
ences (whether one’s own or other people’s) and of their textual expression. Like
Ruusbroec in the Brulocht, MN points out the dangers of antinomianism, which
leads to a mystical experience of the self (natural rest) rather than to a mystical
experience of God.
Both texts can thus be shown to play similar roles in the lives of – in the specific
case of Bodley 505 – their Carthusian readers. Even as individual texts they would
have been used as touchstones for the readers’ own spiritual experiences and opin-
ions, inviting them to probatio and discretio in order to remain ‘in þe riȜt weie’. To
the Carthusians, whose vocations made them choose a strict and semi-eremitical
life of solitary prayer and contemplation, this constituted the essence of their lives.
In the solitude of their cells, the Chastising would have urged the Carthusian readers
ever to be on the alert for temptation:
Notes
1 Marguerite Porète must have started to write the Mirouer in the last years of the thir-
teenth century. The terminus post quem for at least an early version of the text is 1306,
the year in which the Bishop of Cambrai condemned Marguerite’s text as heretical
and had it publicly burnt in Valenciennes. In 1309 she was again arrested and handed
over to secular justice. She was condemned as a relapsed heretic and died at the stake
on the place de Grève, on 1 June 1310. For a survey of surviving documents related
to Marguerite’s trial see Paul Verdeyen, ‘Le Procès d’inquisition contre Marguerite
Porète et Guiard de Cressonessart (1309–1310)’, Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 81, 1986,
47–94.
2 On f. 223v Bodley has an inscription that shows ownership by the London Charterhouse:
‘Liber domus salutacionis matris dei ordinis cartusiensis prope London per Edmundum
Storoure eiusdem loci monachum’. Colledge and Bazire point out that Edmund Storoure
was prior of London Charterhouse between 1469 and 1477. He was later at Hinton,
where he died in 1503. See Joyce Bazire and Eric Colledge (eds), The Chastising of God’s
Children and the Treatise of Perfection of the Sons of God, Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1957, p. 4.
The St John’s College manuscript has the inscriptions ‘Liber domus Carthusie prope
Londonias’ on f. 104v, and ‘Libellus Cartusie’ on f. 1r. See Marilyn Doiron (ed.), ‘Þe
Mirrour of Simple Souls: An Edition and Commentary’, unpublished dissertation, Fordham
University, 1964, pp. x–xiv.
3 Additional 37790 (Amherst) was annotated by the Carthusian textual critic James Grene-
halgh, and most of the texts contained in it are within the sphere of Carthusian interest.
For James Grenehalgh, see Michael G. Sargent, James Grenehalgh as Textual Critic, Analecta
Cartusiana 85, 2 vols, 1984. For a detailed discussion of Amherst’s association with the
Carthusians see the first chapter of Marleen Cré, Vernacular Mysticism in the Charterhouse:
A Study of London, British Library, MS Additional 37790, The Medieval Translator 9, Turn-
hout: Brepols, 2006.
4 See Bazire and Colledge, op. cit., p.8.
5 Vincent Gillespie, ‘Dial M for Mystic: Mystical Texts in the Library of Syon Abbey and
the Spirituality of the Syon Brethren’, in Marion Glasscoe (ed.), The Medieval Mystical
Tradition in England, Ireland and Wales, Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer, 1999, p. 244.
134 Marleen Cré
6 For Amherst there is enough evidence to suggest that it is a purpose-built anthology
with a conscious design; see Cré, op. cit.
7 The translator borrows the Ruusbroec passages not from the Middle Dutch original,
but from Geert Grote’s Latin translation of it.
8 See Robert E. Lerner, The Heresy of the Free Spirit in the Later Middle Ages, Berkeley: Univer-
sity of California Press, 1972.
9 Ibid., pp. 10–34.
10 See ibid., chapter 2, on how the Free Spirit heresy came to be associated with beguines
and beghards, and chapters 4 to 6 for accounts of the persecutions.
11 Ibid., p. 195, note 46.
12 Ibid., pp. 10–34.
13 In this respect, the example of Margery Kempe is worth considering. The repeated
accusations of being a Lollard levelled against her were closely linked to her not being
an enclosed, but a wandering laywoman with a religious vocation. Apparently, uncon-
ventional religious attracted attention, and were extremely likely to be accused of the
heresy or error that was around at the time.
14 References to the Chastising are to Bazire and Colledge’s edition, by page and line numbers.
References to the Brulocht are to J. Alaerts (ed.), Jan van Ruusbroec: Opera omnia 3: Die
Geestelike Brulocht, Turnhout: Brepols, 1988, by page and line numbers. References to
the Espousals are by line number to the modern English translation found on the left-
hand page of this edition. References to Geert Grote’s Latin translation, to which I refer
because it is the base text for the Middle English translator, are to Rijcklof Hofman
(ed.), Ioannis Rusbrochii ornatus spiritualis desponsationis, CCCM 172, Turnhout: Brepols,
2000, by line number. References to the Mirror are to Marilyn Doiron (ed.), ‘Marguerite
Porète. The Mirror of Simple Souls’, Archivio italiano per la storia della pieta 5, 1968, pp.
241–355, by page and line numbers.
15 See Paul Verdeyen, ‘Oordeel van Ruusbroec over de rechtgelovigheid van Margaretha
Porète’, Ons Geestelijk Erf 66, 1992, pp. 89–93.
16 Ibid., p. 95. My discussion of which points of Porete’s doctrine are criticised by Ruus-
broec follows Verdeyen’s analysis.
17 Ibid., p. 93.
18 For this view, see Geert Warnar, Ruusbroec: Literatuur en mystiek in de veertiende eeuw, Amsterdam:
Athenaeum – Polak & Van Gennep, 2003, p. 147.
19 Lerner, op. cit., p. 191; see also Warnar, op. cit., pp. 69–73.
20 In his article ‘Oordeel van Ruusbroec’, Verdeyen mentions that Porète’s Mirror was used
by weavers as a pamphlet against the Church (cf. Marguerite’s claim that the free soul
does not need any sacraments, prayers, etc. … and the distinction she makes between
the visible, imperfect Church and the invisible, perfect Church). Verdeyen bases his
argument here on the passage in which Ruusbroec describes the passive Free Soul as
‘a loom which itself is inactive and awaits its master’ (Espousals b2084–5). Verdeyen
comments that the Free Spirit heretics recruited followers among the weavers, and
that the French for weaver, ‘tisserand’, is a synonym for heretic (p.93). It is of course
true that manuscripts of the Mirror circulating outside monasteries would have had far
smaller chances of survival, and that we owe the versions of the text we have today to
people who passed the text on, even though it had been condemned. However, as the
shortlist of Free Spirit beliefs in Ad nostrum derived largely from the Mirror, and as this
was the decree used as the basis for cross-examination, it is inevitable that inquisitorial
records show the heretics as holding the ideas that can also be found in the Mirror.
21 ‘Quilibet se ipsum probet’ (Ornatus 2966–7).
22 Colledge and Bazire, op. cit., p. 35, p. 276, n. 143.16, p. 277, n. 144.21. See also
Lerner, op. cit., p. 195, n. 46.
23 Ibid., p. 35 and Anne Hudson, The Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History,
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988, p. 434.
Contexts and comments 135
24 See also chapter 19 of the Chastising, in which the reader is taught how to distinguish
between visions given by God, and visions that are of the devil.
25 See Brulocht b2327–2330 and Ornatus 3007–3010.
26 See Brulocht b2339–2341 and Ornatus 3022–3025.
27 See Brulocht b2347–2349 and Ornatus 3036–3039.
28 See Brulocht b2392 and Ornatus 3096.
29 See Brulocht b2395–6 and Ornatus 3102–3104.
30 As we have seen, the manuscripts in which the Middle English version of the Mirrour
survives are all associated with the Carthusian Order. The single extant copy of the
French text, Chantilly, Musée Condé, F XIV 26 (ancien 986), Catalogue 157, belonged
to the Priory ‘La Madeleine-lez-Orléans’. The community of ‘Les Dames Religieuses
de la Madeleine’ was a centre of intense religious life between 1475 and 1510, roughly
the time during which the manuscript must have been produced, though Guarneri and
Verdeyen do not say that the manuscript was actually produced at the priory. Of the
Latin manuscripts, there is only one whose provenance is known. Vatican, Bibliotheca
Apostolica Vaticana Codex Chigianus C IV 85 was copied in the Benedictine monas-
tery of Subiaco, in 1521. This manuscript was copied from an older manuscript, also
owned by the monastery, which was damaged because it had been partly eaten by mice, so
the scribe tells us. Another Latin manuscript, Oxford, Bodleian Library Laud. lat. MS
46 seems to have been written in Germany, though its exact provenance is unknown.
Verdeyen and Guarneri speculate that this might be the manuscript owned at some
point by the Charterhouse of Strasbourg. See Romana Guarnieri and Paul Verdeyen
(eds), Marguerite Porète. Le Mirouer des simples âmes; speculum simplicium animarum, CCCM 69,
Turnhout: Brepols, 1986, pp. viii, xi–xii.
31 Nicholas Watson, ‘Melting into God the English Way: Deification in the Middle English
Version of Marguerite Porète’s Mirouer des simples âmes anienties’, in Rosalynn Voaden (ed.),
Prophets Abroad: The Reception of Continental Holy Women in Late-Medieval England, Cambridge
: D.S. Brewer, 1996, pp. 36–7.
32 Marguerite’s text itself also includes a lot of advice to her readers about how to read
the text. An example: ‘[Love:] Gloses these wordes and Ȝe wille vndirstande it or Ȝe
schalle mysvndirstande it, ffor it hase sum semblaunce of the contrarie that vndirstandes
not þe fulhede of þe glose, and semblaunce is nouȜt trouthe, but trouthe is trouthe
and nothynge elles’ (Mirror 325/18–21). For a detailed analysis of MN translation and
glosses see chapter 5 of Cré, Vernacular Mysticism.
33 Gillespie, op. cit., p. 245.
8 The haunted text
Reflections in The Mirror
to Deuout People
Vincent Gillespie
As a text originally composed in the second quarter of the fifteenth century, the
circumstances of the composition and circulation of The Mirror to Devout People, a
directed meditation on the life of Christ, repay careful and discriminating atten-
tion.1 This work is preserved in two copies, which illustrate in their different
origins the acute problems of contextualising fifteenth-century religious writing.
Cambridge, University Library Ms Gg. 1. 6 is probably, like the text itself, of
southern Carthusian origin. Notre Dame, Indiana, University of Notre Dame MS
67 (olim Foyle) was owned by and probably made for the pious northern laywoman
Elizabeth Chaworth/Scrope. It is important to distinguish texts of this vintage
from those produced in the first flush of enthusiasm for vernacular guides to godli-
ness. Important not only because we have learned in recent years to attend much
more carefully to the impact on such vernacular writings of the Arundel decrees
of 1407–9, but also because we need to understand more fully the ebb and flow
of popular and institutional confidence in such writings. There is a model of the
development of the market for vernacular religious texts that charts a steadily
growing level of confidence and sophistication in the composition, production,
circulation and consumption of these works. This model sees the Arundel decrees
as intervening into that development primarily by forcing a change from original
composition in the vernacular to the more defensive compilation of approved
texts attributed to approved authorities from before the time of Wyclif. Hence,
the model goes, the renewed popularity of Rolle in compilations of the post-
Arundelian years (Rolle being safely dead by 1349), and the wholesale attribu-
tion of spurious works to him to travel under his protective cloaking. We have
grown familiar with the apparently dominant role of the English Carthusians,
with sometimes a supporting appearance by the Birgittines, in the production
and circulation of such texts. The underlying message of this model has been one
of consistent progress: vernacular works of growing sophistication, both intellec-
tual and organisational; a developing technologising of the means of information
retrieval in such texts through the provision of apparatus, indices, lists of chapters,
facilitating independent reading and selective consultation. The same model of
improvement applies to discussions of readership and reception. Prologues, it is
argued, increasingly address the broad and flexible range of readers that texts
of this kind aspire to reach: starting from the reflex, romance-driven formulaic
The haunted text 137
invocations of ‘lered’ and ‘lewed’ in the catechetic and penitential texts of the late
thirteenth and fourteenth century, one can point to a more serene recognition in
later texts that the readership can expand from the named original recipient to
other readers, from professed religious to committed laymen; from women to men
and vice versa. This is a fundamentally ameliorative model – things can only get
better. Texts get smarter, readers more demanding, inscribed audiences get more
permissive and inclusive.2
It is probably time to inflect some aspects of this argument more carefully. This
chapter is offered as a small step in that process of reassessment, and starts from
two assumptions. First, that in London this model of democratisation and ventri-
loquial empowerment of the laity applied only to what Roger Lovatt perspica-
ciously called a tight-knit spiritual aristocracy of well-born lay people or wealthy
and socially mobile merchants and metropolitan secular priests (especially the
powerful Rectors of the city of London parishes), all often intimately related by
close family and personal links with a small number of powerhouse religious insti-
tutions: the Birgittines at Syon, the nuns of Dartford and Barking Abbey, and the
Charterhouses of London and Sheen. It is not accidental that it is precisely these
houses and these groups of readers that feature in the textual history of the two
works contained in the Notre Dame manuscript.3
The second assumption is that part of the problem in adequately historicising
post-Arundelian religious writings, and particularly writing in the period 1410–50,
lies in the studied and sustained atemporality and anonymity to which much of
it aspires, not just in its insistent reaching back to older writers like Rolle and its
cautious reliance on Augustine, Gregory and Jerome, but also in its coded and
oblique engagement with the theological events of its period, and in the almost
Chaucerian self-effacement of its religious authors. It is also important to register
the ‘conservatism’ that texts produced in this period often show, not just in theo-
logical matters, but in terms of their general ecclesiastical attitude to lay access to
spiritual texts. While it is proper to stress the importance of the Arundel decrees as
a potentially illiberal response to a perceived theological and political threat, for
example, it is surprising how little attention has been paid in writing on English
texts to the decrees of the Council of Constance (1414–17) and the far-reaching
impact they had on pan-European attitudes, or to the impact on English theolog-
ical thought and writing of the outspoken, prolific, widely read and emphatically
conservative Chancellor of Paris, Jean Gerson. The founding in 1415 of Sheen
and Syon, those ‘two chantries where the sad and solemn priests / Sing still for
Richard’s soul’ (Shakespeare, Henry V: 4.1. 301–2), as wealthy and favoured royal
foundations committed to orthodoxy and standing as bastions against heresy,
ought to be seen as a defining moment in the history of English religious writing at
least as significant as the Arundelian decrees, and perhaps with more long-lasting
effects on the intellectual timbre of English spirituality.4 The founding, generous
endowment and rapid growth of Syon and its libraries in the first half of the fifteenth
century adds an important new vector to the dynamics of the textual transmission
of religious texts.5 We already know of a distinctive ‘London group’ of Hilton
manuscripts pivoting on Sheen and Syon, and of a ‘London group’ of manuscripts
138 Vincent Gillespie
of The Imitation of Christ, also with strong Sheen and Syon representation.6 I suspect
that Syon’s intervention in the transmission of English spiritual writing was more
decisive than has yet been realised or established.
This is partly because we have been working with too monolithic a view of
the public role of the English Carthusian province in English spirituality in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Ian Doyle’s cautionary words that ‘we should
not assume too omnipresent or intitiatory a role for the Carthusians in the circula-
tion of writings not composed by their own members [because] we find them so
frequently among the owners of spiritual texts’ remind us that ownership is not
the same as transmission.7 We need to look more carefully at Carthusian interven-
tions in contemporary spiritual writing and we must assess the evidence for textual
circulation cautiously, without assuming that wide dissemination beyond an audi-
ence of confrères or fellow religious was ever a common intention of Carthusian
scribes and authors. In most cases, I suspect that such circulation was by accident
rather than design and without deliberate agency on the part of the Carthusians
themselves.8 Marleen Cré, for example, has recently persuasively argued that the
important collection of vernacular mystical and para-mystical texts in the Amherst
manuscript (London, British Library MS Additional 37790) was not just produced
within a Carthusian milieu (as had been widely accepted) but that it was also prob-
ably produced for a Carthusian audience.9
In the fifteenth century, of course, Carthusian intervention in public religious
culture starts at a high water mark with the exception that perhaps proves the rule:
the confident, almost glib control that Nicholas Love brings to his engagement
with the Meditationes Vitae Christi of Iohannes de Caulibus. Love’s text is supremely
secure in its relationship to the antiqui and to the moderni. It patronises its audience
with its playpen spirituality, but it equally patronises its sources in its selection,
rejection and modification of them. The result is a text with a notably harmo-
nious overall tone and style, the product of a writer at ease with his material and
with where it is going. It is dismissive of the Lollards and their views, refusing to
enter into debate or contestation with them, preferring the rhetorical mode of
simple confutation. His narrative sweeps along in a majestic display of confident
narrative control, secure in its relationship to its audience, in its relationship to
its sources and, subsequently, in its relationship to ecclesiastical authority. Love’s
text was explicitly targeted at ‘lewde men & women & hem þat bene of symple
vndirstondyng ... þe whiche as childryn hauen nede to be fedde with mylke of
lyȜte doctryne & not with sadde mete of grete clargye and of hye contemplacion.’10
Love is sufficiently assured in his role as an author to acknowledge the inevita-
bility, even perhaps the desirability of his readers undertaking their own imagina-
tive performance of the meditative catalysts he provides, confident that the good
sense and obedience of his readers will keep them within the bounds of theological
decency.11 A similar quiet authority, though infinitely more self-effacing, is found
slightly earlier in the writings of the Cloud author, although his works were much
more carefully controlled in their circulation, achieving only ‘a seemingly slow
and tight diffusion through the Carthusians and other contemplative communities
and individuals’.12
The haunted text 139
But something happens to that confidence as the century progresses. Much later
we get the introspective writings of Richard Methley and John Norton reflecting
uneasily, indeed anxiously, on their own meditative and contemplative experi-
ences; and the red annotator’s self-conscious and perhaps self-justifying comments
on the text of Margery Kempe. In the generation after Love we can see the Char-
terhouses apparently collecting firsthand accounts describing the raw data of
mystical experience, as well as accumulating texts to guide that process of probatio
and discretio whose nascent technology was known in the Cloud corpus as ‘discre-
tion of spirits’. The Book of Margery Kempe; the 1456 Vision of Edmund Leversedge;
the Short Text of Julian of Norwich; Margarete Porete, Ruusbroec; the mystical
diaries of Norton and Methley: all are grist to the mill of Carthusian self-analysis,
no doubt primarily to help in the calibration of their own processes of spiritual
self-assessment, and perhaps also to equip them as spiritual advisors for other
members of the community.13 But the tightly controlled circulation of these texts
within the order and their largely successful policing of them to prevent leakage
into a potentially more volatile readership in the wider community suggests a more
cautious approach to their making of books. Indeed in fifteenth-century England
the movement of such texts is largely centripetal (in from the laity to the Charter-
house by acquisition or testamentary bequest) rather than centrifugal (out from
the Charterhouse into lay circulation). The only version of Margery Kempe’s
book that saw the light of day before modern times was that highly edited and
crafted set of printed excerpts that describe her as a recluse, and the circumstances
of that printing have more than a whiff of Syon provenance about them.14 The
common-profit book extracts from Rolle and Hilton circulating among certain
rich merchants and stationers in London in the mid-century years carefully select
less volatile aspects of their teachings, and in any case derive from a textual milieu
that again points strongly to Syon rather than the Carthusians as a point of origin
or dissemination.15
Love’s epigraph was St Paul’s (and Chaucer’s) dictum that all that is written is
written for our doctrine. The practice of his later confrères is much less inclusive,
and much less trusting. In the decades immediately after Love, Carthusian textual
production was much more focused on books that provided for the needs of
professed religious than on the needs of devout laymen.16 That such laymen may
eventually have come to own works produced in response to the needs of such
religious should not lead us to infer too readily that the Carthusians were active
parties to such a transfer. Recent work on lay reading and textual communities of
well-born and noble women in London has suggested that their patterns of book
ownership and reading are largely indistinguishable from those of their sisters and
daughters who were professed nuns. In some cases, we know that books could be
commissioned from stationers by laymen to be given to female family members in
nunneries: the Barking Abbey and Dartford books explored in detail by Ian Doyle
are well known.17 But we know much less about the books and texts that leached
out from circulation inside such religious houses to achieve wider readership
and circulation in the general population. If the Carthusians were more cautious
and perhaps more introspective in their book-making activities post-Arundel and
140 Vincent Gillespie
post-Constance, we may need another conduit through which their works reached
a wider readership. I suspect that in London the main such conduit, and a notably
leaky one, was in fact Syon. I also suspect that, with or without the conscious
consent or permission of the Carthusians over the river, the special circumstances
of the Syon Brethren and the special configuration of the double convent at Syon
led to books originating at Sheen being propelled into much wider circulation.
The standard scholarly accounts of the London transmission of the works of
Richard Rolle and Walter Hilton often refer to a Sheen–Syon axis for the produc-
tion, circulation and transmission of those authors. The typical taxonomy of
such explorations reveals that we have named Carthusian scribes or identifiably
Carthusian books being read or owned by named and identifiable Syon nuns, thus
establishing a de facto (albeit enclosed and silent) textual community on both sides
of the river. So, although the Syon–Sheen textual community comprises a group
of monks serving the reading needs of a group of nuns, it is Carthusian monks
primarily serving the needs of Birgittine nuns. This emergent textual community
has one striking oddity about it: it almost entirely effaces and marginalises the
Brethren of Syon. The role of the Syon Brethren as producers of contemplative
and other religious works is indeed modest when they are separated out from the
male Sheen–female Syon axis.18 In the first half-century of the house’s existence,
from the first enclosures in 1420 to the regularisation of arrangements for the
Brethren’s library in 1471, The Orcherd of Syon and the Mirror of Our Lady are the only
substantial works that can be confidently ascribed a Syon authorship, and both of
these are targeted at an in-house audience of Syon nuns. No text that has been
assigned a Sheen–Syon provenance by modern scholarship has Syon authorship
claimed for it in the catalogue of the Brethren’s library.19 The only named Syon
author in the vernacular in this period is Symon Wynter, to whom are ascribed
sermons on the Syon indulgences, expositions of the Marian canticles and a Life of
Jerome translated into English for one of his spiritual clients, Margaret, Duchess of
Clarence. Now, if Sheen regularly made books for Syon, under commission and
perhaps under the direction of the Syon Brethren, that does not mean that those
books were designed or intended to circulate more widely than that very specific
original audience. On the other hand, neither does it mean that the Syon Brethren
would have felt under any constraint about facilitating such a wider circulation. In
his life of Jerome, Wynter exhorts Margaret ‘that hit sholde lyke your ladyship first
to rede hit & to do copye hit for yoursilf & syth to lete oþer rede hit & copye hit
whoso wyll’. Here is prima facie early evidence of textual transmission from Syon:
the exemplar is to return to the abbey, but the copy made from it may itself be
freely copied by whoever wishes access to it among the Duchess’s circle of friends
and contacts.20
So where does that leave the Mirror to Devout People, and why have I described it
as a haunted text? The Mirror to Devout People, or the Speculum devotorum to give it the
less permissive and socially inclusive title it wears in its religious rather than secular
guise, treats the life, death, Resurrection and Ascension of Christ in thirty-three
chapters, one for each year of Christ’s life on earth.21 In the Cambridge copy,
which has a Sheen ex libris inscription, the author indirectly identifies himself as a
The haunted text 141
Carthusian by referring to Nicholas Love as ‘a man of oure ordyr of charturhowse’.
In the Notre Dame copy the reference is, more enigmatically, to ‘a man of our
ordoure’ (f. 1r): the reference to the Charterhouse was either added for explicitness
in the ‘religious’ copy in Cambridge (or its antecedents) or deleted as irrelevant in
the ‘secular’ copy in Notre Dame (or its antecedents).22 Colophons in both manu-
scripts elliptically refer to the House of Jesus of Bethlehem at Sheen, established
across the river from Syon and soon to become the largest and richest house of
the English Carthusian province.23 The Cambridge manuscript was copied by
William Mede, a professed Carthusian of Sheen, who was ordained as an acolyte
in 1417 and died as sacrist in 1474. The colophon in Notre Dame has the initials
WH, perhaps an error for WM or indicating the name of another Carthusian
author or scribe (though I cannot find a Sheen monk with those initials in the,
admittedly incomplete, obit lists for the first seventy years of the house’s history),
but possibly trying to pass off as the work’s ‘oonlie begetter’ that other Mr WH,
the cautious and conservative Walter Hilton, whose works were valued at Sheen
and Syon. That the Notre Dame copy has moved some way from the text’s place
of conception is suggested by the dialect of its scribe, in contrast to William Mede’s
‘suthren tonge’ localised as Surrey (in which county, of course, Sheen itself sat).24
Addressed to a ‘gostely sustre in Ihesu criste,’ or ‘relygiouse sustre’ (f. 5r), but
one whose command of Latin is limited, the work purports to fulfil an earlier
promise made to the ghostly sister to provide a meditation on the Passion of the
Lord. ‘By counseill’, that is on the advice of other spiritual and good men, prima-
rily the prior of his Charterhouse, the author has expanded that original plan to
include the whole life: ‘I haue putte to mykyll more þanne I behette yow’ (f. 1r).
The initial relationship between author and recipient, therefore, is clearly posited
as personal, even intimate, perhaps one of spiritual director to advisee. It has been
suggested that the ghostly sister is most probably a nun, and likely to be a nun of
Syon, and the evidence of the text strongly supports a nun of Syon as one of the
intended audiences of the work. The extent of the contact between the Carthusian
and the nun is unclear, as it invariably is in such cases, the most famous of which is
the relationship between another later Sheen Carthusian, James Grenehalgh, and
another later Syon nun, Joanne Sewell.25 Uniquely in the case of Sheen and Syon,
such face-to-face relationships may not have been impossible. Pope Martin V, in
approving the foundation of Syon in two bulls issued in 1418, may have remitted to
the Bishop of London the power to permit Carthusians to assist ‘ad ministrandum
et obsequendum’ at Syon, overriding the severe and often repeated provisions of
the Carthusian statutes about the maintenance of the enclosure, perhaps because
there were initial shortages of Syon Brethren to undertake the spiritual care of the
nuns.26 The Carthusian author refers to ‘when we spake laste to gidre’ (f. 1r), but
the relationship is configured as primarily textual, and the tone adopted echoes that
of earlier letters of spiritual direction, and indeed of Hilton’s Scale of Perfection, one
of the sources explicitly cited by the Mirror author. So one need not posit exten-
sive meetings between the parties for there to have been a spiritual relationship.
Indeed it might be possible to argue that the author’s knowledge of similar texts
would have allowed him to create in his work a series of gestures that positioned
142 Vincent Gillespie
his text comfortably in the genre of such letters and in the privileged intimacy of
writings such as Rolle’s English epistles, the Cloud and Privy Counselling and the
opening of book 1 of The Scale of Perfection (which is the only book of Hilton’s work
of which the Mirror-author shows textual knowledge).
But it is soon clear that comfort and security are not the emotions uppermost
in his mind in writing the prologue. Indeed the prologue presents a compelling
portrait of a man haunted by his own sense of textual inadequacy, an inadequacy
that goes well beyond conventional generic gestures of humility and incapacity.
Although he apes the gestures of the ‘pore compilator’, as his main source Iohannes
de Caulibus (Pseudo-Bonaventure) and Nicholas Love had done before him, his
textual insecurity is much more evident.27 His main textual debt, he writes, is to
‘Boneauenture a cardynale and a worthi clerk’ and he had often put off beginning
his own work because of his own unworthiness and because he had ‘herde telle’
that a man of his order had already translated Bonaventure into English; that man
is, of course, Nicholas Love, first prior of Mount Grace. It is worth noting that he
claims (and indeed displays) no firsthand knowledge of Love’s book (beyond the
fact that he has been told of its existence), despite its status as a widely circulated
and popular text with the accolade of an imprimatur from the archbishop.28 Instead
he asks advice from ‘spyrituell and goode men’ (f. 1r) and accepts the counsel of
his prior and other ‘gostely faders’ to continue with the work as best he can among
his other duties and ‘excercyes’ (f. 1v).
Life in a Carthusian cell could be an isolated as well as a solitary affair, and it
may only have been the priors who knew much of what was going on elsewhere
in the order and in the wider world. Indeed it was probably the prior who deter-
mined the allocation or destination of books copied inside his house and who
approved commissions for copying coming from outside the house. The chronicle
of London Charterhouse records the book-making activities of John Homersley,
a long-serving member of the London house from his profession in 1393 until his
death in 1450. Homersley was an assiduous scribe, praised by the chronicle for
his obedience to Guigo’s exhortations in the order’s Consuetudines that Carthusians
should preach the word of God with their hands. ‘Carrying what he had written
to the prior’s cell, he did not take care that they should be lent to anyone or put
anywhere, but leaving them there with the prior he returned in silence to his
cell.’ Although these books may have been for the use of his own community, the
chronicle also records that ‘a certain priest’, presumably outside the house, used
to supply Homersley with parchment for writing books and after death appeared
to him with the Virgin Mary to point out an error in his copying and to urge him
kindly to amend it.29
The Carthusian booklists offer only flimsy and fragmentary evidence of the
order’s book culture in the fifteenth century. Most evidence comes from surviving
manuscripts that were in Carthusian hands or were produced by them.30 Impressive
though they can seem, we should be careful not to overstate the textual resources
and knowledge inside the order early in the fifteenth century, and in particular we
should beware of over-extrapolation from the holdings in one house to those in
another. Although the fragmentary surviving booklists suggest that books moved
The haunted text 143
round between the different houses of the order, it is striking that Love’s Mirror, this
mega-text of the English Carthusian province, appears in the Mirror to Devout People
only as a ghostly absence of presence. This is all the more surprising as Henry
V, as part of his founder’s benevolence, had authorised an exchequer payment
of £100 to Mount Grace ‘pro certis libris et aliis rebus’ (‘for certain books and
other things’) that had been sent to Sheen, presumably to build up the library of
the new royal foundation. But in 1420 the General Chapter of the Carthusians
was still instructing Sheen to acquire those books that it needed, so the collection
must have been inadequate or at least incomplete.31 In his last will (10 June 1421)
Henry had also left most of his own substantial collection of sermons and books
of meditation to be divided equally between Sheen and Syon, with Syon getting
the preaching books because the Carthusians were forbidden to preach. Henry
had also left to Sheen a copy of Gregory the Great that was already in their care.
While there are grounds for believing that neither Sheen nor Syon received any of
the promised royal books, the Syon library was quickly augmented by substantial
private collections from its first Brethren, such as the Lincoln grammar master
John Bracebridge (who gave well over a hundred books).32 It is unlikely that any
English Charterhouse of this date had anything like the size of library enjoyed by
the Brethren of Syon, even in the first quarter-century of that house’s life.
Certainly not, it would appear, the nearest Charterhouse to Syon. For, if we take
this prologue at face value, it seems that Sheen did not have a copy of Nicholas
Love at the time that the Mirror to Devout People was composed. The three copies
of that work made by the Sheen Carthusian Stephen Dodesham all date from
rather later in the fifteenth century.33 But the author of the Mirror to Devout People
was not without textual resources, as the list of sources in my Appendix shows.
In addition to the Pseudo-Bonaventure (itself a repertory of citations from Peter
Comestor, Bernard and others), he cites the Historia scholastica of Peter Comestor;
Nicholas of Lyra’s literal Postills on the Gospels; sermons and other works by
John Chrysostom, Clement, Augustine, Bede, Gregory, Bernard; the first book
of Hilton’s Scale of Perfection; Suso’s Orologium sapientiae (often the same passages as
occur in the Carthusian Ludolph of Saxony’s Vita Christi); Legenda aurea; The Three
Kings of Cologne; Mandeville’s Travels (probably in English); one of the infancy
Gospels; Richard of St Victor; the Carthusian Adam of Dryburgh; miracles of the
virgin and other materials. In addition he draws on certain revelations of what
he calls ‘approued women’ (f. 3r), namely Mechtild of Hackeborn, Elizabeth of
Töss, Catherine of Siena and Birgitta of Sweden. Despite this formidable array of
sources (some carried through from the Pseudo-Bonaventure, but many not), the
author is fearful of his own ‘vnkonnyng and vnworthynesse’ (f. 1v), but hopeful
that he may be excused by the merits of those who are profited by his ‘symple
travayle’.34 His sources are not always very deftly handled and, unlike Love, he
often steers his text towards the ascetic and pragmatic and away from the affective
and imaginative. His array of sources, and his often clumsy marshalling of them,
reveals rather the influence of anxiety than the anxiety of influence. Far from
being a dwarf on the shoulders of giants, he is a dwarfish narrator lost among a sea
of giant legs and often uncertain which leg to cling on to.35
144 Vincent Gillespie
And he is a very anxious author. Early in the prologue he is already extending
his inscribed audience beyond his ghostly sister, not in a permissive and confi-
dent way, but almost in the expectation of criticism. He answers ‘ony man’ who
may ask why he bothers to write another text after Bonaventure by hoping that
his meditations, by the grace of God, may be ‘full profitable to deuoute cresten
soules’ (f. 2r) even though ‘he that wrote friste þe meditacions folowyng were bot a
sympyle man and of no reputacioun’ (ff. 1v–2r).36 He has avoided adding ‘ymagi-
naciouns’ that might have appealed to carnal souls, but has added nothing of his
‘owne wytte’ except things that he hopes may be conceived by ‘open resoun and
goode conciens’ (f. 3r).37 As a compiler, augmenting Pseudo-Bonaventure, he has
relied most heavily on Peter Comestor and Nicholas of Lyra:
This is an altogether more ascetic text than other works in the Meditationes tradition.
Several interesting points emerge from these statements of humility. First,
although his primary support came from his own prior, he also receives good
advice and counsel from other ‘gostely faders’. Who might they be? Possibly
members of his own house, but perhaps also those ‘spyrituell and goode men’
on the other side of the river, the thirteen priests, four deacons and eight lay
brothers who, at full strength, made up the Brethren of Syon, an austere and
high-minded group into whose care the spiritual welfare of the sixty Syon nuns
was entrusted by the Birgittine rule.38 As we shall see, there are a number of
oblique comments in the text that may allude to the distinctive features of the
Birgittine foundation, and to the role of the Brethren in it. If we can locate this
text firmly and plausibly in a closed Sheen–Syon nexus, without an implied or
achieved lay circulation as part of the author’s intended audience for the text,
then this will change the emphasis in our reading of the work and in our percep-
tion of the mechanics of its circulation. If Syon was the conduit and perhaps the
commissioner of the work, then we will need to reconsider the agency of the
Carthusians in the lay circulation witnessed by the Notre Dame manuscript, and
perhaps modify or recontextualise our model of Carthusian involvement in the
textual transmission of vernacular materials.
Second, he refers to himself as the man who ‘wrote friste’ (f. 1v) the medita-
tions following, perhaps implying that he envisages others copying the text after
he has finished it. Is he perhaps haunted by the knowledge that any text sent to
Syon stands a good chance of being copied and disseminated beyond the walls
of that cloister, whatever its original intended audience? If so, his anxiety was
well founded: the Notre Dame manuscript is copied elegantly but rather hastily
and imperfectly. The text is full of corrections and emendations between the
lines and in the margins, and at the end of the Mirror there is a marginal note
on the first blank line which reads ‘examinatur’ (f. 109r): this copy has been
corrected against an exemplar and its deficiencies supplied. Indeed, given that
The haunted text 145
the marginal rulings for chapter headings and marginalia continue seamlessly on
from the ruling for text, it may be that this copy was designed to replicate the
mise en page of its exemplar.
Whatever the intentions expressed by the author in the prologue, presumably
written last as it contains a table of the chapters in the work and offers, as Ian
Johnson (1989) has shown, a formal, accessus-like account of the whole work, the
text of the Mirror itself reveals a plurality of inscribed audiences and readers. This
plurality might support the assumption that the author envisaged the text reaching
the hands and eyes of diverse lay readers. But it may be that his compositional
practice was neither as systematic nor as apparently emancipatory as that. In some
cases the plurality of possible reading positions reflects the haunting presence of
reading postures envisaged by the sources employed at that point in the work. In
other cases the internal logic of the exposition and the drift of his own reflections
draws the author ineluctably into configuring his audience in a particular way.
While the peroration implies an apparent authorial recognition of the inevitability
of a wider readership, and of the possibility of the work being selectively read or
copied when he addresses ‘yow here or ony other deuoute seruante of god þat is
by his grace to rede þis booke or ony parte þer of’ (f. 108r), this kind of selective
devotional reading is similar to that encouraged at Syon, as we shall see below. We
need to attend carefully to the voces paginarum and see what they tell us about the
way that the text configures its readership or audience.
While the audience most explicitly addressed at the start and finish of chap-
ters is the ‘gostely sustre’, the dominant inscribed audience of the text is a less
clearly specified religious woman. Chapter 18, discussing the events of Maundy
Thursday, puts words into the mouth of his inscribed audience (f. 55r): ‘Here as
me semeth yhe myght sey ... I þat am a woman’, questioning why she can receive
communion only under the form of bread. But he ventriloquises this question only
to require her obediently to accept ‘þis littel þat I haue seide to yow’, to avoid
asking questions about the sacrament, and to put her faith generally in the faith of
holy church along with ‘other comon peple’ (f. 55r), ‘and þat is ynogh to yche meke
cresten soule’ (f. 55v). In the Passion chapters, the reader is configured, in typical
Pseudo-Bonaventuran style, as one of the women who accompany Mary through
the ordeal of the crucifixion and its aftermath, encouraging her to imagine what
service she would have offered to the virgin if she had been present with her.
Elsewhere in the text, he seems to acknowledge the possibility of female lay read-
ership: the finding of the child Jesus in the temple (cap. 10) prompts a discussion
of Mary’s words to Christ when she says ‘Your father and I have been looking for
you’, citing Augustine on Mary’s meekness in putting Joseph first in the sentence,
and arguing that women, and particularly those that have husbands, should learn
to be meek and not to prefer themselves in any things. Elsewhere again he explains
that Joseph lived as a ‘mayden’ with Mary after the Visitation, for as doctors say
they ‘bothe avowede to gidre virgynite’ (f. 15v). He is much more emphatic about
this than Pseudo-Bonaventure, perhaps reflecting the growth in popularity of
vows of married chastity in the fifteenth century (such as that taken by Margery
and John Kempe) and the increasing number of widowed vowesses. Elizabeth
146 Vincent Gillespie
Chaworth/Scrope, one of the original owners of the Notre Dame copy, took the veil
as a vowess after the death of her husband John Lord Scrope in 1455, and a number
of high-born vowesses were associated with Syon in the fifteenth century.39
In keeping with the feminine targeting of these audiences, a distinctive feature
of the Mirror is the emphasis it gives to the actions, reactions and emotions of the
Virgin Mary. Much of this is highly conventional, and on one level this is only a
somewhat more restrained reflection of the role that Mary typically plays in the
Meditationes tradition as the suffering subject, the inscribed point of view within the
text that acts as an affective paradigm for the reactions of the reader. There are
plenty of invitations throughout the text to feel pity, sorrow, grief and imaginative
engagement with Mary as she observes and meditates on the events of Christ’s
life. But there are also some interesting inflections of the tradition. Following the
Pseudo-Bonaventure, for example, the Mirror mounts a robust defence of the apoc-
ryphal tradition that Jesus appeared first to his mother on the morning of his Resur-
rection, coming to her in a parody of the Annunciation while she sits alone deep
in meditation in the Upper Room on ‘Mounte Syon.’40 She is, as he comments, ‘a
perfite ensample’ and ‘a trewe myrour of perfeccioun to all wymmen as our lord
Ihesu to all men’ (f. 12r). At the Annunciation, we are invited to imagine her as a
nun-like figure, in her cubiculum, at her prayers as the Angel arrives, ‘for she was
alwaye wele occupiede’ (f. 9v: this detail is not in Pseudo-Bonaventure).41
But the Mirror goes rather further than this in its presentation of her as a model
contemplative and a paradigm of reflection and meditation on the events that
unfolded before her. He achieves this mainly through extensive borrowings from
the writings of his ‘approued women’, namely Mechtild of Hackeborn, Catherine
of Siena, Elizabeth of Töss and, most extensively, Birgitta of Sweden.42 In the
Nativity chapter (cap. 5), much influenced by Birgitta, Mary stands ‘as þoff sche
had be lifte up in ane extasye or suownynge of contemplacion yfillede with gostely
swetnes’(f. 17v). Her lyric meditations and laments at the foot of the cross and at
the deposition provide valuable, if basically conventional, formulae for the affective
meditator to respond to and copy. The Mirror repeats and develops the assertion
in Pseudo-Bonaventure and in Ludolph of Saxony that, on returning home after
the burial of Christ, she stopped at the cross and reverenced it, becoming the first
person so to do, emphasising in two consecutive chapters that between the Cruci-
fixion and the Resurrection ‘in hir alone \a/bode þe feyth of holy churche þat
time’ (f. 82v: this detail not in Pseudo-Bonaventure).43 Most tellingly, in filling in
the void in the Gospels relating to the events of Holy Saturday, the Mirror, in a
major expansion of the description in Pseudo-Bonaventure, reports that Mary
undertakes a retrospective meditation on all the happenings that she has witnessed
in the previous few days, and all the events of Christ’s life on earth, offering a
paradigm of the ideal reading process envisaged by the text for itself. This reflec-
tion takes place when Mary is alone in the room where the Last Supper had
been held, located, we are repeatedly told, in a part of Jerusalem called ‘Mello þat
is to seye in Mounte Syon’ (f. 82v). Elsewhere in the book, he repeats verbatim
extracts from Birgitta’s revelations that record her first-person response to her
showings, which he leaves as gendered direct speech so that the (implied female)
The haunted text 147
reader can appropriate them for use as a personal meditation. So the female and
contemplative strands in the book are quite prominent.
Interestingly, though, the text also addresses itself on occasion to male religious.
Speaking of Mary’s visitation to Elizabeth and the lessons in meekness it teaches,
he writes that ‘þis is necessarie and profitable to yow and to other men and women
that lyuen in religion and haue forsaken your owne wyll’ to live under the ‘meke
and siker Ȝoke of obedience’ (f. 15r). (In the Notre Dame copy, this chapter’s lengthy
exposition of the kinds of meekness is closely monitored and signposted by extensive
marginalia.) At the Last Supper, John’s marvelling at Christ’s words betokens that
‘men and women þat haue taken vp on hem þat state of contemplatyue lyuynge’
should be busily and diligently occupied in ‘louynge’ (meaning both loving and
praising) of God and forget all worldly things (f. 57r). At the Purification, Mary’s
obedience to Mosaic law is a ‘feire ensample to all religiouse men and women howe
gladly theye shulde obeye to the obseruaunces of here reules and þe byddynges of
her souereynes’, as well as a ‘generale ensample’ to all Christian people to obey the
biddings and ordinances of Holy Church (ff. 26v–27r).
But the most extraneous audience invoked by the text is an audience of male reli-
gious who are both contemplatives and, most unusually, also preachers. Chapter
13, dealing with Christ’s retreat into the desert and his temptations there, and
chapter 14, covering the calling of the Apostles, are presented as a paradigm form
of living for all preachers. These addresses to preachers are not found in Pseudo-
Bonaventure, which refers at this point to an audience of ‘monachi’.44 Chapter 13
exhorts all preachers and teachers to follow Christ, who withdrew into the desert
of his own spirit:
¶Also in þat he yaf ensample þat men þat wolde preche and teche goddis
worde shuld firste vsen hem selfe to be mykell alone fro þe companyes of folke
where they myghte Ȝeue hem conueniently to holy meditacions and prayers,
fastynge, wakynge and other holy exercyces by þe whiche helpynge þe grace
of god þei myghte ouercome vices in hem selfe and þe sotell temptacyoun of
þe fende. (f. 37r)
‘And so wolde God’, he continues, ‘alle prechoures wolde do nowadayes’ (f. 37v),
a passage marked Nota bene in the margin of Notre Dame. Warming to his theme in
chapter 14, he notes that when people hear or read the words of graduates, masters
of divinity or doctors of law, they have ‘grete deynte þer of’ and ‘comenden it
gretely’. But if the words come from a ‘common letterde man’ or a ‘deuoute man
not graduate þat is to seye not degreede’ they despise it and have little dainty of
it (f. 41v). This is an odd passage and out of keeping with its context, and with its
sources (it is not in Pseudo-Bonaventure), though its primary purpose is to explain
the mix of learned and ‘lewd’ men called by Jesus to be his apostles. But coming
from the pen of a man who has been haunted by his own sense of inadequacy when
faced with the textual authority of the cardinal and great clerk Bonaventure and
of other doctors he has read and cited, and who describes himself as a ‘sympyle
man and of no reputacioun’ (f. 2r) it seems particularly heartfelt. On one level
148 Vincent Gillespie
this is typical Carthusian intellectual modesty: consider the (probably Carthusian)
translator’s prologue to the vernacular version of Suso’s Orologium sapientiae and
his allegory of the sphere with three levels where the doctors and scholars miss out
on the wisdom of God because they are puffed up with scientia and miss the sapientia
that comes from the simple and total love of God, or the Mirror author’s statement
in his prologue that meditation on the Passion of Christ makes unlearned men into
learned men, and ‘unwise’ men and idiots into masters not of the science that puffs
up but of charity that edifies, a statement itself taken from Suso and also used by
Ludolph of Saxony.45
But on the other hand this concern with preachers who live lives of reclusion in
the desert and with the popular preference for graduates and doctors over simple
men may reflect another level of anxiety, another haunting: a possible sense of
intellectual inadequacy in the face of the high-powered (often graduate) contem-
plative community living just over the river in the desert of Syon, who were by this
date already winning praise and reputation for their learning and, most strikingly,
for their work as preachers to the laity. When he draws attention to the inau-
thentic and apocryphal material in the Gospel of Nichodemus he includes it with the
words: ‘I commytte it to þe dome of þe reder whether he woll admytte it or none’
(f. 91v). He here inscribes a male reader with the ability to exercise theological
judgement and discrimination.
Does the Mirror to Devout People make more sense if it is seen as addressed to the
totality of the community in Syon: religious sisters, contemplative fathers who
were also preachers, lay people living in the abbey, or as spiritual clients of the
Brethren? How does the text look if we put it in a Birgittine rather than a Carthu-
sian context? Can we more adequately account for the text’s unusual features
by placing it, initially at least, in a tight, specific and conveniently local setting
rather than in the looser framework of broad and increasing lay access to such
materials?
The prominent and privileged position occupied by Mary in the Mirror to Devout
People, though not unprecedented in the Meditationes vitae Christi tradition and fairly
commonplace in the meditations on the Passion that the Mirror author initially
intended to write, is paralleled by the unusual prominence given to Mary in the
constitution of the Birgittine order:
This religion þerfore I wyll sette & ordeyne fyrst & principally by women to
the worshippe of my most dere beloued modir, whose ordir and statutys I
shall declare most fully with myn owne mowthe.
‘Per mulieres primum et principaliter’ (‘for women first and foremost’).46 These
are the words of Christ in the preamble to the Regula salvatoris dictated by him to
Birgitta. A postulant for admission at Syon was preceded into the church by a red
banner with images of Mary on one side and the crucified Christ on the other.
The bishop draws her attention to the banner saying that the image of Christ
teaches patience and poverty while the image of Mary teaches chastity and meek-
ness. The manner of the Birgittine life is equally clearly stated in the Rule:
The haunted text 149
The begynnyng of this religion and of helth ys very mekenes and pure chastite
and wylfull pouerte.
Principium itaque huius religionis et non est salutis, est vera humilitas, pura
castitas atque voluntaria paupertas.47
Meekness, chastity, patience and poverty of spirit are repeatedly singled out by the
author of the Mirror to Devout People as the dominant virtues inculcated by his text
(though these are, of course, commonplaces of meditative writing), especially in his
discussion of Mary’s behaviour at the Visitation to Elizabeth. The ascetic contem-
plative life of Syon is well matched in the controlled tone of the Mirror to Devout
People, which is notably less enthusiastic and affective and more cautious about
‘ymaginaciouns’ than other texts in the Meditationes tradition. The office of the
Syon sisters was based on the Sermo angelicus, again dictated to Birgitta and heavily
focused on the role of Mary in the economy of salvation, while the liturgical and
para-liturgical prayer of both houses sent up a seamless hymn of praise to God
and to his mother. The companion to the office, the Mirror of Our Lady, translated
and glossed the Birgittine Breviary for those of limited latinity and must have been
composed in the same decades that produced our text.48
‘By women for the worship of Mary’: the role of the nuns was to observe strict
enclosure and to sing the praises of the Virgin, in a life of obedience to the Abbess
as ‘souereyn’ of the house. The language of the prologue to The Orcherd of Syon, a
version of ‘approued’ Catherine of Siena’s Dialogo produced for the Syon nuns,
echoes the language used in the Mirror:
Religyous modir & deuote sustren clepid & chosen bisily to laboure at the
hous of Syon in the blessid vyneȜerd of oure holy Saueour, his parfite rewle
which himsilf enditide to kepe contynuly to Ȝoure lyues eende vndir þe gouer-
naunce of oure blessid Lady, hir seruise oonly to rede and to synge as hir
special seruauntis and douȜtren, and sche Ȝoure moost souereyne lady and
cheef abbes of hir holy couent.49
The structure of the order, sixty nuns, thirteen priests (the apostles plus St Paul),
eight lay brothers and four deacons (Ambrose, Gregory, Jerome and Augus-
tine), the total symbolising the post-Ascension community of the Church, privi-
leges the role of the Abbess as the head of the community, with primacy over
the whole business of the house and over the Brethren, led by the Confessor-
General, who was second in dignity, superior in spiritual matters and near
coeval, much to be respected and admired, and sometimes to be yielded to by
the Abbess.
The Syon Brethren had a more widely defined function:
Thes thrittene preestis owe to entende oonly to dyuyne office and studie &
prayer. And implie them with none oþere nedes or offices. Whiche also are
bounde to expoune iche sonday the gospel of the same day in the same messe
to all herers in ther modir tonge.50
150 Vincent Gillespie
They are also ‘opynly to preche’ on solemn festivals. They also, of course, say
Mass for the sisters and attend to their spiritual needs. At Syon, the acquisition of
various indulgences and pardons, especially the ad vincula indulgence, soon gave
further opportunities for public preaching by the Brethren, and it was at one such
occasion that Margery Kempe is in attendance at the end of book two of her Book.
There is evidence, however, from outside of the Rule to suggest that the Syon
Brethren were also expected to accept confessions from outside the house, and
the Brethren at Vadstena at least had the status of minor penitentiaries. There is
also some evidence to suggest that they acted as spiritual directors for well-placed
laymen and women, as Symon Wynter did for Margaret, Duchess of Clarence.
The Brethren, many of whom entered Syon after careers as secular priests,
academics or administrators, and increasingly became a predominantly graduate
community, also seem to have offered collegial hospitality to priests and laymen
who wished to work in the library and share in the life of the house. And as the
fifteenth century progressed they would have served as marketing managers for the
Syon brand name, as the fame of the Syon pardon spread and crowds flocked to
the indulgence sermons and bought the printed versions of the pardon and indul-
gences. Syon was a fashionable place to visit and the Brethren were in the front
line of handling the masses of visitors, while the nuns were assiduously protected
from exposure to them.51 The lections added at Syon to the general martyrology
at the end of the Brethren’s Martiloge reveal a conception of the Brethren’s role that
is similarly high-minded, austere and idealistic. The lections, added in the top and
bottom margins and keyed to the daily readings from the martyrology, address
themselves to the core priestly functions of preaching, teaching, confessional judg-
ment and pastoral and spiritual guidance. Usually only a couple of sentences long,
they offer a daily infusion of sacerdotal theory to reinforce the commitment of the
Brethren to their vocation. Preaching is to be plain but effective:
Teaching must be carefully targeted at the needs and abilities of the audience:
Prima prudentie uirtus est eam quam docere oporteat existimare personam.
Rudibus populis seu carnalibus plana atque communia non summa atque
ardua predicanda sunt ne immensitate doctrina opprimantur potius quam
erudiantur.53
[The first feature of Prudence is to assess the character of those who are
to be instructed. For simple and worldly people, those things to be preached
must be plain and commonplace, not elevated or hard, lest they be weighted
down with greater instruction than they can assimilate.]
The haunted text 151
The emphasis is on the cultivation of humility and the avoidance of spiritual
and intellectual pride, on the paramount importance of matching words and
works (‘tam doctrina quam uerba’ [‘as the teaching so the life’]) and of living what
is taught: ‘Sacerdotis predicacio operibus confirmanda est ita ut quod docet verbo
instruat exemplo’ [‘The preaching of the priest is to be confirmed by his works so
that what he teaches by word he may demonstrate by example’].54 Patient poverty,
meekness, humility and pragmatism are the touchstone of the Regula saluatoris, as
they are of the Regula sancti Augustini which the order nominally took as its Rule.
Now, as well as the unusually insistent prominence of Mary in the Mirror version
of the life of Christ, an even more striking oddity in this version is the emphasis
given to St John the Evangelist, culminating in an excursus in the last chapter of the
work on his merits and the powers of his saintly intercession, especially in relation
to the prayer O intemerata with which the Mirror closes, which describes Mary and
John as ‘Ye two celestial jewels. Ye two lights divinely shining before God.’ The
role of John is quietly built up throughout the Mirror: in the Last Supper passage,
his silent marvelling at the words of Christ is figured as a paradigm of contempla-
tive living for all men and women.55 The commendation of Mary and John to each
other by Christ on the cross is the subject of extended discussion, stressing John’s
role as protector and help to Mary after Christ’s death. In the work’s final chapter,
John is noted for his four special privileges: his special loving of Christ; the incor-
ruption of his body after death; his showing of ‘privetees’, and the fact that God’s
mother was commended to his care. Citing at length from a sermon on John by
the Carthusian Adam of Dryburgh, the Mirror explains that his symbol is a flying
eagle, because of his ability to comprehend by cleanness of soul the high privities
of everlasting mysteries.56 John’s position of near-equality with Mary is emphasised
by the Mirror: as neither of them has any ‘souereyn’ in the world because of their
devoted virginity, so, the text argues, it is fitting that they be joined together in
esteem. Moreover, John, we are told, was a great preacher who, according to the
Legenda aurea, on the morning of his death went into his Church in Rome to preach
to his beloved people: ‘byddynge hem þat þei shulde be stedfaste in þe feythe and
feruente in þe kepynge of the comaundementes of god’ (f. 102v). He wins the triple
aureole of martyrdom, preaching and virginity. This strangely configured account
of John, to whom, the author of the Mirror says, the ghostly sister has a special
devotion, distorts the shape of the text and greatly extends the length of the final
chapter. But, in the context of a close target audience of a Syon nun, it is easy to
see it as figuring the special attributes of the contemplative, virgin preachers who
made up the Brethren of Syon and were meant to stand as bastions of orthodoxy
against the tides of heresy, and perhaps more specifically the Confessor-General,
who served as the Abbess’s representative on earth and lived a life of reclusion
interspersed with pastoral and business activities on behalf of the house.
There may be other oblique references to the special circumstances of the
house. The odd little disquisition on Mary saying ‘Your father and I’ at the finding
of Jesus in the temple, with its moral that women should not put themselves before
men, looks slightly different in the context of the constitution of Syon, where the
Abbess, like Mary, has greater authority, but defers to the Confessor-General
152 Vincent Gillespie
(configured as the loyal Joseph) in spiritual matters. Indeed the Syon Additions to
the Rule describe them as ‘fader and moder to the hole congregacion of sustres
and Brethren’.57 The injunction to pray the Pater noster, Ave Maria and Creed at the
beginning, middle and end of the Mirror, although a common devotional gesture,
exactly parallels the injunction in the Birgittine Breviary, the Mirror of Our Lady and
the Additions for the nuns to preface most of their daily Hours with precisely those
prayers, and the office of those nuns and lay-Brethren who could not read was to
be entirely made up of those prayers. The discussion in the Mirror to Devout People
of the Annunciation and Mary’s undoing of Eve’s wrongdoing, with its conven-
tional play on Ave/Eva, parallels a very similar (but admittedly commonplace)
discussion of the same tropes in the Mirror of Our Lady.58 The chapter on how to
distinguish between good and evil visions parallels similar discussions in the Revela-
tions of St Birgitta and in The Orcherd of Syon.59 The linking of the key episodes of
Christ’s Passion to the Hours of the Divine Office, although found in numerous
Passion meditations in the Pseudo-Bonaventuran tradition, gains extra force from
the knowledge that between the hours of Terce (the condemnation of Christ in
the Mirror) and Sext (the Crucifixion in the Mirror), the nuns of Syon all visited the
open grave that was kept in their enclosure to meditate on their own mortality.
The lyric force of the tableaux meditations on Christ’s love and mercy in chapter
24 of the Mirror, dealing with the opening of Christ’s side, and the deposition from
the cross in chapter 25 (linked with Evensong) are given extra potency as possible
meditative aids for the sisters by the knowledge that before the hour of Evensong,
the community of nuns met together to pray forgiveness from God and each other
for the sins they had committed. The account of Mary reverencing the cross and
then returning alone to her cell to meditate on the Passion parallels much of what
we know about the life and the reading of Syon nuns. Both the Mirror of Our Lady
and the Mirror to Devout People encourage ‘devout beholding’ in the mind and imag-
ination of the reader, and both encourage a kind of meditation that is restrained
and ascetic rather than affective and enthusiastic.
Moreover, the occasional references to married lay readers, or the acknowl-
edgement of the possibility of such lay readers, need not imply that the text was
originally designed to pass into a wide reading public: Syon had a large resident
staff of laymen, including important postholders like the Steward, whose families
were often housed on the site. It was also a design feature of Birgittine houses to
include apartments for royal visitors. In addition, we know that it was the habit of
pious and well-born men and women to hire lodgings in the precincts of Syon for
various periods of time, and there may even have been lay vowesses living in the
precincts alongside those postulants for admission to the community who chose to
fulfil their year of external novitiate close to the house. From 1446 onwards, Syon
also had strong links with the influential Guild of All Angels in nearby Isleworth,
a guild with close connections to the world of the London common-profit books.60
Syon was a truly mixed, large and diverse community, which, despite the strict-
ness of its formal enclosures, was in many ways permeable and hospitable to the
outside world.
Looked at as a text designed to address a mixed and varied audience in the
The haunted text 153
world, the final assessment has to be that the Mirror to Devout People is a failure:
it fails to inflect its material adequately to encompass those readers who are not
‘goostly’, and its references to laity are clumsy and fleeting. So to argue that here
is a text designed to serve the needs of multiple audiences is to argue that it has
largely failed in its design. But to see it as a text addressing the very specific needs
of a very specific community of nuns and priests configured in a manner that was
unique in medieval Britain immediately resolves many of the inconsistencies and
awkwardnesses of address. The Mirror shows an allusive but genuine knowledge
of the circumstances and spiritual life of the Birgittines and avowedly seeks to
address those circumstances and the Marian-centred nature of that spiritual life.
A Birgittine reader of the Mirror to Devout People would feel immediately at home in
an imaginative world heavily coloured by the revelations of Birgitta (the nativity
scenes in the Mirror of Our Lady are especially close to those in the Mirror to Devout
People), Catherine of Siena and Elizabeth of Töss. Both texts share a common
emphasis on Mary as the sole guardian of the faith between Christ’s death and
Resurrection. In the Mirror to Devout People, Christ greets his mother in his apocry-
phal appearance to her on the morning of his Resurrection with the words Salve
sancta parens, a hymn that was regularly recited by the nuns as part of their office,
and was translated and glossed in the Mirror of Our Lady.61
The Mirror of Our Lady offers much sensible and enlightened advice to the nuns
about how and when they should read books, and about the kinds of books they
should employ for their differing moods and needs. Its purpose, apart from glossing
the office, is to offer a mirror in which Mary can be seen so that the nuns can be
stirred more devoutly to praise her:
And therfore now moste dere and deuoute systres, ye that are the spouses
of oure lorde Iesu chryste and the specyall chosen maydens and doughtres of
his moste reuerende mother, lyfte up the eyen of youre soulles towarde youre
souerayne lady and often and bysely loke and study in this her myrroure,
and not lyghtely but contynually, not hastynge to rede moche atones but
labouryng to knowe what you rede.62
Devout reading is called one of the parts of contemplation, for it causes much
grace and comfort to the soul if it is discreetly used. When you read alone, you
should not be hasty and read too much at once, but should sometimes read a
thing twice or three times. Similarly, The Orcherd of Syon has re-ordered Catherine
of Siena’s Dialogo so that it can be dipped into and explored in sections, though the
author recommends a complete reading first. The author of the Mirror to Devout
People recommends exactly the same approach to his book, saying that he has
designed a detailed list of chapters to allow navigation round the text and selec-
tive reading, ‘noghtwythstondyng hit were þe beste who so myght haue tyme and
laysere þerto to rede hit all as hit is sett’ (f. 1r).63
The advice on reading in The Mirror of Our Lady is designed to be applied to any
kind of book encountered by the nuns. But singled out for comment are those
books that:
154 Vincent Gillespie
ar made to enforme the vnderstondynge. & to tel how spiritual persones
oughte to be gouerned in all theyr lyuynge that they may knowe what they
shall leue & what they shall do. how they shulde laboure in clensyng of theyr
conscyence. & in gettyng of vertewes how they shulde withstonde tempta-
cyons & suffer trybulacyons & how they shall pray. & occupy them in gostly
excercyse. with many suche other full holy doctrines.64
The reader of such books should seek to assess the extent to which their own life
conforms to these models and precepts and, where deficiencies are identified:
besely to kepe in mynde that lesson that so sheweth you to youre selfe & ofte
to rede yt ageyne. & to loke theron. & on your selfe. with full purpose & wyll
to amende you & to dresse youre lyfe therafter.65
Put in the specific context of reading at Syon, the Mirror to Devout People fits flaw-
lessly into the scheme of reading recommended by the Mirror of Our Lady. Similar
advice is repeated in other Syon books, while the Brethren’s library contained a
‘tractatus de laude lecture divine’ (N.67: SS1.921jj). Thomas Betson’s Right Profit-
able Treatise (1500) cites Jerome’s advice to religious women:
Lete none see you from the seruyce of god or unoccupyed. In redynge of proph-
etes, epystles, gospelles, sayntes lyues and other dedes of vertue doynge, hauynge
euer bokes in your handes, studyenge or wrytynge þat people seynge you may
saye: Beholde here the seruaunt of god and the lanternes of the worlde.66
If the ‘goostly faders’ that the author of the Mirror to Devout People had consulted
before embarking on his work had indeed included Syon Brethren, the Syon ethos
of improving reading might well have been part of the ‘counseill’ that he received
from them.
It is remarkable that many of the texts and books known to have been owned by
Syon nuns have a Carthusian provenance. Apart from the Orcherd and the Mirror of
Our Lady, hardly any of their books seem to have come from the pens of the Syon
Brethren. They of course had a public ministry of preaching and sacramental
care, a public ministry that was denied to the Carthusians by statute. Instead the
Carthusians preached with their hands by making books, becoming ‘heralds of
the faith’.67 If the peculiar shape and texture of the Mirror to Devout People can be
explained and accounted for by defining its target audience as the community
at Syon, broadly conceived, then we cannot consider this work as evidence of
Carthusian intervention in facilitating greater lay access to materials of this kind.
I suspect that the role of facilitator in this case probably rests with Syon, as may
the role of commissioning the text in the first place. The initial intended audience
may have been small, local and tightly defined. The Carthusians probably had no
agency in its later expansion to include well-connected lay people like Elzabeth
Chaworth/Scrope, whose husband’s family had numerous connections to Syon
and other metropolitan nunneries.68
The haunted text 155
But was it only ‘counseill’ that the Carthusian author of a Mirror to Devout People
might have received from Syon? The Mirror author needed access to a wide range
of texts to compose his work. Would he have found them in Sheen at the date
he was working on his text? It is impossible to say, though he had apparently not
read Nicholas Love’s Mirror but had only ‘heard tell’ of it from his prior. However,
with one exception (perhaps significantly, a Carthusian text), every major source
he cites and uses in his work could have been found in the library of the Syon
Brethren in copies that were probably in the library before 1450.69 The library at
Syon was a noted resource not only for the Brethren but also for their many guests
and visitors. If the author of the Mirror to Devout People had indeed spoken to the nun
for whom the book was allegedly composed, and if, as seems likely, that nun was
one of the sisters of Syon with their fiercely protected enclosure, that conversation,
perhaps conducted under the terms of Martin V’s 1418 bulls possibly permitting
Carthusians to assist the Syon Brethen ‘ad ministrandum et obsequendum’, might
have coincided with a trip to use the library of the Syon Brethren. The role of
the Syon Brethren in the pastoral care of the nuns and of lay people may have
extended to the lending of books to neighbouring houses, and certainly included
the commissioning of books from Sheen for the use of the community. Those
books were perhaps composed drawing on the resources of their own remarkable
library. The texts they contained may subsequently have made their way or have
been deliberately propelled by the Brethren of Syon into wider circulation. That
model of transmission fits well with the known facts concerning the circulation of
many religious texts in London in the fifteenth century. The haunting evidence of
the Mirror to Devout People suggests that a full reconsideration of the agency of Syon
in such transmission is urgently needed.
Appendix
Notes
1 This paper was written for a conference in September 2001 at the University of Notre
Dame to celebrate their acquisition of the Foyle manuscript of the Speculum devotorum.
My thanks are due to Jill Mann, Michael Lapidge and Maura Nolan for their invitation
and hospitality. An earlier version of this paper appears in Jill Mann and Maura Nolan
(eds), The Text in the Community: Essays on Medieval Works, Manuscripts, Authors, and Readers,
Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006, pp. 129–72. This version appears
by courtesy of the editors and of University of Notre Dame Press.
2 The most recent and most influential articulation of the impact of the Arundel decrees
on vernacular religious culture is the fine essay by Nicholas 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. Earlier discussions tend to underplay the changes wrought by Arundel. See, for
example, my ‘Vernacular Books of Religion’, in Jeremy Griffiths and Derek Pearsall
(eds), Book Production and Publishing in Britain 1375–1475, Cambridge: CUP, 1989, pp.
317–44, which now looks under-historicised compared to the discussions in Watson,
or in Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Nicholas Watson, Andrew Taylor and Ruth Evans
(eds), The Idea of the Vernacular: An Anthology of Middle English Literary Theory 1280–1520,
Exeter and University Park PA: University of Exeter Press and Penn State University
Press, 1999, though some of those discussions also tend to the ameliorative model. But
this paper wonders if the impact of Arundel needs more careful analysis, more local
examination and wider contextualisation than it has perhaps hitherto received.
3 On the context of the Mirror in Notre Dame MS 67, see now the essay by A.S.G.
Edwards, ‘The Contexts of Notre Dame 67’, in Mann and Nolan, op. cit., pp. 107–28.
The other work in the Notre Dame volume, the Book of the Craft of Dying, addresses itself
to an explicitly double audience of ‘lewed men’ as well as religious and devout persons.
Its Bernardine account of the Passion and of the deposition (f. 113v) has many similari-
ties with the Mirror cap. 24. See Gillespie, op. cit. (1989), p. 327; R. Raymo, ‘Works of
Religious and Philosophical Instruction’, in Albert E. Hartung (ed.), A Manual of the
Writings in Middle English, New Haven: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1986,
vol. 7, p. 216; G.R. Morgan, ‘A Critical Edition of Caxton’s The Art and Craft to Know Well
to Die and Ars Moriendi Together with the Antecedent Manuscript Material’, unpublished
thesis, University of Oxford, 1973, although unaware of the Foyle/Notre Dame copy,
comments that the Book of the Craft of Dying ‘seems to have circulated among substantial
lay families with strong religious connections in and around the metropolis during the
second half of the fifteenth century’ (p. 127).
4 The standard account of the foundation of Syon is still George J. Aungier, The History and
Antiquities of Syon Monastery, the Parish of Isleworth and the Chapelry of Hounslow, London: J.B.
Nichols, 1840. More recently M.B. Tait, ‘The Brigittine Monastery of Syon (Middlesex)
with Special Reference to its Monastic Uses’, unpublished thesis, University of Oxford,
1975, studied much unprinted manuscript material and explored the spiritual and
158 Vincent Gillespie
cultural life of the house. See also N. Beckett, ‘St. Bridget, Henry V and Syon Abbey’, in
James Hogg (ed.), Studies in St. Birgitta and the Brigittine Order, Analecta Cartusiana 35:19,
1993, vol. 2, 125–50, for a recent perspective on the politics of the foundation. For
discussion of the spirituality of the order (and especially of the nuns), see Roger Ellis,
Viderunt eam filie syon: The Spirituality of the English House of a Medieval Contemplative Order from
Its Beginnings to the Present Day, Analecta Cartusiana 68, 1984. On Sheen, see N. Beckett,
‘Sheen Charterhouse from its Foundation to its Dissolution’, unpublished thesis, Univer-
sity of Oxford, 1992.
5 The standard (and masterly) discussion of the Syon libraries is now Christopher de
Hamel, Syon Abbey: The Library of the Bridgettine Nuns and their Peregrinations after the Reforma-
tion, Otley: Roxburghe Club, 1991. The registrum of the library of the Brethren (c. 1504)
is now Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 141. It was first edited by Mary Bateson,
Catalogue of the Library of Syon Monastery Isleworth, Cambridge: CUP, 1898. A more detailed
edition is now available as Syon Abbey, edited by Vincent Gillespie, with A.I. Doyle (ed.),
The Libraries of the Carthusians, Corpus of British Medieval Library Catalogues 9, London:
British Library in association with the British Academy, 2001, which includes an intro-
duction analysing the history of the Brethren’s library. References to this edition will
give the alphabetical library mark (e.g. M.1) followed by the number for that entry in the
Corpus (e.g. SS1.734). SS1 refers to the original registrum, SS2 to entries reconstructed
from erasure and indices.
6 Michael G. Sargent, ‘Walter Hilton’s Scale of Perfection: The London Manuscript
Group Reconsidered’, Medium Aevum 52, 1983, 189–216; Roger Lovatt, ‘The Imitation
of Christ in Late Medieval England’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, fifth series
18, 1968, 97–121; Brendan J. H. Biggs (ed.), The Imitation of Christ, EETS, o. s. 309,
1997, p. vii.
7 A.I. Doyle, ‘Carthusian Participation in the Movement of the Works of Richard Rolle
between England and other parts of Europe in the 14th and 15th Centuries’, in Kartäuser-
mystik und -Mystiker, Analecta Cartusiana 55:2, 1981, 109–120 (p. 116).
8 See the example printed by F. Wormald, ‘The Revelation of the Hundred Pater
Nosters’, Laudate 14, 1936, 165–82 (pp. 180–1), where a devotional text passes from
London Charterhouse to Mount Grace, from Mount Grace to a secular priest and
only then from secular priest into (perhaps memorial rather than textual) lay use. See
my ‘Dial M for Mystic: Mystical Texts in the Library of Syon Abbey and the Spiritu-
ality of the Syon Brethren’, in Marion Glasscoe (ed.), The Medieval Mystical Tradition:
Exeter Symposium VI, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1999, 241–68 (p. 249). On Carthusian
involvement with and possible production of pastoral (rather than devotional) books,
see my ‘Cura pastoralis in deserto’, in Michael G. Sargent (ed.), De Cella in Seculum: Reli-
gious and Secular Life and Devotion in Late Medieval England, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1989,
pp. 161–81, and my ‘The Evolution of the Speculum Christiani’, in Alastair M. Minnis
(ed.), Latin and Vernacular: Studies in Late-Medieval Texts and Manuscripts, Cambridge: D.S.
Brewer, 1989, pp. 39–62.
9 Marleen Cré, Vernacular Mysticism in the Charterhouse: A Study of London, British Library, MS
Additional 37790, The Medieval Translator 9, Turnhout: Brepols, 2006; Marleen Cré,
‘Women in the Charterhouse’, in Denis Renevey and Christiania Whitehead (eds), Writing
Religious Women: Female Spiritual and Textual Practices in Late Medieval England, Cardiff and
Toronto: University of Wales Press and University of Toronto Press, 2000, pp. 43–62.
For a detailed recent description of this manuscript and an account of Grenehalgh’s
annotations, see Michael G. Sargent, James Grenehalgh as Textual Critic, Analecta Cartu-
siana 85, 1984, vol. 2, pp. 499–510. On Ruusbroec, see Michael G. Sargent, ‘Ruusbroec
in England: The Chastising of God’s Children and Related Works’, in J. de Grauwe (ed.),
Historia et spiritualitas cartusienses, Ghent: Destelbergen, 1983, pp. 303–12; see also his ‘The
Heneage Manuscript of Calculus de perfectione filiorum Dei and the Middle English Treatise of
Perfection of the Sons of God’, Ons Geestelijk Erf 59, 1985, 533–59.
The haunted text 159
10 Michael G. Sargent (ed.), Nicholas Love’s Mirror of the Blessed Life of Jesus Christ, New York:
Garland, 1992, p. 10.
11 On Love, see now Shoichi Ogura, Richard Beadle and Michael G. Sargent (eds), Nicholas
Love at Waseda, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1997, for an overview of recent scholarship.
For a provocative reading of Love’s disparaging attitudes to lay and therefore vernac-
ular spirituality, see Nicholas Watson, ‘Conceptions of the Word: The Mother Tongue
and the Incarnation of God’, New Medieval Literatures 1, 1997, 85–124 (pp. 91–8).
12 A.I. Doyle, ‘Publication by Members of the Religious Orders’, in Jeremy Griffiths and
Derek Pearsall (eds), Book Production and Publishing in Britain 1375–1475, Cambridge:
CUP, 1989, pp. 109–23 (p. 113).
13 Gillespie, op. cit. (1999), pp. 241–8; James Hogg, ‘Mount Grace Charterhouse and
Late Medieval Spirituality’, in Collectanea Cartusiensia 3, Analecta Cartusiana 82:3, 1980,
1–43.
14 George R. Keiser, ‘The Mystics and the Early English Printers: The Economics of
Devotionalism’, in Marion Glasscoe (ed.), The Medieval Mystical Tradition in England:
Exeter Symposium IV, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1987, pp. 9–26; S.E. Holbrook, ‘Margery
Kempe and Wynkyn de Worde’, ibid., pp. 27–46.
15 The erased entry at M.26 (SS2.127) in the registrum of the Brethren’s library at Syon has
contents that exactly parallel those of London, Lambeth Palace Library MS 472 and
are closely similar to another such common-profit volume. Lambeth was made from the
goods of a wealthy London grocer John Killum, one of whose executors was John Colop,
involved in the making of other similar volumes. Colop was a founder member of the
Chapel and Guild of the Nine Orders of Angels in Isleworth, ‘juxta Syon’ and with links
to both Syon and Sheen: Aungier, op. cit., pp. 459–64 (translated pp. 215–25) prints
the foundation charter (1446) of the guild. See Gillespie, op. cit. (1989), pp. 319–20;
Gillespie, op. cit. (2001), pp. 469–70; Sargent, op. cit. (1983); Wendy Scase, ‘Reginald
Pecock, John Carpenter and John Colop’s “Common-Profit” Books: Aspects of Book
Ownership in Fifteenth-Century London’, Medium Aevum 61, 1992, 261–74. The issue is
further explored in V. Gillespie, ‘Walter Hilton at Syon Abbey’, in J. Hogg (ed.), ‘Stand
up to Godwards’: Essays in Mystical and Monastic Theology in Honour of the Reverend John Clark
on his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, Analecta Cartusiana 204, 2002, pp. 9–61, to which should be
added the information that John Somerset was listed in the Syon Martiloge as one of the
friends and special benefactors of the house, further strengthening the links between
Syon and the fraternity. See also A.F. Sutton and L. Visser-Fuchs, ‘The Cult of Angels in
Late Fifteenth-Century England: An Hours of the Guardian Angel presented to Queen
Elizabeth Woodville’, in Lesley Smith and Jane Taylor (eds), Women and the Book: Assessing
the Visual Evidence, London: British Library, 1996, pp. 230–65, which places the circum-
stances of the foundation of the fraternity into a wider devotional and social context.
16 There is some evidence of increasing lay (sometimes royal) access to Charterhouses in
the second half of the fifteenth century, mainly to participate in liturgical offices out of
the sight of the monks. There is little sign of Carthusians systematically engaging in the
spiritual direction of seculars, though some were granted letters of spiritual fraternity.
See Joseph A. Gribbin, Aspects of Carthusian Liturgical Practice in Later Medieval England,
Analecta Cartusiana 99:33, 1995, pp. 33–51; C.B. Rowntree, ‘Studies in Carthusian
History in Later Medieval England, with Special Reference to the Order’s Relations
with Secular Society’, unpublished thesis, York University, 1981. On the pattern of
Carthusian daily life, see Bruno Barrier, Les activités du solitaire en chartreuse d’après ses
plus anciens témoins, Analecta Cartusiana 87, 1981, though the purity of the life may
have been challenged and somewhat eroded in the fifteenth century; see James Hogg,
‘Everyday Life in the Charterhouse in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries’, in Hein-
rich Appelt (ed.), Klösterliche Sachkultur des Spätmittlelaters, Veröffentlichungen des Instituts
für Mittelalterliche Realienkunde Österreichs, Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der
Wissenschaften, 1980, vol. 3, pp. 113–46.
160 Vincent Gillespie
17 Ann M. Hutchison, ‘Devotional Reading in the Monastery and in the Late Medieval
Household’, in Sargent, op. cit. (1989), pp. 215–27; F. Riddy, ‘“Women Talking about
the Things of God”: A Late-medieval Sub-culture’, in Carol M. Meale (ed.), Women
and Literature in Britain 1150–1500, 2nd edn, Cambridge: CUP, 1996, pp. 104–27, and
the essays by Julia Boffey and Carol Meale in the same volume; A.I. Doyle, ‘Books
Connected with the Vere Family and Barking Abbey’, Transactions of the Essex Archaeo-
logical Society 25, 1958, 222–43. On London widows and monastic houses in general and
on the connection with Syon of one merchant’s widow in particular, see J. Stratford,
‘Joan Buckland (d. 1462)’, in Caroline M. Barron and Anne F. Sutton (eds), Medieval
London Widows: 1300–1500, London: Hambledon, 1994, pp. 113–28. The important
new study by Mary Erler, Women, Reading, and Piety in Late Medieval England, Cambridge:
CUP, 2002, appeared too late for me to take account of it in this chapter, but its centre
of gravity is in the later fifteenth century.
18 The foundational survey of this material remains James Hogg’s ‘The Contribution
of the Brigittine Order to Late Medieval English Spirituality’, Spiritualität Heute und
Gestern, Analecta Cartusiana 35:3, 1983, pp. 153–74. For recent discussion, see, for
example, Keiser, op. cit. (1987); J.T. Rhodes, ‘Syon Abbey and Its Religious Publica-
tions in the Sixteenth Century’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 44, 1993, 11–25; see also
by Rhodes, ‘Religious Instruction at Syon in the Early Sixteenth Century’, in James
Hogg (ed.), Studies in St. Birgitta and the Brigittine Order, Analecta Cartusiana 35:19, 1993,
vol. 2, pp. 151–69.
19 The important mid-fifteenth century Latin compilation of contemplative materials known
as Speculum spiritualium, for example, is often attributed a Syon/Sheen provenance. But
none of the five copies preserved in the Syon catalogue claims it as a Syon text. Indeed
Betson’s index explicitly attributes it to ‘Adam monachus Cartusiensis’, while the entry
describing the copy at M.60–1 states that the preceding rubrics were ‘ex compilacione
dompni henrici Domus Cartusiensis de Bethleem monachi’ (that is, the neighbouring
house of Sheen). Eddie A. Jones, ‘A Chapter from Richard Rolle in Two Fifteenth-
Century Compilations’, Leeds Studies in English, new series 27, 1996, 139–62, gives the
most recent list of manuscripts and editions. There is debate about the provenance of
another mid-century compilation, the vernacular Disce mori, which may be the work of
a Syon brother and which may be addressed to a vowess or postulant to the house. The
evidence, which is not conclusive, is reviewed by Eddie A. Jones, ‘The Heresiarch, the
Virgin, the Recluse, the Vowess, the Priest: Some Medieval Audiences for Pelagius’s
Epistle to Demetrias’, Leeds Studies in English, new series 30, 2000, 205–27.
20 On Margaret’s links with Syon (and those of other noble benefactors), see George
R. Keiser, ‘Patronage and Piety in Fifteenth-Century England: Margaret, Duchess
of Clarence, Symon Wynter and Beinecke MS 317’, Yale University Library Gazette 60,
1985, 32–46. Some other powerful early friends of Syon are mentioned in F.R. John-
ston, ‘Joan North, First Abbess of Syon, 1420–33’, Birgittiana 1, 1996, 47–65; Margaret
Deanesly (ed.), The Incendium Amoris of Richard Rolle of Hampole, Manchester: Manchester
University Press, 1915, 91–130. One of Margaret’s gifts, a copy of Symon Wynter’s
Sanctilogium salvatoris, originally items M.1 and M.2 (SS1.734–5) in Betson’s catalogue,
was copied by Stephen Dodesham, later a Sheen Carthusian of some scribal produc-
tivity, though this may have been completed before his entry into religion when he may
have worked as a professional scribe. A sermon on the Syon indulgences by Symon
Wynter survives in London, British Library, MS Harley 2321, ff. 17r–62r., with shorter
adaptations surviving elsewhere: S. Powell, ‘Preaching at Syon Abbey’, Working Papers
in Literary and Cultural Studies 29, Salford: University of Salford, 1997, gives a full account
of this text and of the popular appeal of the pardons.
21 There is a partial but incomplete edition in James Hogg (ed.), The Speculum Devotorum
of an Anonymous Carthusian of Sheen, Analecta Cartusiana 12, 1973. An edition based on
Notre Dame was completed by J.P. Banks as a Fordham University doctoral thesis (New
The haunted text 161
York, 1959). A new edition, using both copies, is in preparation by Paul J. Patterson of
the University of Notre Dame. The major recent discussions of the work are E. Salter,
‘Ludolphus of Saxony and his English Translators’, Medium Aevum 33, 1964, 26–35;
E. Salter, Nicholas Love’s ‘Myrrour of the Blessed Lyf of Jesu Christ’, Analecta Cartusiana
10, 1974, pp. 106–10; Ian Johnson, ‘Prologue and Practice: Middle English Lives of
Christ’, in Roger Ellis et al. (eds) The Medieval Translator: The Theory and Practice of Transla-
tion in the Middle Ages, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1989, pp. 69–85; Michael G. Sargent,
‘Versions of the Life of Christ: Nicholas Love’s Mirror and Related Works’, Poetica 42,
1994, 39–70; George R. Keiser, ‘Middle English Passion Narratives and their Contem-
porary Readers: The Vernacular Progeny of Meditationes Vitae Christi’, in James Hogg
(ed.), The Mystical Tradition and the Carthusians, Analecta Cartusiana 130:10, 1996, pp.
85–99; Rebecca Selman, ‘Spirituality and Sex Change: Horologium sapientiae and Speculum
devotorum’, in Renevey and Whitehead, op. cit., pp. 63–79.
22 Also I haue bee sterred oftymes to haue lefte þis besynes both for my vnworthynesse and
also for Boneauenture a cardynale and a worthi clerk made a book of þe same matier þe
which is called Vita Christi. And moste of all when I herede tell þat a man of our ordoure
hadde turned þe same booke in to englysshe (Prologue, Notre Dame MS 67, f. 1r).
23 In MS Gg. 1. 6 most of the colophon is now missing, with only the first sentence found
on f. 144v. It survives intact in Notre Dame:
Followed by:
(I am indebted to Michael Lapidge for pointing out that ‘christi’ in line 5 renders the
line unmetrical and is probably a gloss that has become embedded into the text at some
point.)
24 Professor Jeremy Smith of the University of Glasgow, who generously examined the
language of the Notre Dame manuscript, describes it as ‘a somewhat colourless text
with a sprinkling of regional forms’. He suggests that the forms co-locate most plausibly
in East Anglia, specifically East Norfolk, though the presence of some Northern forms
suggests a reserve placing of the Lincolnshire/Rutland/Leicestershire borders (personal
communication, 5 May 2004). For the linguistic features of the Cambridge manuscript,
see LALME 3: 496–7.
162 Vincent Gillespie
25 The fullest account of this, along with a detailed analysis of Grenehalgh’s textual work,
is found in Sargent, op. cit. (1984).
26 The bulls were Eximie deuotionis and Integre deuotionis, both issued 18 August 1418. The
latter is edited by Deanesly, op. cit., 137–44, with the reference to Carthusians at p. 141:
‘circa ministros quoque et familiares et procuratores seculares vel religiosos cuiuscunque
eciam preterquam Cartusiensis fuerint ordinis ad ministrandum et obsequendum inclusis
et aliis personis’ [‘concerning ministers/servants also and familiars, and secular proctors
and religious of whichever order, {except/even/besides} the Carthusian, to minister to
and assist the enclosed and other persons staying for the time being in Syon’]. I have
consulted several experts in papal chancery Latin, who remain divided about whether
this Bull specifically permits or expressly prohibits Carthusians to enter the enclosure
at Syon. These interpretations depend on their various interpretations of the construc-
tion ‘eciam preterquam’ as meaning ‘except’, ‘besides’ or ‘even’. For the present, it
must remain as no more than a tantalising possibility that Carthusians could have been
involved in the pastoral care of the nuns in the early years of the new foundation.
27 M. Stallings-Taney (ed.), Iohannis de Caulibus meditaciones vite Christi olim S. Bonauenturo
attributae, CCCM 153, Turnhout: Brepols, 1997, hereafter MVC; Sarah McNamer,
‘Further Evidence for the Date of the Pseudo-Bonaventuran Meditationes vitae Christi’,
Franciscan Studies 38, 1990, 235–61.
28 In this respect I differ from Michael Sargent, op. cit. (1994), who argues that the author
had both the MVC and Love’s Mirror ‘constantly in mind in shaping his own work’ (p.
65). I can see no need for him to have known Love’s work in composing his own, nor
can I discern any textual indebtedness to Love, except where Love is sharing MVC as
a source. Rather I concur with J.P. Banks that ‘the Speculum does not depend directly
on either of them as sources, except in minor instances. But for its basic inspiration,
its general tone and structure, the Speculum relies entirely on the Meditationes’ (p. cxxxv,
cited Sargent, op. cit. (1994), 64).
29 William H.St.J. Hope, The History of the London Charterhouse from Its Foundation until the
Suppression of the Monastery, London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1925,
pp. 60, 62; Eileen M. Thompson, The Carthusian Order in England, London: Society for
Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1930, 278–9.
30 The booklists are edited and annotated in Gillespie, op. cit. (2001). On surviving Carthu-
sian books, see Neil R. Ker, Medieval Libraries of Great Britain: A List of Surviving Books,
2nd edn, Royal Historical Society Guides and Handbooks 3, London: Royal Historical
Society, 1964; see also Andrew G. Watson (ed.), Supplement to the Second Edition, Royal
Historical Society Guides and Handbooks 15, London: Offices of the Royal Historical
Society, 1987; A.I. Doyle, ‘English Carthusian Books Not Yet Linked with a Char-
terhouse’, in Toby Barnard, Dáibhí Ó Cróinín and Katherine Simms (eds), A Miracle
of Learning: Studies in Manuscripts and Irish Learning. Essays in Honour of William O’Sullivan,
Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998, pp. 122–36.
31 Beckett, op. cit. (1992), pp. 78–9, citing exchequer document E403/621, m.1 and
editions of the chartae for 1420 in Analecta Cartusiana 100:8, 1986, p. 12; 100:10, p. 45
and 100:21, p. 88. The chartae entry instructs Sheen to conform its practices concerning
the Divine Office to those of the order ‘et iniungimus ei ut prouideant domiui suae de
libris ordini necessariis et sufficientibus’ [‘and we command them that they provide
their house with those books that are necessary and sufficient for the order’]. The books
may have been liturgical.
32 P. Strong and F. Strong, ‘The Last Will and Codicils of Henry V’, English Historical
Review 96, 1981, 79–102; Becket, op. cit. (1992), pp. 127–8. Birgitta is included in the
list of saints from whom suffrages are requested at the beginning of the will (Strong
and Strong, op. cit., p. 89). Kenneth B. McFarlane, Lancastrian Kings and Lollard Knights,
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972, Appendix C: ‘Henry V’s Books’, prints a list of the
books taken after the siege of the Market of Meaux, apparently from one of the town’s
The haunted text 163
religious houses, which he suggests might have been destined for Syon or Sheen. The
books passed initially into the personal custody of the Treasurer, John Stafford, only
finding their way into the Treasury itself in 1427, when this list was made. Initially some
and subsequently all were given to King’s Hall, Cambridge, where they are noted by
1440. No reason for overriding the provisions of the will and its codicils is given.
33 On Dodesham’s output, see now A.I. Doyle, ‘Stephen Dodesham of Witham and
Sheen’, in Pamela R. Robinson and Rivkah Zim (eds), Of the Making of Books: Medieval
Manuscripts, their Scribes and Readers. Essays presented to M. B. Parkes, Aldershot: Scolar Press,
1997, pp. 94–115.
34 See the similar but less extended gesture in MVC, prologues, pp. 9–10.
35 Keiser, op. cit. (1996), elegantly analyses the stylistic and structural inadequacies of the
author.
36 And leste ony man þat myght efterwarde rede þe booke foloweyng shulde conceyue
temptacyoun that I þat am bot a symple man shulde doo suche a werke eftre so worthi
a man as Boneauenture was seth he wrote of þe same matier ¶ Hit myght be answered
to þe satisfaccyoun of her concyences thus. Ther bene foure euangelistes þat wryten of
þe manhode of our lorde. And yit all writen wele and treuly and þat one leueth another
suppleth. ¶ Also þe doctures of holy chirche expownden þe same euangelyes þat þei
wrote diuers wyses to þe comforte of cristen peple and yit all is goode to cresten peple
and necessarye and profitable. And so þoff he þat wrote friste þe meditacions folowyng
were bot a symple man and of no reputacioun in comparison of so worthi a clerke as
Boneauenture was, Ȝit þe meditacions by þe grace of god mowe be full profitable to
deuote cresten soules … þoff þe werke be bot symple Ȝit þe entente of him þat didde
hit was full goode. And þerfore who so kanne noght excuse þe werke latt hym excuse
þe entente And for þe entente of him þat dedde it was to symple and deuote soules þat
kan noght wele vnderstonde latyn, and also for þe thynkynge of our lordis passioun and
manhode is þe grownde and þe waye to all trewe deuocyon, this booke may be called A
Myrrour to deuote peple (Prologue, Notre Dame MS 67, ff. 1v–2r).
37 And I haue putte no thyng to of myne owne wytte bot þat I trowe may trewly be
conceyued by open resoun and goode conciens for þat I holde þe sikereste. For þof þer
myght haue bene putte to some ymaginaciouns þat happely myght haue bee dilectable
to carnale soules, Ȝit þat that is done aftre concience is sikerer þoffe þe meditaciouns
myght haue be by such ymaginaciouns happely more comfortable to some carnale
foulke (Prologue, Notre Dame MS 67, f. 3r).
38 On the spirituality of the Brethren in particular, see Ellis, op. cit. (1984), and Roger
Ellis, ‘Further Thoughts on the Spirituality of Syon Abbey’, in William F. Pollard
and Robert Boenig (eds), Mysticism and Spirituality in Medieval England, Cambridge: D.S.
Brewer, 1997, pp. 219–43. See also my ‘“Hid Diuinite”: The Spirituality of the English
Syon Brethren’, in Eddie A. Jones (ed.), The Medieval Mystical Tradition in England: Exeter
Symposium VII, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2004, pp. 189–206; and my ‘The Mole in
the Vineyard: Wyclif at Syon in the Fifteenth Century’, in Helen Barr and Ann M.
Hutchison (eds), Text and Controversy from Wyclif to Bale: Essays in Honour of Anne Hudson,
Medieval Church Studies 4, Turnhout: Brepols, 2005, pp. 131–62.
39 MVC, cap. vi, p. 29. Mary Erler has done important work on para-monastic women
such as vowesses: ‘English Vowed Women at the End of the Middle Ages’, Mediaeval
Studies 57, 1995, 155–203; ‘Syon’s “Special Benefactors and Friends”: Some Wowed
[sic] Women’, Birgittiana 2, 1996, 209–22. On Margery Kempe’s vow of married chas-
tity made before Bishop Philip Repingdon of Lincoln sometime between June 1413
and February 1414, see Sanford B. Meech and Hope E. Allen (eds), The Book of Margery
Kempe, EETS, o.s. 212, 1940, cap. 14, pp. 33–4 and nn. Repingdon considers the vow
unusual because John Kempe is still alive, but proceeds to give Margery the mantle and
ring after reassurances from her husband.
40 Contrast the less explicitly contemplative take on this passage in MVC cap. lxxxii: ‘domi
164 Vincent Gillespie
remansit et orabat’ (300–1).
41 See Thomas Betson’s exhortations to the nuns, printed below.
42 On the reception of the continental women mystics in England, see now Rosalyn
Voaden (ed.), Prophets Abroad: The Reception of Continental Holy Women in Late-Medieval
England, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1996. The cult of Birgitta in England pre-dates the
foundation of Syon (and may indeed have been one of the drivers for it).
43 For Mary reverencing the cross, see MVC, cap. lxxx, p. 284.
44 MVC, cap. xvii, pp. 84–5. MVC contains an embedded treatise on the active and
contemplative lives which follows on from the Martha and Mary story (caps. xlv–lviii,
pp. 171–216). Cap. lv (pp. 200–3) deals with Christ in the desert but makes no mention
of preachers or preaching.
45 K. Horstmann, ‘Orologium sapientiae or The Seven Poyntes of Trewe Wisdom aus
MS. Douce 117’, Archiv 10, 1887, 323–89; R. Lovatt, ‘Henry Suso and the Medieval
Mystical Tradition in England’, in Marion Glasscoe (ed.), The Medieval Mystical Tradition
in England II, Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1982, pp. 47–62; Selman, op. cit. A
new edition of this important text is in hand by Christina von Nolcken, using Aberyst-
wyth, National Library of Wales MS Porkington 19 as base text, where the prologue
occupies pp. 7–13. For the use of this passage from Suso in Ludolph of Saxony’s Vita
Christi, see L.M. Rigollot (ed.), Ludolphus de Saxonia: Vita Jesu Christi, 4 vols, Paris: Apud
Victorem Palme, 1878, vol. 4, pp. 4–5.
46 Regula salvatoris, cap. 1. The Middle English version is reproduced from Cambridge,
University Library Ff. 6. 33 in James Hogg (ed.), The Rewyll of Seynt Sauioure and Other
Middle English Brigittine Legislative Texts, vols 2–4 [all published], Salzburger Studien zur
Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Salzburg: Salzburg University, 1978–80, vol. 2, pp. 1–58,
who also reproduces a Latin text from Cambridge, St John’s College MS 11 (A. 11).
The Middle English quotation is found on p. 8. The standard edition of the versions
of the Latin is Sten Eklund (ed.), Regula salvatoris, Den Heliga Birgitta Opera Minora
1, Samlingar utgivna av Svenska Fornskriftsällskapet, Andra Serien, Latinska Skrifter,
8:1, Lund, 1975. Four versions survive of the Additions to the Rule specially written for
the English Syon in distinct versions for the sisters and the Brethren: London, British
Library MS Arundel 146 (in Middle English, for the sisters); London, Guildhall Library
MS 25524 (in Middle English, for the Brethren); Cambridge, St John’s College MS 11
(a fragmentary Latin text for the Brethren); and a post-medieval Latin version produced
in Lisbon in 1607. The first three are reproduced or edited by Hogg. Fragments of
the Rule and Additions were more recently identified among the manuscripts still in
possession of the sisters (and now housed in Exeter University Library Special Collec-
tions): Neil R. Ker and A.J. Piper (eds), Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries, Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1992, vol. 4, pp. 348–9. Descriptions of the life at Syon in what follows
are drawn from the Rule, the Additions, the Breviary and the Mirror of Our Lady, and can
be found in the editions already cited.
47 Hogg, op. cit. (1978–80), cap. 1; ibid., cap. 2, pp. 8–9. According to the Additions for
the Sisters (cap. 17), eight days after profession, novices received an exhortation from
the Abbess that expounded on the meaning of ‘veray mekenes, pure chastite & wylful
pouerte’; Hogg, op. cit., cap. 4, pp. 99–101.
48 J.H. Blunt (ed.), The Myroure of Oure Ladye, EETS, e.s. 19, 1873; Arthur J. Collins, The
Bridgettine Breviary of Syon Abbey, Henry Bradshaw Society 96, London, 1969. See Ellis,
op. cit. (1984), for an account of the life of the house; see also Ann M. Hutchison, ‘What
the Nuns Read: Literary Evidence from the English Bridgettine House, Syon Abbey’,
Mediaeval Studies 57, 1995, 205–22.
49 P. Hodgson and G.M. Liegey (eds), ‘The Translator’s Prologue’, in The Orcherd of Syon,
EETS, o.s. 258, 1966, p. 1.
50 Hogg, op. cit. (1978–80), 2: 38; Eklund, op. cit., cap. 15, § 174, p. 121. For the passage
in the text, see Eklund, op. cit., cap. 13, § 171, pp. 161–2. On the complex development
The haunted text 165
of the rule and its manifestations in England, see Ellis, op. cit. (1984), ch. 1.
51 The Syon Additions for the Brethren (Guildhall manuscript) record in a short chapter
headed ‘Of the offices of the prechours’ that ‘Eche of the prechours schal besyde the
sermon day haue thre hole days at lest oute of the quyer to recorde hys sermon’, Hogg,
op. cit., 3: 122. On their penitential authority, see Johnston, op. cit. (1996), 56, citing
Ernst Nygren (ed.), Liber Privilegiorum Monasterii Vadstenensis, Copenhagen: E. Munks-
gaard, 1950, p. 236. The Additions for the Brethren contain many injunctions about
protecting the enclosures.
52 London, British Library MS Add. 22285, f. 78v.
53 Ibid., f. 99r.
54 Ibid., ff. 93v–r.
55 Cf. MVC, cap. lxxiii, pp. 245–6, where Peter symbolises the active life and John the
contemplative. An interesting reflection of the linkage between Mary and John is
found in a manuscript from the very earliest collection at Syon (G.17: SS1.450), given
by Thomas Fishbourn the first Confessor-General (ob. 1428), which contained two
adjacent unidentified items ascribed to Peter Comestor: ‘de laude beate virginis’
(perhaps one of the nine sermons on the Virgin ascribed to him) and ‘de laude
Iohannis Euangeliste’.
56 PL 198, cols 299–309.
57 Hogg, op. cit. (1978–80), Additions for the Sisters, cap. 58, 4: 198, with a list of their ideal
attributes that has much in common with those of Mary and John in the Mirror.
58 Blunt, op. cit., pp. 77–9.
59 The probatio tradition is discussed in Rosalyn Voaden, God’s Words, Women’s Voices: The
Discernment of Spirits in the Writing of Late-Medieval Women, York: York Medieval Press,
1999.
60 See note 15 above.
61 Blunt, op. cit., p. 299.
62 Ibid., p. 4.
63 ¶ And I haue sett þe tytles of [þe chapeters] in a table eftre þis prefacioun of þe booke
þat who so euer liketh to rede it may see shortly ther all þe matier of þe booke folowyng,
and rede when him lyketh beste. And þat he maye þe sonner fynde þat he desireth
moste and þe better kepe hit in mynde and also þe redyer fynde hit if him luste to see
hit aȜen. Noghtwythstondyng hit were þe beste who so myght haue tyme and laysere
þerto to rede hit all as hit is sett (Prologue, Notre Dame MS 67, f. 1r).
64 Blunt, op. cit., p. 68.
65 Ibid.
66 A.W. Pollard, G.R. Redgrave et al. (eds), A Short-title Catalogue of … English Books …
1475–1640 (1926); 2nd edn, ed. W.A. Jackson, F. S.Ferguson and K. F. Pantzer, 3 vols
(1976–91), repr. in facsimile (Cambridge, 1905): sig, c iv v.
67 In his Consuetudines, Guigo envisaged the making of books as the order’s distinctive
contribution to the cura animarum. In his well-known dictum, borrowed from Cassian,
repeated by Adam of Dryburh in the Quadripartite Exercise of the Cell and reflected and
refracted in many Carthusian legislative texts and commentaries throughout the medi-
eval period, Guigo wrote: ‘Libros quippe tanquam sempiternum animarum nostrarum
cibum cautissime custodiri et studiosissime volumus fieri, ut quia ore non possumus,
dei verbum manibus predicemus’ [‘Because we desire that books should be made with
great zeal, and guarded with very great care, as a perpetual source of food for our souls,
in order that we may preach with our hands the word of God, since we may not do
so with the mouth’]. Maurice Laporte (ed.), Guigues Ier, Coutumes de Chartreuse, Sources
Chrétiennes 313, Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1984, pp. 223–4.
68 John, fourth Lord Scrope was the heir of his older brother Henry, third Lord Scrope,
executed in 1415. Henry had been supportive of the project that led to the foundation
of Syon and Sheen (popularly thought to be in expiation of Henry IV’s murder of Arch-
166 Vincent Gillespie
bishop Richard Scrope, an uncle of Henry’s and John’s). Henry Scrope possessed many
religious books, including an alleged autograph of Rolle and another Rolle book, both
left to Henry FitzHugh, who was responsible for the first (failed) plantation of Birgittines
in England, and who remained a strong supporter of the Syon project. Interestingly Syon
later claimed to own an autograph of Rolle’s Melos amoris (M.27: SS1. 760a). Henry
Scrope left to the Abbess of Syon a choice of books or vestments to the value of forty
pounds, and made bequests to several other figures active in the foundation and early
life of Syon, notably John London, the anchorite of Westminster, and Bishop Thomas
Langley of Durham. See Edwards, op. cit., and 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
thesis, 2 vols, University of Cambridge, 1953, vol. 1, p. 151; vol. 2 pp. 209, 302–3.
69 For a list of the sources explicitly cited in the text, see the Appendix. The major excep-
tion is Adam of Dryburgh’s Sermon on John the Evangelist (PL 198, cols 299–307),
which is not witnessed at Syon. As a Carthusian text, a copy might have been at Sheen:
one of the major textual witnesses to his sermons is an early fifteenth-century manu-
script formerly at London Charterhouse (Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland MS
9999). Most of the citations of Bernard come through the MVC. Syon has multiple
copies of all the major patristic sources used. In considering copies of the major post-
patristic sources found at Syon I have looked for evidence of early accession (pre-1450)
as witnessed by the names of the donor, by external evidence, or by the absence of a
recorded donor. What follows, therefore, is not a complete list of Syon’s holdings of
these works but a list restricted to relevant pre-1450 accessions.
Iohannes de Caulibus, Meditationes vitae Christi (M.6: SS1.739, given by Symon
Wynter (ob. 1448); M.7: SS1.740, no donor, with other Passion meditations, erased at
M.76: SS2.142); Peter Comestor, Historia scholastica (E.17: SS1.323a, with Richard of
Saint-Victor, no donor, and erased at E.52: SS2.91); Heinrich Suso, Orologium sapientiae
(O.3:SS1.945f, given by John Bracebridge); Nicholas of Lyra, Postilla litteralis (E.28–9:
SS1.334–5, no donor, and erased copies in SS2); Iacobus de Voragine, Legenda aurea
(M.9: SS1.742, given by William Fitzthomas, at Syon by 1428); John of Hildesheim,
Historia trium regum [The Three Kings of Cologne] (M.15: SS1.748m–n, no donor; M.17:
SS1.750g, in English, no donor. This volume interestingly also contains a ‘Declaracio
regule cartusie’ (SS1.750f)); Walter Hilton, The Scale of Perfection (M.24: SS1.757b–c,
in English, given by Fishbourn; erased at M.26: SS2.127a, no donor; and at M.110:
SS2.147, no donor. The Latin translation by Thomas Fishlake is at M.25: SS1.758, no
donor); The Gospel of Nichodemus (M.83: SS1.816a, given by Fishbourn, O.35: SS1.977l,
given by Bracebridge); Miracles of the Virgin, though the contents of these collections
varied widely (O.39: SS1.981d, given by Bracebridge). All the writings of the ‘approued
women’ included in the Mirror were demonstrably present at Syon: Birgitta’s revelations
(M.64: SS1.797, now London, British Library MS Harley 612, s.xv1, M.65: SS1.798,
M.66: SS1.799, both these the gift of the first Confessor-General, Thomas Fishbourn
(ob. 1428)); Mechtild’s Booke (M.47: SS1.780, no donor, perhaps in English, and M.94:
SS1.827g, no donor); Elizabeth of Töss (in English and erased from the main cata-
logue at M.20: SS2.125); Catherine of Siena (M.71: SS1.804g, no donor, and of course
through the Orcherd of Syon). There is even a copy of Mandeville’s Travels at Syon (M.77:
SS1.810g), but this appears to be a later, printed text given by Confessor-General
Falkley, who died in 1497.
9 Some North Yorkshire
scribes and their context
Ralph Hanna
Cur convenit vobis … a loco ubi cum fratribus meis dormio et requiesco ad alias
transferre nationes? (Why does it seem to you appropriate … to translate me from
[Hexham] the place where I sleep and rest with my brothers, to those alien people
[in York Minster]?)
A dale is not a single unit; each village in it is subject to change and stands alone.1
In perhaps the unique unpublished portion of his famous 1967 Lyell Lectures,
Ian Doyle identified four ‘Northern’ vernacular manuscripts of plainly related late
fourteenth-century manufacture. The relevant volumes include: British Library
MS Cotton Galba E.ix; MS Harley 4196; MS Cotton Tiberius E.vii; and Bodleian
Library MS Rawlinson poet. 175. These books are certainly linked in their
common transmission of central Northern verse texts of religious instruction in
short couplets – The Prick of Conscience, The ‘expanded’ Northern Homily Cycle, Speculum
vitae, ‘The Book of Shrift’ elsewhere associated with Cursor Mundi.2
But they also share, in addition to their texts, a variety of production features
(see table). Among the twelve scribal stints, three scribes made contributions to
more than one of the books, and two books share a drawer of cadel capitals (prob-
ably one of the scribes), the other two a lombard limner. In this chapter, I want to
remove the books from the general ‘Northern’ ambit in which they have always
been discussed – none of the four includes early provenance information – to
localise the textual community most likely to have produced, and then to have first
used, these substantial volumes.
In addition to common texts, hands, and production procedures, linguistic
evidence points toward people sharing a common geographical locale. All of
the scribes are plainly ‘Northern’ and most identified as such in the Edinburgh
Linguistic Atlas. Only the language of a pair (treated by LALME as a single hand)
is presented in full and mapped; Rawlinson forms LP 174, the language of some-
where around Burneston, in the North Riding. And although LALME does not
report the forms of any of the other scribes, I have profiled thousand-line tranches
for each, for more than fifty items; the language of all is pretty much identical with
that of Rawlinson; the closest parallel language, unsurprisingly, comes from the
Table 9.1 The manuscripts
BL MS Cotton Galba E.ix
Fols 111 (numbered 4–114). 335 ×220 mm (burned edges). Double columns, 47 or 48
lines. Quired in 12s. Three main scribes:
scribe 1: quires 1–4, anglicana formata [alt lombards]
scribe 2: quires 5–6, textura semiquadrata, approaching prescissa, as well
as fols 50ra/8–51vb, additions at the end of scribe 1’s quires
scribe 3: quires 7–10, textura semiquadrata
And, in addition:
scribe 4: fols. 48vb–50ra/8, anglicana, additions at the end of scribe 1’s quires
Described Ywain and Gawain, ed. Albert B. Friedman and Norman T. Harrington, EETS
254 (1964), pp. ix–xii, with a reproduction of scribe 1 as frontispiece.
BL MS Harley 4196
Fols 258. 380 ×270 mm. Double columns, 48 lines. Quired in 8s. Five scribes, all textura
quadrata:
scribe 1: quire 1
scribe 2: quires 2–17
scribe 3: quires 18–21
scribe 4: quires 22–26
scribe 5: quires 27–34 [column initials]
This volume and the next described The Northern Homily Cycle: The Expanded Version, ed.
Saara Nevanlinna, 3 vols, Helsinki, 1972–84, 1: 5–17 (scribe 3 associated with Galba
scribe 2 at 1:6 n.2), with reproductions of Harley scribe 2 and Tiberius scribe 2 as frontis-
pieces to volumes 1 and 3, respectively.
Described, R.W. Hunt et al. (eds), A Summary Catalogue of the Western Manuscripts in the
Bodleian Library, Oxford, 7 vols in 8, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1895–1953, 3: 321–2 (no. 14667).
Some North Yorkshire scribes and their context 169
most proximate MS mapped in LALME, the copy of Speculum vitae in Cambridge
University Library MS Gg.i.7, from the area around Masham.3 This common
language, alien to all other Yorkshire LPs, may be typified and localised by a few
common forms, universal in all five books: es is, er are, gude good, mas tas tan
makes/takes/n in use unconstrained by rhyme, and yir these.
I doubt this group of at least eleven scribes and artists was hanging out in the
Yorkshire villages with which the LPs seem most closely associated. Even in the
loose affiliation in which they typically work (all the stints are quire-bounded,
excepting a possibly independent continuation in Rawlinson), they need to be in
a centre of some type. Given LALME’s localisation, whose general accuracy I see
no reason to doubt, the most obvious place with which to associate such a group
is Ripon, site of the Minster Church of SS Peter and Wilfrid, about eight miles
south-west and south-east, respectively, of the two mapped LPs. As I will show,
this would appear a particularly promising community in which to place produc-
tion, in terms of its probable literates, both clerical producers and lay audience.4
I. The place
Ripon is situated where Wensleydale, the valley of the River Ure, comes down
into the Vale of York, and the town has developed along the smaller River Skell,
a few miles above its juncture with the Ure.5 Although in raw population figures
not a large place, in a Yorkshire context, Ripon is an urban locality, comparable
to castle communities like Pontefract and Tickhill, more so to monastic ones like
Selby and Whitby. Like many smaller Yorkshire places, Ripon received early
parliamentary summons as a borough (four in all, 1295 x 1326), followed by a
two-century-plus hiatus in representation.6 When an actual glimpse of population
appears, in the 1379 poll tax returns, Ripon had 480 taxpayers, some 60 per cent
above the raw statistical limit by which demographers identify a town, and was
probably about the eighty-fifth largest place in England. Its 480 taxpayers pale
against the 7,248 recorded in York, the nation’s largest provincial centre, and
there seem never to have been more than three or four merchants at any time, less
than half what typically went on the rolls of York City Corporation every year.
The place seems generally to have been what is considered a ‘regional centre’,
mainly an agrarian market sustained by a local pilgrimage site and, in the four-
teenth century, some substantial local industry for export.7
Ripon was always an agricultural centre, with a weekly market, but also two
three-day fairs, centred on the Invention of the Cross and the feast of St Wilfrid.
Already in the fourteenth century, the place was famous for horse trading, and
other occupations associated with livestock are indicated by a concentration of
eight ‘fleshhewers’ in the Market Square area in 1379. There was a large number
of local guilds, about fifteen recorded in 1606, in the main an expected Yorkshire
concentration in cloth and leather trades.
But in the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, through symbiosis with the
flocks managed by neighbouring Fountains Abbey at its granges in Nidderdale,
Ripon rivalled Halifax as the most prosperous Yorkshire producer of woolen
170 Ralph Hanna
cloth. This industry probably is responsible for the contemporary shift in the
city centre toward Bondgate, south of the Skell; the river was diverted to allow
construction of fulling mills, and one late thirteenth-century citizen on record was
a William Tinctor/Dyer (who also received arable in Markington, a standard
burgess bet-hedging by keeping a hand in agriculture). However, the growth of
south-west Yorkshire cloth centres probably killed Ripon’s trade in the course
of the fifteenth century, and Leland described the industry as moribund in his
Itinerary.8
But Ripon’s sustaining local industry was its ecclesiastical connections. It was a
place with a distinct legal status (like Masham, home of ‘Old Peculiar’ ale). One
of the four Minsters of York diocese, it was a private jurisdiction where the king’s
writ did not run, secular justice being provided by the Archbishop of York’s court
and spiritual by the court of Minster canons.9 The archbishop had in Ripon a
palace, park and chapel, and the lands of his Minster absorbed the greater part
of a very large parish, ‘the Liberty of Ripon’; in addition, a smaller portion of the
Liberty was a sanctuary for fugitives, with a right of ‘grith’, allegedly granted by
Athelstan, c. 930, for a mile or so in each direction from the Minster.10
Appendix
I ignore henceforth, although they have left ample records, the southern branch
of the family, presumably representing these properties.
a that five of the eleven poems are fully alliterative, a verse form at this date
only paralleled in Yorkshire; see for instance Bruce Dickins (ed.), The Conflict
of Wit and Will: Fragments of a Middle English Alliterative Poem, Kendal: University
of Leeds, 1937; see also alliterative lines in Rolle’s prose epistle Ego dormio, in
S.J: Ogilvie-Thomson (ed.), Richard Rolle Prose and Verse, EETS o.so. 293, 1988,
p. 28, lines 84–91 (printed as prose).
b that the poems persistently exhibit authorial (as opposed to possibly trans-
missional) features consonant with such a placement. Thus rhymes testify
to Northern features, such as retention of OE long a (sare 1/15), ‘thare’
(2/22), ‘hend’ (3/32, pl.?), ‘tithandes’ (3/58), ‘hernes’ (3/68), ‘ware’ were
(4/87), ‘skrith’ escape (5/68), ‘brenne’ and ‘ren’ (6/35, 37), ‘fleand’ (7/90),
‘sais’ (7/179), ‘fun’ found (8/93), tane (9/66). Retention of non-dialectically
marked forms is unsurprising (e.g. ‘taken’ 9/34) in a man who moved in
cosmopolitan military circles, but the dialecticisms are telling.
Possibly John’s sibling is Roger Mynot of Wath, who first appears in the record
as abusing his position as serjeant to one of the King’s Messengers, CPR 1338–
40, pp. 358–9, having stolen horses and using them to con the Essex locals in
1339, but surely in some relation (perhaps his son?) to a royal messenger in good
standing; see Mary C. Hill, The King’s Messengers 1199–1377: A List of All Known
Messengers, Mounted and Unmounted, who Served John, Henry III, and the First Three
Edwards, Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1994, p. 164, where he is identified as a courier
of the wardrobe 1357 x 1369 (Hill has missed the first record, of his misspent
youth).
184 Ralph Hanna
Probably John II’s children are:
––, who married Thomas Markenfield sr and was mother of Thomas Mark-
enfield jr (b. 1347).
John Mynyot jr esquire testified in Scrope–Grosvenor, Nicholas, op. cit.,
2: 229–30. He was an indentured retainer of John of Gaunt at least 1382–99
and perhaps as early as 1373, participant in the Castile expedition of 1386; cf.
the hash at Walker, op. cit., pp. 33–4, note 112, and 276, with references to
‘John Mymott of Carston’.
Notes
1 From Aelred of Rievaulx, ‘De sanctis ecclesie Hagustaldensis’, in James Raine (ed.),
The Priory of Hexham: Its Endowments, Chroniclers, and Annals 1, Surtees Society 44, 1864,
pp. 173–203 (p. 202); and a fine local history, Marie Hartley and Joan Ingilby, York-
shire Village, 3rd edn, Otley: Smith Settle, 1989, p. 47, respectively. Aelred here reports
words supposedly spoken in a dream by St Eata, bishop of Hexham and Lindisfarne (d.
686); the saint’s outrage convinced the dreamer, Archbishop Thomas II of York, not to
remove his relics.
2 See further ‘Yorkshire Writers’, in Proceedings of the British Academy 121, 2003, 91–
109, an essay also inspired by Doyle. For one contextualisation (and indication
of these books’ importance as transmitters of texts), see Derek Britton, ‘Unknown
Fragments of The Prick of Conscience’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 80, 1979, 327–34
(esp. the diagram, p. 329).
3 For Rawlinson, see LALME, 1986, 3: 576–7; for Gg, see op.cit., 3: 586–7.
4 As an overview, see the careful presentation of dispersed documentary detail in William
Page (ed.), The Victoria History of the County of York, 3 vols, London: Archibald Constable;
St Catherine Press, 1907–25, 1: 430–6 (the school); 3: 323–30 (the hospitals); 3: 367–72
(the Minster, A. Hamilton Thompson at his magisterial best). The medieval parish is
mapped, with some surrounding areas, John Hebden, A Guide to Historical Sources for Ripon
and District, Ripon: Ripon Historical Society and Ripon, Harrogate & District Family
History Group, 1994, pp. 41–2; and with attention to medieval tenurial and legal institu-
tions, T.S. Gowland, ‘The Manors and Liberties of Ripon’, Yorkshire Archaeological Journal
32, 1934, 43–85 (facing p. 43) (hereafter I refer to the journal as YAJ).
Some North Yorkshire scribes and their context 185
5 Although the town centre originally seems to have been along a line perpendicular to
that of the current centre and well north of the river; see William Mackay, ‘The Devel-
opment of Medieval Ripon’, YAJ 54, 1982, 73–80; R.A. Hall and Mark Whyman,
‘Settlement and Monasticism at Ripon, North Yorkshire, from the 7th to 11th Centu-
ries A.D.’, Medieval Archaeology 40, 1996, 62–150; and Whyman, ‘Excavations in Deanery
Gardens and Low St Agnesgate, Ripon, North Yorkshire’, YAJ 69, 1997, 119–63.
6 See the distinguished local antiquary, John R. Walbran, rev. J. Raine and William F.
Stephenson, A Guide to Ripon, Fountains Abbey, Harrogate, Bolton Priory, and Several Places of
Interest in their Vicinity, Revised by Canon Raine and W.F. Stephenson, 11th edn, Ripon: W.
Harrison, 1874, p. 9; Mary Mauchline, in J.M. Hagerty et al. (eds), Ripon: Some Aspects
of its History, Ripon Civic Society, Clapham: Dalesman, 1972., pp. 26–7; and on the
pattern as normal for smaller places in Yorkshire, R.B. Dobson, ‘Yorkshire Towns in
the Later Fourteenth Century’, Thoresby Society 59, 1983, 1–21 (p. 12).
7 The 1379 poll tax returns are printed in YAJ 7, 1882, 19–23 (for the town), 23–31
(for remainder of the liberty of Ripon); they designate only four merchants. For these
figures in a national context, cf. David M. Palliser (ed.), The Cambridge Urban History of
Britain: Volume 1, 600–1540, Cambridge: CUP, 2000, pp. 758–60. Jennifer Kermode’s
discussion of ‘Northern Towns’ here (esp. p. 677), dependent on Dobson’s fine study,
notices the absence of merchants, although see Mauchline’s cautionary comments, op.
cit., pp. 27–8. For a useful supplement to Dobson on the typology of towns, see George
Sheeran, Medieval Yorkshire Towns: People, Buildings and Spaces, Edinburgh: Edinburgh
University Press, 1998, esp. pp. 20–27 (with a very useful map of the distribution of
towns, p. 26) and the eighteenth-century map of Ripon reproduced at p. 157.
8 For the local fairs, see Joseph T. Fowler, Memorials of the Church of SS Peter and Wilfrid,
Ripon, Surtees Society 74, 78, 81, 115, 1882–1908, 1: 68 (a record of 1292) (hereafter
Fowler, op. cit. with 1 for 74, 2 for 78, etc.). In C. Bonnier, ‘List of English Towns in
the Fourteenth Century’, English Historical Review 16, 1901, 501–3 (line 80), the place
is signaled by a ‘Palefrey’ (cited Dobson, op. cit., p. 7, n. 15), and one might note the
prominent local place-name Studley (OE stōd-lēah ‘horse-pasture’). For local guilds,
see J.M. Hagerty, in Mauchline, op. cit., p. 17, following T.S. Gowland, ‘A Ripon
Guildbook’, YAJ 35, 1940, 68–78 (p. 68). On the wool trade, see Mauchline, op. cit.,
pp. 26 (on Dyer, the original record Fowler, op. cit., 1: 269) and 32; David Hey, York-
shire from AD 1000, A Regional History of England, London: Longman, 1986, pp. 85,
95–6; Kermode, op. cit, in Cambridge Urban History, p. 677; Bill Forster, Bill Robson and
Jennifer Deadman, Ripon Cathedral: Its History and Architecture, York: William Sessions,
1993, pp. 9–11. Fowler, op. cit., 1: 85, quotes Leland’s account; see also John Chan-
dler (ed.), John Leland’s Itinerary: Travels in Tudor England, Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1993, pp.
555–8 (p. 558).
9 For the 1228 case which fixed the respective rights of canons, archbishops and sheriffs,
see Fowler, op. cit., 1: 51–63.
10 On tenurial and legal arrangements, see Gowland, op. cit. (1934). There is a record of
the 1481 Pentecost procession to ‘beat the bounds’, in Joseph T. Fowler (ed.), Acts of
Chapter of the Collegiate Church of SS Peter and Wilfrid, Ripon, A.D. 1452 to A.D. 1506, Surtees
Society 64, 1875, pp. 337–48. For the Middle English rhymed version of Athelstan’s
(surely forged) charter, see Fowler, op. cit., 1: 90–3, with a reproduction of the only
surviving medieval version (early fifteenth century). One of the ‘grith-stones’ which
marked the bounds of the sanctuary still survives in part, at Sharow.
11 There are two notable accounts, the second somewhat chilly, in Bertram Colgrave and
Roger A.B. Mynors (eds), Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1969, pp. 298–308, 516–30, much of their information probably derived from Eddius
Stephanus [i.e., Stephen of Ripon, born Æddi], in B. Colgrave (ed.)., The Life of Bishop Wilfrid
by Eddius Stephanus, Cambridge: CUP, 1927. For a modern account, see Henry Mayr-
Harting, The Coming of Christianity to Anglo-Saxon England, London: B.T. Batsford, 1972.
186 Ralph Hanna
12 On its early collegiate status, see Walbran, op. cit., p. 35. For the building itself (it has also
attracted a number of art-historical studies as an early example of Gothic in the North),
see T.S. Gowland, ‘Ripon Minster and its Precincts’, YAJ 35, 1941, 270–87 (esp. pp.
280–7 on the precincts), including a plan. There were two parish guilds identified in the
1389 returns, for the Holy Cross and Blessed Virgin, both apparently societies to provide
funeral masses; a third guild, of St Wilfrid, was associated with the Cawood chantry in
1420; see n. 24 below. On the iconography of the church, see esp. Barbara D. Palmer, The
Early Art of the West Riding of Yorkshire: A Subject List of Extant and Lost Art Including Items Relevant
to Early Drama, Kalamazoo MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1990, the index entry,
pp. 353–4; Palmer collects all Fowler’s references to images on the large number of altars,
as well as describing the fine set of chancel roof-bosses, a programme of Fall–St John the
Baptist–Redemption–St Wilfrid. Many of these are illustrated, along with the fine wood-
work of the choir-stalls (c. 1490), in Ripon Carvings, Ripon (no date). A few alabasters, again
with an unusual interest in the Baptist, were hidden in 1568–9 and thus have survived
both Reformation and Parliamentarian depredations; see Pauline E. Sheppard-Routh,
‘“Full of Images”: The Ripon Alabasters’, YAJ 57, 1985, 93–100.
13 For the Valor and the Chantry certificates, see Fowler, op. cit., 3: 2–33. Fowler prints
both sets of archiepiscopal Statutes, those of 1301–3 (2: 30–2, 38–9, 44–6) and arch-
bishop John Melton’s final formulation of 1331/2 (2: 109–11). The profusion of
chantries, here and at West Tanfield, for example, further instance a well-noted York-
shire preference for parochial (rather than monastic) donations; see Hey, op. cit., p. 104,
and M.G.A. Vale, ‘Piety, Charity and Literacy among the Yorkshire Gentry, 1370–1480’,
Borthwick Papers 50, 1976, 1–32.
14 For the endowment of this prebend, see Fowler, op. cit., 2: 2–3.
15 See Fowler’s Minster ‘fasti’, op. cit., 2: 184–258 (186–8).
16 For the 1304 construction of the Bedern after archbishop William Greenfield’s regulari-
sation of the chapter, see Fowler, op. cit., 2: 25, 44–6; the land for the site was donated
by Nicholas of Bondgate, Master of Mary Magdalen Hospital, Ripon, 1306–11 (Fowler,
op. cit., 3: 324–5). See further R. Gilyard-Beer, ‘Bedern Bank and the Bedern, Ripon’,
YAJ 58, 1986, 141–5.
17 For the vicars’ appeal, see Fowler, op. cit., 4: 11–12; on the value of the prebends,
Fowler, op. cit., 3: 371.
18 See Fowler, op. cit., 1:89, 91; cf. Dobson, op. cit., pp. 6–7, on the connection between
mendicant houses and urbanisation.
19 See Jo Ann H. Moran, The Growth of English Schooling 1340–1548: Learning, Literacy, and
Laicization in Pre-Reformation York Diocese, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985, p.
54. This form of the Statute is recorded only from 1439 and 1504/5 (Fowler, op. cit., 2:
149, 4: 280) but presumably was in force earlier.
20 The gift appears in the Minster’s obit roll, a retrospective listing of 1437; see Fowler, op.
cit., 1: 135. The surviving fabric accounts show the bequest as unique and the fees for
the obit as paid in the first surviving fabric roll of 1354/5 and all subsequent examples I
have surveyed, Fowler, op. cit., 3: 90, 98, damaged at 105, 112–13, 118, 122, 128, and
135. A ‘Iohannes Scryuener’ was assessed 4d, the lowest rate, in 1379 from the Market-
stede; see YAJ 7: 22.
21 The hospital of St Mary Magdalen was allegedly founded by archbishop Thurstan of
York (d. 1140, Fowler, op. cit., 1: 223–6); its capabilities were greatly increased by the
addition to the endowment in 1355 of Studley Roger (Fowler, op., cit., 2: 125–6). The
hospital of St John was founded by archbishop Thomas II, c. 1110, its warden a layman
until the 1340s (a 1370 reference to the poor scholars appears at Fowler, op. cit., 2:
129–30). For the third local hospital, St Anne or the Maison dieu, see below; a fourth, of
St Nicholas in Bondgate, was at least issued a patent for foundation in 1350, but prob-
ably never became an operational institution; Rotha M. Clay, The Mediaeval Hospitals of
England, London: Methuen, 1909, pp. 334–5, cites the document.
Some North Yorkshire scribes and their context 187
22 See Fowler, op. cit., 2:72 (cf. 68–9, with a contemporary reference to clerks partici-
pating in ‘theatricales ludi’ and dancing). As further evidence for the plethora of local
clerical talent, one might consider the will of John Clifford, treasurer of York (1393).
In arranging prayers for his soul, Clifford not only enlisted, with a promise of graded
stipends, the Minster vicars, deacons, thuriblers and choristers, but he left smaller
amounts ‘cuilibet capellano villae Rypon’ non de ecclesia Rypon’’; see James Raine
(ed.), Testamenta Eboracensia, Surtees Society 4, 1836, p. 169 (hereafter TE). Clifford also
bequeathed his best missal to the high altar of the Minster (p. 170).
23 I am grateful to Oliver Pickering for drawing the Psalter, donated in 1874, to my atten-
tion; see his report, ‘Ripon Cathedral Library’, Journal of the Early Book Society 5, 2002,
209–11. For the refounded library, see J.E. Mortimer, ‘The Library of Anthony Higgin,
Dean of Ripon (1608–1624)’, Proceedings of the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society, Literary
and Historical Section 10, I, 1962, 1–75.
24 William Cawood, prebendary of Littlethorp, royal diplomat, and prebendary of York,
endowed two chantries, for St James (1407) and St Wilfrid (1420); see Fowler, op. cit.,
1: 162, 2: 212–3, 4: 194–203. He owned a large number of canon law books as well as
Repington’s sermons and Bromyard’s Summa predicancium, but left them to be sold to fund
the reredos in York Minster; see Fowler, op. cit., 4: 188–9, 191. In 1392/3, the chapter
acquired chains for two ordinals in the choir (Fowler, op. cit., 3: 114). Hulme had been
master of Greatham hospital and rector of Redmarshall, Co. Durham, the first of which
he exchanged on appointment; see Fowler, op. cit., 2: 239–40, cf. 4: 205–6, 223. In his
will, in James Raine (ed.), Testamenta Eboracensia. Part II, Surtees Society 30, 1855 (here-
after TE 2), p. 219, he left five service books to a nephew (or godson?); two service books, a
‘lib[er] de Trinitate’, a William of Pagula (described as ‘Pars’, i.e. Oculus, part 1 only), and
a ‘lib[er] de medecinis’ to Oliver Blackwell; another service book and a book containing
Rolle’s Emendatio vitae to Nicholas Blackwell; a copy of John de Burgo’s Pupilla oculi to the
church of Redmarshall; the Pauline epistles to the rector of Brandsby (just south of Gilling
East, NRY); and ‘Aurora’, i.e. Peter Riga’s poem, to Robert Green of Durham.
25 See Henry N. MacCracken, ‘Quixley’s Ballades Royale (? 1402)’, YAJ 20, 1909, 33–50.
26 John is recorded 1478/9 (Fowler, op. cit., 3: 253) and Robert, in the early sixteenth
century (see Fowler’s index entry, op. cit., 3: 377). Robert also appears, on this occasion
with William, in the 1501/2 will of Richard Bird, prebendary of Sharow; see John W.
Clay (ed.), North Country Wills, Surtees Society 116, 1908, p. 78 (hereafter NCW).
27 For the indulgence, see Fowler, op. cit., 1: 50.
28 For an elaborate description of the banner, also carried before the men of Ripon in
war, see Fowler, op. cit., 3: 132–3, a record of the expenses associated with producing
a new one in 1399/1400, apparently canvas with gold and silver images of Wilfrid,
fringes, and embroidery. Another payment, this one in 1393/4 (Fowler, op. cit., 3: 120),
offers a little evidence about the tent. The Rogation procession, as is normal in many
places, included a dragon effigy whose placement in the procession enacted Christ’s
triumph over/exorcism of evil; see Fowler, op. cit., 3: 234 and the customarily enthu-
siastic pieties of Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England
1400–1580, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1992, pp. 136–9, 279.
29 The earliest reference to St Wilfrid’s iron occurs in 1391/2 (Fowler, op. cit., 3: 104;
subsequently at 112, 118, 122, 127); it was used to brand livestock to prevent murrain
and diseases, as is explicit in the 1503/4 accounts. These (Fowler, op. cit., 3: 167) also
contain the first reference to Wilfrid’s ‘Pokstane’; like the Pardoner’s ‘sholder-boon
Which that was of an hooly Jewes sheep’, the stone was soaked in water, which when
drunk, conferred medicinal protection; see Walbran, op. cit, pp. 43–4.
30 The town had 1000 m. extracted in a Scottish raid of 1318 and was burned when the
marauders returned in 1319 to be frustrated in their efforts at a further exaction; see
Foster, op. cit., pp. 11–12, more generally Hey, op. cit., p. 87, among many other
accounts, e.g. for damage (and flourishing mid-century recovery), at Bolton, away to the
188 Ralph Hanna
south in Wharfedale; A. Hamilton Thompson, History and Architectural Description of the
Priory of St Mary, Bolton-in-Wharfdale, Thoresby Society 30, Leeds: J. Whitehead & Son,
1928, p. 94 and passim; Ian Kershaw, Bolton Priory: The Economy of a Northern Monastery
1286–1325, London: OUP, 1973, pp. 173–8.
31 See John’s biography at Fowler, op. cit., 2: 185; and the chantry foundation at 1: 153.
Mauchline, op. cit., p. 27, discusses Aungier de Frere; for the other Aungier of Ripon
and the text ascribed him, see Alfred J. Horwood (ed.), Yearbooks of the Reign of King
Edward the First, Years XX and XXI, Rolls Series 33/1, 1866, pp. xviii–xix; and John H.
Baker and Jayne S. Ringrose, A Catalogue of English Legal Manuscripts in Cambridge University
Library, Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1996, pp. 49–50.
32 For the chantry, see Fowler, op. cit., 1: 161–2; 4: 130, 170–1; and for the 1388/9 pres-
entation, 4: 177–8.
33 For a Markenfield pedigree, see Charles B. Norcliffe (ed.), William Flower, Norroy
King of Arms, The Visitation of Yorkshire in the Years 1563 and 1564, Harley Society 16,
1881, p. 197. This requires two corrections at least: (a) All heraldic accounts fail to
recognise that Sir John was in orders, and that Sir Andrew, a mature man when he led
a contingent against the Scots in the 1310s, was his nephew; (b) Andrew’s son was not
John, but Thomas (sr), as appears correctly in C.H. Hunter-Blair (ed.), ‘A Visitation
of the North of England circa 1480–1500’, in Visitations of the North – Part III, Surtees
Society 144, 1930, pp. 129–30. When Thomas jr testified in the Scrope–Grosvenor
case (see ibid., 2: 318–9, n. 37), he implied that he was born in 1347 and had thus barely
attained majority on foundation of the chantry by a Thomas. One should note in the
pedigree a fifteenth-century Sir John Markenfield, who married a daughter of John
Hopton of Swillington (near Leeds), responsible for Bodleian Library MS Digby 185
(Brut, Hoccleve’s Regiment, the prose romance Ponthus and Sidone).
34 On the customary gentry desire to continue expressions of local lordship, even in death,
through burial in the parish church, see Vale, op. cit., pp. 8–11 (and p. 16 for an example
involving a Pigot and Ripon Minster in 1429). For a more literary view of Yorkshire
gentry activities than Vale’s, see George R. Keiser, ‘Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91:
Life and Milieu of the Scribe’, Studies in Bibliography 32, 1979, 158–79 (esp. 167–74). The
second tomb in the chapel is that of another Thomas, who married a daughter of Sir
John Conyers KG and died in 1497; for its inscription, copied by Roger Dodsworth,
see J.W. Clay (ed.), Yorkshire Church Notes 1619–1631, Yorkshire Archaeological Society
Record Series 34, 1904, p. 213 (hereafter YASRS).
35 The arms were first identified by Walbran, op. cit., p. 60, probably on the basis of Flower,
op. cit., p. 196, ‘–– daughter of –– Mynyot’. Markenfield is ‘azure, on a bend sable,
three bezants’; Miniott ‘gules, three helms argent crested or’. For a photo of Thomas’s
tomb, see J.G. Mann, ‘Two Fourteenth-Century Gauntlets from Ripon Cathedral’,
Antiquaries Journal 22, 1942, 113–22 (Plate xii, facing p. 120). Thomas here appears as
a Lancastrian dependant (with a collar including a parked hart); see P.S. Routh and
Richard Knowles, ‘The Markenfield Collar’, YAJ 62, 1990, 133–40, including a photo.
The 1349 business transaction involved Markenfield and Minot writing each other and
a third man mutual recognizances of debt for large sums; see Calendar of Close Rolls 1349–
54, pp. 93, 143–4 (hereafter CCR). For the pedigree of Miniott, see the Appendix.
36 I remain particularly grateful to Lady Deirdre Curteis, the current owner, for, among
other courtesies, showing me a carved wooden door pediment, recently ‘discovered in
the barn loft’, with Markenfield quartering Miniott and a second coat I cannot identify.
See J.S. Miller, ‘Restoration Work at Markenfield Hall, 1981–4’, YAJ 57, 1985, 101–
10; the arms on the kitchen include, in addition to Markenfield, Southill (for Thomas
jr’s wife Beatrice), Ward of Givendale (Thomas jr’s daughter Joan married one of this
family), Miniott and Plumpton (? or Bulstrode) (p. 109).
37 See Nicholas H. Nicholas (ed.), The Scrope–Grosvenor Controversy, 2 vols, London, 1832;
see especially vol. 2, The Controversy between Sir Richard Scrope and Sir Robert Grosvenor in
Some North Yorkshire scribes and their context 189
the Court of Chivalry A.D. 1385–90, pp. 310–9; and see Simon Walker, The Lancastrian
Affinity 1361–1399, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990, pp. 278, 287 on Plumpton Duchy
appointments. The Scropes of Bolton – Richard won his baronry through continuous
soldiering and long service in John of Gaunt’s affinity (see Walker, op. cit., index entry,
p. 348) – will remain liminal to this account, however. Although Gaunt’s Honour of
Richmond runs a good way down Wensleydale (Snape and Welle, perhaps two miles
east of Masham, are in the south-east corner), the weight of the property is to the north-
west, in the area beyond Middleham. It was there that Richard Scrope built, over a
decade beginning in the late 1370s, the imposing Castle Bolton, with two chapels. And
he at least performed the legal groundwork (in 1393 and later) for transforming the
six-man staff of St Anne’s chapel into a collegiate foundation in his parish church, Holy
Trinity, Wensley; see VCH Yorkshire 3: 43, 90. But this upper Wensleydale always faced
away from Ripon, along the road north from Leyburn into Swaledale, toward Easby
Abbey (OPraem) and Richmond. Indeed, the Scropes were the patrons of Easby from
the early fourteenth century and remembered (inaccurately) as founders of the house.
Wensley church still houses items they removed from Easby at the Dissolution – a
wooden reliquary chest and the impressive wooden screen that surrounded the family’s
large private pew in the early modern period. See further, n. 46.
38 For the Pigot–Miniott marriage, see Hunter-Blair, op. cit., p. 134; for the descent of
Charlton and associated properties, see William Page (ed.), The Victoria History of the
County of York, 3 vols, London: Constable and St Catherine Press, 1907–23), 1: 93, 358;
2: 64–5, 75, 77. In 1466, a later Randolph Pigot left a substantial number of service
books (including four Psalters), to be retained in the chapel at Clotherholme, as well as
his personal primer to his son, also Randolph; see James Raine (ed.), Testamenta Ebora-
censia … Part III, Surtees Society 45, 1865, p. 157 (hereafter TE 3), and Vale’s account,
op. cit., p. 23.
39 Seven early chapel certificates appear at Fowler, op. cit., 1: 196–203; four further
examples, two probably refoundations, certainly in the same places as earlier licenses,
at ibid., 4: 19–20, 35–6, 44–5, 49–50. George Lawton, Collectio rerum ecclesiasticarum de
diocesi Eboracensi, 2 vols, London, 1842, p. 544, records an additional chapel at Bishop
Monkton with a resident hermit, William Russell, in 1354. For the restriction of the
choir, see Fowler op. cit., 1: 71–2.
40 So see Frederick W. Dendy (ed.), Visitations of the North – Part I, Surtees Society 122,
1912, p. 65. This Thomas Markenfield was grandson of the Thomas still buried at
Ripon, by his younger son Ninian, who had been knighted at Flodden in 1513. The
family eventually went into exile following the Rising of the North in 1569, and the last
Markenfield died as a poor pensioner of the King of Spain.
41 In addition, Gaunt held in Yorkshire the Honours of Pontefract (Wakefield, Brad-
ford, Snaith, etc.) and Pickering. The transfer of Minster properties to the Duchy is 37
Henry VIII, c. 16, Statutes of the Realm, London: Printed by George Eyre and Andrew
Strahan, 1810–22, 3: 1005–7. See Robert Somerville, History of the Duchy of Lancaster, 2
vols, London: Chancellor and Council of the Duchy of Lancaster, 1953–70, 1: 52–3,
286; and 299, 301 on post-Suppression efforts to maintain normal parochial service and
the grammar school. In 1399, Richmond passed to the Nevilles of Raby, forming a link
between their Durham and Wensleydale properties.
42 William Matthews provides a partial genealogy, The Ill-Framed Knight: A Skeptical Inquiry
into the Identity of Sir Thomas Malory, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966, pp.
161–9. W.J. Petchey gives a very useful introduction to local gentry, in Mauchline,
op. cit., pp. 74–8. Leland saw Malory tombs in the Minster, apparently in a chapel in
the south transept, where Elizabethan examples remain; the Malorys’ descendants, the
Aislabys, were leading local figures over several centuries, one representing Ripon in
Parliament for sixty years in the eighteenth century.
43 See Walbran, op. cit., pp. 39, 58, 63; Foster, op. cit., p. 17.
190 Ralph Hanna
44 See T.S. Gowland, ‘The Honour of Kirkby Malzeard and the Chase of Nidderdale’,
YAJ 33, 1938, 349–96, with a map facing p. 349. The chase, originally Mowbray
hunting property, lay entirely within Ripon parish, much of the area large Fountains
granges. For the knight-service, in Studley, 1334, see Fowler, op. cit., 2: 114.
45 See ibid., 1: 61–2 for the Marmions in the procession (1228); their service was associ-
ated with holding Minster lands, a standard form of rental, called by Gowland, op.
cit. (1934), p. 50, ‘Marmion tenure’. For the chantries in and building history of West
Tanfield, see Archaeological Journal 79, 1922, 385–9 (pp. 362ff. the informative report of
a week-long Royal Archaeological Society perambulation of the Ripon area). Walker,
op.cit., p. 344 (index entry) on several occasions discusses Sir John Marmion’s service
to Gaunt.
46 Walker, op. cit., p. 31, notes a Fitzhugh involved with John of Gaunt’s first overseas
service in 1359. This family, whose seat was at Ravensworth (sometimes -wath) Castle
a bit north-west of Richmond, had been involved in upper Wensleydale affairs since
about 1300. There the Fitzhughs shared the lordship of Askrigg, the furthest settlement
up the dale, with the Scropes of Bolton. The rest of Wensleydale was forest (Hawes is
first mentioned 1307 as ‘le Thouse’, the hals/col within the forest), the chase of the
lords of Richmond; see Hartley and Ingilby, op. cit., pp. 28, 35–8, 44, 48–50. Henry
Fitzhugh appears as benefactor meriting special prayers in two later Syon books, South
Brent, MSS 2 and 4. Elizabeth’s will of 1427, in James Raine et al. (eds), Wills and Inven-
tories Illustrative of … the Northern Counties of England, Surtees Society 2, 1835, pp. 74–5,
includes five prayer books and Psalters, one bequeathed to each of her children and to
a goddaughter. For Minster payments to Fitzhugh and his heirs, see Fowler, op. cit., 3:
114 and 24, 30. On the certificate of mortmain, see William Dugdale, The Baronage of
England, 2 vols, London: Tho. Newcomb, 1675–6, Wing D2480, vol. 1, p. 404. Henry
and Elizabeth’s son Robert, Bishop of London and elect of Ely, d. 1434, left academic
books; see Alfred B. Emden, A Biographical Register of the University of Oxford to A.D. 1500,
3 vols, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957–59, pp. 689–90.
47 See Fowler, op. cit., 2: 188–9, 194–6, for Scrope appointments in Ripon Minster.
48 For the inventory, see C.L. Kingsford, ‘Two Forfeitures in the Year of Agincourt’,
Archaeologia 7, 1920, 90–9 (pp. 93–4); and for the will, Thomas Rymer (ed.), Foedora, 3rd
edn, 10 vols, Farnborough: P. Gregg, 1967, vol. 4.2, pp. 131–4 (p. 133). A further selec-
tion of fetching items: all chapel books, three named service books and a French saints’
lives to pass down the male line (apparently family habit, cf. Richard and Roger Scrope
of Bolton, both in 1403, TE 2, pp. 272–8, 328–31); to the church of Charlton (probably
Carlton Scroop [south Lincs.]), a missal or 8 m. to purchase one; to his mother, a little
Virginale and a French book with incipit ‘Car tout ori soli que home fait de bouche’, a
bilingual Anglo-Norman/Latin Apocalypse, a pretty Book of Hours, and three French
books of her choice; to his brother Stephen, Archdeacon of Richmond, three standard
sermon collections (Gregory’s homilies on the gospels, ‘Remegius’ [‘Haymo’ on the
Pauline epistles], Bede), and Latin Revelations of Bridget ‘quem emi Beverlaci’ (Rich-
ard’s will of 1418, TE, pp. 387–9, includes extensive bequests to the Plumptons); to
his brother John, a new glossed and illuminated Psalter with the family arms; to Sybil
Beauchamp, a primer and hours in English; to Mary Maliver, a French book to be
selected.
49 See Fowler, op. cit., 1: 303–4 for the banner. On the Nevilles’ estates and their adminis-
tration, see Chris Given-Wilson, The English Nobility in the Late Middle Ages: The Fourteenth-
Century Political Community, 2nd edn, London: Routledge, 1996, pp. xii–iii, 105–7.
50 See William T. Lancaster, The Early History of Ripley and the Ingilby Family with Some Account
of the Roos Family of Ingmanthorpe, Leeds: J. Whitehead, 1918, esp. pp. 16–9. For the deed
founding the chapel (during the archiepiscopate of Alexander Neville, 1377–88), see
Fowler, op. cit., 4: 137–41 (Hall-Whyman, op. cit., pp. 125 and 148, n. 146 cite a 1392
license for a chantry there); the Ingilbys were patrons and presented at least in 1398/9
Some North Yorkshire scribes and their context 191
and 1432/3 (Fowler, op. cit., 4: 176–7, 204). On the site, see R.A. Hall, ‘Antiquaries and
Archaeology in and around Ripon Minster’, in Lawrence R. Hoey (ed.), Yorkshire Monas-
ticism: Archaeology, Art, and Architecture, British Archaeological Association Conference
Transactions 16, Leeds: Maney Publishing, 1995, pp. 12–30 (pp. 15–8); Hall-Whyman,
op. cit., p. 125, estimates the chapel as 25 m × 11.5 m and with both nave and chancel.
51 The Ingilby library was described by the Historical Manuscripts Commission, 6th
Report (1877), Appendix, pp. 352–95, and dispersed at Sotheby’s, 21 October 1920.
Among Ingilby books were Morgan Library MS M 818 (Rolle’s ‘Form’, ‘Susannah’),
Huntington Library MSS HM 148 (Rolle’s Psalter and one epistle, the Rollean ‘Gracia
dei’ and other prose) and 1339 (Nicholas Love). The Ingilbys still retain the foundation
deed for Mt Grace, issued by Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent and Duke of Surrey in
1398; he had donated the property, but the house was to be called ‘Mt Grace of Ingilby’
(presumably the family underwrote the construction). See the summary account, HMC,
p. 360; and a much reduced reproduction, Glyn Coppack, Mount Grace Priory: North
Yorkshire, London: English Heritage, 1991, p. 42.
52 He left his brother George a little Psalter and Ellen Crosse a primer (TE 2, p. 67n);
George was later (1438) to receive from Matilda Mauley, who married one of the
Godards (see below), a black(-bound) Psalter (ibid., p. 67n).
53 For the arms at Markenfield, see Walran, op. cit., p. 143 (but also Miller’s caution, op.
cit., n. 36 above); for the chantry foundation, see Fowler, op. cit., 1: 154–7 (a second
Plumpton foundation, of 1427, at 1: 161–2) and Joan Kirby (ed.), The Plumpton Letters and
Papers, Camden Fifth Series, vol. 8, Cambridge: CUP, 1996, pp. 245–6, from the family
coucher; and ibid., p. 247, for Sir Robert’s will of 1416 (twice reiterated). Plumptons
are presumably associated with the chapel of Our Lady in the Crag, built in 1409 as
an imitation of Robert’s hermitage; see Joyce Bazire (ed.), The Metrical Life of St Robert of
Knaresborough; Together with the Other Middle English Pieces in British Museum Ms. Egerton 3143,
EETS, o.s. 228, 1953. (Egerton 3143 is LALME LP 53.)
54 On this family, see Henry E. Chetwynd-Stapylton, The Stapeltons of Yorkshire, Being the
History of an English Family from Very Early Times, London, 1897, pp. 119–53, the source
of much material in the biographies noted in the text from John S. Roskell, Linda
Clark and Carole Rawcliffe (eds), The House of Commons 1386–1421, 4 vols, Stroud: Alan
Sutton, 1992. For the wills I cite, see TE, pp. 178–80 (Robert Roos), 198–201 (Brian sr),
251–3 (Thomas Roos); TE 2, pp. 23–5 (Joan Hilton); Andrew Clark (ed.), Lincoln Diocese
Documents, EETS, o.s. 149, 1914, pp. 45–57 (Cumberworth, books at 48, 49); NCW, pp.
48–9 (Anne).
55 In addition to those examples I have already cited, four Constables mention service
books in their wills: Marmaduke sr (1376), Marmaduke jr (1404), Matilda (1419), and
Robert of Bossall (1454). See TE, pp. 97–9, 337–8, 396–7; and TE 2, pp. 174–7,
respectively.
56 For Erghome and his books, see Kenneth W. Humphreys (ed.), The Friars’ Libraries,
Corpus of British Medieval Manuscript Catalogues 1, London: British Library, 1990;
and for the Welles list, Mary Hamel, ‘Arthurian Romance in Fifteenth-Century Lindsey:
The Books of the Lords Welles’, Modern Language Quarterly 51, 1990, 341–61. An earlier
Welles had married a Scrope of Masham at the end of the fourteenth century.
57 The nunnery may eventually have been overloaded with these; they were bequeathed
a further probable copy, ‘lib[er] anglicanu[s] de pater noster et aliis’, in 1479/80, by a
York priest; see TE 3, p. 199n.
10 Looking for a context
Rolle, anchoritic culture, and the
Office of the Dead
Denis Renevey
The Expositio super novem lectiones (hereafter Super novem lectiones) is Rolle’s penultimate
Latin treatise, preceding the popular Emendatio vitae.1 Since it is based on the nine
lessons taken from the Book of Job which form, with the appropriate psalms,
responses and hymns, the Office of the Dead, it is appropriate to define it as a
liturgical commentary, even if that definition requires qualifications. One of the
hallmarks of Rolle’s pieces in general, and of Super novem lectiones in particular, is
that they turn out to be other and more than what they usually set out to be, very
much as a consequence of Rolle’s personal engagement with, and appropriation
of, the texts that he scrutinises. Although unlike some of his previous Latin writings
which place Rolle’s persona as a fundamental cog for the development of mystical
and religious thoughts, Super novem lectiones nevertheless also shows Rolle first
aligning himself with the biblical characters, in this case Job, and then assuming
their role in contemporary dress, which nevertheless allows autobiographical traits
to surface. There is no denying that, as Rolle has embraced (and then displaced)
the personae of Solomon and David in his commentaries of the books attributed to
them, he endorses a similar role in this piece. But the biblical narrative depicting
Job, moving from showing Job first as a man living in the world and blessed with
a wealth of material possessions, to one experiencing a state of complete depriva-
tion as a way of testing his spiritual stamina, has a resonance which would have
appealed to the pious laity. This chapter considers the contexts which facilitated
the Book of Job’s transmission and access, in all or in part, to a broad readership.
It then turns to the impact anchoritic culture may have had in the production of
Rolle’s work on this biblical book; thirdly, it looks at the fifteenth-century clerical–
lay interface in York to provide a better understanding for the popularity of the
Rollean piece in the fifteenth century.
The paramount moment of the second part includes a mass of the Holy Spirit.
After the Credo, the priest turns to the postulant anchorite and asks whether she
wants to make her profession. He then hands to her the rule of St Augustine
and asks her whether she is willing to live under this rule for the rest of her life.
The reading of the profession follows. The gift of the cross betokens important
aspects of her future life, already present in the words pronounced by the offici-
ating priest:
Post haec sacerdos incipit, ‘Asperges’ et ducit eam cum alio sacerdote per
cemiterium cum eadem cruce, albis induti, cantantes responsorium ‘Regnum
mundi’ et responsorium ‘Accessit ad pedes Christi peccatrix’.
[After that the priest begins, Asperges and he leads her with another priest
through the cemetery with the same cross, the two priests dressed in white,
singing the responses Regnum mundi and Accessit ad pedes Christi peccatrix.]16
The final moment of the ceremony takes place before the reclusorium, which
is blessed with holy water and burning incense, thus echoing again the final ritual
practice of blessing the corpse before its burial. The importance of the cross is
again forcefully stressed. The recluse is then introduced into her cell and the door
is shut behind her:
Tunc ducit eam in inclusorium cum cruce, quam secum tenebit in inclusorio
usque ad finem vite sue in memoriam passionis Christi. Tunc sacerdos dicit:
‘Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et taceat exitum tuum.’ Respondeat
chorus: ‘Ex hoc, nunc et usque in seculum.’ Qua in via ante clusam prostrata
dicatur psalmus ‘De Profundis’ cum ‘Requiem’, … Deinde quinque benedic-
tionum orationibus et crucibus eam confirmet et benedicat. Deinde sacerdos
benedicit inclusorium quinque longis orationibus.
[Then he leads her into the reclusorium with the cross, which she will
keep with her in the reclusorium till the end of her life in memory of Christ’s
passion. Then the priest says: ‘May God protect your entrance and prevent
your coming out.’ Let the choir respond: ‘From now, and for centuries
onwards.’ And as she is prostrate on her way, before the door, let the Psalm
De profundis be said with Requiem, … Then he confirms and blesses her with
five prayers of blessing and crossings. Then the priest blesses the reclusorium
with five long prayers.]17
Looking for a context 199
Penitential elements and notions of earthly deprivation, present in both the Job
story and the liturgy of death, form an equally important part of the anchor-
itic ceremony of enclosure. Evidence for the presence of the person of Job in the
psyche of the audience reading anchoritic and eremitic writings is abundant. As
the embodiment of patience, humility, perseverance, and determination in the
belief of spiritual truth, Job displays characteristics of inner strength, which are also
the hallmarks of a good solitary. Moreover, Job lives as a solitary, rebukes his wife,
who succumbs to the devil, and leads a life of complete deprivation and hardship.
Illness and disease are his most faithful companions.18 Job is dead to the world and
lives in expectation of the Last Judgment. In the De institutione inclusarum, Aelred
of Rielvaux reminds his sister of the necessity of combating idleness by referring
to Job 14: 2.19 The perseverance and strong will of Christina of Markyate, in her
refusal to become betrothed to Burthred, evoke a proverb reminiscent of Job 14:
19: ‘Constant dripping wears away a stone’. Furthermore, the Ancrene Wisse has a
strikingly large number of textual references to both Gregory’s Moralia in Job and
the Book of Job, as well as allusions to the character himself. Gregory’s Moralia in
Job states: ‘If anyone is careless about the custody of her outward sight, she will
become blind, through the just judgement of God, in her inner sight’.20 Gregory’s
sentence summarises the advice given by the Ancrene Wisse author on the custody
of the senses, i.e. being blind to the outside world in order to open up the eyes
of the spirit. Other quotations from Gregory’s Moralia in Job deal with imperfec-
tion, more specifically recognising one’s own imperfections, and counsel against
boasting about one’s achievements and being deceived by the devil into slothful
acts.21 The Ancrene Wisse author appropriates and develops Gregory’s misogynistic
motif: women are easily overthrown and should therefore never be appointed as
custodians of the soul. Furthermore, the Book of Job is cited fifteen times in Ancrene
Wisse.22 Job is a model for the anchoress in many respects: as guardian against
the eyes (Job 31: 1), as a persevering spiritual seeker (Job 3: 21) and as a secret
performer of good deeds. Views on the relationship between the flesh and the
soul rely on Job 28: 25. Moreover, Job is pervasively present in part four of Ancrene
Wisse, ‘On Temptations’. The author warns his anchoresses against presumptuous
assumptions about their elevated spiritual status and its consequent absence of
temptation, in opposition to the constancy of the character Job in Job 23: 10.
Reference is made to sickness sent by God and its purifying powers on the soul, of
which a list is devised from the various medieval reports on Job’s own experiences
with illness. The classification of the outer and inner temptations into four kinds
rests on four citations from Job: Job 14: 19, 41: 23, 30: 13, and 30: 14. Elsewhere,
Job 41: 25 serves to demonstrate holy people’s need for humility to escape the
attacks of the devil. This is the trick used by the Lord Himself to combat the wres-
tler of hell. The idea of life as a fight is sustained in Part Six, On Penance, with Job
7: 1. Ascetic practices fall within this scheme and here again Job is recalled:
‘Folc tolaimet ant totoren’ wið strong liflade ant wið heard he cleopeð ‘folc
[fearlic]’, for þe feond is of swucche offruht ant offearet. For-þi þet Iob wes
þullich, he meande him ant seide, Pellem pro pelle et universa et cetera, þet is, ‘He
200 Denis Renevey
wule Ȝeouen fel for fel’, þe alde for þe neowe; as þah he seide, ‘Ne geineð
me nawt to asailin him; he is of þet totore folc, he tereð his alde curtel, ant
torendeð þe alde pilche of his deadliche fel for þe fel undeadlich þet is þe
neowe ariste schal schine seoueald brihtre þen þe sunne.’
[A people mutilated and torn by their severe way of life and by hardship:
he calls them a fearsome people because the devil is frightened and fearful
of such people. Because Job was like this the devil lamented and said to him,
Pellem pro pelle et universa, et cetera; that is, ‘He will give skin for skin, the old for
the new’ as though he said, ‘I will gain nothing by assailing him. He is one of
those mutilated people; he tears his dress, and rends apart the old garment of
his mortal skin.’ For the skin which is in the new resurrection will shine seven
times brighter than the sun is immortal.]23
A sound spirit must be preferred to a healthy body (see Job 39: 25). The Ancrene
Wisse author uses Job 12: 23 in his discussion of spiritual virginity, which is made
up of good works and faithful belief. At a more practical level, Job is used again by
the author in his attempt at injecting new layers of meaning into the image of the
reclusorium. Firstly, a bird analogy is cleverly applied to describe the inner work-
ings of the anchoress’s mind. The nest imagery first defines the general frame of
mind which is suitable for an anchorite:
For- þi beo flesches pine efter euchanes euene. Þat nest beo heard wiþ uten,
ant softe ant swete þe heorte wiðinnen. Þeo þe beoð of bitter oðer of heard
heorte ant nesche to hare flesch, ha makieð frommard hare nest, softe wiðuten
ant þorni wiðinnen.
[Thus the mortification of the flesh should be according to each one’s
capacity. That nest should be harsh on the outside, and soft and sweet the
heart within. Those who are bitter or hard-hearted and are soft to their flesh
make their nests backward: soft outside and thorny within.]24
The nest image refers also to the reclusorium. Job is the authority called upon to
support this image:
Iob cleopeð nest þe ancre hus, ant seið as he were ancre, In nidulo meo moriar,
þet is, ‘Ich chulle deien i mi nest, beon ase dead þrin (for þet is ancres rihte),
ant wunien aðet deað þrin, þat Ich nulle neauer slakien, hwil þe sawle is i þe
buc, to drehen heard wiðuten, alswa as nest is, ant softe beo wiðinnen.’
[Job calls the anchorhouse a nest, and says, as though he were an anchorite,
In nidulo meo moriar – that is, ‘I shall die in my nest, be in it as though dead.’
For that is proper for an anchorite, and to live in it until death: ‘So that I will
never cease while the soul is in the body to suffer harshness outwardly, as a
nest is harsh, and to be soft within.’]25
The development of such a strong association between Job and the anchoritic
mode of life builds upon the liturgical tradition, which allowed creative authors
Looking for a context 201
to develop further images intimately linked with one another in formal liturgical
contexts. The anchorhold’s analogy with the grave is more evidence of the influ-
ence of the liturgy for the dead on the anchoritic life:
Hoker ant hofles þing is þet a smiret ancre – ant ancre biburiet, for hwet is
ancre-hus bute hire burinesse? – schal beo greattre ibollen, leafdiluker leoten
of, þen a leafdi of hames.
[It is a contemptible and unreasonable thing that an anointed anchoress,
and an anchoress buried – for what is an anchorhouse but her grave? – wishes
to be more graciously regarded than the lady of a house.]26
ha schulden schrapien euche dei þe eorðe up of hare put þet ha schulien roten
in. Godd hit wat, þet put Deð muche god moni ancre; for as Salomon seið,
Memorare nouissima tua et in eternum non peccabis. Þeo þe haueð eauer hire deað
as biuoren hire ehnen (þet te put munegeð)
[They should be scraping the earth up every day out of the pit they must
rot in! God knows that this pit does much good to an anchoress – for as
Solomon says: Memorare novissima tua et in eternum non peccabis. [Remember your last
hour and you will never sin] (Ecclesiastes 7: 40). She who always has her death as
though before her eyes remembers that pit.]29
Job’s importance in this strategy is further evidenced by the demand for the reci-
tation of three different lessons each night, and the recitation of the nine lessons in
some special cases: ‘For the anniversary of your dearest friends say all nine’30. Daily
recitation of the lessons of the Office of the Dead started on the day the anchor-
esses made their vows. It would end only on the day of their physical burial.
But if the cause be not good the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make,
when all those legs and arms and heads chopped off in battle shall join together
at the latter day and cry all ‘We died at such a place’, some swearing, some
crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some
upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left. I am afeard
there are few die well that die in a battle, for how can they charitably dispose
of anything when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well,
it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it, who to disobey were
against all proportion of subjection.31
The emergence of Ars moriendi treatises in the fifteenth century, together with
their vernacular translations, such as The Book of the Craft of Dying, testifies as well
to this general interest in being provided with instructions about how to comfort
the dying.32 Super novem lectiones shows at least once a similar concern for the fate
of the dead:
Beatus uero Iob, a possessionibus & a diuiciis spoliatus, filius orbatus, ab uxore
improperatus, ab amicis calumpniatus, morbo graui percussus & nudus in
sterquilinio sedens maximeque tribulatus, aperte ad Deum clamorem dirigit
& in tanta miseria positus, cum desiderio dicit: Parce michi domine, nichil enim
sunt dies mei.
[Truly, blessed be Job, deprived of his possessions and wealth, deprived of
his son, insulted by his wife, calumniated by friends, hit by serious illness and
sitting naked on the dung-heap and greatly troubled, he openly directs his cry
towards God and, placed in such misery, says with longing: Parce mihi domine,
nichil enim sunt dies mei.] 35
Rolle defines the character of Job in terms of a heroic solitary fighter against the
world, the flesh and the devil. This imagery is of course a hallmark of anchoritic
literature and Rolle’s contact with anchoresses may have triggered his interest in
making it an important element of this treatise. The perfection of the solitary life
remains Rolle’s battle horse, but it is now depicted with a much closer look at the
penitential, if not even ascetical qualities which characterises it. Together with
patience and humility, they are hallmarks of the treatise.36 To the question found
in Job 7: 17 (Quid est homo?), Rolle provides a definition modelled on Job as God’s
good servant:
Itaque: Quid est homo quia magnificas eum? id est, qualis & quantus est homo
quem tu magnificas? Est autem mundus, iustus, pius, castus, sobrius, humilis,
mansuetus, paciens, misericors, sanctus, sincerus in mente, feruens in tuo
amore, caritate repletus, omnium virtutum genere insignitus.
[So: Quid est homo quia magnificas eum?, that is, who and how great is the man
204 Denis Renevey
that you praise? Among others, he is pure, just, pious, chaste, sober, humble,
gentle, patient, enduring, merciful, holy, sincere in spirit, fervent in your love,
filled with charity, marked by all kinds of virtues.]37
Repentance and recognition of one’s own sins feature among Rolle‘s most
personal outpourings.39 We are quite far here from Rolle’s own expostulations
which made a case of him as a member of the Church Triumphant. Here instead,
his exhortations for penitence and his repetitive perorations on the transitoriness
of this earthly life echo those of Job:
Sed bonum est, fratres, humiles esse, miseriam nostram recogitare, dicentes
cum beato Iob: In puluerem reduces me. Necesse est michi mori & in pulverem
reduci, quia omnes morimur & quasi aqua delabimur in terram. Sed o bone
domine cum morior & reducor, in cinerem animam meam digneris accipere
et tecum in eterna gloria collocare;
[But it is good, brothers, to be humble, to recognize our misery, saying
with blessed Job: ‘In puluerem reduces me.’ It is necessary for me to die and to be
reduced to dust, because we all die & quasi aqua delabimur in terram. But O good
lord after I die and I am brought back, you will deem worthy to accept my
soul in ash and to establish it with you in eternal glory.]40
Faced with the inexorableness of his own human frailty and life’s fleetingness,
Rolle finds comfort by devising in his mind a reassuring image, that of the fixity
of milk when turned by curdling into cheese. Metaphorically interpreted, it stands
for spiritual love which, once curdled, i.e. transformed from carnal love into its
Looking for a context 205
present spiritual state, is fixed, thus no longer mutable. Job 10: 8–12 facilitated
the development of this image, and shows God to be in control of this chemical
process: Et sicum caseum me coagulasti.41 When emphasis is put on God’s relationship
with the soul, the Song of Songs imagery serves as an anagogical interpretation of
some of the verses of the Book of Job, setting the text’s allusions to the body as the
cornerstone on which metaphorical utterances are constructed. Reference to the
beatific vision, the face-to-face, used with extreme caution by Rolle throughout
his corpus, demonstrates, despite the penitential tone of this treatise, continuity in
his spiritual aspirations in the context of a generally sober, more ascetic, form of
spirituality.
The popularity of Super novem lectiones is symptomatic of the spread of private
devotional practices which marked the fifteenth century. I argue that this work
sheds light on the ways in which those devotional practices involved the participa-
tion of several components for its effective spread. The first and second sections of
this chapter show clearly the complexity of overlapping influences for the circu-
lation of religious practices. Both the funeral ritual and its use within anchor-
itic culture played a part in the composition of the piece. I would like to stress,
however, that its fifteenth-century popularity among the secular clergy grew out
of the fact that it projects a form of spirituality concomitant with that practised by
anchorites and which the secular clergy and its audience regarded as a model for
imitation.42 Jonathan Hughes’s attempt at describing the impact of eremitic spir-
ituality upon lay practice in fifteenth-century Yorkshire offers interesting evidence
as to the role played by Super novem lectiones in this grander scheme: several members
of the secular clergy of York Minster owned copies of this work.43 Hughes links
York clerical ownership to an increase of services for the dead in the Minster, but
it seems this view does not take sufficiently into consideration the content of the
work, which is for individual meditative consumption rather than liturgical use.44
Manuscript ownership of Super novem lectiones points to the clerical milieu as a
significant readership.45 However, recent studies have shown that circulation of
books between ecclesiastical institutions and lay individuals contributed to the
rise of networks of devotional readers, male and female. This Latin treatise may
not have had the same kind of impact as other vernacular devotional works may
have had on lay readers. However, ownership of Latin texts by lay readers may
not have been just a way of displaying one’s gentility.46 After all, there is enough
evidence to show that having a book read or/and translated to the lay reader was
still common practice in the late medieval period. When Oxford, MS Laud Misc.
528 passed from the hands of the Province-General of the English Franciscans
into those of a layman and his wife in the fifteenth century, it possibly marked a
moment in a series of exchanges between a Franciscan of high standing with two
lay individuals interested in the reading of some of Rolle’s most significant works.47
Several other manuscripts were owned by monastic institutions or clerics, so that
no clear picture, apart from that of diversity of readership, emerges from a succinct
overview of manuscript ownership. Returning now to the Yorkshire milieu, one
finds a religious context which was highly influenced by anchoritic practices, from
the clerical sphere to other levels of secular society.48 The aristocracy, the gentry,
206 Denis Renevey
merchants and clergy supported and found a personal interest in the anchoritic
way of life.49 If the thirteenth century was an anchoritic golden age for the whole of
England, the fourteenth century was even more so for the diocese of York, which
had an anchoritic population of fifty-eight, by far the largest in England at any
time, against (only) fourteen in the thirteenth (fourth highest number after North-
amptonshire, twenty-one; Oxfordshire and Kent, fifteen).50 Super novem lectiones
would have appealed to those who enacted the ceremony, supported the recluses,
provided for their sustenance and regarded the anchoritic pattern as an exem-
plary model, and looked into writings which offered a spiritual reference inspired
by that mode of life.51 Richard Russell, a parishioner of St John’s, Hungate, is
one example of anchoritic interest among fifteenth-century Yorkshire’s merchant
classes. He provided in his will of 1435 large grants to the anchoresses at Walm-
gate and All Saints, North Street, and to others at St Helen’s, Fishergate.52 He
was also the owner of the Revelations of St Bridget, which had been given to him by
Richard Tolleston, chaplain of York.53 In her studies of medieval wills in several
English dioceses, Ann K. Warren points out that among twenty-five wills of a
group of Yorkshire merchants who lived between the mid-fourteenth and the mid-
fifteenth centuries, thirteen left bequests to anchorites.54 She demonstrates further
the involvement of all layers of English society with anchoritic behaviour, pointing
to the importance of early royal patronage in boosting such broad support.55
If one considers the Yorkshire area, the Scrope family is a good case in point
for our understanding of the role played by religious anchoritic culture within
the networks which made possible the transmission of religious practice between
monastic, clerical and lay milieus.56 Several members of the Scrope family were
staunch supporters of anchorites and hermits. Both Stephen Scrope, second Lord
of Masham, and his son Henry, supported a recluse called Robert of Beverley in
the early fifteenth century. Henry, who became the third Lord Scrope of Masham
in 1405, made bequests in his will of 1415 to each anchorite and anchoress living
in the vicinities and cities of York and London, as well as making provision for
seventeen anchorites from the diocese of York and one hermit. That commit-
ment towards anchorites was continued by his successor, his brother John, fourth
Lord Scrope of Masham.57 According to Moyes, the Scrope family acted as an
important link between the secular clergy of York and the Bridgettine house of
Syon. The wills of the Scrope family additionally indicate an interest on their part
in the cult of Rolle from the 1380s onwards.58 Lord Henry Scrope owned a copy
of the Judica me Deus. Richard Scrope of Masham, Archbishop of York between
1398-1405, had an impact on the spread of Rolle’s writings among the Arundel
household, and he also was responsible for the compilation at Lichfield during
his episcopate of Rolle’s Ego Dormio, The Commandment, The Form of Living and the
Incendium Amoris with other Northern works such as the Prick of Conscience and John
of Howden’s Philomela.59 John Newton, a close friend of Richard Scrope’s from
at least 1376, and one of the clerics of York Minster during Scrope’s time as
archbishop, was one of the owners of Super novem lectiones.60 Although this account
is far from exhaustive in its description of the direct involvement by the Scrope
family in the support of anchorites and its interest in Rolle, it allows for an under-
Looking for a context 207
standing of the ways in which the Scrope family literally pushed Rolle’s works
into the precincts of York Minster and some monastic institutions. Super novem
lectiones, as one of the works which made its way into the Minster, represents best
this double interest which seems to have appealed to the Scrope family and many
other pious readers, i.e. a type of devotion based on an anchoritic form of spiritu-
ality with which Rolle made a point of aligning himself. No other work by Rolle
insists so intensely on penitential spirituality, a feature which marks anchoritic
writings in particular and the anchoritic mode of life in general.61 The interest in
Rolle and his works by an educated clergy and ecclesiastical officials in fifteenth-
century York stems from the perception of him and his writings as a mouthpiece
for anchoritic behaviour.62
Conclusion
Super novem lectiones does not offer material for preparation of one’s own death, nor
does it provide guidance to those attending the dying.63 Also, the voice of Job in
that treatise does not become, as in the funeral performance of the Office of the
Dead, the voice of the dead man crying for help.64 Instead, as in the anchoritic
context of the ceremony of enclosure, the ‘I’ of the reading is that of the one dead
to the world, but not yet in need of prayers to get out of purgatory and into heaven
as quickly as possible.65 The voice of Job in the ceremony of enclosure and that of
Super novem lectiones is one that, instead of begging the living for attention, situates
itself in a self-reflexive penitential mode, with an inward focus, but nevertheless
aware of its own privileged position with regard to the large Christian community
for which it voices prayers and meditations. Thus, the function of the biblical
verses from the Book of Job in both contexts is a complete reversal of that of the
Office of the Dead in the funeral ritual. The way in which the performance of the
‘I’ voice in those contexts empowers the performer has as yet been insufficiently
studied. Sustained interest in the anchoritic vocation, and Rolle’s own following
of its strict and well-regulated mode of life, which triggered the composition of
Super novem lectiones with an interest shown by several layers of late medieval society,
were fashioned to some extent by the appropriation of Job’s persona and voice as
shaped in the multiple medieval cultural and literary contexts in which it circu-
lated.
Notes
1 My research on this work takes into account the new chronology of the Rolle corpus
established by Nicholas Watson in Richard Rolle and the Invention of Authority, Cambridge:
CUP, 1991, pp. 273–94; it also owes much to the pioneering work of Malcolm Robert
Moyes, Richard Rolle’s Expositio super novem lectiones mortuorum. An Introduction and Contribu-
tion towards a Critical Edition, Salzburg Studies in English Literature 92:12, Salzburg,
1988.
2 The following works have been used for this summary of the medieval funeral: T.
Maertens and L. Heuschen, ‘Doctrine et pastorale de la liturgie de la mort’, Paroisse
et liturgie 5, 1956, 317–37; 6, 1956, 427–48; 1, 1957, 4–22; 3, 1957, 202–29; Roger S.
208 Denis Renevey
Wieck, ‘The Death Desired: Books of Hours and the Medieval Funeral’, in Edelgard
E. DuBruck and Barbara I. Gusick (eds) Death and Dying in the Middle Ages, New York:
Peter Lang, 1999, pp. 431–76; Geoffrey Rowell, The Liturgy of Christian Burial: An Intro-
ductory Survey of the Historical Development of Christian Burial Rites, Alcuin Club Collections
59, London, 1977 (esp. pp. 57–73); Edmund Bishop, ‘On the Origin of the Prymer’,
Liturgica Historica, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1918, 211–37.
3 The practice of the viaticum is closely associated with the celebration of the mass, and
it is from the offering of the viaticum to the sick that the mass for the sick emerged as a
separate liturgical practice.
4 See J.B.L. Tolhurst (ed.), The Monastic Breviary of Hyde Abbey, Winchester; MSS. Rawlinson
Liturg. e.1*, and Gough Liturg. 8, in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, Henry Bradshaw Society
69, London: Harrison and Sons, 1932. Tolhurst lists 5 breviaries: (1) British Library
Harleian MS. 4664, from Coldingham Priory (written c. 1270); (2) Cambridge Univer-
sity Library Ii 4.20, from the Cathedral Priory of Ely (written c. 1275); (3) Library of
J. Meade Falkner, Esq., Durham, from Muchelney Abbey, Somerset (written c. 1280);
(4) Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Rawlinson Liturg. e.1* and Gough Liturg. 8, from
Hyde Abbey, Winchester (written c. 1300); (5) Cambridge, Trinity College MS 0.7.31,
from Battle Abbey, Sussex (written c. 1500); see Tolhurst, op. cit. (1932), pp. v–vi.
5 See J.B.L. Tolhurst (ed.), The Monastic Breviary of Hyde Abbey, Winchester; MSS. Rawlinson
Liturg. e.1*, and Gough Liturg. 8, in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, Henry Bradshaw Society,
London: Harrison and Sons, 1934, fols G. 68v–70v.
6 Psalms 114, 119, 120, 129, 137 and the ‘evangelical’ canticle Magnificat (Luke 1:
46–55).
7 For a comparative study of English and German ceremonies of enclosure, see Otmar
Doerr, Das Institut des Inclusen in Suddeutschland, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alten Mönch-
tums und des Benediktineordens 18, Münster in Westf., 1934 (see esp. pp. 42–52). See
also R.M. Clay, The Hermits and Anchorites of England, London, 1914; see esp. Appendix
A, p. 192, for a translation of an Office for the Enclosing of Anchorites, according to the
Use of Sarum; mention is made of the ceremony of enclosure in Ann K. Warren, ‘The
Nun as Anchoress: England 1100–1500’, in John A. Nichols and Lillian T. Shank (eds),
Distant Echoes: Medieval Religious Women 1, Cistercian Studies Series 71, Kalamazoo MI:
Cistercian Publications, 1984, pp. 197–212; see also Patricia J.F. Rosof, ‘The Anchoress
in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’, in Lillian T. Shank and John A. Nichols (eds),
Peaceweavers: Medieval Women 2, Cistercian Studies Series 72, Kalamazoo MI: Cistercian
Publications, 1987, pp. 123–44.
8 See Warren, op. cit., pp. 97–8.
9 See William George Henderson (ed.), Liber pontificalis Christophori Bainbridge, archiepiscopi
Eboracensis, Publications of the Surtees Society 61, Durham: Andrews & Co., 1875,
pp. 81–6.
10 Ibid., p. 82.
11 The rubric in the Missale ad usum insignis ecclesiae eboracensis reads: ‘Pro famulo vel
famula dicitur hoc evangelium’; see W.G. Henderson (ed.), Missale ad usum insignis
ecclesiae eboracensis, Publications of the Surtees Society 60, Durham: Andrews & Co.,
1874, p. 184.
12 Psalm 6, Domine, ne in furore, is the second psalm of matins in the officium mortuorum; Psalm
40, Beatus qui intelligit, is the second psalm of the third nocturn of matins; Psalm 50, Misere,
is the first psalm of lauds; Psalm 102: 1–5, Benedic, is the sixth psalm of lauds; Psalm 129 is
the fourth psalm of vespers; Psalm Misere mei, Deus, is the first psalm of lauds.
13 See W.G. Henderson (ed.), Manuale et processionale ad usum insignis ecclesiae eboracensis,
Publications of the Surtees Society 63, Durham: Andrews & Co., 1874; see also Jane
Kuhlmann Frogley, ‘A Processional of the York Use: An Edition of Bodleian Library
MS E. Musaeo 126 (3612), with a Description, Dating and History of the Manuscript’,
unpublished thesis, University of Oxford, 1987; there is unfortunately no information
on processions conducted during ceremonies of enclosure in those processionals.
Looking for a context 209
14 See K. Grube (ed.), Des Augustinerpropstes Johannes Busch Chronicon Windeshemense und Liber
de reformatione, Geschichtsquellen d. Provinz Sachsen 19, Halle, 1886, pp. 657; see also
Doerr, op. cit., pp. 49–51.
15 Ibid., pp. 657–8.
16 Ibid., p. 658.
17 Ibid.
18 See Clay, op. cit., p. 124.
19 See Aelred de Rievaulx, La Vie de recluse, La Prière pastorale, ed. Charles Dumont, Sources
Chrétiennes 76, Paris: Cerf, 1961, pp. 65–145.
20 Moralia in Job, Lib. xxi, cap. vii (PL 76, col. 197); quoted in M.B. Salu (trans.), The Ancrene
Riwle (the Corpus ms.: Ancrene Wisse), London: Burns & Oates, 1955, p. 40.
21 Ibid., pp. 65, 103, 121.
22 Unless indicated otherwise, translations are from Anne Savage and Nicholas Watson
(trans.), Anchoritic Spirituality: Ancrene Wisse and Associated Works, The Classics of Western
Spirituality, New York: The Paulist Press, 1991 (pp. 436–7).
23 Bella Millet (ed.), Ancrene Wisse: A Corrected Edition of the Text in Cambridge, Corpus Christi
College, MS 402, with Variants from Other Manuscripts, EETS, o.s. 325, 2005, p. 137.; see
also Savage and Watson, op.cit., p. 181.
24 Millett, op. cit., p. 53; see also Savage and Watson, op. cit., p. 98.
25 Millett, op. cit., p. 53; see also Savage and Watson, op. cit., p. 98.
26 Millett, op. cit., p. 43; see also Savage and Watson, op. cit., p. 88.
27 See Savage and Watson, op. cit., pp. 55–6.
28 See Alexandra Barratt, ‘Context: Some Reflections on Wombs and Tombs and Inclu-
sive Language’, in Liz Herbert McAvoy and Mari Hughes-Edwards (eds), Anchorites,
Wombs and Tombs: Intersections of Gender and Enclosure in the Middle Ages, Religion and
Culture in the Middle Ages, Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2005, pp. 27–38. See
also Vincent Gillespie’s chapter in this volume, p. 136–66.
29 Millett, op. cit., pp. 46–7; see also Savage and Watson, op. cit., p. 91–2; see also Clay,
op. cit., p. 114.
30 Savage and Watson, op. cit., p. 56.
31 William Shakespeare, King Henry V, Andrew Gurr (ed.), The New Cambridge Shake-
speare, Cambridge: CUP, 1992, pp. 154–5.
32 See Donald F. Duclow, ‘Dying Well: The Ars moriendi and the Dormition of the Virgin’,
in DuBruck and Gusick, op. cit., pp. 379–429.
33 Moyes, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 261; see also Moyes, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 74.
34 See Watson, op. cit., pp. 199–200; for a study of Rolle as biblical commentator, see
J.P.H. Clark, ‘Richard Rolle as Biblical Commentator’, Downside Review 104, no. 356,
1986, 165–213; for a treatment of Super novem lectiones, see esp. pp. 174–5, 178–83;
35 Moyes, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 126–7.
36 According to some manuscript annotations, Rolle received a vision in 1343 at
Candlemas, announcing that he would live for twelve more years; one is left wondering
whether this vision might have also triggered a deeper interest in the Office of the Dead
material and a discussion of qualities such as repentance, humility and patience; see
Hope Emily Allen, Writings Ascribed to Richard Rolle, Hermit of Hampole and Materials for His
Biography, New York: D.C. Heath and Company and London: Oxford University Press,
1927, pp. 27, 228; see ibid., p. 273.
37 Moyes, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 132.
38 Ibid., p. 136.
39 Ibid., p. 146.
40 Ibid., pp. 182–3.
41 Ibid., p. 183.
42 For a study of the religious background in Yorkshire in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries and the special importance of Rolle, see Jonathan Hughes, Pastors and Vision-
aries: Religion and Secular Life in Late Medieval Yorkshire, Woodbrige: Boydell Press, 1988.
210 Denis Renevey
Some of the material in this book must be treated with caution; for a critique of the
passages in this book dealing with Richard Rolle, see Watson, op. cit., p. 331, note 4.
43 Among its owners, Hughes mentions John Newton, Robert Semer, Robert Help-
erby, William Gate, Richard Drax, William Duffield and Thomas Pyncheck. Hughes,
op. cit., p. 269.
44 Annie Sutherland offered a similar argument for the use of Rolle’s English Psalter at the
ESSE 7 Conference in Zaragoza, 8 September 2004.
45 For a list of manuscripts, their provenance and information of early ownership, see
Moyes, op. cit., pp. 1–121.
46 Andrew Taylor, ‘Authors, Scribes, Patrons and Books’, in Jocelyn Wogan-Browne,
Nicholas Watson, Andrew Taylor and Ruth Evans (eds), The Idea of the Vernacular:
An Anthology of Middle English Literary Theory 1280–1520, Exeter and University Park
PA: University of Exeter Press and Penn State University Press, 1999, pp. 353–65.
47 The manuscript contains the following items: Emendatiov vitae, Judica me Deus, Oleum
effusum nomen tuum, Expositio super novem lectiones, and Incendim amoris. See Moyes, op. cit.,
vol. 2, pp. 16–17.
48 See also M.G.A. Vale, ‘Piety, Charity and Literacy among the Yorkshire Gentry, 1370–
1480’, Borthwick Papers 50, 1976, 1–32; see also Vincent Gillespie, ‘Vernacular Books of
Religion’, in Jeremy Griffiths and Derek Pearsall (eds), Book Production and Publishing in
Britain 1375–1475, Cambridge Studies in Publishing and Printing History, Cambridge:
CUP, 1989, pp. 317–44.
49 For a study of the ownership of Super novem lectiones, see Moyes, op. cit., vol. 1, pp. 75–90;
for an analysis of York merchants’ responses to the anchoritic life, see Warren, op. cit.,
pp. 247–55.
50 See Warren, op. cit., pp. 292–3.
51 Ibid., p. 245, where Warren points out more precisely to St Saviour’s as an important
centre of anchorite-related behaviour in the city of York; see also Hughes, op. cit.,
pp. 197–208.
52 Warren, op. cit., p. 245.
53 See Moyes, op. cit., p. 76, note 42.
54 Warren, op. cit., p. 247.
55 Ibid., p. 281.
56 See Hughes, op. cit., pp. 68–9, 87–8.
57 Ibid., p. 68.
58 See Moyes, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 82.
59 See Hughes, op. cit., p. 203.
60 Ibid., p. 204, and Moyes, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 82.
61 See Moyes, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 88: ‘The adoption and use of these penitential teachings in
the Expositio as useful for the instruction of the contemplative, by some medieval readers
and scribes, is suggested by the presence in some MSS of more specialized texts such as
Hilton’s Scale of Perfection and Suso’s Horologium Sapientiae.’ Moyes, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 90,
neglects the anchoritic life in his appreciation of the transmission of rigorous disciplines
from the cloister to the clergy.
62 See Moyes, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 76.
63 That is what the Ars moriendi treatise explicitly does; see Duclow, op. cit., p. 380.
64 See Wieck, op. cit., p. 433.
65 Ibid., p. 432.
11 Issues of linguistic
categorisation in the
evolution of written
Middle English
Jeremy J. Smith
phoneme, which may be defined either as the smallest speech-unit that distin-
guishes one word from another in terms of meaning, or as the prototypical
sound being aimed at by speakers within a speech community. Replacement
of one phoneme by another changes the meaning of the word in which it
occurs. It is conventional to place phonemes in slash brackets, thus: /…/.
allophone: the realisation of the phoneme in speech. Replacement of one allo-
phone with another realisation of the same phoneme does not change the
meaning of the word in which it occurs. It is conventional to place allophones
in square brackets, thus […].
grapheme: the written language equivalent of the phoneme, i.e. the symbolic
unit being aimed at by the scribe. Replacement of one grapheme by another
changes the meaning of the word in which it occurs. It is conventional to
place graphemes in angle brackets, thus: <…>.
allograph: the realisation of the grapheme in writing. Replacement of one
allograph by another realisation of the same grapheme does not change the
meaning of the word. There seems to be no accepted notation, distinct from
that used for the grapheme, for signalling allographs. I propose to use double
angle-brackets, thus: <<…>>.
This last notion, that of the allograph, has attracted various definitions in the
scholarly literature, and perhaps needs some unpacking, bringing into closer artic-
ulation notions which have been usually seen as belonging to distinct disciplines,
i.e. linguistics and paleography. There would appear to be at least three general
uses for the term:
1 as a feature of the script aimed at by the scribe, where the term script is used in
the same sense as many paleographers use it, i.e. ‘the model which the scribe
has in his mind’s eye as he writes’.4 Thus the grapheme <a> could be realised
by (say) the allograph <<a>> in the anglicana script, or by the allograph
<<ɑ>> in the Secretary script. In Present-Day English, we might distinguish
the forms used in different fonts; thus <a> is variously realised as << a, a, a,
a, a, etc.>>. Included in this category might be such cases as ‘y for þ’. In some
localities in the late Middle English period, especially (though not exclusively)
in the North, many scribes adopted the practice of using <<y>> as their
Issues of linguistic categorisation in the evolution of written Middle English 213
realisation of <þ>.5 Such practices would seem to be features of a particular
local script-variety, and thus allographic.
2 to refer to a contextually conditioned feature, i.e. the particular form adopted
in a particular script in initial, medial or final position, in the environment of
other letters, or in particular classes of words. Thus, for instance, a script may
require scribes to adopt (say) a sigmatic <s> in initial or medial position, i.e.
<<ɓ>>, but a non-sigmatic <s> in final position, i.e. <<s>>; a long <s>,
i.e. <<∫>>, may be required before <t> but not elsewhere.
3 to refer to a feature of the individual scribe’s handwriting. Paleographers
sometimes refer to the set of these features as the scribe’s hand, i.e. ‘what [the
scribe] actually puts down on the page’.6
In this chapter, allograph will be used to refer to (1) and (2), but not (3). For (3),
the term graph will be adopted, following Pulgram, who refers to this unit as the
‘hic et nunc written realization of a grapheme’:7 Pulgram’s definition of an allograph
as ‘all graphs identifiable as members of one grapheme’ is a useful one. There is
a fairly clear parallel between the notions graph and phone: a phone is a particular
realisation of a phoneme by a particular speaker on a particular occasion, i.e. a ‘hic
et nunc’ spoken realisation of a phoneme.8
There are, of course, serious problems of definition which attend such categorisa-
tions, and indeed have attended them since their first scholarly formulation. Tradi-
tionally, and in very general terms, the phoneme has been defined in two ways:
These two methods of categorisation are of course not the same. If the approach
taken is (1), then the key issue is to do with distinctiveness: e.g. /a/ differs from
/e/, and replacing /a/ with /e/ in a word changes the meaning of that word. If
the approach taken is (2), then phonology is really ‘broad phonetics’, and phonetics
has traditionally been seen as a distinct discipline, not primarily concerned with
systemic questions of the kind which are the primary concern of linguistics (thus
the existence – less common these days – of ‘Departments of Linguistics and
Phonetics’). Phonetics as a discipline, of course, deals in questions of articulation
and acoustics, and with suprasegmental features such as stress, pitch, etc.
There are similar problems when dealing with writing systems, although it is
possible that the questions have not been so clearly formulated. The domain of
graphemic theory is traditionally taken as to do with questions of distinctiveness,
e.g. replacing <a> with <e> changes the meaning of the word. Such an approach
would correspond to (1) above. The written-mode correspondence to (2) above
would, presumably, be ‘broad graphetics’, and Pulgram’s formulation already
cited – ‘all graphs identifiable as a single grapheme’ – fits rather well with this
conception of the grapheme.
The answer adopted here, and indeed commonly adopted by scholars, is to
accept that there are two equally valid, complementary ways of thinking about the
214 Jeremy J. Smith
‘emic’ level of language. After all, physicists are quite accustomed to thinking of
electricity in both particle- and wave-form. As long as investigators are aware of
these two approaches to the emic notion, and which one is being used at a partic-
ular moment, confusion should not arise. However, as we shall see, there remain
some difficulties in applying the system to the complexities of real language; some
of these difficulties will be raised here.
This phoneme-allophone/grapheme-allograph categorisation has a universal
validity, but the relationship between speech and writing varies quite widely
between languages, and between states of the same language. Broadly speaking,
written languages are either phonographic, where there is a mapping (however
conventional) between grapheme and phoneme, or logographic, where there is a
mapping between a conventional symbol and a word or morpheme.9
The relationship between these different systems is of course clinal. Towards
the logographic end, for instance, is written Chinese, whose conventionalised
characters derive ultimately from pictorial representations of certain key concrete
concepts, though this practice was rapidly modified to deal with more abstract
notions: ‘Modern Chinese characters hold few really firm clues as to their pronun-
ciation.’10 Written Middle English, on the other hand, where (with important
qualifications) ‘one wrote as one spoke’, represents the opposite end of the cline.
Present-Day English, with its various conventionalisations, is, while remaining
broadly phonographic, rather closer to the logographic pole.
These two kinds of written language require different strategies on the part of
those charged with teaching the art of reading. Chinese students have to make
the link between a fairly large set of characters (including diacritics to distin-
guish homophones) and the spoken morphemes to which these symbols refer; the
teaching-strategy adopted is often referred to as ‘look and say’. Middle English
readers, on the other hand, seem to have been ‘taught their letters’ by what is now
known as the ‘phonic’ method: ‘c says [k], a says [a], t says [t], [k] – [a] – [t] says
cat’. Modern teachers of English have to use both strategies, traditionally begin-
ning with phonics (to deal with forms such as cat, dog, etc.) and then moving to
look-and-say (to deal with forms such as knight, or distinctions between write and
right).
Written Chinese emerged as a sophisticated method of social control; literacy
was a means of holding together a very disparate group of peoples who spoke
mutually unintelligible languages. As a result, a logographic system made sense
for that society. This development only became possible with the appearance of
unusually vigorous rulers who had the power and ambition to enforce their devel-
opment, and who saw written language as a means of enforcing their control over
large distances. Mandarin, the variety of Chinese spoken around Beijing, only
became a national speech with the rise of the Manchu dynasty in the seventeenth
century. This rise in the use of Mandarin as a ‘standard’ form of speech led, even-
tually, to the appearance of certain romanised (i.e. phonographic) forms of written
language.
The comparison with Chinese demonstrates the close connection between
writing-systems and cultural circumstances. The phonographic–logographic
Issues of linguistic categorisation in the evolution of written Middle English 215
shift in English, which seems to be working in the opposite direction to Chinese,
similarly relates to the changing functions of vernacular literacy, and it is to such
matters that we must now turn.
Implications
In 1976 Angus McIntosh referred to the ‘very considerable (if largely unex-
plored) orthographic revolution [which] affected the written English of most
areas over the course of the fourteenth century’.27 McIntosh went on to say: ‘[It]
is not merely that the spoken language changed during that period, but that the
conventions for setting down even what had not changed underwent marked
modification.’
The theme of this chapter – hardly an original one, of course – has been that
developments in handwriting can act independently from changes in the sound-
system, but that the connections as well as differences between the two modes need
to be borne in mind. More specifically, the forms of individual letters – hitherto
the province of paleography – has to be seen as an important part of linguistic
enquiry; linguists who ignore the findings of paleographers will miss an important
part of the narrative. Any attempt to write a history of English transmission needs
to bear this important fact in mind.
Issues of linguistic categorisation in the evolution of written Middle English 223
Notes
1 This paper is one of a series of exploratory studies contributing to the ongoing
Glasgow-Stavanger Middle English Grammar Project. For details, see <http://www.
arts.gla.ac.uk/SESLL/EngLang/ihsl/projects/MEG/MEG.htm>.
2 See M.L. Samuels, Linguistic Evolution, Cambridge: CUP, 1972, chapter 1.
3 See, for an interesting and important attempt at recuperating this terminology, M.
Benskin, ‘The letters <þ> and <y> in later Middle English, and some related matters’,
Journal of the Society of Archivists 7, 1982, 13–30; M. Laing and R. Lass, ‘Tales of the
1001 Nists. The Phonological Implications of Litteral Substitution Sets in 13th-century
Southwest Midland Texts’, English Language and Linguistics 7, 2003, 57–78. For a history
of the terminology, see D. Abercrombie, ‘What Is a “Letter”?’, Lingua 2, 1949, 54–63;
W. Haas, Phonographic Translation, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1970.
4 M.B. Parkes, English Cursive Book Hands, London: Scolar Press, 1979, p. xxvi.
5 See Benskin, op. cit., for the standard survey.
6 Parkes, op. cit., p. xxvi.
7 E. Pulgram, ‘Phoneme and Grapheme: A Parallel’, Word, 1951, 15–20 (pp. 15–16).
8 This paper will not be concerned with non-alphabetic graphs, such as punctuation
graphs, graphic components (accent marks, etc.), tachygraphs (i.e marks of abbrevia-
tion) and word signs (e.g. ‘&’).
9 See further G. Sampson, Writing Systems, London: Hutchinson, 1985.
10 R. Newnham, About Chinese, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971, p. 44.
11 E.J. Dobson (ed.), The English Text of the Ancrene Riwle, British Museum MS. Cotton Cleopatra
C.vi, London: EETS, o.s. 267, 1972, p. lxxiii. Old English, of course, did not retain this
phoneme-grapheme mapping; as Dobson goes on to point out: ‘In a traditionally-spelt
language, such as [Old English] became, distinct phonemes of common origin may be
spelt alike …’
12 P. Rickard, A History of the French Language, London: Hutchinson, 1974, pp. 46ff.
13 N. Davis (ed.), Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1971, pp. 150–1, document 82.
14 See further M. Benskin, ‘Some New Perspectives on the Origins of Standard Written
English’, in J.van Leuvensteijn and J. Berns (eds), Dialect and Standard Languages in the
English, Dutch, German and Norwegian Language Areas, Amsterdam: Royal Netherlands
Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1992, pp. 71–105; M. Benskin, ‘“Chancery Standard”’,
in C. Hough, C. Kay and I. Wotherspoon (eds), New Perspectives on English Historical
Linguistics I: Syntax and Morphology, Amsterdam: Benjamins, 2004, pp. 1–40. See also L.
Hellinga, ‘Nicholas Love in Print’, in S. Oguro, R. Beadle and M. Sargent (eds), Nicholas
Love at Waseda, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1997, pp. 143–62; S. Horobin, The Language of
the Chaucer Tradition, Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2003.
15 J. Wells, Accents of English, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982, pp. 72–80.
16 A. McIntosh, ‘Towards an Inventory of Middle English Scribes’, Neuphilologische
Mitteilungen 75, 1974, 602–24; reprinted in M. Laing (ed.), Middle English Dialectology,
Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988.
17 See further J.J. Smith, ‘Classifying the Vowels of Middle English’, in C.Kay (ed.),
Linguistic Categorisation and the History of English: A Symposium, Amsterdam: Benjamins,
2004, pp. 221–36.
18 For a suggestive discussion, see the remarks by P. van Reenen, A. McIntosh and D.
Britton in M. Laing and K. Williamson (eds), Speaking in Our Tongues, Cambridge: D.S.
Brewer, 1994, pp. 55–6.
19 See further J.J. Smith, ‘The Letters s and z in South-Eastern Middle English’, Neuphi-
lologische Mitteilungen 101, 2000, 403–13; S. Horobin and J. J. Smith, ‘The English Ordi-
nance and Custom in the Cartulary of the Hospital of St Laurence, Canterbury’, Anglia
120, 2002, 488–507.
20 See further M. Stenroos, ‘Regional Dialects and Spelling Conventions in Late Middle
224 Jeremy J. Smith
English’, in M. Dossena and R. Lass (eds), Methods and Data in English Historical Dialectology,
Bern: Lang, 2004, pp. 257–85
21 McIntosh, op. cit., passim.
22 D. Scragg, A History of English Spelling, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1974,
pp. 79–80.
23 See for further discussion R. Lass, ‘How to Do Things with Junk: Exaptation in
Language Evolution’, Journal of Linguistics 26, 1990, 79–102.
24 J. Tschann and M.B. Parkes, Facsimile of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Digby 86, Oxford:
EETS, s.s. 16, 1996, p. xxxix.
25 See Scragg, op. cit., p. 81.
26 See E. Dobson, English Pronunciation 1500–1700, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968, p. 134
for numerous examples.
27 Cited from McIntosh, op. cit. (1988), p. 225, a corrected reprint of McIntosh 1974.
List of manuscripts
Note: references in the notes to the chapter of an edited volume are found not under the
name of the author of the chapter, but under the name of the first editor of the volume.
37 Henry VIII, c. 16, Statutes of the Realm, vol. 3, London: Printed by George Eyre and
Andrew Strahan, 1810–22.
A Catalogue of the Manuscripts Preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge, vols 2 and 3,
Cambridge: CUP, 1857–8.
Abercrombie, D., ‘What Is a “Letter”?’, Lingua 2, 1949, 54–63.
Adams, Robert, ‘The Reliability of the Rubrics in the B-Text of Piers Plowman’, Medium
Aevum 54, 1985, 208–31.
Aelred de Rievaulx, La Vie de recluse, La Prière pastorale, ed. Charles Dumont, Sources Chré-
tiennes 76, Paris: Cerf, 1961.
Alaerts, J. (ed.), Jan van Ruusbroec. Opera omnia 3: Die Geestelike Brulocht, Turnhout: Brepols, 1988.
Alexander, J.J.G. and M.T. Gibson (eds), Medieval Learning and Literature. Essays Presented to
Richard William Hunt, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976.
Alexander, J.J.G., J.H. Marrow and L.F. Sandler (eds), The Splendor of the Word: Medieval and
Renaissance Illuminated Manuscripts at the New York Public Library, London and Turnhout:
The New York Public Library and Harvey Miller Publishers, 2005.
Alford, J.A. (ed.), A Companion to Piers Plowman, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988.
Allen, Hope Emily, Writings Ascribed to Richard Rolle, Hermit of Hampole and Materials for His
Biography, New York: D.C. Heath and Company; London: OUP, 1927.
Amyot, T., ‘Transcript of Two Rolls Containing an Inventory of Effects Formerly Belong-
ing to Sir John Fastolf’, Archaeologia 21, 1827, 232–80.
Appelt, Heinrich (ed.), Klösterliche Sachkultur des Spätmittlelaters, Veröffentlichungen des Insti-
tuts für Mittelalterliche Realienkunde Österreichs 3, Vienna: Österreichische Akademie
der Wissenschaften, 1980.
Archer, Rowena E. and Simon Walker (eds), Rulers and Ruled in Late Medieval England: Essays
Presented to Gerald Harriss, London: Hambledon Press, 1995.
Armstrong, Adrian and Malcolm Quainton (eds), Book and Text in France, 1400–1600: Poetry
on the Page, Aldershot and Burlington: Ashgate.
Arn, Mary-Jo (ed.), Charles d’Orleans in England (1415–1440), Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2000.
—— (ed.), Fortunes Stabilnes. Charles of Orleans’s English Book of Love, Medieval and Renais-
sance Texts and Studies, Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies: State
University of New York at Binghamton, 1994.
Arnold, Ivor (ed.), Le Roman de Brut de Wace, 2 vols, Paris: Société des Anciens Textes
Français, 1938–40.
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Index