Tag Archives: lydgate

A Complaynt of a Loveres Lyfe

This coming year at Kalamazoo I will be giving a paper on Lydgate. It is still very early, and I am not entirely sure how I want to frame my paper, but I figured the best approach is to first brush up on my Lydgate scholarship, and reacquaint myself with his works that I have not visited in a while.

I am not sure if any of what I blog about over the next few weeks will ever even make it into my paper, but it will be a fun exercise anyway. I am going to start by looking at A Complaynt of a Loveres Lyfe. However, I won’t attempt all 85 stanzas in one post – I will break it up over a series.

The work is found in nine extant manuscripts, and I will be using Bodley MS. Fairfax 16 as my base text (the infamous manuscript that spends nearly two folios rebuffing the poet, in a long line of others who have felt the need to mercilessly discredit his poetry). Despite some variations this manuscript is the least corrupt. The poem is considered to be one of Lydgate’s earlier poems, from 1398-1412.

The work is typically Lydgatean, especially in his formative years that closely mimicked Chaucerian works but without the later Lydgatean voice that contained a measured seriousness and propensity for over-explanation, all of which allowed him a great range of genres and tones to work with, turning him from a Chaucerian imitator to a nuanced poet in his own right. Although, his indebtedness to Chaucer remained visible to readers familiar with both, along with his own accounts of his inspiration that was clearly drawn from Chaucer’s works.

The Complaynt immediately signals its ties to the Complaint unto Pity, Troilus, and perhaps most obviously, the Book of the Duchess, especially considering the The Complaynt of the a Loveres Lyfe later becomes referred to as The Complaint of the Black Knight – a figure drawn directly from Duchess. The process of loving, as described by the lover in the poem bears a close resemblance to the Roman, especially Amors’s speech to L’Amant. The latter part of the Roman, namely Jean de Meun’s contributions, bear little implications for Lydgate – he does not appear interested in the more complicated conjectures about love. Further, at no point does he attempt to alter the lover’s state of mind or to pacify his lament, probably because despite the anguish and torment the knight is experiencing, there is no moral conflict present in the story, and thus nothing exists to modify or reprimand.

Yet, it is during the knight’s lament, in which he outlines his grief and heartache where Lydgate demonstrates his early career compulsions for rhetorical exercises, over-explanation, and over-drawn examples. This is most interesting when taking into account that while he does not attempt to remedy these laments, but simply allows them to exist as they are, he encapsulates them by a succinct, beautifully and well written beginning and ending to the poem comprised by the descriptio loci and the closing prayer to Venus.

Here is the first part of the poem with some brief descriptions and analyses for each stanza. For more detailed scholarship, I have included a list of sources.

In May when Flora, the fressh lusty quene,
The soyle hath clad in grene, rede, and white,
And Phebus gan to shede his stremes shene
Amyd the Bole wyth al the bemes bryght,
And Lucifer, to chace awey the nyght,
Agen the morowe our orysont hath take
To byd lovers out of her slepe awake,

If flowers are engendered by April’s sweet showers, by May they are in full bloom. Clearly this is an echo from the “when” “then” statements of the General Prologue. In another borrowing from Chaucer, Lydgate’s description of Flora as a “fressh lusty quene” is the same as Chaucer created for Dido in the Legend of Good Women, which also serves to taint the reader’s perception of Flora as she becomes intricately tied to Dido’s history. However, Lydgate liked his Flora imagery, and redeveloped it within a more mature poetic state nearly a decade later in the Prologue to the Siege of Thebes: “Whan that Flora the noble myghty quene / The soyle hath clad in newe tendre grene…” (lines 13-14).

However, beginning a lover’s lament in May also keeps with convention. May is associated with rejuvenation, the casting off of winter, and brings with it a general celebratory mood. Thus juxtaposing the ways in which May is typically conceived with a lover’s melancholy draws attention to the lament as something that should not be.

The poem is set up in such a way in which May is the harbinger of all that is initially expected, and placed within a natural world ripe and fertile with possibility. Phebus, the sun, burns brightly, as Lucifer, the morning star, chases away the night across the sky in order to shepherd in the next day and allow lovers to awaken from their sleep.

These lines echo a cornucopia of previous works. In Troilus, “Whan Phebus doth his bryghte bemes sprede / Right in the white Bole, it so bitidde” (Book 2, 54-55). In De Consolatione Philosophiae where we learn the day and evening star are one and the same, “and aftir that Lucifer, the day-starre, hath chased away the dirke nyght.” In the Romaunt “A slowe sonne! shewe thin emprise! / Sped thee to sprede thy beemys bright, / And chace the derknesse of the nyght….” (lines 2636-2638).

The beginning stanza of this poem clearly works to situate it within the realm of its predecessors as it carves out a piece of the mythology that is embroidered within the text of the others, for itself.

And hertys hevy for to recomforte
From dreryhed of hevy nyghtis sorowe,
Nature bad hem ryse and disporte
Ageyn the goodly, glad, grey morowe;
And Hope also, with Seint John to borowe,
Bad in dispite of Daunger and Dispeyre
For to take the holsome, lusty eyre.

This stanza takes the reader directly into the Romaunt, with references to personified Hope and Danger in conjunction with the lover. Despite Danger and Despair, Nature and Hope invite lovers to step outside and ease their sorrow with some fresh air. Of course this brings to mind the lover’s quest for the rosebud in the Romaunt, and draws a parallel of how these allegorical figures will function in this poem.

While the phrase “with Seint John to borowe,” is a direct reference to Chaucer who uses it in the Complaint of Mars, and at least twice in the Canterbury Tales, it is also a common sentiment to convey while wishing someone good luck in an endeavor. Thus Hope, with the luck endowed by St. John, will, despite Danger and Despair, bade the lovers to partake in some wholesome lusty air.

And wyth a sygh I gan for to abreyde
Out of my slombre and sodenly out stert,
As he, alas, that nygh for sorowe deyde –
My sekenes sat ay so nygh myn hert.
But for to fynde socour of my smert,
Or attelest summe relesse of my peyn
That me so sore halt in every veyn,

In an inversion of the traditional dream vision poems, the Lydgatean world is awakening. As the narrator awakens full of heartache, the third line is a direct reference to Troilus who, like the narrator, “that neight for sorowe deyde” (Book 4 line 432). He wishes to find a solace for the lovesickness that is clearly effecting him – a malady that in the Middle Ages was a serious matter which could transcend metaphorical heartache into physical ailments and even eventually lead to death. He apparently has only enough strength to rouse himself from slumber and take Nature and Hope up on the offer for a breath of fresh air.

I rose anon and thoght I wolde goon
Unto the wode to her the briddes sing,
When that the mysty vapour was agoon,
And clere and feyre was the morownyng.
The dewe also, lyk sylver in shynyng
Upon the leves as eny baume suete,
Til firy Tytan with hys persaunt hete

Much like the narrator of the Romaunt dreams he awakens in May and goes on a sojourn to a more idyllic location, here the narrator does awaken in May and goes into the woods to hear birds singing. Lydgate again keeps with convention and relies on the locus amoenus to guide the plot which requires the lover to enter a idealized location surrounded by nature and providing comfort for lovesickness and melancholy. The place is typically a forest, alcove, or paradisal garden.

The description is an echo of the Knight’s Tale in which “fiery phebus riseth up so bright / That al the orient laugheth of the light, / And with his stremes dryeth in the greves / The silver dropes hangynge on the leves” (line 1493-1496). Tytan and Phebus may be interchanged for a similar effect that ends in silver dew drops on leaves being dried by bright rays of “persaunt” (piercing) sun. I love this adjective that comes directly from the French in the original Roman, here denoting a piercing and pure heat, unlike anything experienced before.

Had dried up the lusty lycour nyw
Upon the herbes in the grene mede,
And that the floures of mony dyvers hywe
Upon her stalkes gunne for to sprede
And for to splay out her leves on brede
Ageyn the sunne, golde-borned in hys spere,
That doun to hem cast hys bemes clere.

This is a straightforward stanza that describes the effects of the hot sun upon the leaves, drying them with his “golde-borned” or in Chaucerian terms, burned gold beams (CT 1247 in regards to Phoebus). This is also the part of the poem that can be considered over-explanatory, drawing out the description of the sun’s rays perhaps more than needed. However, I have to personally interject and comment on the beauty of these lines that narrate such a simple event to the core minutia of its being. It halts the movement of the poem and hyper-focuses on an event otherwise overlooked, not just in literature, but in everyday life. How often have you stopped to look at dew evaporating from herbs in a garden at the exact moment the sun is rising and makings its way across the sky to the topmost point when the leaves may be proclaimed dry? Probably never, and neither have I, but these lines recreate this inconsequential, yet delicate moment for us to vicariously enjoy through the eyes of the narrator, even if never in our own gardens. So, while others may think these types of stanzas unnecessary, and unendingly verbose, there is much to be said for a man who can translate these negligible and seemingly trivial acts into elegant poetry.

And by a ryver forth I gan costey,
Of water clere as berel or cristal,
Til at the last I founde a lytil wey
Touarde a parke enclosed with a wal
In compas rounde; and, by a gate smal,
Hoso that wolde frely myght goon
Into this parke walled with grene stoon.

The narrator enters the garden and begins going towards the river reminiscent of the Romaunt in which the narrator walks “thorough the mede, / Dounward ay in my pleiyng, / The river syde costeiyng” (lines 133-135). However, this is not the lake of Narcissus, or any other mythological creature. This garden may exist within the trope of locus amoenus but it is restorative and wholesome, similar to the effects of sleep upon the dreamer in Duchess, but nevertheless unlike anything before. Even as there are hints of previous compositions, and Lydgate borrows imagery, in this case the concepts are truly his own.

The last line of this stanza recalls “the park walled with grene stone” in Chaucer’s Parlement (line 122), and many critics believe it is a reference to the abundance of the park, laden with gems such as emerald or jasper. This is especially the case considering the other references to green stones within both Chaucer and Lydage (De Consolatione, and Pur le Roi, respectively), in which the imagery is that of abundance, in line with the luxurious garden the narrators within these stories, including A Complaynt, find themselves. However, I would like to offer another reading in which the park walled with green stone is simply an elaborate allusion to stone walls overflowing with moss and natural verdant overhanging plants. The verbiage might be there, but this is not the opulent garden of the Romaunt, but rather, as we shall shortly find, a self reflexive haven for the narrator to reach his own insights and nurse his wounds. The Lydgatean narrator does not attempt rehabilitating the lover solely because by virtue of his locale, and his abilities at reason, he will accomplish the task himself.

I think this is a good stopping place for this segment, and I will continue forth, posting the poem piecemeal, until I have completed the entirety of the work. As usual, any suggesting or insights are most welcome.

Sources:

Krausser, E. “The Complaint of the Black Knight.”

MacCracken, Henry Noble, ed. The Complaint of the Black Knight. In The Minor Poems of John Lydgate.

Mortimer, Nigel. John Lydgate’s Fall of Princes: Narrative Tragedy in its Literary and Political Contexts.

Norton-Smith, John, ed. A Complaynt of a Loveres Lyfe. In John Lydgate, Poems.

Skeat, Walter W., ed. The Complaint of the Black Knight. In Chaucerian and Other Pieces.

The Governans of Man

“For helth of body cover fro cold thi hede,” begins John Lydgate’s “Dietary,” within Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 61 (pictured above on folio 107r). The piece was extremely popular in various versions, and consequently survived within fifty-seven manuscripts, along with several early prints.

While the brevity of the work in Ashmole 61 is odd, the abridged version is not anomalous to the manuscript, and actually serves as an excellent survey of what might today be deemed homeopathic remedy in the Middle Ages since it cautions that “if so be that lechys do thee fayll,” and “if fysske lake, make this thy governans,” with the implication that there is an alternative to formal medicine and science that is found solely within the human body which is capable of self preservation.

According to Lydgate, the cure for all ailments can be achieved through “temperat dyet and temperate traveyle.” In other words, as the common idiom states much later, “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” (which ironically Kaiser Permanente, a healthcare facilty, adapted), is at the heart of Lydgate’s prescription that boasts an independence from traditional healthcare.

The first stanza sets the tone for the entire piece:

For helth of body cover fro cold thi hede.
Ete non raw mete — take gode hede therto —
Drynke holsom drynke, fede thee on lyght brede,
And with apytyte ryse fro thi mete also.
With women agyd, flesschly have not to do.
Uppon thi sclepe drynke not of the coppe.
Glad towerd bede, at morow also,
And use thou never overlate to sope.

The first sentence is in line with common sense, denoting the piece will rely on rational instruction to guide its readers since the extremities of the body are first to feel cold, and covering one’s head can prevent chills, sniffles, headaches, and an entire line of maladies.

It proceeds in this vein to warn against raw meat that could potentially cause all sorts of illnesses, especially since sushi was not yet a delicacy in medieval times. Then the nuanced conduct manual delves into that which it promises via its title, dietary advice, prescribing moderation of food and drink. Interestingly, unlike other variances of this text, here the caution is towards “drynke” whereas elsewhere it states “wyne.” This is a difficult situation due to the context in which this piece is found; Rate, the self identified scribe of this manuscript, is obviously conservative by nature (a judgement I, and others, have made based on the other pieces he has chosen to include, and the ways in which he has altered the originals), making the exclusion of “wyne” seem inevitable despite other scribes and authors showing similar preferences. Either way, even when erasing the traces of alcohol from one’s diet, the concept of moderation and temperance remain, reminding the reader that temperance governs man, or at the very least, should.

The second stanza serves to solidify the premises of the first:

If so be that lechys do thee fayll,
Make this thi governans if that it may be:
Temperat dyet and temperate traveyle,
Not malas for non adversyté,
Meke in trubull, glad in poverté,
Riche with lytell, content with suffyciens,
Mery withouten grugyng to thy degré.
If fysyke lake, make this thy governans.

Clearly a fifteenth century audience needed didactic literature for everyday occurrences, or at the very least was interested in reading reminders on simple methods of conduct such as moderate eating, drinking, and the collection of seemingly frivolous earthly items “withouten grugyng to thy degré.”

The work continues in this vein:
To every tale to sone gyff thou no credens;
Be not to hasty, ne to sothanly vengeable,
To pore folke do thou no vyalens.
Curtas of langage, of fedyng meserable,
Of sondry metys not gredy at thy tabull,
In fedyng gentyll, prudent in dalyens,
Close of tunge, not defameabull;
To sey thy best sette ever thy plesans.

The desideratum for educational pieces was prevalent among Lydgate’s contemporaries, as evident by the numerous extant witnesses to such works such as “How the Good Wife Taught Her Daughter,” or “How the Wise Man Taught His Son,” both of which can be found within the same miscellany as “The Dietary.” In this light it only makes sense Lydgate would want to participate in the genre and produce a similar work that instructs its audience on proper conduct, if even if it is not of the variety primarily concerned with morals or social norms.

However, by the fourth and fifth stanzas it begins to digress specifically into those topics generally reserved for conduct manuals on morals and virtue:

Have in dyspyte mothys that be doubull;
Suffer at thy tabull no detrasion,
Not supportyng the werkys that be full of trubull,
All fals rouners and adulacion.
Within thy courte suffer no dyvysion
That within thy hous myght cause gret unes.
Of all welfare, prosperyté, and fuson,
With thy neyghbors lyve in rest and pes.

Be clenly clothyd after thyn astate;
Passe not thi bondys, kepe thi promys blyve.
With thre maner folke be thou not at bate:
Fyrst with thy better bewere for to stryve.
With thy suget and neyghbors to stryve it were scham;
Werefor I counsyll to pursew all thy lyve
To lyve in pese and gete thee a gode name,
And thus to lyve worschypfuly with man and wyve.

Note the conservative strain of the argument where the reader is instructed to adhere to rules of proper dress according to their own estate, perhaps directed towards those who overstep their bounds into a higher class structure than would seem permissible (recall the five tradesmen of the Canterbury Tales who take it upon themselves to behave outside of societally prescribed roles). Nevertheless, even within this edict there is a hint towards moderation where one does not use their station to broadcast too little or too much of themselves.

By the sixth stanza the work renegotiate’s its primary topic and returns to prescribing proper conduct solely concerned with one’s physical health:

Fyrst at morn and towerd bede at eve,
Ageyn mystys blastys and the aire of pestylens
Be tymly at messe — thou may the better cheve;
Fyrst at thy rysing to God do reverens.
Vysete the pore with intere dyligence,
Upon all nedy have compassyon,
And God schall send thee grace and influence
Thee to increse and thy possessyon.

Yet, while the apparent concerns of the stanza reside within the physical realm, there is an indisputable tie to imagery of the soul, and further to a spirituality reliant upon a division between the everlasting, the ephemeral, and the tangent, with an indication that the former would be victorious. Throughout the manuscript there is an abundance of orthodox piety preserved within each text, carefully chosen and placed next to others of its kin. The “Dietary” is placed right in between two such texts, “The Lament of Mary,” and “Maidstone’s Seven Penitential Psalms,” serving a dual purpose in its placement. The physical and earthly concerns of the piece offer a respite from the adjacent heavily devotional and emotional texts, while the moral interludes within the “Dietary” create a smooth transition and linking system to aid with the flow between the pieces. In other words, as the reader moves from the highly passionate lament, the dietary offers some breathing room before entering the psalms that are equally laden with vigorously dramatic language.

Thus, after Lydgate’s short interjection of moral conduct within this stanza there once again reemerges the themes associated with physical health:

Suffer no surfytys in thy hous at nyght;
Were of rere-sopers and of grete excese
And be wele ware of candyll lyght,
Of sleuth on morow and of idelnes,
The whych of all vyces is chefe, as I gesse.
And avoyd all lyghers and lechers,
And all unthryftys — exile this excesse —
And mainly dyse pleyers and hasardours.

But he cannot abstain from moral instruction, and with each turn towards the physical he encompasses a full spectrum of cautionary words ranging from eating too much too late at night to avoiding liars and lechers. At a glance this appears to be a very disorganized conduct piece that leapfrogs in between topics – a result of an author who cannot make up his mind as to which dimensions of daily life he wants to inform his readers about. However, it is this very information that is most useful for modern readers as it allows a glimpse into medieval lifestyles and consequently those things that were important to remember (in whatever order they are presented). More so, they echo sentiments with which we are quite familiar today and evince the similarities between our own understandings of healthy living and those found in the Middle Ages.

And off again Lydgate goes, in a flux between physical and spiritual activities:

After mete bewere: make not long slepe;
Hede, fete, and stomoke preserve from colde.
Be not pensyve, of thought take no kepe.
After thi rent mayntayn thi housolde.
Suffer in tyme, and in thi ryght be bolde;
Suere non othys no man to begyle.
In youth be lusty and sade when thou arte old,
For werldly joy lastys bot a whyle.

Drynke not at morow befor thyn apetyte;
Clere ayre and walkyng makys gode degestyon.
Betwyx mele drynke not for no delyte,
Bot thyrst or traveyll gyfe thee occasyon.
Oversalte metys doth grete oppresyon
To febull stomokys that can not refreyn,
For thyngys contrary to ther complexcion
Therof ther stomokys hath grete peyn.

The last stanza beautifully sums up our experience of reading the text thus far:

Thus in two thyngys stondys thi welthe
Of saule and of body, who lyst them serve:
Moderate fode gyffes to man hys helthe,
And all surfytys do fro hym remeve.
Charyté to thy saule it is full dewe.
Thys resate is of no potykary,
Of mayster Antony ne of master Hew;
To all deserent it is Dyatary.
EXPLICIT THE GOVERNANS OF MAN

Here Lydgate makes clear his conscious concerns with both body and soul as the “two thyngys stondys thi welthe,” overtly stating his intentions for the piece, and making clear the distinctions he set out to discuss – his discourse is not a wayward diatribe devoid of meaning and haphazardly fluctuating between various modes of moderation. He understands the connection between spirituality and good health and how the two are dependent upon each other. Much like one who is not in a good state of mind reflects his distress through physical ailment, so does one’s spiritual well being transmit to their demeanor and comport.

In short, man must diet, or restrain to moderation, both his body and soul, as those practices best govern man, or according to Lydgate and his audience, should.

Sources:

Ebin, Lois A. John Lydgate.

Getz, Faye. Medicine in the English Middle Ages.

Pearsall, Derek. John Lydgate.

Rawcliffe, Carol. Medicine and Society in Later Medieval England.

Schirmer, Walter Franz. John Lydgate: A Study in the Culture of the XVth Century.

Lydgate’s Reality (Part II)

(Agony in the Garden. Drawing from the Abbey of St. Walburg, Eichstatt, ca. 1500)

A few weeks ago I introduced Lydgate’s “As A Mydsomer Rose” with some concepts/techniques and a discussion of the poem’s mechanics. Here I want to get into the actual poem and look at some of the language he used.

The poem begins easily enough with an attribution of all human qualities to God, meaning we cannot take credit or feel pride for qualities we are not responsible for.

Lat no man booste of konnyg nor vertu,
Of tresour, richesse, nor of sapience,
Of worly support – al comyth of Ihesu:
Counsayl, confort, discresioun, prudence,
Prouisioun, forsight, and providence,
Like as the Lord of grace list dispoose:
Som hath wisdam, som hath elloquence,
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

As is apparent from the last line of the first stanza (a motif that will be carried throughout), nothing is permanent – like a mydsomer rose everything changes, degenerates, withers, and dies. Yet this is not a new concept; poets from classical times to Lydgate’s contemporaries used the rose as a symbol of ephemeral beauty (such as the Roman de la Rose). Alain de Lille explored the motif throughout his Latin poetry (in which roses were often a central image). And Lydgate himself played with the image and even this exact refrain throughout some of his other works.

Holsom in smellying be the soote flourys,
Ful delitable outward to the sight,
The thorn is sharp curyd with fressh colourys.
Al is nat gold that outward shewith bright.
A stokfyssh boon in dirknesse yevith a light,
Twen fair and foul, as God list dispoose,
A difference atwix day and night:
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

I believe this stanza to be pretty self explanatory where outward beauty, or physical perceptions like those of scent, can contradict and even camouflage the “thorn” underneath. This is directly addressed in the fourth line of the stanza (with an explicit reference to Alain de Lille), and indirectly alluded to in the fifth where a “stokfyssh boon” or the bone of a type of fish similar to cod represents a dichotomy between what is, and what appears, since this type of fish is generally split in half with the bone delineating its two sides. This same imagery carries over to the next lines where the difference is compared to that of day and night with a secondary allusion to day as associated with light and purity and night with darkness and all things “foul.”

Floures open vpon euery grene,
Whan the larke, messager of day,
Salueth [th]’uprist of the sonne shene
Moost amerously in Apryl and in May;
And Aurora ageyn the morwe gray
Causith the daysye hir crown to vncloose:
Wordly gladnes is medlyd with affray,
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

Here the imagery is of rebirth and rejuvenation where each image is of a thing at its most viral point in life and full of promise: flowers opening, dawn beginning the day, the lark welcoming the morning. But with these images comes the realization of an end where dawn turns to dusk, birds go to sleep, and flowers close. Here the juxtaposition is a bit more subtle as the organic sense of this scene allows for the possibility of reincarnation as opposed to absolute death – at least briefly. So the mydsomer rose, the portent of death, functions in direct opposition to “Aurora” and the “larke,” who will rise again tomorrow.

Atwen the cokkow and the nightyngale
Ther is a maner straunge difference.
On frssh baunchys syngith the woode wale.
Iayes in mysyk haue smal experyence.
Chateryng pyes whan they come in presence
Moost malapert ther verdite to purpoose:
Al thyng hath favour, breffly in sentence,
Of soffte or sharp like a mydsomyr roose.

The imagery of night and day is carried over to the first line of this stanza as depicted by the cuckoo (a diurnal bird) and the nightingale (an obviously nocturnal bird). However, another allusion is to the popular song “Sumer is icumen in” where we are bid to sing “cuccu” to welcome the season. While this is a merry song, the mention of the nightingale draws attention to yet another reference – “The Owl and the Nightingale” – in which the two attempt to solve their debate, or as Lydgate states, their “verdite” to no avail as here “al thyng hath favour,” but we must remember, only “breffly” because all things change, like a “mydsomer rose.”

The roial lioun lette calle a parlement,
Alle beests abowt hym enviroun,
The wolff of malys, beyng ther present,
Vpon the lamb compleyned, ageyn resoun,
Said he maad his watir vnholsom,
His tender stomak to hyndre and vndespoose:
Raveynours reign, the innocent is bore doun,
Al stant on chaung lyk a mydsomer roose.

The first thing that came to mind when reading this stanza was the distinction between a parliament of animals and that of a parliament of birds (Chaucer). Granted, the reasoning for holding a congregation is different, the idea is quite interesting. Apparently the wolf’s complaint agains the lamb is not unique, but the concept of a parliament to address the issue is. Then I found another similar instance in Lydgate’s “Debate of the Horse, Goose and Sheep.” Although this all seems very fable-like, according to MacCracken, Lydgate may have been the originator of this concept since it is not in fact a part of the fable tradition.

Al worly thyng braydeth vpon tyme:
The sonne chaungith, so doth the pale moone,
The aureat noumbre in kalends set for prime.
Fortune is double, doth favour for no boone,
And who that hath with that queen to doone
Contrariously she wyl his chaunce disppose:
Who sittith hihest moost like to fall soone.
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

This stanza directly addresses the passing of time and the changes which come with it, especially focusing on the fickle nature of fortune as she weaves in and out of a person’s life as she sees fit – again, not a new concept, and was probably inspired by Boethius’s The Consolation of Philosophy which served as an inspiration to many different medieval authors. However, the most fascinating part of this stanza is the language used, denoting a familiarity with calendars, specifically perpetual liturgical ones. It has been argued that “kalends” in this instance is the first such use of the word to refer to a calendar. I don’t know if I agree. The “aureat noumbre” refers to the number of the lunar cycle by which the date of Easter is calculated. “Prime” is a sequence of numbers ranging from 1 to 19, applied to various days, and it is the golden number, used for locating the age of the moon on a given date. “Kalends,” when reading a perpetual calendar, is the first of the month. So what is literally being stated is that Easter happened on April 1st, which in 1432 it did, coincidentally within the time frame that the poem is thought to have been written (currently narrowed down between 1431 and 1440). While this may have been the first instance of “kalends” being used in a metonymical sense to represent a calendar as a whole, I would go as far as suggesting it as a means of actually dating the poem to 1432.

The golden chaar of Phebus in the ayr
Chasith mysts blak that [th]ay dar not appeere,
At whos vprist mounteyns be made so fayr
As they were newly gilt with his beemys cleere;
the nyht doth folwe, appallith al his cheere
Whan western wawes his streemys ouer-close.
Rekne al bewte, al fresshness that is heere:
Al stant on chaung lyke a mydsomyr roose.

This is a very straight forward representation that once again picks up on the idea of the setting sun as an exemplum of change where the sun functions as the connecting point between the first and second half of the stanza, as both halves tie in with the change of the mydsomer rose. While the language here is quite beautiful what I find even more interesting is the variation between manuscripts which is the most pronounced in this stanza. The stanza seen here (that follows the B tradition) is completely altered from the A variation (with a bit more of a discussion about that here).

Constreynt of coold makith flours dare
With wynter froosts that they dar nat appeere.
Al clad in russet the soyl of greene is bare.
Tellus and Ioue be dullyd of ther cheere
By revolucioun and turnyng of the yeere:
As gery March his stoundys doth disclose:
Now reyn, now storm, now Phebus bright and cleere.
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

Once again we encounter ideas or phrases that originated in earlier works and others that will reemerge in later ones. This stanza brings to mind Chaucerian language from Troilus, while serving as an early reflection for the Fall of Princes. The ubi sunt motif that is going to begin in earnest in the next stanza is already beginning to take shape as the whereabouts and transience of various entities is being addressed.

Wher is now Dauid, moost worthy kyng
Of al Iuda, moost famous and notable?
Wher is Salomon most soureyn of konnyng,
richest of bildyng, of trsour incomparable?
Face of Absolon, moost fair, moost amyable?
Rekne vp echon, of trouthe make no gloose,
Rekne vp Ionathas, of frenship immutable,
Al stant on chaung lyke a mydsomyr roose.

Wher is Iulius, poudest in his empyre
With his tryumphes moost imperyal?
Wher is Pirrus that waws lord and sire
Of al Ynde in his estat roial?
And wher is Alisunder that conqueryd al,
Failed leiser his testament to dispoose?
Nabugodonosor or Sardanapal?
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

Wher is Tullius with his sugryd tonge?
Or Crisistomus with his golden mouth?
The aureat ditees that be red and songe
Of Omerus in Greece both north and south?
The tragedyes diuers and vnkouth
Of moral Senek, the mysterys to vncloose?
By many example this matere is ful kouth:
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roose.

Wher been of Fraunce al the dozepeers
Which [th]at in Gawle had the governaunce?
Vowes of the Pecok with al ther proude cheers?
The worthy nyne with al ther hih bobbaunce?
Troian knyhtis, grettest of alliaunce?
The flees of gold, conqueryd in Colchoos?
Rome and Cartage, moost souereyn of puissaunce?
Al stant on chaung like a mydsomyr roos.

At this point the catalog of names in the motif is part of convention – the various figures only serve to remind the reader of their likeness to the mydsomer rose. There are also buried within the line numerous allusions to earlier or even contemporary works with which Lydgate’s audience would have been familiar. Further, he once again self-references, in an almost cryptic manner that relies on knowledge of his previous works for understanding. For example, “the worthy nyne” is a direct mention to his “That now is Hay Some-tyme was Grace” where the nine are actually named (note: most of the online versions you will find do not include the entirety of the poem, only focusing on the “catchy” refrain.” There is *a lot* more to it). However, this last reference is most appropriate since these two poems are considered sister poems written for Queen Kateryn. Without delving too deeply into the second poem, mortality is the central and unifying concept between the two.

Put in a som al marcial policye,
Compleet in Affryk and boundys of Cartage,
The Theban legioun, example of cheualrye,
At Rodanus Ryuer was expert ther corage:
Ten thousand knyhtes born of hih parage
Ther martirdam, rad in metre and proose,
Ther golden crownys maad in heuenly stage,
Fressher than lilies or ony somyr roose.

Here the imagery becomes more clear as he sets up the martyrdom of the rose, completing the imagery of the rose as the epitome of mortality. First, a quick note on his “Theban legioun” that alludes to the Fall of Princes. Here the “legioun” is a symbol of martyrdom further perpetuated on the “stage” that is the martyr’s scaffold. This “legioun” historically refused to pledge to pagan gods through sacrifice as described in Jacobus ad Voragine’s Legenda Aurea.

The remembraunce of euery famous knyht
Ground considerid, is bilt on rihtwisnesse.
Race out ech quarel that is not bilt on rigt,
Withoute trouth what vaileth hih noblesse?
[Th]’awtiers of martirs foundid on hoolynesse:
Whit was maad red ther tryumphes to discloose:
The whit lillye was ther chasst clennesse,
Ther bloody suffraunce was no somyr roose.

It was the Roose of the bloody feeld,
Roose of Iericho that greuh in Beedlem:
The five Roosys portrayed in the sheeld,
Splayed in teh baneer at Ierusalem.
The sonne was clips and dirk in euery rem
Whan Christ Ihesu five wellys lyst vncloose
Toward Paradys, callyd the rede strem,
Of whos five woundys prent in your hert a roos.

Floral imagery was an extremely familiar means of describing both Mary and Christ in the Middle Ages (lilies and roses being very prominent forms), just as the comparison of Christ’s wounds with roses was commonplace. By this point in the poem the rose should immediately signal the juxtaposition between the ephemeral and the heavenly. I think these last stanzas really capture the physicality of Christ, and paradoxically emphasize his transcendence by focusing on his flesh. Here the image of the rose and Christ’s five wounds become superimposed as the iconography shifts to that of a single five-petalled rose. Personally when reading this the first thing which cropped into my mind was Gawain’s shield that remained within focus throughout the story, expanding towards infinity through the catalog of fives that ascended from the trivial to the eternal.

Thus the rose moves from the image of fleeting worldly beauty in the first stanzas, to a more substantial query into mortality and the meaning of life, to finally taking the place of the symbols of eternal salvation, and consequently serving as a reminder of what it means to be human.

Sources:

Bale, Anthony. “Twenty-First Century Lydgate.”

Bezella-Bond, Karen. “Blood and Roses.”

Ebin, Lois A. John Lydgate.

Grossi, Joseph. ”’Wher ioye is ay lastyng’: John Lydgate’s Contemptus Mundi in British Library MS Harley 2255″

McCracken, Henry Noble. The Lydgate Canon.

—. Minor Poems of John Lydgate.

Pearsall, Derek. John Lydgate.

Scanlon, Larry, and James Simpson, eds. John Lydgate: Poetry, Culture, and Lancastrian England.

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Tag Archives: lydgate

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