Tag Archives: medieval

The Governans of Man

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“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.

“Fin ioi me don’ alegranssa” – The Comtessa’s Joy

Beatriz_de_Dia_-_BN_MS12473

(Comtessa de Dia – Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale MS fr. 12473)

After finishing out a long semester, I just turned in grades, and completed all those other tasks “to maken vertu of necessitee,” so now I get to once again turn towards a project I have been dabbling in and very much enjoy working on – the trobairitz and their cansos. Last time I looked to their pieces I translated and analyzed the last of Castelloza’s, and I will now return to the Comtessa de Dia.

So much has already been written about Comtessa de Dia’s life and history, this post will focus solely on the content of one of her four cansos’s “Fin ioi me don’ alegranssa” which remains consistent with the tradition of naming the piece after the first line of the canso. Here is my translation followed by a brief analysis:

Fin ioi me don’ alegranssa
Per qu’eu chan plus gaiamen,
E no m’o teing a pensanssa,
Ni a negun penssamen,
Car sai que son a mon dan
Fals lausengier e truan,
E lor mals diz non m’esglaia:
Anz en son dos tanz plus gaia.

En mi non an ges fianssa
Li lauzengier mal dizen,
C’om non pot aver honranssa
Qu’a ab els acordamen;
Qu’ist son d’altrestal semblan
Com la niouls que s’espan
Qe.l solels en pert sa raia,
Per qu’eu non am gent savaia

E vos, gelos mal parlan,
No.s cuges que m’an tarzan,
Que iois e iovenz no.m plaia,
Per tal que dols vos deschaia.

Fine joy gives me great happiness
Which makes me sing more gaily,
And it weighs me not to think
Nor have any dark thoughts
For fear of the harm
False gossipers may bring,
Their bad words don’t slay me:
They only make me twice as gay.

In me they will find no alliance
Those bad worded gossipers,
As no one can have honor
Who works in accordance to them;
They resemble well
Like the clouds that span
The sun to lose its rays,
For of one like that I want no knowledge

And you, jealous ill speaking one,
Don’t believe that I will tarry
With joy and youth myself to please
If for only to undo you.

I have maintained my almost pedantic desire for a translation true to form, and as often as it is possible without impeding readability I have preserved the archaic logic of language – the awkwardness of word order not only allows for a mot-a-mot mechanism for translation, but also provides a prosaic map after which the canso was modeled, outlining the continuity of thought that evidently bears greater importance over form. Even as the original has a rhyme scheme (ababccdd, ababccdd, ccdd), it was normal, and even expected, for those works created in the troubadour, and trobairitz, canso tradition to not rely on any conventional structure, and reinvent the canso form each time. This was terribly difficult and not always possible, and some, like Castelloza for example, had a signature style. In short, there is no “typical” form, and cansos are identified within the genre along the lines of content, more specifically subject.

The first line of “Fin ioi me don’ alegranssa” provides more than the title, and establishes the tone, beginning with the first word, “fine,” which can be read as refined, or elevated and serves as the beginning of the concept of fin’amor, courtly love. Here, however, there is only courtly joy. After discussing the problematic nature of fin’amor previously, in this instance the concept becomes simultaneously more complicated and yet simplified. Comtessa de Dia shrugs off the notion of ennobling love, with all that that actually entails, and blatantly asserts her greatest happiness is derived from joy (that perhaps also carries another connotation I have discussed elsewhere and will revisit shortly).

The joy she receives appears to be almost cathartic, where she smirks at the words of those who speak ill of her. She relies on this very gossip to lend her an air of superiority. She does not hide behind false veils of piety and renounce the gossipers, accusing them of bringing her low and ruining her goodly reputation. Instead, her power is ironically derived from their very words and her concession to them as she ends the canso with poise, assuring her husband, “gelos mal parlan” (jealous ill speaking one), of her intentions to continue forth with her activities. By not engaging or challenging the gossipers with negations, she gives them no power over her, and thus gains the upper hand.

On an unrelated, but interesting side note, I love the use of the word “lausengier” for gossiper. It bears resemblance to lozenge, or an elixir to ease the throat, implying that these gossipers soothe their throats through the very act of gossiping, essentially creating an unending cycle where the cure for a sore throat that arises from all that ill intended talk is more of it. I have not yet proven a concrete etymological connection, but I can’t help think it is more than just a coincidence.

The implied joi/jeu duality from the first line becomes perhaps the most apparent as it carries through to the end. Comtessa, much like Castelloza uses here cansos as a form of puppetry, mimicking male dominated troubadour traditions that use chansons to derive virtue for the speaker, while acting as a virtuoso pulling at the strings of both her lover and her audience in a game not unlike that of cat and mouse. Her je m’en fiche attitude recasts her joy outside the borders of sin, and places it squarely within a world where the crucial distinction between fin’amor and adultery collapse, further brining to question the perceived purity associated with fin’amor. Can this absolute state of innocent love also be so naïve as to condone and even legitimize carnal sin? Does fin’amor thus become debased as it is used towards ends and via means that remain ultimately unjustified? Obviously these are larger questions for an entire genre of works, and well outside my scope here, but they are inescapable in a conversation that centers around understanding compunction, or lack thereof.

As Comtessa closes her canso she tells the jealous one she wishes to preoccupy herself with joy and youth, directly contrasting these traits with her current arrangement that is presumably anything but, and therefore reversing blame, or at least ameliorating it. Even so, the audience is left with the troublesome knowledge that regardless of circumstances, she is nevertheless committing adultery. To better explain the ways in which she navigates this tricky situation I will argue that fin’amor does not become debased, but rather always already existed as a crutch for devising a method to superimpose divergent concepts such as love and lust while ignoring those places that display friction. The backdrop for such manipulation is a palimpsest ripe for erasure and recreation where the lover plays cartographer of human relationships and may reconfigure the relief to suit his or her own needs, regardless of the resulting distortion. In this imagined realm idealized love is no more real than the topography of emotions erected in ink that appear most real simply by virtue of being. Thus the disparity between the reality of an illicit relationship and the fabricated ideals of pure love becomes muddled and neglected as they combine into a single idea, and fin’amor is born ex nihilo as the concept to fill this gap in reasoning, all the while negating its ontological roots.

Withal, I would like to propose yet another interpretation for Comtessa’s usage of the concept that also defies logical explanation, but which needs none. Even as her very last line appears scornful and perhaps malicious, even as she relies on techniques of false love to make her argument, when the entirety of the piece is read as another strophe within a game, it mollifies the tone.

Thus in her game Comtessa elicits sympathy from her audience, all the while positioning her lover as it pleases her to stir gossipers for her own ends as she upends all those who judge her in a superb cycle of crafted emotions. In the end she does not undo her husband, but rather, by shedding light on the inherent fallacies of the larger system, she undoes the entire concept of fin’amor.

Sources:

Huchet, Jean-Charles. “Les femmes troubadours ou la voix critique.”

Paden, William. The Voice of the Trobairitz: Perspectives on the Women Troubadours.

Shapiro, Marianne. “The Provencal Trobairitz and the Limits of Courtly Love.”

Crusades – Reedified

In returning to my Crusades research for a conference presentation I gave back in April that I have since then expanded on, I have moved from the Knights to the Assassins, a sect of Saracen followers that have a tumultuous and often misrepresented history. It has not been easy discovering information about the Assassins as so much of it is steeped in myth and legend where the Assassins have taken on a role larger than life and have through a medieval game of telephone become the ultimate enemies of Christendom. However, despite an alarming lack of resources, enough research has shown me that while they were extraordinary for various reasons, they were not the malicious force multiple (perhaps unreliable) sources make them out to be. In fact, as far as the Knights Templars and the Crusades are concerned, they were innocuous to this conflict, and even at times beneficial, as their main targets and principle enemies were other Saracen factions.

Without reiterating the history of the Assassins since multiple other sources have already for the most part done this, I will briefly state that the sect which came to be known as the Assassins was born in the 1090’s as the Ismaili movement split into two. The Nizari Ismailis, one of the two factions, became known during the Crusades as Assassins, which has now been identified quite globally among scholars as a misnomer derived from a western mispronunciation of the term “hashish,” a narcotic this particular group was known for using. So those who were known to consume “hashish” consequently became known as “hashishians,”and if you say this term followed by “assassins,” you should be able to deduce the connection. However, the newly coined pronunciation carried a far more sinister, and not altogether correct connotation as the term assassin became synonymous with murderer.

Obviously referring to an entire group of people as murderers requires at least a bit of an explanation, which can for the most part be grounded in an idea of orientalism that thrived on the “us versus them” mentality and all easterners were quickly relegated into the realm of uncultured barbarian heathens, ready to murder at the least provocation, performing myriad irrational acts of brutality. However, even that did not appease the masses of westerners who wanted to attribute logic to these seemingly unfathomable acts of violence, and thus they drew upon the connection of the assassins to hashish and came to the conclusion that the entirety of the Assassin population was operating under the influence of this narcotic, performing their work while drugged. To further this notion a supreme leader was borne,  first Hasan and then the Old Man, who were apparently dictating the Assassins’ killing sprees and obtaining unparalleled devotion from their followers through maintaining and further supplying their addiction. Essentially, by keeping them at all times high, they would continue forth not only under the influence of the drug, but under the leader’s influence as well.

Yet the answer to understanding the Assassins rests outside of these polarizing ideals where we either fully accept or reject the exaggerated accounts. Per usual, a moderate approach is best, so while the Assassins were very much real, and they did commit murders, and were associated with hashish, the most realistic image we can use to define them is of a group outside the traditional Muslim following which in itself already creates a frightening image to those who were Muslim, but even more so to outsiders who did not understand the eastern world. The Assassins dealt with hashish, but were more than likely selling it, or using it as raw material far more than consuming it as a narcotic. They murdered, but in the true understanding of Assassin, meaning high profile personalities, and certainly not in the sense of religious murders we are prone to witness today. They were extremely selective and efficient with their victims who were chosen far more often for political rather than religious reasons. Just like the Crusades were equally political and religious, so was the agenda of the Assassins who were the outcasts of the outcasts and murdered high ranking officials only when needing to demonstrate enough power to be left in peace and continue surviving in a highly competitive land where all corners of the world were converging over a single strip of earth upon which several religions were supposedly founded.

Before continuing further I have to interject with the reminder that this presentation, delivered for the Medieval Worlds in Popular Culture panel as part of the International Popular Culture Association Conference, originally drew the distinction between actual events in the Crusades, namely the Third Crusade, and the mass consumer video game, Assassin’s Creed. Should you be interested in my other preliminary findings, you may read them here and here. However, moving forward, let us remember and pause for a moment upon our video game’s hero, Desmond Miles, the face of the Assassins, who fights solely to maintain his life, wishing he would have been kept out of the Templar’s missions run by Abstergo.

Historically the Assassin’s most notable victim that undoubtedly propelled their name and legend into the western world was the Conrad of Montferrat who had substantial holdings in Jerusalem. His successor, Count Henry of Champagne, nephew to Richard the Lionhearted, was directly responsible for multiple rumors circulating in regards to the Old Man and the Assassins’ narcotic addition as his stories are said to have been told in first person where he served as an eye witness to the sect’s behavior. Here we get the beginnings of a rumor that would circulate for 900 years.

While most documented cases of Assassin activity had little to do with the Crusades, the two groups first clashed in 1106 resulting with the Assassins losing portions of their holdings. Subsequent interaction between the groups, fueled by western fears of assassination attempts lead to further removal of property from the Assassins until their holdings had been so severely depleted it rendered them practically helpless to the ire of the mongols who eradicated them.

Yet as the history of the Assassins comes to an end and a better glimpse into their past is presented (keeping in mind I am only ever so gently glossing over a far more intricate, detailed, and infinitely richer history) the question arises as to how they fit into the depictions we have of the Assassins today in popular culture. What about their past, aside from their dexterity in the act of murder, cast them in such an idolized light?

Since the beginning of this exploration into the Crusades, and the role of the Assassins is based upon understanding the popular video game Assassin’s Creed, I now need to contextualize the game within the myriad facts uncovered. No one is expecting the video game, produced for mass consumption, to conform to historical idiosyncrasies, but more interestingly, it is at the points the video game diverges that pose the most interest. In other words, why does the game vary from history in the ways that it does?

Keeping in mind the majority of the targeted audience for the game resides in the western hemisphere, in order to successfully breach the borders between the east/best dichotomy and introduce a culturally perceived enemy as the main character, the Assassins and Templars would need to receive a contextual make-over. Ironically where the video game seemingly changed the ways in which we understand the conflict between the Knights and Templars it reedified their origins – while the Assassins took center stage as the virtuous heroes of our story, so too the Templars displayed their true colors that were murky and unfavorable at best. Assassin’s Creed is not in fact a reconceptualization of history, but rather an instance in which popular culture finally got history right.

Sources:

Latham, Andrew. Theorizing Medieval Geopolitics: War and the World Order in the Age of the Crusades.

Lewis, Bernard. The Assassins: A Radical Sect in Islam.

Stark, Freya. The Valleys of the Assassins and Other Persian Travels.