Elizabeth I: Two Poems, A Speech, and Boethius

Now here's a lady who needs no introduction: Elizabeth I (1533-1603), crowned in 1558 and ruling till her death, six months shy of her 70th birthday. While a fuller timeline may be found here, I'll put down some important dates:

1533: Henry VIII marries Anne Boleyn, is excommunicated, tells the pope to bugger off, Elizabeth born on Sept. 7.
1535: Thomas More whacked.
1536: Anne Boleyn whacked, Elizabeth declared illegitimate.
1547: Henry VIII shuffles off this mortal coil, Edward VI crowned.
1553: Edward VI cashes in his chips, Lady Jane Grey declared queen then deposed, Mary I crowned.
1554: Lady Jane Grey gets whacked, Mary I marries Phillip II.
1555: Mary I starts burning Protestants, becomes figure of urban legend.
1558: Mary I buys the farm, Elizabeth I crowned, despite being legally a bastard. (This is a sensitive point.)
1585: Roanoke Colony established, promptly lost.
1587: Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, gets whacked.
1588: The Armada threatens then sinks, Dudley breaths his last.
1592-3: Plague in London, Elizabeth I leaves and translates Boethius.
1601: Essex Revolt starts and gets shut down.
1603: Elizabeth I joins the choir invisible, James I crowned.

Now, onto the lit:

"The Doubt of Future Foes" -- ca. 1567. A short poem composed (according to the Norton notes) in response to Elizabeth I's concerns regarding Mary Stuart, who came to England in 1567 seeking refuge from rebellious subjects. Mary's alliance with the anti-English Catholic Church and her general unruliness, aptness for conspiracy, and polarizing reputation posed a threat to Protestant England and Elizabeth I's throne. The persona worries about future dangers to the realm, noting unquiet conditions among its subjects and the presence of ambitious and seditious persons eager to topple the current regime. However, she is confident that the "daughter of debate" (Mary) will be unable to achieve the power she seeks, for the realm has been secured by previous rulers -- probably a reference to Henry VIII and Edward VI's Protestant policies. Instead, the "rusty sword", long undrawn, will behead any such traitors and enemies of the state and crown. The poem is composed in "poulter's measure": couplets in which the first line is 12 syllables, and the second 14.

"On Monsieur's Departure" -- ca. 1582. The occasion of this poem is usually said to be the breaking off of marriage negotiations between Elizabeth I and Francois, French duke of Anjou, whom she dubbed her "frog". She is said to have had a genuine affection for the little fellow, even if she hadn't intended to follow through on the agreement. The poem seems to be a sort of consolation, declaring that she is not free to love as she will, since she is compelled by many contrary motives and duties. These contradictions seem to frustrate her, and in the end she desires the resolution of either a happy life with love or a forgetful death without it.

"Speech to the Troops at Tilbury" -- August 18, 1588. Elizabeth I delivered this speech wearing a silver breastplate over her white dress, while awaiting the landing of the Duke of Parma's invasion force. The Though the Armada had already been routed at that point, and was drifting aimlessly in the North Atlantic, the land army in the Netherlands remained a threat. The Earl of Leicester had mustered 4000 troops to meet any enemies attempting to reach London via the mouth of the Thames; then Elizabeth I arrived to bolster morale. Her speech is stirring, promising to risk her own life, and lead her people into battle as "your general, judge, and rewarder". The famous line "I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king" shows the balance Elizabeth always maintained between her personal and political identities, in this case affirming that her political identity -- her "heart and stomach" -- is the stronger and more essential of the two. Just as she, a "weak and feeble woman" could overcome through a majestic and noble heart, so the English, comparatively weaker than their Spanish foe, could also obtain a victory through their loyalty and bravery.

Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy -- 1593. While London was essentially shut down due to the plague, Elizabeth I headed off to Windsor Castle to wait it out. In the meantime, she whiled away the odd moment by translating Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy. For the most part, this translation is unremarkable -- the EETS editor describes it as "indifferent", "tolerably exact", and "generally very literal" (xi, x) -- but I find a few things notable.

First, as a monarch, Elizabeth I is one who rides the Wheel; as a 60-year-old childless woman, she could well perceive that the Wheel would soon turn. Given England's delicate position in European politics, her own delicate position as an aging and heirless queen, and the immediate physical hardship of the plague, Elizabeth I's interest in Boethius probably passed beyond mere academic interest.

Second, though the translation is generally clunky and literal, and mistakes abound, there are some mistakes that may be more meaningful. For instance, in a meter of Book Three, Elizabeth I renders four times an indicative as an imperative. Perhaps this is just a strange series of mistakes, but I think it more plausible that she either (a) changes the mood to suit her verse form, or (b) instinctively favors a regal commanding tone over Boethius's dispassionate recital of truisms. Another example is in a meter of Book Four, in which Elizabeth I renders the Latin word corusas "southeast wind", instead of its proper definition, "northwest wind". Again, this is an odd change and hard to view as a mistake: corus only means "northeast wind" and doesn't resemble the term for a southeast wind in the least. However, the theme of the meter itself may indicate a reason for the alteration: the meter is about temporal events, whose causes are unknown, generating unreasoning fear in humans. Five years before, the threat of invasion loomed over England, and the queen herself awaited the invaders near the port of Tilbury, wondering along with her subjects whether the southeast wind would bring with it across the channel barges full of enemy troops, while those same unpredictable winds and waves might at that same moment cast the Armada anywhere along Britain's coast.

Third, this translation, in its very production, served as a testament to the remarkable capacities of the queen, even in her own time. Accompanying the manuscript of Elizabeth I's "Englishing" of Boethius, are three documents,

three separate sheets of letter paper, with label of contents at back, [containing] three accounts of the date of the translations, the year of Her Majesty's reign when it was made, and the time which it occupied in making. These accounts have probably been written by different persons at different times, for all three vary a little in their statements as to the miraculously short space of time in which Elizabeth I performed the work, this varying between twenty-four and twenty-seven hours. (viii)

These accounts include meticulous calculations, counting the days she took for the project, then tracking her time spent in each day translating. This feat would be almost beyond belief, were it not for the fact that Elizabeth I used a secretary for most of the prose, and only wrote the meters in her own hand (xi). Nor is it known whether the numerous corrections, many done by Elizabeth I herself, were part of the time counted in these tabulations. Nonetheless, what we see is (I think) the makings of a royal "miracle story": an anecdote, backed by documentation, meant to render the queen superhuman in the mind of the hearer.

Huzzah!

The Big Fifteen are now complete! Now to work on my vast backlog of Middle English primary works. Shudder.

Dullness and the Fifteenth Century (David Lawton)

Lawton's article sheds light on the "dullness" of Chaucer's successors: both the apparent commonplace nature of their material and their own self-confessed ignorance or inability. In fact, dullness is a “guise”, a rhetorical pose:

The guise of dullness in the English fifteenth century, then, has many strands, and it is probably a mistake to examine any of them in isolation. On the immediate social level, it is almost always disingenuous, often implicated with problematic sociopolitical intervention; on the moral level, toward which it frequently drives, it is both decorous and philosophical, a concealed act of Boethian knowledge staking out ethical and theological ground. (770)

The poet sets himself up as an “Everyman”, disavowing special status, and even identity, as a poet. He suffers with everyone else in the world, and offers the “consolation of philosophy” to his fellow man. By conforming his own suffering to that of a Boethian model, the poet confirms its meaningfulness: “it is true because of, not in spite of, its conformity to a cultural pattern” (773).

More potently, Lawton suggests that poets used the pose of dullness and the presentation of traditional matter to address specific contemporary concerns with subtly. Specifically, in 1412 there was disagreement between Henry IV and Prince Henry over policy. Hoccleve (in his Regiment) seems to take the prince’s side: even in his commonplace advice that a king should “remain close to his people”, he cites as examples Edward III and John of Gaunt, but not Henry IV, because he “was accessible only to a narrow circle of advisors” (777). Thus the particular advice given, even if otherwise thoroughly traditional, and the particular exempla chosen may in fact indicate a narrow contemporary application. The broader principle is this: while many critics have taken the “dull and commonplace” 15^th century poetry as little beyond the recital of traditional maxims, this view strips the poetry from its context, which (Lawton argues) the poetry engages sharply, albeit obliquely.

A related issue is the strong emphasis in much “Chaucerian poetry” (Chaucer himself, but also Lydgate, Gower, and Hoccleve) on the value of peace and the pointless waste of war, anchored firmly in the contemporary context of repeatedly renewed conflict with France. This leads Lawton to a connection with the Boethian themes of “dull” poetry: “[I]t seems to me that the de casibus genre is directed to princes as kind of revenge on war, an assignation of ill repute: a divine revenge, with the full poet acting as moral agent” (782). Lydgate in particular does not shy away from exempla in his Fall of Princes that could have uncomfortably close resemblances in current political situations, reminding his own princes of how imminent the wheel’s turning may be.

After these points, Lawton presents an objection: “[I]f public writing of the sort I have described was a courageous and hard-hitting as I have claimed, how can it have been at the same time so popular, so socially acceptable and so safe?” (789). He gives three responses: first, that the “dull” poet can say what a wise man cannot, like a medieval fool; second, that Boethian themes of fortune and fall were common throughout the culture, and especially fascinating to those in power who rode the wheel; third, that kings are dependent on poets for the extension and celebration of their own reputation: “The Renaissance poet confers fame in return for attention to his moral lessons: the exchange is mutually satisfactory” (791).

Chaucerian Polity (David Wallace)

This book felt remarkably familiar, then I realized where I’d met the topics discuss before: Strohm’s Social Chaucer and Patterson’s Chaucer and the Subject of History. But before dropping these dogs in the pit together, I’ll synopsize a bit!

This is a big, tenacious book: it flushes out some basic concepts then chases them up every tree it can. But this, I think, is the heart of it: the contrast between hierarchical and associational forms of social structure, and the differences those structures make in the production of individual social subjects.

The historical tableaux in which Chaucer witnessed these two models (in extreme modes) pitted against one another was Italy. Chaucer visited two cities: Florence (1373) to negotiate trade agreements as wool customs controller, and Milan (1378) to negotiate for the military assistance of mercenary general Sir John Hawkwood. According to Wallace, “[i]n visiting Florence and Lombardy [Milan], Chaucer was exposed to the most crucial material and ideological conflict of the Italian Trecento: the conflict between republican libertas and dynastic despotism” (1). This conflict was poetic as well as political, and Chaucer knew it: “Chaucer […] read and interpreted the works of Dante, Boccaccio, and Petrarch within (and as a part of) this framework: Dante and Boccaccio he associated with Florentine polity, and Petrarch with Lombardy” (1).

The Republic of Florence was a beautiful city, dominated by the arts and trade. Its officials were elected, but the shortness of their terms of office and the strictures on their rule ensured that most of the power lay in the hands of the professional civil servants. Their historic aristocrats, the magnates, were not permitted to hold political office: they were seen as greedy and power-hungry, and therefore liable to destabilize the republic. Instead, officials were drawn from the ranks of merchants and craftsman. The Duchy of Milan, on the other hand, was not a beautiful city: it was instead big, dirty, productive (many ironworks), and dominated by the buildings of the government. The ruler, the Visconti, ruled absolutely and arbitrarily, for instance in his imposition of a unified Northern European Gothic style of architecture on the city and other cities under his rule.

Wallace argues that Chaucer saw correspondences between his own England and both Milan and Florence. The influence of guilds and burghers in London seemed a step in the direction of Florentine egalitarianism, while Richard II’s attempts to wrest control from the merchants and cement it in his own bureaucratic state were like the opening fanfare of Lombard despotism.

Chaucer’s interest in associational polity may be seen in the General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, in which he describes the mutually agreed-upon felaweshipe of a vocationally diverse group of pilgrims. The possibility of such a felaweshipe lies in the familiarity of guild polity to English subjects of all walks of life. While many guilds were centered on trade, others were open to anyone. Guilds offered a model of society based on voluntary association for mutual profit; the Canterbury pilgrims embody such a society. This felaweshipe also resembles the band of Florentine travelers in Boccaccio’s Decameron.

There’s a lot more besides, but I’d like to return to my first point: the comparison of Strohm, Patterson, and Wallace. Patterson identifies Chaucer as a man between classes, yet fitting truly in none: the ultimate outsider, he is socially positioned to view the received ideologies with skepticism and forge instead his own. Strohm, on the other hand, sees Chaucer not as socially unmoored, but as a typical member of a new middle class, whose lack of a clear ideology permits it a freedom of mobility and self-invention. Wallace casts further afield, locating Chaucer not only in an English social context, but also an international context: individualism, freedom, and social mobility are Florentine ideals. As Wallace puts it, Chaucer “balanc[es] allegiances to associational and hierarchical structures in the attempt to form a new form of authorial identity” (216). Chaucer is not revolting against a monolithic social structure, nor merely representing a new class in a single hierarchy, but instead radically aware of the options of polity, both actually in Italy and potentially in England. The associational and anti-tyrannical themes of his poetry can be seen as an attempt to throw his own meager weight into the struggle, understanding the possibility of a “Boethian ending” (216).

Thomas More: Two Poems & Utopia

First, a bit about More's life, nicked from Wikipedia:

Saint Thomas More (7 February 1478–6 July 1535) was an English lawyer, author, and statesman who in his lifetime gained a reputation as a leading Renaissance humanist scholar, and occupied many public offices, including Lord Chancellor (1529–1532), in which capacity he had a number of people burned at the stake for heresy. [...] He was beheaded in 1535 when he refused to sign the Act of Supremacy that declared King Henry VIII Supreme Head of the Church of England.

Some more interesting bits:

Born in Milk Street, London, Thomas More was the eldest son of Sir John More, a successful lawyer who served as a judge in the King's Bench court. More was educated at St Anthony's School and was later a page in the service of John Morton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who declared that young Thomas would become a "marvellous man". Thomas attended the University of Oxford for two years as a member of Canterbury Hall (subsequently absorbed by Christ Church), where he studied Latin and logic. He then returned to London, where he studied law with his father and was admitted to Lincoln's Inn in 1496. In 1501 More became a barrister.

To his father's great displeasure, More seriously contemplated abandoning his legal career in order to become a monk. For about four years he lodged at the London Charterhouse and he also considered joining the Franciscan order. Perhaps because he judged himself incapable of celibacy, More finally decided to marry in 1505, but for the rest of his life he continued to observe many ascetical practices, including self-punishment: he wore a hair shirt every day and occasionally engaged in flagellation.

Also married twice (first wife died), and had four children and a step-daughter; he gave his daughters an education in the classics.

Of the works I read, one was written in his youth ("Pageant Verses"), one as a young London barrister ("A Rueful Lament"), and one in his early career as a civil servant (Utopia).

"Pageant Verses" -- The description in his 1557 Works is as follows:

Mr. Thomas More in his youth devised in his father's house in London, a goodly hanging of fine painted cloth with nine pageants, and verses over every of those pageants, which verses expressed and declared what the images in those pageants represented. And also in those pageants were painted the things that the verses over them did in effect declare.

What follows is a sequential description of the "pageants" with their appended verses: Childhood, Manhood, Venus and Cupid (romance), Age, Death, Fame, Time, Eternity, and the Poet. The symbolism of the "pageants" is fairly plain: while the Child spins a top alone, the Man, on horseback, looms over the Child, signifying the succession or dominance of the latter stage over the former -- and this pattern is repeated with each picture, portraying its subject as triumphing over the previous subject, till at last Eternity triumphs over all. The final image shows the Poet; his accompanying verse (in Latin) declare that the "pageants" are symbols of what is true about human life and the world: that all life and all temporal goods pass, and what remains is the eternal love of God -- therefore, do not trust what is temporary but seek everlasting life from God.

"A Rueful Lament" -- The occasion of this poem was the death of Queen Elizabeth, wife of Henry VII and mother of Henry VIII, who "died in childbed in February in the year of our lord 1503". While some themes are typical for a memorial poem of this period -- the enumeration of the deceased's virtues and accomplishments, farewells to the survivors, appeals to God for mercy -- the poem also adopts a Boethian tone, lamenting the deceptive vanity of worldly goods, which are no security against death. Also, More uses, albeit briefly, the ubi sunt motif:

Where are our castles, now where are our Towers?
Goodly Richmond son art thou gone from me,
At Westminster that costly work of yours,
Mine own dear lord now shall I never see.

Such things bring a sigh of contentment to a good Anglo-Saxonist's heart.

Utopia -- More's most famous work, Utopia is the eponymous founder of the "utopian" genre of literature: philosophical narratives which explore social issues (law, economics, civics, politics, etc.) through the detailed description of an imagined "ideal" country. (Not necessarily the author's notion of a perfect society, but one built around some consistent rational or moral principle, as a thought experiment.) The Wikipedia description is as follows:

Utopia, in full On the Best State of a Republic and on the New Island of Utopia (Latin: Dē Optimo Rēpūblicae Statu dēque Nova Insula Ūtopia), is a 1516 book by Sir Saint Thomas More.

The book, written in Latin, is a frame narrative primarily depicting a fictional island society and its religious, social and political customs. The name of the place is derived from the Greek words ou (οὐ), "not", and topos (τόπος), "place", with the topographical suffix -eia (-εία), hence Outopeia (Οὐτοπεία; Latinized as Utopia), “no-place land.” It also contains a pun, however, because “Utopia” could also be the Latinization of Εὐτοπεία eutopeía, “good-place land,” which uses the Greek prefix ευ eu, “good,” instead of οὐ. One interpretation holds that this suggests that while Utopia might be some sort of perfected society, it is ultimately unreachable. Despite modern connotations of the word "utopia," it is widely accepted that the society More describes in this work was not actually his own "perfect society." Rather he wished to use the contrast between the imaginary land's unusual political ideas and the chaotic politics of his own day as a platform from which to discuss social issues in Europe.

For a review of Utopia, I suggest this study guide from the Cambridge UP, which I found at the Thomas More Studies site. For myself, I will limit myself to a few observations:

* The society of Utopia, as described by the narrator Raphael Hythloday, seems initially to positive, but then the details of Utopian policy undercut the initial sunny view. For instance, Utopians are free to travel wherever they like -- so long as they receive a passport from their civil authorities, including destination and time of return, and work their allotted time in whatever town they happen to be in. They are given the use of an ox cart for travel -- but unless women are in the company, the unspoken expectation is that they will forgo the cart and walk. If anyone goes to another city without permission, he is first reprimanded, then enslaved for repeat offenses. But certainly one may travel freely in one's own city's territory -- if one has the permission of one's father and wife, and makes sure to work his allotted hours. But why would anyone want to leave the city? They're all alike.

* Similar observations can be made about Utopian war. The Utopians hate war and love peace -- except when threatened, or their friends are threatened, or their friends are harmed. They try to avoid the awful human cost of war -- at least for themselves, which is why they hire the savage and merciless Zapoletes to fight for them. (But really they're trying to do the world a favor by slowly annihilating the Zapoletes through combat casualties.) They never loot the cities they conquer, having no desire for wealth -- except that the conquered peoples are forced to pay off the monetary expenditures of the Utopians in hiring their mercenary armies. They are courageous, honorable, and well-trained in chivalry, but attempt to overcome their enemies by stirring up sedition within the enemy nation and putting a price of their leaders' heads.

So, good times.

The Premature Reformation (Anne Hudson)

Hudson's Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History traces the origin and development of the Lollard movement; her reliance on the Lollards' own writings permits her to assemble a different, fuller account than had previously been accepted.

Earlier Lollard histories treated the Lollards as a disorganized, short-lived movement, only indirectly connected to John Wyclif and often more politically than theologically motivated; after Oldcastle's rebellion was suppressed, the Lollards scattered and ceased to be a significant feature of English popular religion.

Hudson disputes this view. Instead, she traces a clear line of intellectual descent from Wyclif to Tyndale, the pre-schism Tudor Protestant. Wyclif and his Oxford disciples presented a coherent ideology of ecclesiastical and political reform, and laid the groundwork for the educational program that would make that reform possible. The Lollards embraced that ideology and spread it through their book-centered community of "schools" in private homes. While there was a certain amount of drift in emphases as the popular movement attenuated farther from its academic roots, the Lollards of the 1500s still upheld distinctively Wycliffite beliefs, injecting into early English Protestantism elements not found in the Lutheran movement of the continent. For this reason, Hudson uses Lollard and Wycliffite as interchangeable terms -- heretofore an unacceptable practice.

For Wyclif and his followers, sola Scriptura was axiomatic, though later Lollards differed on the degree of its application: some thought extra-biblical tradition merely inessential, while others forbade it entirely. The preaching and study of the Bible, often manifesting in copious memorization, was essential. Other distinctive doctrines were rejections of orthodoxy (i.e. Papist), notably the necessity of confession with a priest and christening, the literal presence in transubstantiation, the selling of pardons and indulgences, the veneration of images, and the piety of pilgrimages. The Wycliffites also rejected the authority of the pope and denounced the endowment of churches and monasteries: the priests of God ought rather to live in holy poverty on the alms of their parishioners or else by the labor of their hands. Relative to secular government, Wyclif called upon the king to divest the church of its lands and riches, and stated that earthly rulers had the duty to punish churchmen (even the pope) for immorality. However, the Lollards also took a dim view of war as a means of accomplishing good: while accepting certain military actions in the Old Testament as valid, almost any offensive military action was considered unjustified.

In addition to this historical survey, based on analysis of Wycliffite documents, Hudson also offers an analysis of contemporary responses to Lollard ideas, as recorded in literature. Chaucer, while not a Wycliffite himself, has sympathy with a characteristically Lollard notion: that priests should be models of virtue for their flocks. Moreover, he surrounds his model priest, the Parson, with suggestions of Lollardy. While the "Parson's Tale" cements the Parson's orthodoxy (it is a confessional manual), that Chaucer indicates the degree to which reformist ideas and practice had become identified with heresy. Similarly, Piers Plowman advocates many Wycliffite reform positions (ecclesiastical divestment, for one) though remains firmly orthodox on important matters such as communion and confession. PP's audience, however, incorporated the poem into their own language of reform, and as their positions were marked as heretical, the poem too became less orthodox. Gower underwent a similar transformation, as his Vox Clamantis is sharply critical of church practices, while the prologue to his Confessio Amantis castigates the Lollards even in their knowledge of the Bible.

Narrative, Authority, and Power (Larry Scanlon)

Exempla are, for most readers, the dullest sort of medieval literature: micro-narratives existing to reinforce what was already a foregone conclusion long before their introduction into the discussion. Scanlon, however, thinks they demand closer inspection.

First, he argues that the exemplum was not merely a narrative that reinforces the principles of a static authority, but instead an instrument of authority in the creation of itself and the enacting of the principles that support it. While authority claims to derive its standing from the past, it is the present holders of authority who assert their connection to that past and articulate the ways it legitimates them in the present. (Gramsci’s hegemony figures in here.) The exemplum, with its simultaneous appeal to historical moment and timeless meaning, was an effective tool for the Church to position itself as authoritative in the minds of the non-clerical classes of the laity.

Next, Scanlon examines two types of exempla: the sermon exemplum and the “public” exemplum (his term). The sermon exemplum is primarily a means of situating the Church’s authority in relationship to the lay commons. The exemplum was seen as an effective way to communicate truth to the “vulgar”: a sermon exemplum was always “talking down”. The public exemplum, on the other hand, attempts to position the Church as an influence over the king. This may be seen especially in the Fürstenspiegel (mirror of princes) and de causibus (fall of princes) traditions, which remind kings of the temporal and capricious nature of their own power.

Finally, Scanlon argues that the secular “Chaucerian tradition” (embodied by Chaucer, Gower, Lydgate, and Hoccleve) appropriated the sermon and public exempla as a means of diluting and relocating Church authority with the laity and the locus of lay power, the king: “it reclaims the monarch as the source of lay political authority” (138).