This post is in response to the comments at the end of class regarding Gawain's tirade on "womanly wiles" by using examples from the Bible. I agree that this speech feels out of place. Throughout the poem, Gawain acts respectfully toward women—at least toward the woman he encounters—and it is not a stretch to imagine him as an advocate for equality. However, this image is dashed at the end when he presents as a truth that, in general, women are less trustworthy, following the tradition of Eve.
For me, because this speech feels out of place, I try to think about the author’s intent with assigning these assertions to Gawain. Overall, this poem has a strong Christian undertone. From the beginning it is clear that one of Gawain’s greatest virtues is that he is a good Christian. He has the image of Mary printed on the inside of his shield. He tries to follow in Jesus Christ’s footsteps by sacrificing himself for the whole. He prays constantly. This is why when Gawain talks about women using Biblical references, I get the feeling that it is the author’s attempt to drive home the relationship between mortality and spirituality. As we discussed in class, Gawain does pretty well for himself under the circumstances. However, he still blames himself for his one misstep of accepting the girdle because, he says, “For mon may hyden his harme, bot unhap ne may hit” (line 2511). I feel that he is concerned because even though he has done a good job as the mortal that he is, his soul, the part that will eventually ascend to heaven (hopefully), might be smeared. A misdeed can never be erased because it follows the eternal soul; after Gawain sheds his mortal body, he will have to face the immortal judgment.
It is interesting to compare Gawain’s strength in keeping his life and in essence respecting his temple, to his will in keeping his Christian soul clean. It is almost as if the more he wants to live and take care of his body, the less his morals can be kept. Personally, I feel that the way he acts could be the only way to come out of this situation with the least amount of injury in both respects.
Also, it might be significant that this whole ordeal starts as a Christmas game, and also ends at Christmas—the holiday that celebrates the birth of Christ.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Introducing Kate Rusby
I'd like to introduce you all to a British musician, Kate Rusby, whose revival of an old British folk tradition brings to light several elements of Middle English poetry. In this entry, I will reference music from her albums The Girl Who Couldn't Fly and Underneath the Stars.
For starters, Kate does a nice job telling tales in song. Both albums contain several tracks that could just as easily have been adventures included in any of the poems we've read this semester. "The Blind Harper" is a witty bit about a blind harper (weird, I know) who steals the king's horse and gets paid--by the king--to do it. "The Goodman" tells the story of a husband who repeatedly comes home to fishy circumstances that are simplistically explained by his apparently playful wife.
Thematic content on both albums closely matches that which we have seen in Middle English lyrics: nature, women and religion. Religion is more scarce than the other two, limited to references to marriage and prayer. Women are probably the major topic of Kate's music, from "Mary Blaize" to "Polly" to "The Daughter of Megan." Waiting for the return of true love, especially from commercial voyages or foreign war, seems to be a major theme, again, hearkening to the Middle English lyrics we've read.
Kate's treatment of nature contains one striking difference from the medieval mindset: she looks on certain natural phenomena with much less fear and much more fondness than would the average medieval villager. Consider the darkness of the forest in Sir Orfeo, and one is struck by Kate's lyrics:
"Here is a tale of the trees in the wood
They were never that pleased on the land that they stood
So they upped and they walked on as far as they could
'Til they felt the sun shine on their branches...
There they did stand, and there they did stay
When there came a young boy who was running away
From a mad world, a bad world, a world of decay
And it's comfort he sought in their branches...
...the trees kept him safe in their branches" (Kate Rusby, "Little Jack Frost").
This is a far cry from Orfeo's experience of the enchantment of the forest. Kate's trees are not dark, but instead uproot themselves specifically for the purpose of moving toward the sunlight. Rather than occluding a friend, they become friends to a runaway who is not afraid of the world in the trees, but who is instead fleeing the world outside the forest. As his friends, they keep him safe in their branches.
To add to the friendly nature phenomenon, Kate's song "Moon Shadow" is an encomium to her shadow in the moonlight, portrayed as a close friend. One has to wonder how the superstitious medieval mindset may have thought of this.
Humor is not absent either. In similar kind to the irony of "Of all creatures women be the best" Kate gives us "Mary Blaize." A few good lines:
"Good people all with one accord remember Mary Blaize
She never wanted one good word from those who spoke her praise...
She strove the neighborhood to please with manners wond'rous winning
She never followed wicked ways unless when she was sinning
At church in silks and satins new with hoop of monstrous size
She never slumbered in her pew but when she closed her eyes" (Kate Rusby, "Mary Blaize").
The hilarity of this piece hinges primarily on common-sense tautologies that introduce a subtle English irony. For more delight, listen to the entire song. It's speedy rhythm sounds anything like the eulogy that the lyrics indicate it is.
Finally, some linguistic bits of Middle English remain in Kate's lyrics. "Bonnie House of Airlie" begins with, "It fell on a day," cf. "Gamelyn" line 81, in which "Gamelyn stood on a day" is clarified in the margin as "one day." So much the better. Kate's use of "on a day" is then a throw back to Middle English. The net effect is to produce songs that seem old, even when they aren't. Kudos to this enterprising musician. Give her a listen.
For starters, Kate does a nice job telling tales in song. Both albums contain several tracks that could just as easily have been adventures included in any of the poems we've read this semester. "The Blind Harper" is a witty bit about a blind harper (weird, I know) who steals the king's horse and gets paid--by the king--to do it. "The Goodman" tells the story of a husband who repeatedly comes home to fishy circumstances that are simplistically explained by his apparently playful wife.
Thematic content on both albums closely matches that which we have seen in Middle English lyrics: nature, women and religion. Religion is more scarce than the other two, limited to references to marriage and prayer. Women are probably the major topic of Kate's music, from "Mary Blaize" to "Polly" to "The Daughter of Megan." Waiting for the return of true love, especially from commercial voyages or foreign war, seems to be a major theme, again, hearkening to the Middle English lyrics we've read.
Kate's treatment of nature contains one striking difference from the medieval mindset: she looks on certain natural phenomena with much less fear and much more fondness than would the average medieval villager. Consider the darkness of the forest in Sir Orfeo, and one is struck by Kate's lyrics:
"Here is a tale of the trees in the wood
They were never that pleased on the land that they stood
So they upped and they walked on as far as they could
'Til they felt the sun shine on their branches...
There they did stand, and there they did stay
When there came a young boy who was running away
From a mad world, a bad world, a world of decay
And it's comfort he sought in their branches...
...the trees kept him safe in their branches" (Kate Rusby, "Little Jack Frost").
This is a far cry from Orfeo's experience of the enchantment of the forest. Kate's trees are not dark, but instead uproot themselves specifically for the purpose of moving toward the sunlight. Rather than occluding a friend, they become friends to a runaway who is not afraid of the world in the trees, but who is instead fleeing the world outside the forest. As his friends, they keep him safe in their branches.
To add to the friendly nature phenomenon, Kate's song "Moon Shadow" is an encomium to her shadow in the moonlight, portrayed as a close friend. One has to wonder how the superstitious medieval mindset may have thought of this.
Humor is not absent either. In similar kind to the irony of "Of all creatures women be the best" Kate gives us "Mary Blaize." A few good lines:
"Good people all with one accord remember Mary Blaize
She never wanted one good word from those who spoke her praise...
She strove the neighborhood to please with manners wond'rous winning
She never followed wicked ways unless when she was sinning
At church in silks and satins new with hoop of monstrous size
She never slumbered in her pew but when she closed her eyes" (Kate Rusby, "Mary Blaize").
The hilarity of this piece hinges primarily on common-sense tautologies that introduce a subtle English irony. For more delight, listen to the entire song. It's speedy rhythm sounds anything like the eulogy that the lyrics indicate it is.
Finally, some linguistic bits of Middle English remain in Kate's lyrics. "Bonnie House of Airlie" begins with, "It fell on a day," cf. "Gamelyn" line 81, in which "Gamelyn stood on a day" is clarified in the margin as "one day." So much the better. Kate's use of "on a day" is then a throw back to Middle English. The net effect is to produce songs that seem old, even when they aren't. Kudos to this enterprising musician. Give her a listen.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Recommended: the GW Medieval and Early Modern Studies Institute
Since Julia's post about the green children of Woolpit prompted a comment from me about Jeffrey Jerome Cohen's fine medieval scholarship, I thought I should mention that Professor Cohen is the director of George Washington University's Medieval and Early Modern Studies Institute, newly expanded from its beginnings last year as a seminar, and it has some very exciting events planned for this semester. Take a look at the GW MEMSI blog here for more information!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Brave or Reckless?
Both Gamelyn and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight feature main characters or protagonists that are somewhat naive or reckless when it comes to confronting danger or the unknown. While a certain amount of recklessness could easily look like knightly bravery, I think there may be more going on than that. We talked a little bit in class this week about how Gamelyn is, in many ways, a poem about critiquing and even subverting authority - both the eldest son and the clergy. I think as we move further into SGGK, it will become evident that there is an element of that going on there too(and I will probably post about it next week). The naive attitudes of the main characters early on in both poems seem like a possible indication that English society in this time period was blind to the social and political upheaval that was coming there way. A few examples:
When Gamelyn's father dies, his oldest brother John pretends to take him and is inheritance under his wing, and Gamelyn goes along without suspicion (lines 70-73). By the time Gamelyn realizes that maybe his brother isn't quite treating him right, in lines 90-100, we get the sense that Gamelyn has been there for awhile. Later in the poem, the tables turn, and John and his men are pretty clueless about the danger that Gamelyn, Adam, and even Ote present once they have turned against him. Their ignorance leads to their deaths.
Likewise, in SGGK, Arthur seems perfectly comfortable welcoming a gigantic, magical green knight into his hall and agreeing to play a pretty dangerous game with him. Gawain enters into an agreement with the green knight that requires him to go wandering in the woods in unknown territory to seek out the green knight by himself. A lot is made of both of their bravery, but I wonder if we should be making something of their blindness to danger.
When Gamelyn's father dies, his oldest brother John pretends to take him and is inheritance under his wing, and Gamelyn goes along without suspicion (lines 70-73). By the time Gamelyn realizes that maybe his brother isn't quite treating him right, in lines 90-100, we get the sense that Gamelyn has been there for awhile. Later in the poem, the tables turn, and John and his men are pretty clueless about the danger that Gamelyn, Adam, and even Ote present once they have turned against him. Their ignorance leads to their deaths.
Likewise, in SGGK, Arthur seems perfectly comfortable welcoming a gigantic, magical green knight into his hall and agreeing to play a pretty dangerous game with him. Gawain enters into an agreement with the green knight that requires him to go wandering in the woods in unknown territory to seek out the green knight by himself. A lot is made of both of their bravery, but I wonder if we should be making something of their blindness to danger.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Another tale of green -- The Green Children
Today when we were talking about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight someone brought up the possibility that by paralleling the poem with the legend of Troy, the author is trying to situate the story within a historic setting, garnering more credibility and prominence. The thought of history and myth reminded me of another myth I have read regarding the Green Children. I came home and reread it and was surprised to find that the article says that the tale might be "related to the Green Man or Jack-in-the-Green of English folklore, or even the Green Knight of Arthurian myth" (Haughton 238).
To give you an idea of the type of book it comes out of, it is an article in Brian Haughton's Hidden History: Lost Civilizations, Secret Knowledge, and Ancient Mysteries, in which he also provides articles regarding The Real Robin Hood, Troy, Atlantis, The Dead Sea Scrolls, The Queen of Sheba, etc. I just think it's interesting so I'm going to provide some excerpts below.
"During the troubled reign of king Stephen of England (1135-1154), there was a strange occurrence in the village of Woolpit, Near Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk. At harvest time, while the reapers were working in the fields, two young children emerged from deep ditches excavated to trap wolves... The children, a boy and a girl, had skin tinged with a green hue, and wore clothes of a strange color, made from unfamiliar materials. They wandered around bewildered for a few minutes, before being taken by the reapers to the village... They broke into tears and for some days refused to eat the bread and other food that was brought to them. But when recently harvested beans, with their stalks still attached, were brought in, the starving children made signs that they desperately wanted to eat them. However, when the children took the beans they opened the stalks rather than the pods, and finding nothing inside, began weeping again After they had been shown how to obtain the beans, the children survived on this food for many months until they acquired a taste for bread...The boy...sickened and died. But the girl adjusted to her new life, and was baptized. Her skin gradually lost its original green color and she became a healthy young woman. She learned the English language and afterward married a man at King's Lynn...
"The two original sources are both from the 12th century. The first is William of Newburgh (1136-1198), an English historian and monk, from Yorkshire...The other source is Ralph of Coggeshall (died c. 1228), who was the sixth abbot of Coggeshall Abbey in Essex from 1207-1218."
Haughton lists some explanations that have been put forward for the enigma of the Green Children, that the children:
"There are many aspect of the Woolpit tale that are found in English folk beliefs, and some see the Green Children as personifications of nature...Perhaps the children are related to the elves and fairies which, until a century or two ago, were believed in by many country folk. If the Green Children story is a fairytale, then it has the unusual twist of the girl never returning to her otherworldly home, but remaining married and living as a mortal...The color green has always been associated with the otherworld and the supernatural...Beans were said to be the food of the dead" (234-38).
Just an another tidbit for the stew of green-thinking.
To give you an idea of the type of book it comes out of, it is an article in Brian Haughton's Hidden History: Lost Civilizations, Secret Knowledge, and Ancient Mysteries, in which he also provides articles regarding The Real Robin Hood, Troy, Atlantis, The Dead Sea Scrolls, The Queen of Sheba, etc. I just think it's interesting so I'm going to provide some excerpts below.
"During the troubled reign of king Stephen of England (1135-1154), there was a strange occurrence in the village of Woolpit, Near Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk. At harvest time, while the reapers were working in the fields, two young children emerged from deep ditches excavated to trap wolves... The children, a boy and a girl, had skin tinged with a green hue, and wore clothes of a strange color, made from unfamiliar materials. They wandered around bewildered for a few minutes, before being taken by the reapers to the village... They broke into tears and for some days refused to eat the bread and other food that was brought to them. But when recently harvested beans, with their stalks still attached, were brought in, the starving children made signs that they desperately wanted to eat them. However, when the children took the beans they opened the stalks rather than the pods, and finding nothing inside, began weeping again After they had been shown how to obtain the beans, the children survived on this food for many months until they acquired a taste for bread...The boy...sickened and died. But the girl adjusted to her new life, and was baptized. Her skin gradually lost its original green color and she became a healthy young woman. She learned the English language and afterward married a man at King's Lynn...
"The two original sources are both from the 12th century. The first is William of Newburgh (1136-1198), an English historian and monk, from Yorkshire...The other source is Ralph of Coggeshall (died c. 1228), who was the sixth abbot of Coggeshall Abbey in Essex from 1207-1218."
Haughton lists some explanations that have been put forward for the enigma of the Green Children, that the children:
- originated from a hidden world inside the earth, that they had somehow stepped through a door from a parallel dimension
- were aliens accidentally arrived on Earth
- were the children in the Babes in the Wood folktale (first published in Norwich in 1595), except in this version (and therefore in reality), they survived an attempted arsenic poisoning by the medieval Norfolk earl
- were Flemish and lived in the village of Fornham St. Martin, and escaped to Woolpit when their parents were killed in the conflict. Their limited food supply caused them to develop chlorosis due to malnutrition. (Though there are many geographic and cultural issues that make this hypothesis unlikely)
"There are many aspect of the Woolpit tale that are found in English folk beliefs, and some see the Green Children as personifications of nature...Perhaps the children are related to the elves and fairies which, until a century or two ago, were believed in by many country folk. If the Green Children story is a fairytale, then it has the unusual twist of the girl never returning to her otherworldly home, but remaining married and living as a mortal...The color green has always been associated with the otherworld and the supernatural...Beans were said to be the food of the dead" (234-38).
Just an another tidbit for the stew of green-thinking.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Legacy of "Orfeo": Part Two
I had to order some books online and then await their arrival before I could write this post. Stephen R. Lawhead's Pendragon Cycle came to mind as I was reading "Sir Orfeo" for the very first time, for reasons that I can now discuss, since I finally have a copy of his works in my possession.
Lawhead's work is comprised of three volumes: Taliesin, Merlin, and Arthur. While Taliesin and Arthur are very interesting, it is Merlin to which I would like to draw your attention. Lawhead's Merlin has indubitably been influenced by "Sir Orfeo." But instead of commenting on each and every detail, I'll simply juxtapose the two texts below. Lines from "Sir Orfeo" are in italics, Lawhead's work is in normal text, enclosed in quotations.
Some necessary background on Lawhead's Merlin:
1. In Lawhead's formulation of the Arthur legend, Merlin's ancestors sailed from Atlantis and landed in Llyonesse, in the soutwestern corner of Roman Britain.
2. These Atlantean settlers become known in Britain as "the Fair Folk." Compared to the inhabitants of Britain, they have a much longer lifespan. Lawhead is obviously hearkening to "faerie" here.
3. Among the Atlanteans are Annubi the sorcerer, and Merlin's evil step-aunt, Morgian, Annubi's fell apprentice who later surpasses him, both in power and in evil. Thus the Fair Folk are known for their magic. Merlin's mother, Princess Charis, is also a healer.
4. Charis marries Taliesin, the mysterious man-child found by Lord Elphin of Gwynnedd in his father's fishing weir at his coming of age. The finding of Taliesin also marks Elphin's turn of luck. Before finding the babe, he was so unlucky that his father's subjects were ready to demand another heir as their king. Because of his occluded origin Taliesin may be interpreted as being "of faerie," but he is so in a different way than the Atlanteans. What is important is that Merlin may be interpreted as having been descended of faerie, and of royalty, from both sides.
5. Unbeknownst to the Atlanteans in Llyonesse, another group of Atlanteans survives and settles in the north, in the Celyddon Forest. These tribes eventually discover one another, and Merlin marries Ganieda, descended of Atlantis (and therefore of faerie).
6. At the height of Merlin's political strength, after he has been crowned King of Dyfed and just when he is about to unite the kingdoms of Llyonesse (his mother's people), Yr Wyddfa (his father's people), and Celyddon (his wife's people), Ganieda and the child she is carrying are brutally murdered in a Saecsen raid. His wife and child thus taken from him, Merlin slaughters the Saecsen raiders, and then flies into the wild where he lurks for many years.
7. Lawhead's tale is narrated by Merlin.
Section One: "Sir Orfeo," Lines 209-214
For now ichave mi quen y-lore,
The fairest levedi that ever was bore, (209-210)
"I [Merlin] fell across the body of my beloved, a great cry of grief tearing from my throat. I raised myself and held Ganieda's beautiful face in my hands. It was not beautiful anymore, but twisted in horrific agony, bespattered with her blood, her clear eyes cloudy and unseeing... Farewell, Ganieda, my soul; I loved you better than my life." (Lawhead, 227)
Never eft y nil no woman se.
Into wildernes ichil te
And live ther evermore
With wilde beasts in holtes hore; (211-214)
"I saw Lord Death moving among the tumbled corpses [of the Saecsen warhost], rubbing his fleshless hands and grinning his lipless smile as he gazed upon my wonderful work. He greeted me.
Well done, Myrddin. Such a handsome harvest; I am pleased, my son.
My horror could not be contained. Dark mist rose up before my eyes; the voices of the dead filled my ears with cries of sharp accusation. The bloody earth mocked me; sky and sun jeered. The wind laughed. I fled the field, seeking refuge in Celyddon's deep, black heart. I fled to the nameless hills, to the rock-bound mountains, to this barren outcrop with its cave and spring.
And here, Annwas, here is all Myrddin Wylt's kingdom. Here is where I have dwelt, and ever shall dwell.
Death, you have taken all the others--why have you not taken me?" (Lawhead, 234-235)
Section Two: "Sir Orfeo," Lines 238-264
Into the wildernes he geth.
Nothing he fint that him is ays,
Bot ever he liveth in gret malais. (238-240)
"They say Merlin mounted to the sky, taking the shape of an avenging hawk to fly away to the mountains.
Yet, when the voices of the searchers rang in the wood, where did Merlin hide? In what pit did Merlin cower while they cried out to him?
O, Wise Wolf, tell me, why was the light of the sun taken from me? Why was the living heart carved from my breast? Why do I haunt the desolate wastes, hearing only the sound of my own voice in the mournful sigh and moan of the wind on bare rock?" (Lawhead, 202)
He that hadde y-werd the fowe and griis,
And on bed the purper biis, (241-242)
"When I stood up again, Pelleas held out for me a deep blue cloak edged all around with wolf fur. It was a cloak made for a king; indeed, it was my own cloak remade--my old Hill Folk wolfskin new-sewn." (Lawhead, 240)
Now on hard hethe he lith,
With leves and gresse he him writh. (243-244)
"My clothing... was little more than a filth-crusted loincloth. It fell from me as I shrugged it off." (Lawhead, 237)
He that hadde had castels and tours,
River, forest, frith with flours (245-246)
"No one actually lived in the hillforts anymore, had not for a long, long time. But Maelwys [an allied king, and Merlin's stepfather] foresaw the day when fully stocked and gated forts would be required.
We also began planning the series of coastal beacons..." (Lawhead, 192)
Now thei it comenci to snewe and frese,
This king mot make his bed in mese. (247-248)
"I watch the winter stars glitter hard in the frozen sky. Were I not so forlorn, I would conjure a fire to warm myself. Instead, I watch the high cold heaven perform its inscrutable work. I gaze at the hoarfrost on the rocks and see the patterns of a life there." (Lawhead, 194)
He that had y-had knightes of priis
Bifor him kneland, and levedis,
Now seth he nothing that him liketh,
Bot wilde wormes bi him striketh.
He that had y-had plente
Of mete and drink, of ich deynte, (249-254)
"He blessed me from the holy text, then kissed me with a holy kiss, and I him, whereupon each of the others in the room knelt and stretched forth their hands to cover my feet as sign of their submission to me. All except Maelwys, of course, but he embraced me like a father.
In this way I was made King of Dyfed.
I began my reign in the usual way, I suppose: I shared wine with the men who would follow me. I distributed gifts among them and accepted their pledges of fealty. There was singing... and the feasting continued for three more days." (Lawhead, 189)
Now may he al day digge and wrote
Er he finde his fille of rote.
In somer he liveth bi wild frut,
And berien bot gode lite;
In winter may he nothing finde
Bot rote, grases, and the rinde.
Al his bodi was oway dwine
For missays and al to-chine.
Lord! who may telle the sore
This king sufferd ten yere and more? (255-260)
"I squat on my rock, and the rags of my clothes flap around me. Summer sun bakes and blisters, winter wind slices flesh from bone, spring rain soaks to the soul, autumn mists chill the heart.
Yet, Merlin endures. Destiny waits while Merlin squats on his rock above dark Celyddon. Forest Lord... Cernunnos' Son... Wild Man of the Wood... Myrddin Wylt... Merlin... He of the Strong Enchantment, who walked with kings, the very same who now grubs among rotting apples for his food..." (Lawhead, 189)
You may have noticed mention of Pelleas bringing Merlin's wolf-skin cloak, a symbol of his kingship. Lawhead's narrative differs from "Sir Orfeo" in that Merlin does not return to his kingdom to test his steward, but his steward, Pelleas, faithfully wanders in the wilderness seeking to reinstate his dirty, war-maddened, starving, naked king.
But what of Ganieda, the Eurydice figure in Lawhead's story? Does Merlin return with his queen? Give Lawhead a read to find out... but do yourself a great favor, and begin with Taliesin.
Nota bene: In Lawhead you will also find references to "Pwyll" and "The Mabinogi." There are probably other tales woven into his work, tales with which I am unfamiliar.
Lawhead's work is comprised of three volumes: Taliesin, Merlin, and Arthur. While Taliesin and Arthur are very interesting, it is Merlin to which I would like to draw your attention. Lawhead's Merlin has indubitably been influenced by "Sir Orfeo." But instead of commenting on each and every detail, I'll simply juxtapose the two texts below. Lines from "Sir Orfeo" are in italics, Lawhead's work is in normal text, enclosed in quotations.
Some necessary background on Lawhead's Merlin:
1. In Lawhead's formulation of the Arthur legend, Merlin's ancestors sailed from Atlantis and landed in Llyonesse, in the soutwestern corner of Roman Britain.
2. These Atlantean settlers become known in Britain as "the Fair Folk." Compared to the inhabitants of Britain, they have a much longer lifespan. Lawhead is obviously hearkening to "faerie" here.
3. Among the Atlanteans are Annubi the sorcerer, and Merlin's evil step-aunt, Morgian, Annubi's fell apprentice who later surpasses him, both in power and in evil. Thus the Fair Folk are known for their magic. Merlin's mother, Princess Charis, is also a healer.
4. Charis marries Taliesin, the mysterious man-child found by Lord Elphin of Gwynnedd in his father's fishing weir at his coming of age. The finding of Taliesin also marks Elphin's turn of luck. Before finding the babe, he was so unlucky that his father's subjects were ready to demand another heir as their king. Because of his occluded origin Taliesin may be interpreted as being "of faerie," but he is so in a different way than the Atlanteans. What is important is that Merlin may be interpreted as having been descended of faerie, and of royalty, from both sides.
5. Unbeknownst to the Atlanteans in Llyonesse, another group of Atlanteans survives and settles in the north, in the Celyddon Forest. These tribes eventually discover one another, and Merlin marries Ganieda, descended of Atlantis (and therefore of faerie).
6. At the height of Merlin's political strength, after he has been crowned King of Dyfed and just when he is about to unite the kingdoms of Llyonesse (his mother's people), Yr Wyddfa (his father's people), and Celyddon (his wife's people), Ganieda and the child she is carrying are brutally murdered in a Saecsen raid. His wife and child thus taken from him, Merlin slaughters the Saecsen raiders, and then flies into the wild where he lurks for many years.
7. Lawhead's tale is narrated by Merlin.
Section One: "Sir Orfeo," Lines 209-214
For now ichave mi quen y-lore,
The fairest levedi that ever was bore, (209-210)
"I [Merlin] fell across the body of my beloved, a great cry of grief tearing from my throat. I raised myself and held Ganieda's beautiful face in my hands. It was not beautiful anymore, but twisted in horrific agony, bespattered with her blood, her clear eyes cloudy and unseeing... Farewell, Ganieda, my soul; I loved you better than my life." (Lawhead, 227)
Never eft y nil no woman se.
Into wildernes ichil te
And live ther evermore
With wilde beasts in holtes hore; (211-214)
"I saw Lord Death moving among the tumbled corpses [of the Saecsen warhost], rubbing his fleshless hands and grinning his lipless smile as he gazed upon my wonderful work. He greeted me.
Well done, Myrddin. Such a handsome harvest; I am pleased, my son.
My horror could not be contained. Dark mist rose up before my eyes; the voices of the dead filled my ears with cries of sharp accusation. The bloody earth mocked me; sky and sun jeered. The wind laughed. I fled the field, seeking refuge in Celyddon's deep, black heart. I fled to the nameless hills, to the rock-bound mountains, to this barren outcrop with its cave and spring.
And here, Annwas, here is all Myrddin Wylt's kingdom. Here is where I have dwelt, and ever shall dwell.
Death, you have taken all the others--why have you not taken me?" (Lawhead, 234-235)
Section Two: "Sir Orfeo," Lines 238-264
Into the wildernes he geth.
Nothing he fint that him is ays,
Bot ever he liveth in gret malais. (238-240)
"They say Merlin mounted to the sky, taking the shape of an avenging hawk to fly away to the mountains.
Yet, when the voices of the searchers rang in the wood, where did Merlin hide? In what pit did Merlin cower while they cried out to him?
O, Wise Wolf, tell me, why was the light of the sun taken from me? Why was the living heart carved from my breast? Why do I haunt the desolate wastes, hearing only the sound of my own voice in the mournful sigh and moan of the wind on bare rock?" (Lawhead, 202)
He that hadde y-werd the fowe and griis,
And on bed the purper biis, (241-242)
"When I stood up again, Pelleas held out for me a deep blue cloak edged all around with wolf fur. It was a cloak made for a king; indeed, it was my own cloak remade--my old Hill Folk wolfskin new-sewn." (Lawhead, 240)
Now on hard hethe he lith,
With leves and gresse he him writh. (243-244)
"My clothing... was little more than a filth-crusted loincloth. It fell from me as I shrugged it off." (Lawhead, 237)
He that hadde had castels and tours,
River, forest, frith with flours (245-246)
"No one actually lived in the hillforts anymore, had not for a long, long time. But Maelwys [an allied king, and Merlin's stepfather] foresaw the day when fully stocked and gated forts would be required.
We also began planning the series of coastal beacons..." (Lawhead, 192)
Now thei it comenci to snewe and frese,
This king mot make his bed in mese. (247-248)
"I watch the winter stars glitter hard in the frozen sky. Were I not so forlorn, I would conjure a fire to warm myself. Instead, I watch the high cold heaven perform its inscrutable work. I gaze at the hoarfrost on the rocks and see the patterns of a life there." (Lawhead, 194)
He that had y-had knightes of priis
Bifor him kneland, and levedis,
Now seth he nothing that him liketh,
Bot wilde wormes bi him striketh.
He that had y-had plente
Of mete and drink, of ich deynte, (249-254)
"He blessed me from the holy text, then kissed me with a holy kiss, and I him, whereupon each of the others in the room knelt and stretched forth their hands to cover my feet as sign of their submission to me. All except Maelwys, of course, but he embraced me like a father.
In this way I was made King of Dyfed.
I began my reign in the usual way, I suppose: I shared wine with the men who would follow me. I distributed gifts among them and accepted their pledges of fealty. There was singing... and the feasting continued for three more days." (Lawhead, 189)
Now may he al day digge and wrote
Er he finde his fille of rote.
In somer he liveth bi wild frut,
And berien bot gode lite;
In winter may he nothing finde
Bot rote, grases, and the rinde.
Al his bodi was oway dwine
For missays and al to-chine.
Lord! who may telle the sore
This king sufferd ten yere and more? (255-260)
"I squat on my rock, and the rags of my clothes flap around me. Summer sun bakes and blisters, winter wind slices flesh from bone, spring rain soaks to the soul, autumn mists chill the heart.
Yet, Merlin endures. Destiny waits while Merlin squats on his rock above dark Celyddon. Forest Lord... Cernunnos' Son... Wild Man of the Wood... Myrddin Wylt... Merlin... He of the Strong Enchantment, who walked with kings, the very same who now grubs among rotting apples for his food..." (Lawhead, 189)
You may have noticed mention of Pelleas bringing Merlin's wolf-skin cloak, a symbol of his kingship. Lawhead's narrative differs from "Sir Orfeo" in that Merlin does not return to his kingdom to test his steward, but his steward, Pelleas, faithfully wanders in the wilderness seeking to reinstate his dirty, war-maddened, starving, naked king.
But what of Ganieda, the Eurydice figure in Lawhead's story? Does Merlin return with his queen? Give Lawhead a read to find out... but do yourself a great favor, and begin with Taliesin.
Nota bene: In Lawhead you will also find references to "Pwyll" and "The Mabinogi." There are probably other tales woven into his work, tales with which I am unfamiliar.
Monday, September 15, 2008
From Greek to Gaiman
In response to Usha's blog: there does seem to be an interesting watering down of the traditional Greek myth of Orpheus. The setting morphs from Greek mythology's cruel underworld to Tolkien's fairly comfortable fairy realm. There also seems to be a move from realistic representations to fantasy. Of course, by "realistic" I do not mean that once upon a time there were underworld gods roaming about. It is more so that the stories of the gods were entwined with world, political, social, and moral views at the time. (Dragons were once considered real entities because people cannot travel as we do now, and since no one knows what is beyond the mountain over yonder, anything, even dragons, is a possibility.) As we move toward Tolkien's time, technologies advance, literacy increases, and the written word is now harnessed, molded, and marketed toward a target market that promises the biggest profit margin. Genres emerge, and anything with dragons seem to be shoved under "fantasy." Unfortunately, genres fiction carry a stigma in the literary world, making them seem as if they are ranked below "real literary fiction." In this way, when the myth reaches Tolkien, it does not carry as much weight as it did in ancient Greece.
An interesting side-effect, however, is that along with the adaptations of the myth, the story itself becomes much more important. In Henryson's Orpheus and Eurydice, the myth is used as a background and the characters are flattened to serve didactic purposes. In more modern adaptations, the story and the characters are the points of interest. An example is Neil Gaiman's "The Faery Reel," first appearing in The Faery Reel: Tales from the Twilight Realm edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling (Viking Press). In that version, Gaiman's endnote states that
Most of the poems I’ve written are happy to sit on the page and be looked at. This one was written with the idea of a faery reel in mind, the beats of a dance that would make your feet twitch and set its measure in the back of your head, and so it was written to be read out loud. You could make up a tune for it, if you like. Proper faery tunes can fill your mind and your feet with their tune and their rhythm so there’s no room left to think of anything else and you dance and more to the beat of the song until you collapse, exhausted, and never move again. Don’t set it to one of those tunes. (437-38 )
Of course, this quote only is only relevant through an autobiographical critical approach. Plus, it even goes beyond the concentration on story and character and moves into a concentration on the provocation of emotions. Nevertheless, it supports the general shift of authorial intent--from using the myth as an allegorical tool toward using it a base of literary entertainment.
Julia
An interesting side-effect, however, is that along with the adaptations of the myth, the story itself becomes much more important. In Henryson's Orpheus and Eurydice, the myth is used as a background and the characters are flattened to serve didactic purposes. In more modern adaptations, the story and the characters are the points of interest. An example is Neil Gaiman's "The Faery Reel," first appearing in The Faery Reel: Tales from the Twilight Realm edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling (Viking Press). In that version, Gaiman's endnote states that
Most of the poems I’ve written are happy to sit on the page and be looked at. This one was written with the idea of a faery reel in mind, the beats of a dance that would make your feet twitch and set its measure in the back of your head, and so it was written to be read out loud. You could make up a tune for it, if you like. Proper faery tunes can fill your mind and your feet with their tune and their rhythm so there’s no room left to think of anything else and you dance and more to the beat of the song until you collapse, exhausted, and never move again. Don’t set it to one of those tunes. (437-38 )
Of course, this quote only is only relevant through an autobiographical critical approach. Plus, it even goes beyond the concentration on story and character and moves into a concentration on the provocation of emotions. Nevertheless, it supports the general shift of authorial intent--from using the myth as an allegorical tool toward using it a base of literary entertainment.
Julia
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Sir Orfeo, Orpheus and Eurydice, and Smith of Wootton Major
This post started as a comment on Aaron's post on Tolkien, but got a little out of control. While reading Sir Orfeo, I was reminded again and again of another of Tolkien's works: Smith of Wootton Major. In part, it is the language and the references to fairies that reminded me of Smith, but there are interesting similarities and contradictions in the stories as well. In many ways, Tolkien's story seems to play on the Orfeo/Orpheus story while almost reversing certain aspects of it. Both Sir Orfeo and Smith live in human societies that have some sort of contact with the world of fairies, and in both stories, a human is chosen to go, or be taken, to Fairy-land. In Sir Orfeo, however, Heurodis is kidnapped, and the Fairy-king's motivation to take her seems malicious but is not clear (although in Henryson's Orpheus and Eurydice, it seems to be her punishment for the sin of being a woman, or being a woman who actively courts a man - this article talks about how Heurodis, in comparison, is portrayed as pretty blameless for what happens to her). In Smith of Wootton Major, Smith is chosen when he is just nine years old to be granted special powers that, among other things, let him roam Fairy-land freely, and it seems to be because he is a kind and thoughtful boy who is somehow different from the others. He ultimately finds out that the king of Fairy is the cook of Wootton Major, who came to the town to work as an apprentice to Smith's grandfather, making the whole adventure feel almost like a family tradition.
Fairies are threatening in Sir Orfeo, and being taken to their world is a punishment (or a curse), presumably equivalent to being taken to hell in Orpheus and Eurydice. Although Tolkien's Fairy-land is described as "perilous" and certainly has threatening aspects of its own, it is a much more hospitable place than Sir Orfeo's Fairy-land, and Smith is imbued with a special protection that keeps him from harm. Several times in the story, Tolkien alludes to it being a place that reminds people of something familiar, but that they can't quite remember.
There are other similarities - there are certainly scenes in Smith of Wootton Major that evoke the ladies frolicking in the woods in Sir Orfeo, for example - but what I find the most interesting is that, just like the Sir Orfeo poet took the tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice (I am assuming that the original story was more similar to Henryson's telling) and gave it a happy ending, Tolkien took the threatening aspects of the Orfeo story and turned them into something charming and comforting.
Fairies are threatening in Sir Orfeo, and being taken to their world is a punishment (or a curse), presumably equivalent to being taken to hell in Orpheus and Eurydice. Although Tolkien's Fairy-land is described as "perilous" and certainly has threatening aspects of its own, it is a much more hospitable place than Sir Orfeo's Fairy-land, and Smith is imbued with a special protection that keeps him from harm. Several times in the story, Tolkien alludes to it being a place that reminds people of something familiar, but that they can't quite remember.
There are other similarities - there are certainly scenes in Smith of Wootton Major that evoke the ladies frolicking in the woods in Sir Orfeo, for example - but what I find the most interesting is that, just like the Sir Orfeo poet took the tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice (I am assuming that the original story was more similar to Henryson's telling) and gave it a happy ending, Tolkien took the threatening aspects of the Orfeo story and turned them into something charming and comforting.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
The Legacy of "Orfeo"
As noted in a previous post and in one of my comments, Tolkien will be a major player in the contemporary conversations over the texts we're covering. Says the preface to "Sir Orfeo" on page 213 of The Broadview Anthology of British Literature, Vol. 1, "Tolkien studied the poem extensively and may well have been influenced by it in writing some portions of The Lord of the Rings." Indeed, there is scholarship that suggests this.
Tom Shippey's works on Tolkien, The Road to Middle Earth and J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century, are two of the most insightful books on Tolkien that I have read. Perhaps by historical accident, Shippey's life closely followed Tolkien's own, inasmuch as he attended many of the same schools and even occupied the same chair at Oxford for a time. Ergo his look into Tolkien's work is unique in that his perspective on English Literature is most closely aligned with Tolkien's own.
On 34-35 of Author of the Century Shippey argues that the appearance of the deer on the path through Mirkwood, followed by the merriment of the elves in the forest, witnessed by Bilbo and the errant dwarves, is an obvious reference to "Sir Orfeo." Writes Shippey:
Interesting.
But "Orfeo" was of still greater import to Tolkien. As a linguist, he readily noticed that "faerie" ("fairy") was not merely a singular noun: it may be read as a collective noun as well. "Orfeo" afforded the justification for this reading in line 194: "With fairi forth y-nome." Compare the three renderings here:
Broadview (notes): "With enchantment [she was] taken forth."
Shippey: "She was taken away by the fairy-people" (Shippey, Road, 57).
Tolkien: "By magic was she from them caught" (Shippey, Ibid.).
The Broadview editors have chosen to emphasize the potency of the faerie, their locus of power, as the agency by which the queen was taken, whereas Shippey and Tolkien name the faerie directly--and plurally. Regardless, Shippey allows for the Broadview editors' reading of things: "'Fayre' in that context means 'glamour', the deceptio visus of the inhabitants of Fairyland" (Shippey, Ibid.).
This point is essential not only for The Hobbit, but for The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings as well. Lines 347-360 of "Orfeo" closely match Tolkien's description of "the Hidden Kingdom," Gondolin, in The Silmarillion (cf. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, chs. 16, "Of Maeglin," and 23, "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin"). (Incidentally, "The Fall of Gondolin" was one of the earliest pieces of Middle Earth to be recorded by Tolkien.) Right down to the entrance wrought in stone, one could get the impression that Gondolin is really a close, although more au naturale, rendering of the faerie kingdom in "Orfeo."
In both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings the concealment of elvish kingdoms closely resembles the experience of Orfeo with the faerie in "Sir Orfeo." The otherworldliness of Elu Thingol's kingdom of Doriath, closely guarded by the magic of his wife, Melian, seems a striking literary extrapolation of the Broadview editors' translation of line 194 discussed above. Similarly, this sort of enchantment also appears in The Fellowship of the Ring:
Tom Shippey's works on Tolkien, The Road to Middle Earth and J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century, are two of the most insightful books on Tolkien that I have read. Perhaps by historical accident, Shippey's life closely followed Tolkien's own, inasmuch as he attended many of the same schools and even occupied the same chair at Oxford for a time. Ergo his look into Tolkien's work is unique in that his perspective on English Literature is most closely aligned with Tolkien's own.
On 34-35 of Author of the Century Shippey argues that the appearance of the deer on the path through Mirkwood, followed by the merriment of the elves in the forest, witnessed by Bilbo and the errant dwarves, is an obvious reference to "Sir Orfeo." Writes Shippey:
Orfeo's hunt is 'dim' because it is not clear he is in the same world as the
fairies, who chase beasts but never catch them. The dwarves' hunt is
'dim', more practically, because they are after all in Mirk-wood and
cannot see or even hear clearly. But the idea is the same in both places,
of a mighty king pursuing his kingly activities in a world forever out of reach
of strangers and trespassers in his domain. (Shippey, 35)
Interesting.
But "Orfeo" was of still greater import to Tolkien. As a linguist, he readily noticed that "faerie" ("fairy") was not merely a singular noun: it may be read as a collective noun as well. "Orfeo" afforded the justification for this reading in line 194: "With fairi forth y-nome." Compare the three renderings here:
Broadview (notes): "With enchantment [she was] taken forth."
Shippey: "She was taken away by the fairy-people" (Shippey, Road, 57).
Tolkien: "By magic was she from them caught" (Shippey, Ibid.).
The Broadview editors have chosen to emphasize the potency of the faerie, their locus of power, as the agency by which the queen was taken, whereas Shippey and Tolkien name the faerie directly--and plurally. Regardless, Shippey allows for the Broadview editors' reading of things: "'Fayre' in that context means 'glamour', the deceptio visus of the inhabitants of Fairyland" (Shippey, Ibid.).
This point is essential not only for The Hobbit, but for The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings as well. Lines 347-360 of "Orfeo" closely match Tolkien's description of "the Hidden Kingdom," Gondolin, in The Silmarillion (cf. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, chs. 16, "Of Maeglin," and 23, "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin"). (Incidentally, "The Fall of Gondolin" was one of the earliest pieces of Middle Earth to be recorded by Tolkien.) Right down to the entrance wrought in stone, one could get the impression that Gondolin is really a close, although more au naturale, rendering of the faerie kingdom in "Orfeo."
In both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings the concealment of elvish kingdoms closely resembles the experience of Orfeo with the faerie in "Sir Orfeo." The otherworldliness of Elu Thingol's kingdom of Doriath, closely guarded by the magic of his wife, Melian, seems a striking literary extrapolation of the Broadview editors' translation of line 194 discussed above. Similarly, this sort of enchantment also appears in The Fellowship of the Ring:
On the green bank near to the very point of the Tongue the Lady Galadriel stoodIn this particular case, the enchantment is not so much in the content of the literature as in its form. Tolkien has left the reader to question whether the enchantment is real, an actual occurrence, or merely psychological, an epistemic twist to which the reader and the characters have been subjected. And this question is also in the spirit of "Sir Orfeo": is it real, or merely a dream, a story?
alone and silent. As they passed her they turned and their eyes watched her
slowly floating away from them. For so it seemed to them: Lorien was sailing on
to forgotten shores, while they sat helpless upon the margin of the grey and
leafless world." (Tolkien, 393)
Monday, September 8, 2008
Rote learning
My thanks to Janice, who forwarded a link to a website that offers various models of rote for sale. Click the link to view (and listen to!) plucked stringed instruments that may resemble those used to accompany the Breton lais. Note, however, that these models are described as "Saxon" or "Germanic" rotes, based on historical finds from East Anglia and the Black Forest, respectively; as such, they may differ from the instruments played by the Celts of (Great) Britain or (Little) Brittany.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
More on the Moor Maiden
http://www.jstor.org.proxyau.wrlc.org/stable/2856553
This article looks at different interpretations of Maiden in the mor lay - apparently it's been pretty contentious - but none of them involve her being dead. Still interesting though.
This article looks at different interpretations of Maiden in the mor lay - apparently it's been pretty contentious - but none of them involve her being dead. Still interesting though.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Dead Lovers, Infidelity, and the Plague
In Thursday’s class, we talked a little bit about infidelity in the Middle Ages, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the plague had some influence on it. Of course, sexual infidelity is a timeless subject of writing, and there are probably any number of novels, songs and self-help books being written about it every month. But within the context of plague-ravaged Britain (I lovede a child of this cuntree was written in the middle of the 14th century, and the plague reached Britain in 1348), it’s easy to imagine an unusually high occurrence of infidelity as part of the mass hysteria that surrounded the disease.
Another question that came to mind when rereading some of the poems with the plague in mind: in addition to the several that were obviously about death or dying, two of the poems struck me as being about dead lovers, but didn’t necessarily have to be read that way: Maiden in the more lay and My lefe is faren in a lond. The first was written in the early fourteenth century, and so predates the plague (but I do wonder whether the maiden was dead or just sort of camping out on the moors eating flowers, which sounds like a nice vacation), but the second was written in the late fifteenth century, well after the plague first arrived but still during a time that was very much feeling its influence. I'm curious about whether other people read them this way.
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