Linguam Ad Loquendum: Writing a Vernacular Identity in Medieval And

Home , Henry Gower, Jack Upland, James Bainham, Lollardy, Nicholas Hereford, Richard Ullerston

LINGUAM AD LOQUENDUM: WRITING A VERNACULAR IDENTITY IN LATE MEDIEVAL AND EARLY MODERN ENGLAND

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

Erin Kathleen Wagner, M.A.

Graduate Program in English

The Ohio State University

2015

Dissertation Committee:

Richard Firth Green, Advisor

Karen Winstead

Ethan Knapp

Hannibal Hamlin

Erin Kathleen Wagner

2015

ABSTRACT

The status of the English language in late medieval England is a complicated one.

Even though used relatively comfortably by secular authors, like Chaucer and Gower, religious writers were constrained by the oversight of the church and its uneasiness concerning vernacular theological discourse. The purpose of this dissertation is to look more closely at the treatment of the English language across normal genre boundaries, bringing together texts of more secular authors like Chaucer and those of theological writers like

Reginald Pecock. In doing so, this project highlights a universal concern with the issue of vernacular identity. The problem of English and what it could be used for was a high-profile one, affecting not only what language writers used, but also the topics they raised. While examining the presentation of the vernacular in my chosen texts, I argue that even texts traditionally considered to be confident in their use of English, like The Canterbury Tales, are preoccupied with the subject of unrestricted speech and the nature of the English language.

Dedicated to my mother and father, Philip and Deborah Wagner

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This dissertation would not have been possible without a network of academic, familial, and collegial support. I would like to thank first my advisor, Dr. Richard Firth

Green, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the Middle Ages and willingness to entertain a thousand questions and ideas have been invaluable. He has read enough chapter drafts, cover letters, and job documents to merit more gratitude than I can even offer here. I am honored and grateful to have worked so closely with one of the most distinguished members of my field. The other members of my committee, Dr. Karen Winstead, Dr. Ethan Knapp, and Dr. Hannibal Hamlin, have sharpened my acumen and challenged me to produce my best work over and over. Without them, still flawed as it is, my dissertation would not be what it is today. More importantly, I would not be the student of literature I am now without the aid of this brilliant group of scholars.

My mother and father, Philip and Deborah Wagner, have provided me with the care and upbringing that have made the pursuit of my doctorate possible. As my teachers in both middle-school and high-school, they provided a strong academic foundation for my current career. Their love has been unfailing and, without their care, I would not have made it through two graduate programs. This doctorate is as much a tribute to them as to any skill of my own. I would like to thank my sister, Lara Swain, as well, who has been generous, kind, and supportive throughout this process and long before. Thanks also to my grandparents,

Dow and Betty Wagner, and Paul Miller, for their unwavering faith in my sure success. Of iv course, without the aid and love of my partner, Andrew Richmond, I would not be as sane as I am at this point in my degree. He is one of the most generous men I have ever met.

Any graduate student unlucky enough to progress through a doctoral program without the humor and friendship of a coterie of colleagues would be a dismal sight by the time she graduated. Luckily that has not been my situation. I have been blessed to have been part of a warm group of colleagues and friends in the English Department at The Ohio State

University. We have been a happy little family in office 547 and the halls of Denney.

VITA

2008 ...... B.A. English/English Education, Marietta

College

2010 ...... M.A. English, Ohio University

2010 to present ...... Graduate Teaching Associate, Department of

English, The Ohio State University

Publications

“Deferential Heresy: Reginald Pecock, William Thorpe, John Oldcastle, and the Danger of Deferring to Episcopal Authority in Late Medieval England,” Essays in Medieval Studies 29 (2014): 85-102.

“Divine Surgeons at Work: The Presence and the Purpose of the Dream Vision in Till We Have Faces,” Mythlore 32.2 (Spring/Summer 2014): 13-30.

“Keeping It in the Family: Beowulf and the Tradition of Familicide in the Kin of Cain,” Hortulus: The Online Graduate Journal of Medieval Studies (Spring 2013).

Fields Study

Major Field: English

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract ...... ii Dedication ...... iii Acknowledgments ...... iv Vita ...... vi

Introduction ...... 1

Section 1 Who Speaks and Who Listens: The Regulation of Dissident Speech

Chapter 1. “A janglere speke of perilous mateere”: Silence and Vernacular Theology in Ricardian Literature and the Manciple’s Tale ...... 18

Chapter 2. “He that is brent, men seyn, dredith the fyre”: De Haeretico Comburendo and the Development of a Critical Vernacular Orthodoxy in Dives and Pauper and Hoccleve’sThe Regiment of Princes ...... 80

Section 2 Latinate English and Anglicized Latin: Crafting a Vernacular Grammar

Chapter 3. “Not the ink written, neither the voice spoken”: Reginald Pecock and the Scholastic Validation and Circumscription of the Vernacular ...... 137

Chapter 4. “And to hir he wrote a book”: Vernacular Theology and the Gendered Response to Heresy in John Capgrave’s Works...... 186

Section 3 Reading a Model of Faith: How the Printed Book and Lay Reading Changed the Definition of Christian

Chapter 5. “Yet Printing Onely Wyl Subuert Your Doinges”: The Debate over Lay Literacy in More, Tyndale, and Foxe and the Changing Group Identity of Reformers ...... 239

Bibliography ...... 297

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INTRODUCTION

Controversy is not seldom excited in consequence of the disputants attaching each a different meaning to the same word—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A series of heresy trials took place in Norwich between 1428 and 1431. In those trials, almost sixty people were indicted on charges of “crimine lollardie et heretice” and forced to publicly abjure themselves.1 One of the men examined in 1429 was John Burell, son of the glover Richard Burell. The trial record begins with Burell’s admission that he had learned the Pater Noster, Ave Maria, and Creed in English: “iuratus dixit quod Thomas

Burell, frater istius iurati, tribus annis elapsis docuit istum iuratum Pater, Ave et Credo in lingua Anglicana.”2 Additionally, Burell had been instructed by his brother on the Ten

Commandments: “Item dicit quod idem frater suus docuit istum iuratum precepta Dei in lingua Anglicana, et quod in primo mandato continetur quod nullus honor est exhibendus aliquibus ymaginibus sculptis in ecclesiis per manus hominum.”3 John Baker, another defendant examined eighteen days prior, is charged with possessing a book that contains in it the “Pater Noster et Ave Maria et Credo in lingua Anglicana.”4 In the same series of trials,

1 Ed. Norman P. Tanner, Heresy Trials in the Diocese of Norwich, 1428-1431, Camden Fourth Series, vol. 20 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1977), pp. 7-10, 70. 2 My translation: “The sworn witness said that Thomas Burell, the brother of the witness, had taught the witness the Pater, Ave, and Creed in the English language after he was three years old”; Tanner, ed. “Johannes Burell, famulus Thome Mone,” Heresy Trials, p. 73. 3 My translation: “Item; he said that the same brother had taught the witness the precepts of God in the English language, and that in the first commandment it was contained that there was no honor to be exhibited in other images in church sculpted by man’s hands”; Tanner, ed., “Johannes Burell, famulus Thome Mone,” Heresy Trials, p. 73. 4 Tanner, ed., “Johannes Baker alias Ussher de Tunstale,” Heresy Trials, p. 69. 1

Robert Bert is examined on account of his ownership of Dives and Pauper, a vernacular commentary on the Ten Commandments.5 More than the text itself, comments written into the margins were identified as erroneous by the priest present.6 Margery Baxter, according to the testimony of her neighbor, had discussed the gospel in English with a friar.7 All of this behavior—writing, speaking, and learning—was deemed potentially heretical because of the language in which it was performed and what that language represented. Lay theological literacy was continually marked as aberrant in these records.

The status of the English language in late medieval England (c. 1350-c. 1500) was a complicated one, because the Church had long used Latin as its official language, and the state often used Latin as well. Even though English was used relatively comfortably by secular authors in the late fourteenth-century, religious writers were constrained by the oversight of the Church and its uneasiness concerning people writing about spiritual issues in the vernacular. The problem of English and what it could be used for was a high-profile one, affecting not only what language writers used, but also the topics they raised.

The majority of the accusations brought against the Norwich residents, though, are not obviously contingent on vernacular literacy. Presumably because they cannot write, many of the defendants sign their names to their abjurations with a cross ( + ), and typical charges seem grounded more in observable behavior and disavowal of the following: baptism, confession to priests, the Eucharist, marriage in the Church, fasting, prayers to saints, and

5 Tanner, ed., “Magister Robertus Bert de Bury,” Heresy Trials, p. 99 6 Ibid. 7 Tanner, ed., “Margeria, uxor Willelmi Baxter, wryght, de Martham,” Heresy Trials, p. 48. 2 pilgrimages.8 In sum, Lollards are defined by what they are not doing that their neighbors are.9 Writing and learning in English do not seem to be the primary focus of these trials, then, but the caricature of the Lollard who voraciously desires texts and teaching in the vernacular was a staple throughout the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century. Henry Knighton, a late fourteenth-century chronicler, describes Lollards as almost magically versed in vernacular theology once they join the sect: “And both men and women instantly become learned exponents of evangelical teaching in their mother tongue, as though they had been trained and taught in one school, and indeed instructed and raised up by a single master.”10

According to Knighton, the Lollards’ literacy is the foundation of their claim to be the true

Church: “And they strove against them fervently and unceasingly, in public and in private, calling them false brethren, and asserting themselves to be the true preachers and evangelists, because they had translated the Gospels into the English tongue.”11 Based on Knighton’s account of William Smith, the first recognized lay member of the sect, literacy was, in fact, a sort of symptom of Lollardy: “Despicable and deformed in person, he had once sought to marry a young woman, and when she spurned him he affected the outward forms of sanctity

. . . and in the meantime taught himself the alphabet and the skill of writing.”12 Smith’s self- education is yet another sign of his deformity.

Texts written by Lollards do extol the virtues of vernacular translation and English composition (though in less exaggerated terms than Knighton depicts). John Trevisa, a priest

8 These specific charges are drawn from the examination of John Kynget, though they are fairly representative of the Norwich trials; Tanner, ed., “Johannes Kynget,” Heresy Trials, p. 81. 9 To what extent official records representative of the Church’s power accurately represent Lollard beliefs is a subject of current scholarship and a matter that will be discussed hereafter in my introduction. 10 Henry Knighton, Knighton’s Chronicle 1337-1396, ed. and trans. G. H. Martin (Oxford: Clarendon P., 1995), p. 303. 11 Knighton, Knighton’s Chronicle, p. 305. 12 Knighton, Knighton’s Chronicle, p. 293. 3 with possible Lollard sympathies, defends the English translation of both Scripture and other works in his 1387 Dialogue Between the Lord and the Clerk on Translation.13 The Bible should be translated, he argues, because laymen will not otherwise understand it or sermons based upon it: “Than hit neidith to have an Englisshe translacioun.”14 The Wycliffite Bible itself was probably in the process of translation as Trevisa wrote his defense, begun in the

1380s and not completed until more than ten years later.15 The Later Version of the

Wycliffite Bible was colloquial, more accessible to the lay reader, and included a prologue in defense of the authors’ task.16 Written between 1395 and 1397, the prologue supports the translators’ approach by pointing out the Great Commission’s call “that the gospel shal be prechid in al the world.”17 Additionally, it points out the great desire on the part of the laity for scripture: “ȝit the lewid puple crieth aftir holi writ, to kunne it, and kepe it, with greet cost and peril of here lif.”18

Another text contemporary with the Wycliffite Bible was The Holi Prophete David

Seith.19 Anticlerical, if not necessarily Lollard, the text urges laymen to be unafraid to read and study the Bible on their own: “Lat Cristene men travaile feithfulli in thise vi weies, and

13 Introduction, “John Trevisa, Dialogue Between the Lord and the Clerk on Translation (Extract) and Epistle to Thomas, Lord Berkeley, on the Translation of Higden’s Polychronicon,” The Idea of the Vernacular, eds. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Nicholas Watson, Andrew Taylor, and Ruth Evans (University Park: Penn State U., 1999), pp. 130-138, at p. 130. 14 Ibid., p. 133. 15 Introduction, “The General Prologue to the Wycliffite Bible: Chapter 12 (Extract),” The Idea of the Vernacular, pp. 91-97, at p. 91. 16 Ibid. 17 Anne Hudson, Selections from English Wycliffite Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978), pp. 69, 174; The Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testaments, with the Apocryphal Books, in the Earliest English Versions, made from the Latin Vulgate by John Wycliffe and his Followers, eds. Rev. Josiah Forshall and Sir Frederic Madden, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1850), p. 56. 18 The Holy Bible, p. 57. 19 Introduction, “The Holi Prophete David Seith (Three Extracts),” The Idea of the Vernacular, pp. 149-156, at p. 149. 4 be not to moche aferid of objectiouns or enemyes seyyng that the ‘letter sleeth’.”20 An anonymous text defending translation in the first years of the fifteenth century, On Translating the Bible Into English, continues in this vein, arguing for equality in access to Scripture: “If this blessid dede be aloued to the kynge of al hooli chirche, how not now as wel aughte it to be allowed a man to rede the gospel on Engliche and do therafter?”21

This Lollard devotion to translation does not seem so unorthodox in comparison to an early thirteenth-century text like the canons of the IV Lateran Council (1215). Here, in the ninth canon, the Council urges bishops of multilingual dioceses to appoint priests who can administer the sacraments in the language of the recipients:

Since in many places within the same city and diocese there are people of different languages having one faith but various rites and customs, we strictly command that the bishops of these cities and dioceses provide suitable men who will, according to the different rites and languages, celebrate the divine offices for them, administer the sacraments of the Church and instruct them by word and example.22

In fact, before the mid-fourteenth century, though Biblical translations were few and not comprehensive, they were not unheard of in England. Anglo-Saxon gospels existed as early as the tenth and eleventh centuries; there was an Anglo-Norman Bible in 1361, and there are

84 extant witnesses to the Anglo-Norman Apocalypse.23 In addition, there were some psalters both in French and in English translations that circulated in the thirteenth through fourteenth centuries.24 Richard Rolle’s psalter, written circa 1345, is the most well-known of these psalters and was a bilingual text (including both the Latin and the English translation)

20 “The Holi Prophete David Seith,” p. 152. 21 Introduction, “On Translating the Bible into English (Extract),” The Idea of the Vernacular, pp. 146-48, at p. 147, 22 Twelfth Ecumenical Council: Lateran IV 1215, Medieval Sourcebook, ed and trans. Paul Halsall, Fordham University (1996). 23 Margaret Deanesly, The Lollard Bible and Other Medieval Biblical Versions, (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1920), pp. 136-37, 142 24 Deanesly, pp. 143-47. 5 with an English gloss.25 Additionally, throughout the Middle Ages, lives of Christ and saints, in addition to paraphrased Bible stories, were composed relatively frequently in England.26

Why, then, did vernacular translation become so anathematic in the late Middle Ages and the very beginning of the Early Modern period? The issue came to such a point that

Archbishop Arundel released a set of Constitutions in 1409 that explicitly forbade translation of Scripture and Wycliffite texts:

Periculosa quoque res est, testante beato Jeronymo, textum sacrae scripturae de uno aliud idioma transferre, eo quod in ipsis translationibus non de facili idem in omnibus sensus retinetur, prout idem beatus Jeronymus, et si inspiratus fuisset, se in hoc saepius fatetur errasse; statuimus igitur et ordinamus, ut nemo deinceps aliquem textum sacrae scripturae auctoritate sua in linguam Anglicanam, vel aliam transferat, per viam libri, libelli, aut tractatus, nec legatur aliquis huiusmodi liber, libellus, aut tractatus jam noviter tempore dicti Johannis Wycliff, sive citra, compositus, aut inposterum componendus, in parte vel in toto, publice, vel occulte, sub majoris excommunicationis poena, quousque per concilium provinciale ipsa translatio fuerit approbata: qui contra fecerit, ut fautor haeresis et erroris similiter puniatur.27

Arundel here expresses anxiety about the preservation of Scriptural meaning under the rigors of translation. This concern did not pass away with the Middle Ages. Thomas More,

25 Deanesly, p. 146; Introduction, “Richard Rolle, The English Psalter: Prologue,” The Idea of the Vernacular, pp. 244-249, at p. 244. 26 Deanesly, pp. 140-155. 27 “It is likewise a dangerous thing, as testified by the blessed Jerome, to translate the text of sacred scripture from one into another idiomatic language, because in these translations, the sense is not easily retained the same in all things, just as the blessed Jerome, inspired as he was, is said to have erred often in this same matter; therefore I establish and ordain, that no one hereafter translate on his own authority any text of sacred scripture into the English language, or any other, by way of book, booklet, or tract, neither should any manner of book, booklet, or tract composed recently in the time of John Wyclif, or more recently, or compiled after, in part or in whole, public, or secret, be read under pain of greater excommunication, until that translation shall have been approved through provincial council: whoever goes against this will be likewise punished, as a supporter of heresies and errors,” “Constitutiones domini Thomae Arundel, Cantuariensis, archiepiscopi, factae in convocatione praelatorum et cleri Cantuariensis provinciae, in ecclesia cathedrali S. Pauli London, incepta 14 die mensis Januarii, A.D. M.CCCC.VIII. et translationis suae an. Xiii contra haereticos,” Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae ab Anno MCCL ad Annum MDXLV, vol.3, ed. David Wilkins (London, 1737), p. 317. Translation mine. 6 combating William Tyndale and his English translation in 1531, argues that, with his translation, Tyndale has hideously transformed the text:

Whych who so callyth the newe testament calleth it by a wronge name excepte they wyll call it Tyndals testament or Luthers testament. For so had Tyndall after Luthers counsayle corrupted and changed it frome the good and holsom doctrine of Cryste to the deuylysh heresyes of theyr owne that it was clene a contrary thing.28

Many defenders of the Church were suspicious that any English translation would thus irrevocably damage the text. It must also be recognized, though, that translation would change the nature of the church hierarchy as well. As Anne Hudson has said, in Lollards and

Their Books, the English language represented a threat greater than its parts:

it was only very slowly that the authorities of the established church came to see that the vernacular lay at the root of the trouble, and that the use of it was more significant than just the substitution of a despised barbaric tongue for the tradition of Latin—that the subsitution threw open to all the possibility of discussing the subtleties of the Eucharist, of clerical claims, of civil dominion and so on.29

The danger in a man learning his Pater Noster and his Ten Commandments in English, like

John Burell, is that he would reject the priestly mediator who bestows Christ on his parishioners in more ways than one. Indeed, in his testimony, Burell states that he believes that all men are created priests:

Item iste iuratus dixit quod Ricardus Belward ac Willelmus White et dictus Thomas Burell docuerunt istum iuratum quod nullus sacerdos habet potestatem conficiendi corpus Christi in sacramento altaris; et quod Deus creavit omnes sacerdotes, et in quolibet sacerdote capud et oculos ad videndum, aures ad audiendum, linguam ad loquendum et omnia membra cuiuslibet hominis.30

28 Thomas More, A Dialogue Concerning Heresies, pt.1, eds. Thomas M. C. Lawler, Germain Marc’hadour, Richard C. Marius (New Haven: Yale UP, 1981), p. 285. 29 Anne Hudson, Lollards and Their Books (London: Hambledon P., 1985), p. 145. 30 My translation: “The witness said that Richard Belward and also William White and the aforesaid Thomas Burell had taught the witness that no priests have the power to confer the body of Christ in the sacrament of 7

Most of the heresy charges in these trials reflect a similar rejection of the priest and other mediators (like saints). All men can serve as priests in baptism, marriage, and prayer. If men and women can also read the Scripture in English, one of the very real barriers between the laity and the clergy collapses.

The title of my dissertation comes from Burell’s explanation above: All men, as priests, are given tongues to speak by God, linguam ad loquendum. For the Lollard fighting to translate Scripture and theology, the tongue which God gave him to speak in was not merely fleshly; it was English. The irony here, of course, is that tongue for speaking, filtered as it is through a Latin record, is a reminder of the dominance of the Latin tongue in the late medieval Church. My project, though, is not really about the Lollard writers. Instead, I am interested in orthodox writers struggling to justify their use of English and to express discontent with the censorious environment of late medieval and Early Modern England.

After all, orthodox writers were invested in translation as well. For example, Richard

Ullerston, though vehemently anti-Lollard, argued for vernacular translation in a 1401 treatise that served as the basis of the anonymous On Translating the Bible Into English mentioned above.31 The Holi Prophete David Seith, if in fact not a Lollard text, might be another example of an orthodox defense for vernacular translation. Other orthodox uses of the vernacular were in service of Arundel’s Latinate mission; Nicholas Love composed his

1410 translation of Bonaventure’s Meditationes Vitae Christi in English. Archbishop Arundel

the altar; and that God had created all men to be priests, and in whatsoever priest, created head and eyes for seeing, ears for hearing, tongues for speaking and all members of whatsoever man,” Tanner, ed., “Johannes Burell, famulus Thome Mone,” Heresy Trials, p. 73. 31 Introduction, “On Translating the Bible into English (Extract),” The Idea of the Vernacular, pp. 146-48, at p. 146; see also Hudson, Lollards and Their Books, p. 150. 8 approved the text since it served to ultimately undermine the Wycliffite stance of sola scriptura:

[Arundel] after examining it for several days, returning it to the abovementioned author, commended and approved it personally, and further decreed and commanded by his metropolitan authority that it rather be published universally for the edification of the faithful and the confutation of heretics or lollards.32

In both cases, whether translation was praised for its own sake or was used to fight heretics, orthodox authors in the late Middle Ages were invested in crafting a vernacular identity for themselves as much as Lollard authors were. They wanted tongues to speak as well, though they did not dismiss Latin as an authoritative language nor the mediation of the Church.

Broadly speaking, this project examines the work of five orthodox authors attempting to define vernacularity for themselves and their readers: Geoffrey Chaucer, Thomas Hoccleve,

Reginald Pecock, John Capgrave, and John Foxe.

This, of course, calls for a redefinition of orthodoxy and heterodoxy. These authors, even, present a complicated front in that regard. Both Chaucer and Hoccleve are lauded as proto-Protestants after their death, Pecock was divested of his bishopric on charges of heresy, and John Foxe represents a new orthodoxy as Protestantism was on the rise.

Heterodoxy is a term that is often loosely used as a synonym for heresy so as to divest the latter word of its pejorative connotations. However, I think that heterodoxy might be more usefully employed to describe the heterogeneous nature of medieval religion as whole. Daniel

Boyarin, in his book Border Lines, introduces a framework of great use to scholars struggling with conceptualizing how disparate ideologies interact (and I think it is fair to say that much

32 Nicholas Love, The Mirror of the Blessed Life of Jesus Christ, ed and trans. Michael G. Sargent (Exeter: U of Exeter P., 2004), pp. xv-xviii, quote on p. xv. 9 of modern scholarship on Lollard and Wycliffite texts is invested in this struggle). In defining Judaism against Christianity, Boyarin emphasizes the constructed nature of the borders between these two religions.33 As with any constructed borders (he uses the example of the Tijuana border crossing), “[r]eligious ideas, practices, and innovations permeated that border crossing in both directions.”34 The application of Boyarin’s terminology to Lollard studies seems clear. There are very few more dangerous borders than that between orthodoxy and heresy, but they are so often fictive, constructed, and artificial. Lollards want vernacular texts; so do avid supporters of the status quo. It cannot be assumed, then, that Lollard beliefs are somehow entirely separate from a set of beliefs defined as orthodox, or vice versa.

I cannot, of course, do away with the term orthodoxy entirely just yet. The word serves as a way to define how medieval authors saw themselves and to delineate which views and perspectives were safe from hierarchical prosecution. It is also difficult to describe tension and anxieties without engaging in some of the emic rhetoric of the Middle Ages. Clearly,

Church officials saw heretics. My job, as a scholar, is to examine the processes inherent in that act of definition. I use the terms Lollard and Wycliffite largely interchangeably in this project, for example, because I am exploring texts that, like Henry Knighton’s Chronicon, consider

Lollards the followers of Wyclif. However, as modeled in this introduction, I am constantly analyzing what it is that makes Knighton and others like him assume this connection between Wyclif and Lollards. Knighton sees Lollards as natural debaters, fixated on words and translations, and he links that with Wyclif’s own skills. Wyclif is a “master”, and Lollards are his pupils by evidence of their behavior: “For just as their master Wyclif was powerful

33 Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: UPenn P, 2004), p. 1. 34 Boyarin, Border Lines, p.1. 10 and effective in disputation over everyone . . . . so even those most recently drawn into their sect showed themselves decisively eloquent.”35

The current scholarship in Lollard studies is engaged in understanding medieval

Christians on their own terms as well. Fiona Somerset’s new book Feeling Like Saints deliberately sets itself apart from former textual work that has utilized top-down approaches to understand the tenets of Lollard belief. Rather than relying on the criticism of polemical anti-Lollard texts, Somerset’s monograph looks at the almost five hundred manuscripts that are witnesses to Lollard practice in order to better define the primary concerns of this sect.36

She references the work of Ian Christopher Levy, Stephen E. Lahey, and Anne Hudson who have done the same for Wyclif.37 Anne Hudson, of course, with Margaret Deanesely and others make up the first generation of modern Lollard scholarship. They have established a strong foundation of primary research with Lollards and Their Books, Two Wycliffite Texts,

Selections from Wycliffite Writings, and The Lollard Bible in addition to a slew of other valuable works.38 Somerset, along with J. Patrick Hornbeck II and Stephen Lahey, have begun to re- engage with this mode of primary research. Wycliffite Spirituality, a collection of Wycliffite writings, complements Hudson’s earlier work, anthologizing texts written by Lollards, not just against them.39 The Idea of the Vernacular (edited by Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Nicholas

35 Knighton, Knighton’s Chronicle, pp. 303-305. Knighton explicitly equates the two labels on p. 295: “Lollards, or Wycliffites.” For a discussion of the wordiness of Lollards and the connection therewith to Wyclif, see Janette Dillon, Language and Stage in Medieval and Renaissance England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006), at p. 14 or my discussion in chapter 2. 36 Fiona Somerset, Feeling Like Saints: Lollard Writings After Wyclif (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2014), p. 2. 37 Somerset, Feeling Like Saints, p.2. 38 Anne Hudson, Lollards and Their Books (London: Hambledon P., 1985); Anne Hudson, ed., Two Wycliffite Texts (Oxford: EETS, 1993); Anne Hudson, ed., Selections from English Wycliffite Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978); Deanesly, The Lollard Bible. 39 Eds. J. Patrick Hornbeck II, Stephen E. Lahey, and Fiona Somerset, Wycliffite Spirituality, The Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist P., 2013). 11

Watson, Andrew Taylor, and Ruth Evans) has also provided a teachable text of primary sources about vernacularity in the late Middle Ages, transcending heresy/orthodox boundaries.40

These scholars are invested in complicating the simple binary once established between Lollardy and orthodoxy. New collections like After Arundel (edited by Vincent

Gillespie and Kantik Ghosh) and Wycliffite Controversies (edited by Hornbeck and Mishtooni

Bose) reflect the reinvigorated discussion nuancing the definition of orthodoxy before and after Arundel’s 1409 Conclusions.41 This process of refining perceptions about the medieval religious landscape has often taken place in analyses of discourse and word studies—as in

Rita Copeland’s edited collection, Criticism and Dissent in the Middle Ages, Somerset’s Clerical

Discourse and Lay Audience in Late Medieval England, and Andrew Cole’s Literature and Heresy in the Age of Chaucer.42 Other times, this process has evolved in new and redefining studies of medieval writers, such as Karen A. Winstead’s John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century and Ethan

Knapp’s The Bureaucratic Muse—or in redefining studies of non-Lollard heterodox genres as in Katherine Kerby-Fulton’s Books Under Suspicion.43 James Simpson has turned this new critical gaze on William Tyndale as well in Burning to Read.44

40 Eds. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Nicholas Watson, Andrew Taylor, and Ruth Evans, The Idea of the Vernacular: An Anthology of Middle English Literary Theory, 1280-1520 (University Park: Penn State UP., 1999). 41 Eds. Vincent Gillespie, Kantik Ghosh, After Arundel: Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century England (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011); Eds. Mishtooni Bose, J. Patrick Hornbeck II, Wycliffite Controversies (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011). 42 Rita Copeland, ed., Criticism and Dissent in the Middle Ages (Cambridge; Cambridge UP., 1996); Fiona Somerset, Clerical Discourse and Lay Audience in Late Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP., 1998); Andrew Cole, Literature and Heresy in the Age of Chaucer (Cambridge: Cambridge UP., 2008). 43 Karen A. Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 2007); Ethan Knapp, The Bureaucratic Muse: Thomas Hoccleve and the Literature of Late Medieval England (University Park: Penn State UP., 2001); Katherine Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion: Censorship and Tolerance of Revelatory Writing in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2006). 44 James Simpson, Burning to Read: English Fundamentalism and Its Reformation Opponents (Cambridge, MA: Belknap P., 2007). 12

My own project, Linguam ad loquendum, builds on the scholarship outlined above (and on the work of many other worthy scholars too numerous to name here) to complicate late medieval definitions of orthodoxy. I argue that many orthodox writers are invested in developing a vernacular literary identity, not just a Latinate one. The dissertation is composed of five chapters, each centered on writers who, implicitly or explicitly, are engaged in the discussion of how to use the English language; it is organized chronologically so as to trace the discussion as it changes, but is divided into three sections.

The first section, Who Speaks and Who Listens: The Regulation of Dissident Speech, is concerned with the regulation of English speech and heretics. The first chapter details the development of a censorious theology in late medieval England, wherein those churchgoers who were not part of the clergy were encouraged to be silent and never to question the authority of bishops. Against this background, I analyze the epithet of jangler and its theological implications. The word is prominent in the Manciple’s Tale, written by Geoffrey

Chaucer as part of The Canterbury Tales (late 14th c.). This tale and its analogue written by John

Gower (c.1390) are the foci for my discussion of how the issue of silencing appears in the work of poets at the end of the Ricardian reign and the beginning of the Lancastrian. In retelling the same classical tale of a crow violently silenced by his master for speaking the truth, Gower supports the master’s position, as he is largely concerned with maintaining the status quo and thus silencing revolutionaries, while Chaucer is much more concerned with the freedom to speak, and he highlights the cruelty of the bird’s fate. In his retelling, Chaucer critiques the foolishness and tyranny of kings and bishops who would control the speech of others by parodying the vocabulary of church censors.

In the second chapter, I explore how both Thomas Hoccleve’s Regiment of Princes

(1410-1411) and the anonymous Dives and Pauper (1405-1410) also exhibit anxiety over the vernacular, but more so over the consequences for dissident speech. The two texts present similar frames: two men, uneven in age and wealth, conversing on both religious and political issues. In Regiment of Princes, I argue that Hoccleve’s narratorial persona, though he explicitly presents himself as orthodox, occupies the status of a Lollard martyr in his use of

English and in his anxieties about his own security. As a result, he is invested in supporting the right to speak freely while at the same time he submits himself to church and state authority. In Dives and Pauper, the two titular characters discuss the Ten Commandments, trading orthodoxy back and forth as each man tries to construct himself as virtuous. Among other points of contention, Dives insists that the lay people should not have the scriptures in their own tongue, while Pauper objects. They also discuss the virtue (or lack thereof) in capital punishment and the appropriate punishment for heretics who use language to evil ends. Since these two texts are written right before and right after the establishment of de heretico comburendo, which allowed the king to burn heretics, the discussions are especially pointed.

The second section, Latinate English and Anglicized Latin: Crafting a Vernacular

Grammar, analyzes the relationship between lay readers and the grammatical arguments for and against English as a language. In the third chapter, I discuss how Reginald Pecock is concerned with the formation of the lay believer. For him, this necessitates a discussion of the capabilities of the English language in comparison with Latin, the language of the

Church. In his five main English theological treatises (mid 15th c.), Pecock attempts to

14 change the English language into a manageable and Latin-like vernacular. Employing the methods of scholastic philosophy that he would have learned in his university education,

Pecock attempts to argue for the semantic stability of English. He also asserts the ultimate authority of the author over his own text, thereby removing any inherent error in the language itself. Pecock finds the English language to be necessary for the development and identity of the lay believer. In order to reconcile the vernacular to lay and cleric alike, then, he must concern himself with how speech works at the most basic levels of communication.

For John Capgrave, the subject of the fourth chapter, English should not be elevated to a Latinate status. Unconvinced of English’s capability, Capgrave continually emphasizes the need for Latin (and its grammatical foundation) and clerical mediators to his lay readers.

Often, these readers are female. Capgrave takes great care to outline the dangers of heresy, grounded in erroneous speech, for this particularly fallible audience. In The Life of St.

Katherine, Capgrave marks heresy, especially Lollardy, as feminine through his repeated use of witch. As if in answer to the troublesome model of Katherine, Life of St. Augustine presents

Augustine’s mother, Monica, as a model of proper feminine piety to his readers, one of prayer but not study.

The last section, Reading a Model of Faith: How the Printed Book and Lay Reading Changed the Definition of Christian, is made up of only one chapter, examining how lay reading practices changed the definition of the Christian community in the works of John Foxe, William

Tyndale, and Thomas More. In the early sixteenth-century, Thomas More and William

Tyndale were engaged in a debate over scriptural translation that explicitly addressed the function of language and the holiness of Protestant martyrs. John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments,

15 an account of Protestant and proto-Protestant martyrs first published in 1563, answers

More, who accuses reformist martyrs of inconstancy in their faiths and beliefs. His solution is to define the private nature of faith much like the literal sense of Scripture. An observer and reader must trust to his or her individual feelings regarding the salvation of a man or woman who endures martyrdom or recants. This definition of the Christian community is based on grammatical debates relevant to Pecock and Capgrave: how do we know what a word means? Does it represent the res or simply a species, an idea of a thing? In his monumental text, Foxe establishes a new orthodoxy in the face of past dissent.

By uniting such disparate texts, ranging from Fürstenspiegel to treatise, Linguam ad loquendum creates a narrative about the experience of the medieval and Early Modern speakers, readers, and writers at large, struggling with their linguistic identity. Common concerns about the oversight of rulers and the grammar of English tie together these orthodox texts with heterodox discourse, muddying the very definition of orthodoxy itself.

SECTION 1 WHO SPEAKS AND WHO LISTENS: THE REGULATION OF DISSIDENT SPEECH

CHAPTER 1: “A JANGLERE SPEKE OF PERILOUS MATEERE”: SILENCE AND VERNACULAR THEOLOGY IN RICARDIAN LITERATURE AND THE MANCIPLE’S TALE

The end of the prologue in the B-text of Piers Plowman is clamorous. Tradesman of all sorts pass their day shouting “Dieu vous save Dame Emme!,” while cooks yell about their pies and inn-keepers boast of their wines (Prol. 219-230).1 All these, the narrator states, he

“seigh slepyng” (231). The contrast between Will as quiet observer (who sees rather than hears) and the ruckus of the tradesmen underscores the concern with speech and silence throughout the rest of the prologue. When he first sets out to wander the world, Will is intent to “here” what “wondres” the world holds (4). What he hears, when he falls into dream, are the grumblings of an unsettled English populace. While some “swonken full harde,” many others indulge vicious pursuits (21). More often than not, these latter folk are recognized by various sins of speech. There are “japers and jangleres,” pilgrims who journey in order to have “leve to lyen al hire life after,” friars who preach for “profit of the wombe,” a pardoner preaching “as he a preest were,” and a “goliardeis, a gloton of wordes” (35, 49,

59, 68, 139). Those men Langland marks as lewd serve as the audience for these chatterboxes.

For example, they listen to the false pardoner: “Lewed men leved hym wel and liked hise wordes” (72). Save for one lunatic, they are also silent in the face of the king’s appointment, though the king is supposedly set in place by the knights and the “[m]ight of the communes

(112-13). Instead, an angel from heaven speaks on behalf of the uneducated: “And sithen in

1 William Langland, The Vision of Piers Plowman, 2nd ed., ed. A. V. C. Schmidt (London: Everyman, 1995). 18 the eyr on heigh an aungel of hevene / Lowed to speke in Latyn—for lewed men ne koude /

Jangle ne jugge that justifie hem sholde, / But suffren and serven” (128-31). The men are unable to speak because they do not know Latin.2 However, they are also unable to speak because their role is rather to suffer and serve. These lewd men are, then, the “plowman ordeyned / To tilie and to travaille as trewe lif asketh” (119-20). Reaching back to the beginning of the poem, they are also the first people that Will sees in his dream: those who

“putten hem to the plough, pleiden ful selde, / In settynge and sowynge swonken ful harde”

(20-21).

The prologue thus sets up a disparity between those who speak and those who do not. Whether Will agrees with this division is unclear. He discerns that the place of the lewd man is to work to produce food for those above him. The misuse of speech throughout the prologue, though, begs for the moment when the angel proclaims his warning to the king.

These words must surely be heavenly, untainted by human mouths. In effect, they instruct the king to be a good ploughman: “Qualia vis metere, talia grana sere” (136).3 Immediately thereafter, though, the goliard dissects the angel’s speech, thereby stripping it of its sanctity.

The common people then cry out in Latin as well, but what they say seems dictated more by the king’s power than their own thought: “Precepta Regis sunt nobis vincula legis” (145).4 In this inversion of the tower of Babel narrative, all the people are united in one tongue

(formerly unknown to the lewd men), but they are united in silencing themselves: whatever the king ordains must be right. That this is the case is borne out by the allegory of the rats that follows. The rats decide to bell the cat that is their king, so they might have some

2 This is Schmidt’s glossing of the line, p. 8. 3 Schmidt translates as “Sow such grain as you wish to reap,” p. 8. 4 Schmidt translates as “The king’s bidding has for us the binding force of law,” p. 9. 19 warning and protection from his ravagings. The mouse warns against this action, though, and advises that the cat be left free to act as he would: “But suffren as hymself wold so doon as hym liketh--/Coupled and uncoupled to cache what thei mowe. / Forthi ech a wis wight I warne—wite wel his owene” (206-8). The wise man, the mouse says, will keep himself to himself. Will seems to agree, closing the allegory by denying interpretation: “What this metels bymeneth, ye men that ben murye, / Devyne ye, for I ne dar, by deere God in hevene)” (209-10). This is not the only time in the prologue that Will refrains from speech.

When pointing out the sins of the japeres and jangleres, he invokes Paul’s warning that to speak of shameful people is to be sinful oneself and so withholds himself from further discussion of them: “That Poul precheth of hem I wol nat preve it here: / Qui loquitur turpiloquium is

Luciferes hyne” (38-39).5

5 Schmidt translates as “He who utters foul speech,” p.3. The Biblical reference here is unclear. Walter Skeat cited only ten Latin references from Piers Plowman that he could not trace to their source. This phrase was one of them, and he requested help in the October 1866 issue of Notes and Queries, at p. 290. Andrew Galloway provides the two references most commonly accepted as likely sources in modern scholarly circles: Ephesians 5:4 and Colossians 3:8, The Penn Commentary on Piers Plowman, vol. 1 (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 2006), p. 73. Ephesians 5:3-4 reads in the Vulgate as: “Fornicatio autem et omnis inmunditia aut avaritia nec nominetur in vobis sicut decet sanctos aut turpitude aut stultiloquium aut scurrilitas quae ad rem non pertinent sed magis gratiarum actio [Translation in the Douay-Rheims: But fornication and all uncleanness or covetousness, let it not so much as be named among you, as becometh saints: Or obscenity or foolish talking or scurrility, which is to no purpose: but rather giving of thanks].” That this verse is the reference makes sense when you interpret the lines as Schmidt does: that Langland will not expand on Paul’s preaching, but only provides the brief Scriptural reference. I think there might be a more productive reading of these lines, however, that eliminates some of the ambiguity of the allusion. If what Langland is instead saying is that he will not elaborate on the sins previously mentioned for the reason that Paul says that those who speak of such things speak shamefully (which is a less contradictory reading than Langland saying he will not prove Paul’s point only to then provide scriptural proof), then Ephesians 5:12 seems a likely reference. This verse reads: “Quae enim in occult fiunt ab ipsis turpe est et dicere [For the things that are done by them in secret, it is a shame even to speak of].” Though the verb to speak is different, the grammatical construction between turpe est et dicere and qui loquitur turpiloquium is actually much closer than in Ephesians 5:4. The payoff of this new reference is the implication of the verse that follows only two lines later: “Propter quod dicit surge qui dormis et exsurge a mortuis et inluminabit tibi Christus [Wherefore he saith: Rise, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead: and Christ shall enlighten thee].” This verse has obvious significance for any discussion of Piers Plowman and its dream-vision format. Perhaps Will has embedded a clever statement here about the fruitfulness of his character’s quest while he yet sleeps? That these two verses would be easily associated is not so strange, either, based on medieval expository tradition. As just one example, Aquinas groups vv. 12-14 as one section in his commentary on Ephesians. 20

The prologue of Piers Plowman dictates appropriate people, languages, and times to speak. It also warns readers against interpretation and praises the benefits of keeping one’s own counsel. As complex a text as Piers is, I will not attempt to argue here that this advice is consistent throughout all twenty passus of the B-text. However, I would like to examine the use of the word janglen (in both noun and verb forms) against the backdrop established above. The prologue neatly sets up both primary definitions of the word: to gossip or chatter and to dispute or argue.6 Both definitions carry largely negative connotations. The first occurrence of the word in Piers is within the collocation “japeres and jangeleres” (35). Here janglers are akin to jesters, telling unprofitable stories and refusing to work even though they are capable of doing so.7 Talk supersedes labor, and is therefore described negatively. The second instance of the word appears in a much different context. The lewd common folk are denied the chance or ability to speak to the king, unable to “[j]angle ne jugge that justifie hem sholde” (130). This use refers to the second definition of jangle outlined above, namely, disputation. Without Latin, the commoners cannot argue for their own rights. The text also implies, though, that the commoners should not argue for their own rights, “[b]ut suffren and serven” (131). So while janglen might not appear at first to be negative in this context, the demarcation of the lewd man’s proper role nuances the use of it here. Perhaps if the commoners were to argue or debate their rights, they would be jangling in all the wrong ways.

It is significant, I think, that this second occurrence of janglen appears in the context of the linguistic division between the working class and their superiors. Throughout the later

Middle Ages, janglen is a word that seems to denote not just argument in the abstract, but

6 Middle English Dictionary, janglen (v). 7 See Schmidt’s gloss, p. 3. 21 specifically the type of disputation that upsets the status quo, a status quo very often represented by Latin linguistic authority. In fact, many times janglen seems to indicate the disruptive speech of religious protestors, those men and women who are dissatisfied with the Church’s practices. A large contingent of these protestors in late medieval England identified itself or was identified as Wycliffite or Lollard. Unsurprisingly, these protestors were often described as overly wordy and as janglers.8 In this chapter, I will analyze the cultural landscape in which jangler becomes a vicious epithet, where many writers affiliated with the orthodox (and often royal) establishment promoted a policy of silence and unquestioning obedience on the part of the common people, dually identified as the laity and the laborers. With this context explored, I will examine the way in which this policy is questioned and critiqued in many Ricardian poems (whether easily labeled Wycliffite or not).

Even Chaucer, I ultimately argue, is concerned with the need for open theological discourse in his Manciple’s Tale and throughout the Canterbury Tales. An analysis of the use of jangler and synonymous labels throughout Ricardian literature gets at the heart of much of this tension between the Church and its critics in the Ricardian and early Lancastrian eras.

I. No Layman Should Ascend the Mountain: A Late-Medieval Theology of Silence

Henry Knighton composed between 1379 and 1396 a chronicle of England’s history that provides a contemporary account of the condemnation of Wyclif’s views at the

Blackfriar’s Council in 1382 and a description (if a biased one) of the Lollards he identified

8 Janette Dillon, Language and Stage in Medieval and Renaissance England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006), at p. 14; Lauren Lepow, Enacting the Sacrament: Counter-Lollardy in the Towneley Cycle (Rutherford: Farleigh Dickinson UP, 1990), at p.66. Dillon points to Lepow for her source, as well as Henry Knighton’s Chronicon that I will discuss above. Neither Dillon nor Lepow provides as full a picture of the use of janglen as I will in this chapter. 22 as Wyclif’s followers.9 In his description, he paints the Wycliffites as extremely wordy: “validi in verbis; in garulis fortes; in sermocinationibus prǣpotentes, in litigiosis deceptationibus omnes superclamantes.”10 After the Blackfriars Council would come the excommunication of Lollards in Lincoln by the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1392: “idem archiepiscopus firmavit sententiam excommunicationis super Lollardos sive Wyclyvianos cum fautoribus, qui errores et opiniones magistri Johannis Wyclyffe tenuerunt.”11 Knighton is not kind in his description of the Lollards. In his eyes, they are the false prophets warned of in Scripture:

“Attendite a falsis prophetis qui ad vos veniunt in vestimentis ovium, intrinsecus autem sunt lupi rapaces; a fructibus eorum cognoscetis eos.”12 The works by which the Lollards will be known are those of a prophet: words and preachings. Janette Dillon thus concludes from

Knighton and other anti-Lollard polemics that “[f]rom the very beginning, then, Lollards identified themselves by their focus on the word.”13 The danger in Dillon’s conclusion is that which Fiona Somerset exposes in her latest monograph Feeling Like Saints: defining Lollards and Wycliffites by their opponents’ work rather than by their own can produce an inaccurate picture of the sect, however homogenous it may or may not be.14 For the purposes of my argument, though, I am interested in the biases inherent in the language thrown back and

9 G. H. Martin, “Knighton, Henry” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford UP, 2004). Alistair Minnis also discusses the effects of the Blackfriar’s Council: Fallible Authors: Chaucer’s Pardoner and the Wife of Bath (Philadelphia: U of Penn P., 2008), p.20. 10 My translation: “strong in words; forceful in wordiness; very powerful in discussion; shouting above all men in litigious deceptions.” Henry Knighton, Chronicon Henrici Knighton, vol. 2, ed. Joseph Rawson Lumby (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1895), at p.187; Dillon also discusses this passage in Langauge and Stage, at p. 14. 11 My translation: . . . the archbishop confirmed the sentence of excommunication against the Lollards with the Wycliffites with their patrons, who had held the errors and opinions of Master John Wyclif,” Chronicon, p. 312. Andrew Cole expresses dissatisfaction with contemporary accounts and argues that the Blackfriars Council helped to create Wycliffism as a threat, more so than it was frightened of it, Literature and Heresy in the Age of Chaucer (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2008), pp. 6-20. 12 My translation: “Beware of false prophets who come in the clothing of sheep, within however they are rapacious wolves; you will know them by their fruits,” Chronicon, p. 185. 13 Dillon, Language and Stage, p. 15. 14 Fiona Somerset, Feeling Like Saints: Lollard Writings After Wyclif (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2014), p. 3. 23 forth between defenders of the status quo and their critics. How do Ricardian writers and poets engage with this virulent rhetoric to their own advantage?

Both the Blackfriars Council and the Archbishop of Canterbury’s excommunication indicated the Church’s disapproval with Wycliffites and Lollards. This disapproval resulted in examinations and recantations. In the same year as the Blackfriars Council, William

Swinderby, a Wycliffite preacher, was brought to trial and forced to abjure six heretical opinions.15 Knighton includes numerous accounts of men also condemned or imprisoned in

1382 for heretical opinions including the Chancellor of Oxford, John Aston, and Nicholas

Hereford.16 It is important to keep in mind as well that vernacular religious texts were being confiscated as early as 1389.17 In 1395, a group of Lollards reputedly posts the Twelve

Conclusions of the Lollards at Westminster Hall, to which Roger Dymmok writes an extensive response, Liber contra duodecim errores et hereses Lollardorum.18 Until De heretico comburendo was established in 1401, though, and unrepentant heretics could be punished with fire, none of these offenses carried the threat of death. And, as Katherine Kerby-Fulton points out, a manuscript culture is one that is incredibly hard to censor.19 Neither De heretico nor

Archbishop Arundel’s 1409 Constitutions (a lengthy injunction against vernacular translation and teaching) was created in a vacuum, however. The establishment’s attitude toward dissidents (of both the political and religious variety) in the late-fourteenth century was a censorious one.

15 Anne Hudson, “Swinderby, William,” ODNB; Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 19; Knighton, Chronicon, p. 190. 16 Knighton, Chronicon, pp. 168, 170-72; Somerset, Feeling Like Saints, p. 2; 17 Katherine Kerby Fulton, Books Under Suspicion: Censorship and Tolerance of Revelatory Writing in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2006), p. 2. 18 Ed. Anne Hudson, “Twelve Conclusions of the Lollards,” Selections from English Wycliffite Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978), pp. 24-28, see n. 3, p. 350. 19 Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion, p. 16. 24

The texts I will be discussing are not all strictly religious. Some of them, in fact, have been identified as courtly texts, and, as such, concerned primarily with secular politics.

However, I think they are still of use in determining the general environment of censure on the part of religious and political authorities towards would-be reformers. As Steven Justice has argued in Writing and Rebellion, the Peasant’s Revolt was as much motivated by religious as political reasons.20 Adopting Wycliffite rhetoric regarding “wealth, law, authority, and vernacular literacy,” the rebels ultimately “erased the distinction between the political and the theological” in a bid for sweeping reform.21 In his chronicle, Knighton has included addresses and letters from the “ductores”: Jack Straw, Jack Milner, Jack Carter, and Jack

Trueman, as well as two versions of a letter from John Ball. The speeches call for “ryȝt” and

“skyl” to control “myȝt” and “wille.”22 They also utilize vocabulary that has been marked

Lollard, namely a preoccupation with truth.23 Trueman condemns the avarice of the Church with this language:

Jakke Trewman doth ȝow to understande that falsnes and gyle haviþ regned to long, and trewþe hat bene sette under a lokke, and falsnes regneth in everylk flokke. No man may come trewþe to, bot he syng si dedero. Speke, spende and spede, quoth Jon of Bathon, and therefore synne fareth as wilde flode, trew love is away, that was so gode, and clerkus for welth worche hem wo. God do bote for nowȝe is tyme.24

20 Steven Justice, Writing and Rebellion: England in 1381 (Berkeley: U of Cal P., 1994), pp. 74, 90. 21 Justice, Writing and Rebellion, p. 75, 101. 22 Knighton, Chronicon, pp. 138-140; Justice discusses these primary sources at length in the first chapter of Writing and Rebellion, pp. 13-65. 23 Donald Dean Smeeton, Lollard Themes in the Reformation Theology of William Tyndale (Kirksville: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1986), p. 79; Somerset skillfully outlines the Lollard pastoral program in regards to truth in Feeling Like Saints, pp. 34-40. 24 Knighton, Chronicon, p. 139. 25

Somerset has argued that one of the distinguishing factors of Lollard theology is an emphasis on the importance of communal love.25 Here Trueman links truth and love, calling for political change, but also a spiritual renewal in England. Ball also declares that it is time for reform, uniting all classes in his efforts: “John Balle seynte Marye prist gretes wele alle maner men and byddes hem in the name of the Trinite, Fadur, and and Sone and Holy Gost stonde manlyche togedyr in trewthe.”26 Carter highlights the issue of class and the social ills also in contention: “Lat Peres the Plowman my brother duelle at home and dyȝt us corne, and I will go with ȝowe and helpe that y may to dyȝht ȝoure mete and ȝoure drynke, that ȝe none fayle.”27 These sentiments draw together social ills and Lollard solutions. Carter hopes to defend the rights of laborers by exercising love and charity towards his neighbors.

In the same way as these letters address both religious and political corruption, I believe the courtly poems of the late fourteenth- and early-fifteenth centuries are not as solely secular as has been previously argued. Certainly, religious texts recognize the connection between obedience to Church and obedience to king. Archbishop Arundel, in

The Testimony of William Thorpe (1407), makes clear the affiliation between these hierarchies that are, in many ways, modeled upon each other. He says to Thorpe, a Lollard under examination: “If a souereyne bidde his soget do þat þing þat is vicious, þis souereyn herinne is to blame, but þe soget for his obedience deserueþ mede of God, for obedience plesiþ more God þan ony sacrafice.”28 This instruction on secular obedience, given by an archbishop, is parallel to the Church’s mandate on parishioner obedience outlined below.

25 Somerset, Feeling Like Saints, pp. 32-33. 26 Knighton, Chronicon, p. 140. 27 Knighton, Chronicon, p. 139. 28 The Testimony of William Thorpe, Two Wycliffite Texts, ed. Anne Hudson (Oxford: EETS, 1993), pp. 24-93, at p. 49. 26

Arundel uses this description of secular obedience to allude to spiritual models, demonstrating the necessity that these two models be discussed simultaneously in modern scholarship as well.

The main text under consideration in this chapter is Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale which will be read in juxtaposition with John Gower’s “Tale of Phebus and Cornide.” The

Manciple’s Tale, from fragment IX of The Canterbury Tales, is the story of a crow lovingly trained to speak by its master Phebus. Upon witnessing his master’s wife sleeping with another man, the crow reports her betrayal to Phebus only to be itself punished as the bearer of bad news. Gower wrote his version of the Ovidian tale in the Confessio Amantis (1390-

1392). If we accept the late dating commonly attributed to the Manciple’s Tale, then these two stories can be productively examined together. Chaucer may even have been deliberately responding to the moral of Gower’s tale with his own. Many scholars have read Chaucer’s tale and its prologue as a commentary on royal censorship, reflecting Chaucer’s anxiety regarding his patronage. Such arguments have been supported by the subtext of Chaucer’s

Ovidian source-text for this tale—Ovid’s own exile on the order of Augustus.29 Given

Richard II’s reputation as an “irascible” monarch,30 arguments that Chaucer is speaking in the Manciple’s Tale about the precarious position of a man dependent on king and patron

29 Arguments about the Manciple’s Tale and royal censorship are found in: Anita Obermeier, “The Censorship Trope in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale as Ovidian Metaphor in a Gowerian and Ricardian Context,” Author, Reader, Book: Medieval Authorship in Theory and Practice, eds. Stephen Partridge and Erik Kwakkel (Toronto: U of Toronto P., 2012), pp. 80-105, at p. 82; Michael A. Calabrese, Chaucer’s Ovidian Arts of Love (Gainesville: UP of Florida, 1994), pp. 12-13; Kathryn L. McKinley, “Gower and Chaucer: Readings of Ovid in Late Medieval England,” Ovid in the Middle Ages, eds. James G. Clark, Frank T. Coulson, Kathryn L. McKinley (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2011), pp. 197-230, at p. 226; Nevill Coghill, “Chaucer’s Narrative Art in the Canterbury Tales,” Chaucer and Chaucerians, ed. Derek Brewer (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., 1966), pp. 114-139, at p. 136; Stephanie Trigg, “Friendship, Association, and Service in the Manciple’s Tale,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 25 (2003), pp. 325-330, at p. 326; R. Allen Shoaf, Chaucer’s Body: The Anxiety of Circulation in the Canterbury Tales (Gainesville: UP of Florida, 2001), p. 107. 30 Obermeier, “Censorship Trope,” p. 81. 27 seem well-grounded. Perhaps, as has been argued, Chaucer is even warning his contemporary, John Gower, about his candid moralizing to his royal dedicatees.31 In the following pages, however, I will complicate these interpretations and suggest that while the

Manciple’s Tale may reflect an anxiety over royal censorship, Chaucer is also criticizing an increasingly censorious Church.

Before De heretico comburendo and Arundel’s Constitutions, legal and specific punishments (or even specific heretical crimes) were hard to define. However, as has been briefly outlined above, this does not indicate that either clergy or laity was unaware of the

Church’s stance on Wycliffite and Lollard theology and practices. In fact, throughout the end of the fourteenth century and into the fifteenth, texts emphasized the necessity of unquestioning (and non-vocal) obedience to the Church—often in direct response to what was perceived as heretical doctrine or unsafe inquiry. This theology of silence was dependent on a perceived distinction between any clerical office and the individual holding office. The concern over obedience to church hierarchy was especially acute after Wyclif and his followers emphasized the division between the office and the holder, advocating that parishioners need only obey prelates, including the Pope, if they were deemed to follow

Christ—a judgment seemingly open to each individual member of the laity.32 It was, in

Wyclif’s opinion, impious to obey clergy who did not meet these criteria.33 This opinion was in direct contradiction with the view of Church superiors. The masters at Oxford University, for example, insisted that obedience was paramount for the parishioner—more important

31 Obermeier, “Censorship Trope,” p. 96. 32 Margaret M. Harvey, “Lollardy and the Great Schism: Some Contemporary Perspective,” From Ockham to Wyclif, eds. Anne Hudson, Michael J. Wilks (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987), pp. 385-396, at p. 386; Peggy Knapp, Chaucer and the Social Contest (New York: Routledge, 1990), pp. 68-69. 33 Peggy Knapp, Chaucer and the Social Contest (New York: Routledge, 1990), pp. 68-69. 28 even than sacrifice—and necessary, “even if [the prelates and rulers] were evil.”34 After all, as

David Aers writes, the preacher was, “ideally . . . an impersonal ‘auctoritee’,” one whose office overshadowed any personal shortcomings.35 If no one knows of a preacher’s sin, the logic ran, then he could hurt no one but himself, and he was not hindered in fulfilling his office.36 Thus, parishioners were expected to not inquire about the personal life of their clergy in order to sidestep scandal.37 To judge priests was the duty of God, not man.38 This was a stance that Lollards could not abide, as the Twelve Conclusions show:

Þis conclusion is prouid for þe presthod of Rome is mad with signis, rytis and bisschopis blissingis, and þat is of litil uertu, nowhere ensample[d] in holi scripture, for þe bisschopis ordinalis in þe newe testament ben litil of record. And we can nout se þat þe Holi Gost for oni sich signis ȝeuith oni ȝiftis, for he and his noble ȝiftis may not stonde with dedly synne in no manere persone.39

In a Wycliffite sermon from the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century, the author even goes so far as to compare all corrupt churchmen, including friars, to the hypocritical scribes and Pharisees of the Gospels: “And þese scribis helpen þes pharisees, for prelatis and parsouns and oþir possessioners seien in her lijf þat Crist lyuede þus; and so voluptees and richesse of þe world maken þei to be loued and Cristis lijf dispisid.”40 As if anticipating the silencing that his followers would receive for such criticism, Wyclif, in a treatise attributed to him on the subject of the church, encourages true Christian men to pay no attention to

34 Harvey, “Lollardy and the Great Schism,” p. 393. 35 David Aers, Chaucer, Langland, and the Creative Imagination (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1980), p. 90. 36 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 135. Minnis mostly speaks here to the ability of a priest to perform the sacraments. He cites John Mirk’s Festial as support: “For þat sacrament is so heȝ e and holy in hymself, þat þer may no good man amende hit, ne no euel man apayre hit,” Johannes Mirkus, Mirk’s Festial: A Collection of Homilies, ed. Theodor Erbe (London: EETS, 1905), p.169. 37 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 17. 38 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 18. 39 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 19; “Twelve Conclusions of the Lollards,” Selections from English Wycliffite Writings, ed. Anne Hudson (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978), pp. 24-28, at p. 25. 40 “The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy,” Selections from English Wycliffite Writings, ed. Hudson, pp. 75-83, at p. 75. 29 censures: “But first Cristene men shulde byleve, þat alle suche feyned censures don noon harm a Cristene man, but ȝif he do harm first to himsilf.”41

In the early fifteenth-century, Arundel attempted to reinforce the untouchable nature of the clerical office in his Constitutions by confining discussion of clerical shortcomings to the clergy alone42: “And chiefly preching to the Clergy, he shal touch the vices vsed amongest them, and to the Laitye he shall declare the vices commonlye vsed among them, and not otherwyse: But if he preach contrary to thys order, then shall he be sharply punished.”43 This constitution is a natural extension of the late medieval theology that advocated a deep reverence for the clergy, demonstrated here in (what is most likely) a late fourteenth-century sermon: “The iij fadere is þe keper of þi sowle, and hym þou awes to worshipp in all maner of vertewes and goodenes.”44 The fact that there was still resistance to this idea well into the fifteenth-century is evident by Hawisia Moone’s testimony in the heresy trials at Norwich in 1428: “Also that he oonly that is moost holy and moost perfit in lyvyng in erthe is verry pope, and these singemesses that be cleped prestes ben no prestes, but thay be lecherous and covetouse men and fals deceyvours of the puple.”45 Lay men and women were given no real voice within this model of church hierarchy, however, and if anyone asked too many questions or expressed heretical beliefs, she might end up in

41 John Wyclif, “The Church and Her Members,” Select English Works of John Wyclif, Vol. III (Oxford: Clarendon P., 1871), p. 361. 42 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 24. 43 John Foxe, The Acts and Monuments, 1570 ed., John Foxe’s The Acts and Monuments Online (Humanities Research Institute, 2011), p. 648. I use John Foxe’s translations, because Nicholas Watson cites this version as a reputable English translation of the original Latin: “Censorship and Cultural Change in Late Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate, and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409,” Speculum 70.4 (1995), pp. 822-864, at p. 825. 44 Woodburn O. Ross, ed., Middle English Sermons (London: EETS, 1960), p. 120. 45“Hawisia Moone, uxor Thome Moone de Lodne,” Heresy Trials in the Diocese of Norwich, 1428-31, ed. Norman P. Tanner (London: Offices of the Royal Historical Society, 1977), p. 141; Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 19. 30

Moone’s situation. An anti-Lollard sermon, composed after 1382, dictates the extent to which the laity should participate in the discussion of theology: “And anoþur, me þenkeþ

þou þat arte a lewde man, þou schudest not fardere entermett þe þan holychurche techeþ

þe.”46

This designation of the layman’s role within the Church influences a broad range of texts, both poetic and polemical. In the Confessio Amantis (1390-1392), Gower criticizes

Lollards, specifically denouncing their attempts to give lay readers access to the Scriptures.

He praises the moral high ground of the ignorant plowman by contrasting him with schismatic heretics who desire to independently read Scripture:

And so to speke upon this branche, Which proud Envie hath mad to springe, Of Scisme, causeth for to bringe This newe secte of Lollardie, And also many an heresie Among the clerkes in hemselve. It were betre dike and delve And stonde upon the rhyte feith, Than knowe al that the Bible seith And erre as somme clerkes do. (Prol. 346-355)47

Gower’s reference to erring clerks seems a pointed jab at Wyclif. It also proposes the risk of error as reason for the poorer classes to accept their lewdness. This declaration explicitly calls for obedience (and presumably silence) on the part of the laity. Gower more directly addresses who should speak and who should not in his poem “Carmen Super Multiplici

Viciorum Pestilencia” (1396-1397). As R.F. Yeager comments in the notes to the poem,

Gower commonly uses the metaphor of disease or plague to describe spiritual error. In

“Carmen,” he uses the metaphor to combat Lollardy. The introductory lines of this poem

46 Ross, ed., Middle English Sermons, pp. xxxiv, 127. 47 John Gower, Confessio Amantis, ed. Russell A. Peck (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 2006). 31 create a contradiction: Gower makes an argument for the laity to remain silent, and yet finds space to speak himself—as a learned, Latinate, but still lay, member of the church. As such, he presents an implicit argument concerning linguistic status as well, namely that Latin is better suited to a discussion of theology than English.

Gower begins this argument by contrasting speech and action: “He who does not confess the truth is not excused / From finding a way to act in good faith” (ll. 1-2).48 While, at first glance, these lines seem to privilege right action over speech, the following lines set up a more complex system of behavior. In an apparent reference to his own status, Gower decides who should speak: “Let the man more gifted with reason speak in his own words, /

That no law be broken by which Christ is sanctified” (ll. 3-4). Casting speech as inherently perilous, he describes the man worthy to speak as one gifted by reason. The introduction of an appropriate speaker recasts the first lines, indicating that anyone else is better served to act—or obey—but not to speak. In this case, what is unspoken may even be truth. Gower advocates a model of behavior based not on the value of the words, but the status of the speaker, introducing a hierarchy of knowledge. This attitude accords with a theology that recognizes a priest will sin but will not condone discussion of said sin—subjugating truth to social and religious order.

The first twelve lines of the poem are followed by a prose passage after which the poem resumes for another 309 lines, split into four sections. The first section is entitled,

“Against the subtlety of the devil in the case of Lollardy,” and here Gower expands on what he considers the major failing of this heretical sect: they question the Church and unsettle

48 John Gower, “Carmen Super Multiplici Viciorum Pestilencia,” The Minor Latin Works with In Praise of Peace, ed. and trans. R. F. Yeager (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 2005). 32 the faith. For Gower, this error seems inescapably associated with the plebs, and he thereby alludes to the debate over access to the Bible in the vernacular whenever he discusses lay dissent. To Gower’s mind, this dissidence causes the heavens to “grow pale”:

I know not what it signifies: the common folk revoke Heaven’s laws While the layman wants to reopen the settled grounds of faith. The written laws that God instituted and man received to be kept Now the peoples weaken more than follow, And thus I will strive to make more clear what is not clear enough. (ll. 14- 19)

Here, Gower describes questioners in terms of a plowman digging up soil. By evoking this symbol of the morally upright layman that the rebels of 1381, at least, had adopted as their own emblem, Gower indicates that the “common folk” are questioning orthodox theology and consequently weakening the church. He goes on to make typical comparisons between

Lollards and tares, further expanding on the imagery of the plowman in the field. Though the passage clearly gestures toward the necessity of lay silence, Gower states this most explicitly at the end of the following lines:

Believe only what the Church teaches, and do not be eager In any way at all for what is beyond what is granted you to know. It is sufficient that you believe, when there is no art of knowledge; No one knows such great things as the Lord can know. (ll. 78-81)

Though Gower seeks to universalize the inability to know God’s secrets by placing faith beyond the reach of reason, his poetic persona clearly lays claim to a knowledge not out of the reach of his own reason, but only out of the reach of other lay members of the church.

For one, though he claims, in line nineteen, that he will make clear the role of the common folk in the Church, Gower chooses to write this poem in Latin, thereby making it inaccessible to his hypothetical tutees. As Lynn Arner suggests, this choice makes sense for a

33 poet who was anxious over the “democratizing potential” of English.49 By writing this poem solely in Latin, Gower places himself as an authority akin to, or within, the Church. He may not be the doctor, but he is the “dispencer of medicine” for the diseases he is identifying

(pr.4).

Given his claims regarding the role of the laity, Gower realizes that he must authorize himself to speak in the face of his own desire to silence others. He does so first by writing God into the poem: “Set quia speratur quod vera fides operatur / Quod Deus hortatur, michi scribere penna paratur / Ut describatur cur mundus sic variatur” (ll. 9-11).

Though the sense of the first-half of line ten belongs with line eleven (That God enjoins), its proximity to the second half of line ten provides a sort of divine justification to Gower’s task. Additionally, Gower here takes pains to associate himself with an orthodox faith. If this were not enough to validate his speaking, Gower also emphasizes the stupidity of Lollards, and thereby presents himself as the “man more gifted” (l. 3) in contrast: “The wounds have rotted and been aggravated in the face of stupidity” (pr.1).

As Yeager points out, Gower most likely wrote “Carmen Super Multiplici Viciorum

Pestilentia” in response to the Twelve Conclusions.50 Given this context, the poem performs a silencing function, not unlike Arundel’s later Constitutions, asserting the supremacy of the

Church in the face of dissent. What, then, is the effectiveness of writing such admonitions in

Latin? The language bestows an authority on the author, by weight of tradition and long use by Church and university, but it also reveals an awareness of a divided audience. This poem reinforces the necessity for orthodoxy among Latin readers, but more importantly, given the

49 Lynn Arner, Chaucer, Gower, and the Vernacular Rising (Philadelphia: U of Penn P., 2013), p. 63. 50 R. F. Yeager, Notes, “Carmen Super Multiplici Viciorum Pestilencia,” by John Gower, The Minor Latin Works with In Praise of Peace (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 2005). 34 presumed orthodoxy of Gower’s Latin readers anyways, it also reflects the compromised methods of transmission and translation that blurred boundaries of orthodoxy. “Carmen

Super Multiplici Viciorum Pestilentia” necessitates a lay audience by reason of its admonitions, but, due to being written in Latin, also requires an authorized mediator. The presence of the mediator only more greatly reinforces the restrictions on the listeners, emphasizing their inability to understand theology in its native element and therefore advocating a silence and submission in response. Lacking the linguistic resources to answer the poem in its own language, the lay audience is forced into a non-dialogic relation with the theological text.

Moving into the fifteenth century, texts dated after Confessio Amantis and “Carmen” also reveal an awareness of the Church’s desire to silence dissent. Whereas some authors support this hierarchical move, others (very often orthodox) are uneasy with what they perceive to be the silencing of truth. This concern was often expressed in a genre of poems that can best be described as truth-telling poems—texts primarily concerned with whether officials in court or the Church had counselors willing to speak the truth. Their position is exemplified in John Mirk’s Festial, a compilation of homilies dated to the late fourteenth- century, which includes the story of an idol endued with the ability to determine the whereabouts of thieves and stolen items.51 The idol is threatened by a thief who vows to break it if it reveals the truth about him. Thus imperiled, the idol has only a mournful declamation for the owner of the stolen goods when he inquires as to the thief’s location:

Tymes byn changet, men byn worsont; and now þer may no man say þe soth, but ȝef hys hed be broken. Thus wo ys þe trew man þat lyuyth yn þys world,

51 For discussion of date, see John Mirk’s Festial, ed. Susan Powell (Oxford: EETS, 2009), p. xix. 35

for he schall be so pluckyt at on yche syde, þat he schall not wytte to whom he schall dyskeuer hys counseyl.52

As this particular sermon makes clear a few lines later, the moral of this exemplum is that men should not speak behind each other’s backs but rather maintain honest relations and attend to God’s words in truth. That said, the narrative expresses a concern over true speech that more accurately speaks to the oppression of truth-tellers.53

Other vernacular writers, especially in the wake of early fifteenth-century heresy trials, were sure to make exceedingly clear the connection between speaking against the

Church hierarchy and prosecution. Rather than condemning this suppression, though, they take up stances of admonishment. The case of Sir John Oldcastle, a trusted knight of the court turned rebel heretic, especially prompted reflections on the danger of questioning

Church theology or Scriptural readings. Thomas Hoccleve’s poem, “To Sir John Oldcastle,” written in 1415, makes the admonition to silence very explicit. Hoccleve points out where

Oldcastle went wrong:

Oure fadres olde & modres lyued wel, And taghte hir children as hem self taght were Of holy chirche & axid nat a del ‘Why stant this word heere?’ and ‘why this word there?’ ‘Why spake god thus and seith thus ellse where?’ ‘Why dide he this wyse and mighte han do thus?’ Our fadres medled no thyng of swich gere: Þat oghte been a good mirour to vs. (ll. 153-160)54

The poem praises the older generation of laity who did not ask questions and submitted to clerical authority. An anonymous poem, “Lo, He that Can Be Cristes Clerc,”

52 Mirkus, Mirk’s Festial: A Collection of Homilies, p. 112. 53 Discussion of this anxiety is found in Andrew Wawn, “Truth-telling and the Tradition of Mum and the Sothsegger,” The Yearbook of English Studies 13 (1983), pp. 270-287, at p. 272. 54 “To Sir John Oldcastle,” Hoccleve’s Works, I. The Minor Poems, ed. Frederick J. Furnivall (London: EETS), p. 13. 36 composed between 1414 and 1417, responds similarly to Oldcastle’s Lollardy and insurrection. The poet accuses Oldcastle of mis-speaking. He writes “To lolle so hie in suchye degre, / Hit is no perfit prophecie,” criticizing the correctness of Oldcastle’s preaching (ll. 13-14).55 The poet goes further to directly link lay reading and interpretation of the Bible with heresy:

The game is not to lolle so hie, Ther fete failen fondement; And yut is a much folie For fals beleve to ben brent. Ther the Bibell is al myswent To jangle of Job or Jeremye, That construen hit after her entent For lewde lust of Lollardie. (ll.17-24)

Though the error presumably lies in misinterpretation, the commission of the error is inherently tied up with the means of expression—the mouth. The verbs in these eight lines vividly point out the motions and sounds of speaking, from lolle, which means to mumble, to jangle, which is almost onomatopoeic.56 As Edwin Craun explains, speech was considered to be “inherently ethical” because of its connection to human reason and will.57 To root out verbal sins was considered to be one of the primary tasks of the clergy.58 Heresy, then, was very much understood and detected by its oral expression, as were other verbal sins.

Considering the severity with which these sins were regarded, it is not surprising that the

55 “Lo, He That Can Be Cristes Clerc,” Medieval English Political Writings, ed. James Dean (Rochester: TEAMS, 1996). 56 Dean, as editor of this collection, provides a note concerning the etymology of Lollard, as based on a potentially purposeful conflation of the Middle English lollere (vagabond or beggar), the Dutch lollaert (mumbler), and lolium (weeds). Anne Hudson and Andrew Cole, among others, provide similar etymological explanations. 57 Edwin D. Craun, Lies, Slander, and Obscenity in Medieval English Literature: Pastoral Rhetoric and the Deviant Speaker (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1997), pp. 29-32. 58 Craun, Lies, Slander, and Obscenity, p. 13. 37

Church hierarchy would be interested in controlling speech, especially if it directly threatened the authority of prelates.

The lay public would have encountered these concerns over obedience and silence in the sermons delivered by priests and parsons aligned with the Church hierarchy. In a Latin sermon from the first half of the fifteenth century, the preacher advocates that laymen remain unlearned, comparing their experience to that of the Israelites led by Moses:

In this way Moses can ascend the mountain of faith but no one else. And as a sign that no layman should ascend the mountain, should involve himself with the deep scriptures or clerical learning, the whole people waited at the root of the mountain.59

The preacher follows up this instruction with a clear warning, promising a spiritual death if his advice is not taken. The spiritual death is described in disturbingly physical terms, though:

The boundaries that you do not exceed are the twelve articles of faith which the holy apostles through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit planted in the creed. Do not exceed these boundaries, for you should touch the mountain you are surely dead. Keep yourself within the boundaries, and know what they are. . . . If you wish to be saved from death, keep yourself down below, stand at the foot of the mountain, hold yourself to your pater noster and creed. Believe as the Church believes and it is enough for you.60

The last line of that passage aptly sums up the overwhelming message of many orthodox texts throughout the fourteenth- and fifteenth-centuries: “Believe as the Church believes and it is enough for you.” Even Bishop Reginald Pecock, who advocated for lay access to

Scriptures and provided theological treatises in the vernacular in the mid-fifteenth century, emphasized first and foremost that the laity should be in complete obedience to the clergy.

59 “Sermon 24,” A Macaronic Sermon Collection from Late Medieval England, ed. and trans. Patrick J. Horner (Toronto: PIMS, 2006), pp. 505-518, at p. 510. 60 “Sermon 24,” Macaronic Sermon Collection, p. 510. 38

He provides an illustration in his Book of Faith that illustrates this position. In this passage,

Pecock prioritizes obedience to the teaching received by a church official over individual investigation and doubt:

Also thus y putte case:--in a large, wyde parisch, up lond, be an oold symple widowe, or an oold symple husbonde man, to whom a greet famed kunnyng mayster of divinite is curat, and parsoun, and viker. This husbond man is enfoormed, and tauȝt of the seid his famos curat forto bileeve as feith a certeyn article, which in trouthe is an heresie. This man hath no motive, neither can fynde cause, whi he shulde not trowe to his seid curat, and whi he schulde walke wyde forto examine whether his curat techith him riȝtli, or no. And therfore this man cleveth to the seid doctrine of his curat, as stiffeli as he doith to eny other article, which he hath leernyd of the same curat to be feith. In this case, it is holde of ful good clerkis, bi greet skilis, that this man is excusid in his now seid errour, and not oonli he is excusid, but he plesith God […] ȝhe, and not oonli is this trewe, but also, stonding this case, this man were a martir, if he died for knowleching, and avowing, and defending of thilke same seid article.61

The status of the curate over the parishioner is dictated by their respective educations.

Additionally, the obedience due to the curate, even if he is mistaken, is emphasized by the status of martyrdom granted the parishioner in the hypothetical case that he dies defending this teaching.

In the time between Wyclif and Pecock, a space of some seventy years or so, the message of many orthodox texts was consistent: far better to die defending the Church than to face death for questioning it. Though the threat of physical death was more palpable in the fifteenth century after de heretico comburendo, which led to the deaths of Oldcastle and others, the Church was nevertheless a censorious force long before. A number of vernacular texts at the very end of the fourteenth-century and the very beginning of the fifteenth thus

61 Reginald Pecock, Book of Faith, ed. J. L. Morrison (Glasgow: J. Maclehose and Sons, 1909), p. 223. 39 touch on or are devoted to an exploration of the privilege (or lack thereof) to discuss theology.

II. Lewd Janglers: The Multivalent Vocabulary of Religious Dissent

In the late-medieval debate over speaking and knowledge, there are a number of words that bear the burden of signposting a text’s participation in said debate. I am unable to discuss them all here, but of particular interest to this chapter are janglen and lewd. These words help to make up a vocabulary regarding speaking that, depending on the way you used the words, signaled your position in the argument. Especially in the case of janglen and lewd, writers used the words in different (and competing) ways to delineate their solidarity for or against Wycliffite ideas. That words might be interchangeable in this way makes sense within the context of a debate over orthodoxy. After all, as Daniel Boyarin argues, the border lines that ideological combatants draw between opposing worldviews only encourage contraband and infiltration.62 Ideas and words will be simultaneously adopted from and used against one’s opponents. Ritchie Kendall describes this process within the Lollard sect as one of

“projecting [internal contradictions] outward into the public arena.”63 This section will look at the slippery nature of janglen and lewd in the debate over speaking in order to establish their connotations when they appear in less obviously polemical texts like Chaucer’s Manciple’s

Tale.

62 Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 2004), pp. 1-2. 63 Ritchie D. Kendall, The Drama of Dissent: The Radical Poetics of Nonconformity, 1380-1590 (Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P., 1986), p. 42. 40

Janglen, Karma Lochrie observes, indicates gossiping and backbiting, but it can also refer to the act of debate or argument.64 Focused on the first definition, she goes on to argue that gossiping is inherently tied up with structuring knowledge and dangerously conflates the public and private space in so doing.65 Gossiping is the tool of marginalized groups (women, in Lochrie’s book), who embrace secrecy as a means to hide what they know.66 Even when indicating gossip, then, janglen carries implications of secret and destructive knowledge, denoting a marginalized group constructing their own authority. Important to this discussion is also the recognition that heresy, especially Lollardy, was often marked as feminine. As Rita

Copeland writes, the lingua materna, and those who advocated literalism by translating the

Scriptures into lingua materna established a “feminine hermeneutic.”67 A number of scholars point to Richard Ullerston’s 1401 defense of vernacular translation to support this claim, since he there repeats Jerome’s argument that heresy springs from women so that he might refute the consequent conclusion that access to Scriptures will encourage womanly error.68 It is not difficult, then, to see why janglen, as a term commonly used to refer to the sins of idle gossip and backbiting, sins often connoted as feminine, might be adopted to refer to speech perceived as theologically erroneous and potentially Lollard.

The subversive quality associated with the first definition of janglen reinforces the heterodox implications of the second definition. Very often used in the context of religious

64 Karma Lochrie, Covert Operations: The Medieval Uses of Secrecy (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 1999), at pp. 67-68. 65 Lochrie, pp. 61-62. 66 Lochrie, pp. 66, 78-79. 67 Rita Copeland, “Why Woman Can’t Read: Medieval Hermeneutics, Statutory Law, and the Lollard Heresy Trials,” Representing Women: Law, Literature, and Feminism, eds. Susan Sage Heinzelman, Zipporah Batshaw Wiseman (Durham: Duke UP, 1994), pp. 253-287, at pp. 259, 270-71. 68 Ralph Hanna III, “Difficulty of Ricardian Prose Translation,” Modern Language Quarterly 51.3 (1990): 319-341, at p. 328; Watson, “Censorship and Cultural Change in Late-Medieval England,” at p. 843. See also, Ruth Nissé, “ ‘Our Fadres Olde and Modres’: Gender, Heresy, and Hoccleve’s Literary Politics,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 21 (1999), pp. 275-299. 41 failings or debate, janglen repeatedly indicates division in the Christian community in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century texts; people jangle against the Church and their fellow

Christians. Richard Rolle’s Psalter, which would later be used widely among Lollards, was, in its original early fourteenth-century manifestation, disapproving of those who would speak too much.69 In his commentary on Psalm 106, he warns that “And so al wickednes, ianglyng aȝen riȝtwisnes, shal stoppe þe mouþe as a man þat is ouercomen and cannot sey nay” and in

Psalm 118, he advocates silence again: “Disciplyne of silence is goed, that we auyse vs or we speke and be noght mykil ianglande.”70 The Wycliffite Bible uses the term repeatedly to indicate those arguing or fighting in the Old Testament—often in direct opposition to the law or rule of God.71 In the Piers Plowman example with which I opened this chapter, janglen marked the potential of lay revolt. Elsewhere in Piers, the word is used in specifically religious ways. The Jews in Piers Plowman are reputed to deny Jesus’s divine nature: “Jewes jangled therayein that juggede lawes” (XVI.119). The glutton is described as speaking against his fellow Christians: “Glotonye he gaf hem ek and grete othes togidere, / And al day to drynken at diverse tavernes, / And there to jangle and jape and jugge hir evencristen (II.93-

95). These are examples of janglen in fourteenth-century texts. I will look at two texts

(composed just before and closely after Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale) that use janglen in more detail below. First, a few brief examples that point to consistent usage of janglen into the fifteenth-century. In the English translation of Le pelerinage de la vie humaine, the allegorical walker questions Resoun, and accuses him of being a jangler if he misuses the gospel: “What

69 Ed. Anne Hudson, Two Revisions of Rolle’s English Psalter Commentary and the Related Canticles, vol. II, by Richard Rolle (Oxford: EETS, 2013), pp. xxii-xxiii. 70 Ed. Hudson, Two Revisions of Rolle’s English Psalter Commentary, at p. 955; and in the examples of usage listed under “janglen”, OED. 71 “janglen,” MED. 42 gost thou thus jangelinge me Wolt thou holde the gospel at fable.”72 This is much the same accusation as the anonymous verse to Oldcastle uses against Lollards who “jangle of Job or

Jeremye.”73 Characters in the mystery play cycles also use janglen to malign their opponents.74

In this latter case, though, the characters are often demonic ones, thereby reversing the polarization of the word, reflecting the externalization of internal fears.75 The slipperiness of janglen in this last example serves as good introduction to the two texts I want to look at in more detail with regards to their use of this word: Friar Daw’s Reply (and its partner text) and

The Testimony of William Thorpe. In both, definitions of orthodoxy are shifting, and so janglen becomes somewhat destabilized as an accusation.

Friar Daw’s Reply, written in the late fourteenth-century, has a narrator who self- identifies as a former manciple.76 The poem has not been definitively identified as pro- or anti-Wycliffite, though it is often read as a mendicant rebuttal to the Lollard text Jack Upland.

Some scholars instead speculate that one author or group of authors is responsible for Friar

Daw’s Reply, Jack Upland, and Upland’s Rejoinder, and that the texts are meant to be read as one dialogue.77 Regardless, both Friar Daw’s Reply and Jack Upland are concerned with the identity of Lollards as truth-tellers. T. Matthew N. McCabe writes that the vernacular was often associated with truth-telling in the late fourteenth-century, so it is perhaps not surprising that the advocates of lay access to the Bible, who supported the use of the vernacular to discuss

72 The Pilgrimage of the Lyf of the Manhode, ed. William Aldis Wright (London: J.B. Nichols and Sons, 1869), at p. 83. 73 “Lo, He that Can Be Cristes Clerc,” l. 22. 74 Lepow, Enacting the Sacraments, p. 66. 75 Ibid. 76 Fiona Somerset provides a later dating than other scholars, but I find her argument convincing: Clerical Discourse and Lay Audience in Late Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998), p. 136, also see appendix; Ed. James M. Dean, Introduction, Friar Daw’s Reply, Six Ecclesiastical Satires (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 1991), pp. 145-200, at p. 145. 77 Ed. James M. Dean, p. 145. 43 theology, would also be associated with truth-telling.78 However, as the fourteenth century ended and the fifteenth century progressed, Arundel organized a concerted effort against

Lollards.79 Their dedication to truth-telling came to be viewed as disingenuous.80 In these poems, then, we see a struggle over the identity of truth-tellers and a corresponding fluidity of the vocabulary under examination: janglen and lewd.

Jack Upland ends with an injunction to recognize the narrator as a truth-teller:

Go now forth, frere, and fraiste youre clerkis, and grounde you in Goddis lawe, and geve Jack an answere, and whanne ye asoilen that I have seide sadli in truthe, I schal asoile thee of thin ordre and save thee to hevene.81

Recognizing that the Lollard speaks truth is the key to salvation in the context of this poem.

Friar Daw’s Reply denies this reality. The poem is interlaced with apocalyptic rhetoric and allusions to Revelation which forces the issue of salvation to a critical point and also references a tradition in which anti-fraternal literature was combined with the apocalyptic.82

The claim at the end of Jack Upland is refuted very early in this poem: “But, Jakke, bi my lewte, lowde thou lyest” (l. 68). Swearing upon his own truth, Friar Daw denies Jack his truth-telling reputation. Andrew Wawn writes that the Reply calls for a silencing of Lollards in response to their claims to speak truth.83 This reading accords with the end of the poem in which Friar Daw warns Jack: “And nomore of freris I thee rede to preche” (l.931). The authority by which Friar Daw hopes to silence Jack, however, is based on a denial that what

78 T. Matthew N. McCabe, Gower’s Vulgar Tongue: Ovid, Lay Religion, and English Poetry in Confessio Amantis, (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2011), p. 70. 79 Jenni Nuttall, The Creation of Lancastrian Kingship: Literature, Language and Politics in Late Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2007), p. 42. 80 Ibid. 81 Jack Upland, Six Ecclesiastical Satires, ed. James M. Dean (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 1991), pp. 115-144, at p. 132. 82 For a discussion of this, see Katherine Kerby-Fulton, Reformist Apocalypticism and ‘Piers Plowman,’ (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1990). 83 Wawn, “Truth-telling and the Tradition of Mum and the Soothsegger,” p. 280. 44

Jack speaks is the truth. Jack’s desire to rebuke the friars leads to lying, according to this poem:

How maist thou for rebykying lye so lowde, To saye that oure coveitise passith the lordes? But so longe, by my leute, thou hast lerned to lyen, That thi tonge is letteroun of lyes, thou lettist for no shame. (ll. 474-477).

However, even if we are to take these reproofs as a sincere fraternal rebuttal, rather than a complex satire, the identity of the Friar is an ambiguous one. Friar Daw appropriates the language and identity of his opponent in order to bolster his own authority. Continually swearing upon his own truth (lewte84), Friar Daw assumes the role of truth-teller instead. By doing so, he highlights the fluidity of these highly-fraught labels of truth-teller and liar.

Fiona Somerset argues that the speakers in the Upland series struggle over claims to

“‘lewed’ness” in a bid for authority.85 As such, I propose that the definition of lewd is constantly renegotiated throughout the poem. Lewd, according to the MED, means lay, uneducated, or without understanding of Latin.86 The laity was the subsection of society whom the Lollards and Wycliffites most often identified with, and so, for them, the term did not usually carry any negative association, but rather denoted a marginalized group. In the

Twelve Conclusions of the Lollards, the writer condemns prayers and pilgrimages to shrines and images, portraying the lewd as victims of false theology: “And [th]ow [th]is forbodin ymagerie be a bok of errour to [th]e lewid puple, ȝet [th]e ymage usuel of Trinite is most abhominable.”87 Lisa Lampert succinctly describes the nature of such discourse as a “Lollard

84 For definition, see note by Dean for line 68. 85 Somerset, Clerical Discourse and Lay Audience in Late Medieval England, p. 178. 86 Middle English Dictionary, “leued, adj.” 87 “Twelve Conclusions of the Lollards,” p. 27. 45 rhetoric of ‘lewd’ folk.”88 However, this use of the term by Lollards was not universal.

Margery Baxter, at the Norwich heresy trials, uses the word in a neutral way to describe those who ignorantly make images for church: “lewed wrightes of stokkes hewe and fourme suche crosses and ymages, and after that lewed peyntors glorye thaym with colours.”89 And those who did not identify as Wycliffite or Lollard, like Thomas Wimbledon, sometimes employed lewd in a pejorative way. Wimbledon equates lewd with beast when differentiating between holy and unholy lifestyles: “Ȝeue now þy rekenynge how þou has lyued. As a prest oþer as a lewid man? As a man or as a best?”90 The word lewd, then, is definitely significant to a discussion of orthodoxy and heresy, but is not a stable term. This is evident from its shifting definition in Friar Daw’s Reply.

Friar Daw Thopias, the main speaker of the poem, identifies himself as learned in the fashion of clerics: “Jak, have no merveyle that I speke Latyn, / For oones I was a Manciple at Mertoun Halle, / and there I lernede Latyn by roote of clerks” (ll. 725-27). Though he calls on this knowledge of Latin for authority, citing Scripture and patristics, Friar Daw takes even greater pains to identify himself closely with Jack. Jack’s argument is labeled foolish early in the poem—“so lewid an argument (l. 37)—and so Friar Daw is portrayed as simple in response: “Be vexid with they maters but a lewid frere / That men callen Frere Daw

Topias, as lewid as a leke” (ll. 44-45). In the first example, lewd is used in a clearly pejorative sense, insulting Jack’s argument. The second use of lewd, however, introduces a meaning

88 Lisa Lampert, Gender and Jewish Difference from Paul to Shakespeare (Philadelphia: U of Penn P., 2004), p. 89. 89 “Depositiones contra Margeriam, uxorem Willelmi Baxter, wryght,” Heresy Trials in the Diocese of Norwich, 1428-31, ed. Norman P. Tanner (London: Offices of the Royal Historical Society, 1977), p. 44. 90 Thomas Wimbledon, “Redde racionem villicacionis tue,” Wimbledon’s Sermon: A Middle English Sermon of the Fourteenth Century, ed. Ione Kemp Knight (Pittsburgh: Duquesne UP, 1967), p. 78. 46 something more like holy simplicity—or even friar.91 Especially because of its alliterative similarities to leute, then, lewd here seems to have changed in meaning. The term is used both to denigrate Jack and to praise Friar Daw.

Friar Daw rebukes Jack for tampering with Scripture, but, in doing so, links himself with his antagonist. He seeks a kinship with Jack:

For as lewid am I as thou, God wote the sothe. I know not an a from the wynd mylne Ne a b from a bole foot—I trowe ne thi-silf nothir. And yit, for al my lewidhed, I can wel undirstonde That this privy processe perteneth to your sect, And we as giltles thereof as ye of Crisitis blessyng. (ll. 211-216)

Rather than calling Jack as lewd as himself, Friar Daw calls himself as lewd as Jack, which seems an odd rhetorical maneuver, establishing Jack as the standard—but a standard of lewdness which Friar Daw seeks to equal. The only instance of lewd in Jack Upland is when the speaker accuses priests of abandoning their duties for secular positions (presumably more lucrative): “For [Anticrist] geveth leve to preestis of parischis both highe and lowe to leve preching and to do lewid mennes office.”92 In this case, then, lewd is used on one level to simply denote the jobs of lay men, but also pejoratively to contrast secular with priestly duties. Thus, the more Wycliffite of the poems under discussion uses lewd solely as a denotative or pejorative term. Friar Daw, however, seems to be cultivating an authority based on lewdness, one in contrast to the authority he garners elsewhere by identifying himself as not lewd, but rather knowledgeable of Latin. By labeling himself as lewd as his opponent Friar Daw establishes similitude, depriving Jack of a crafted humility based on lewdness. In fact, he goes further, even undermining Jack’s status as lewd by accusing him of

91 Middle English Dictionary, “leued, adj.” 92 Jack Upland, p. 119. 47 harboring secret knowledge. In identifying Jack’s privy dealings, Friar Daw simultaneously loses his own lewdness, matching his opponent, because “for al my lewidhed, I can wel undirstonde” (l. 214).

As a theologically significant and debated term in the late fourteenth- and early fifteenth-centuries, lewd takes on a very flexible definition in Friar Daw’s Reply, gesturing toward the basis of identity for Lollards as well as highlighting its pejorative uses. Janglen is used in less varying ways within the poem. Of the two times the word (or its forms) appears in Friar Daw’s Reply, it is used by Friar Daw to condemn Jack’s meddling in theology and the friars’ practices. In refuting Jack’s accusation that the friars only desire to hear confession and oversee burials, Friar Daw accuses him of being a “jawdewyne” and “jangeler” (ll. 586).

The Middle English Dictionary is not clear on the etymology of jawdewyne.93 Though it assumes that the word might be related to the Old French geude, meaning “foot soldier,” it posits that the meaning might be something more like “fool.”94 However, the connotation of janglen as

I’ve established above was often more combative than frivolous when used in the context of religious discussion or debate. Perhaps jawdewyne retains some of its soldierly meaning here.

Friar Daw later calls on Jack to “se now thin errour” because he “jangelist as a jay and woost not what thou meenest” (ll. 808-09). The close connection between error and janglen reinforces the connotation of janglen as a verb signifying theological debate. Janglen, then, provides a distance between Friar Daw and Jack that lewd did not, indicating where the power lies in the poem.

93 As pointed out by James M. Dean in his notes on Friar Daw’s Reply. 94 MED, jaudewin (n.) 48

As a term to denote theological authority (by its use against another), janglen is used by both the examiner and the examined in The Testimony of William Thorpe. In recounting his

1407 examination for heresy under Archbishop Arundel, William Thorpe criticizes those pilgrims (and by extension, pilgrimages as a whole) who take with them singers and musicians, their minds not on God but on entertainment: “And if þese men and wymmen ben a moneþe oute in her pilgrymage, manye of hem an half ȝeere aftir schule be greete iangelers, tale tellers and lyeris.”95 Thorpe uses the term in its first definition, accusing the pilgrims of idle speech. The use is evocative of the Piers Plowman passage introduced at the beginning of this chapter. There, as well, pilgrimages are said to encourage lying. The archbishop, however, quickly uses the word janglen to his own advantage, reminiscent of its semantic variance in Piers as well. Angered by Thorpe’s denouncement of pilgrimages,

Arundel berates him for questioning the religious practices of others: “What ianglist þou aȝens mennys deuocioun?”96 Arundel seems here to have deliberately thrown Thorpe’s word back at him, implying that Thorpe has been as harmful in his speech as he accuses others of being. The archbishop’s use of the word, especially in the context of its quickly-flipped connotation, also highlights the vitriol inherent in the word. Janglen is a word used in anger to denounce someone meddling where they should not. Recall Hoccleve’s advice to Oldcastle: don’t meddle.

This passage from The Testimony of William Thorpe highlights the way in which janglen might have developed the connotation of religious disputation. Whereas Thorpe uses the word to denote those who tell lies or speak idly, Arundel uses the word to accuse Thorpe of

95 The Testimony of William Thorpe, p. 64. 96 Testimony of William Thorpe, p. 65. 49 the same sin: idle and foolish speech. In his position of authority, however, the archbishop has also changed the nature of the conversation. The word janglen now becomes a term to designate a man who is speaking out of his station, especially when that man defies the

Church and its officials in so doing. This connotation—not just of arguing, but of subverting authority—seems consistent through the end of the fourteenth-century and into the fifteenth-century, as evidenced by its use in both Piers Plowman and the Testimony of William

Thorpe. Any use of the word janglen, then, has the potential to invoke an awareness of a religious debate over lewd authority in regards to reading Scripture and discussing theology.

There is one last definition of janglen that is pertinent to my study: “Of a bird: to chatter, twitter.”97 James M. Dean notes that the combined names of Friar Daw and Jack

Upland allude to the jackdaw—a “noisy” and “jangling” bird.98 The bird as a symbol of the jangler is useful—and seems fairly well recognized and used by medieval writers. Talking birds inherently introduce issues of human identity via language, and they seem to be an ideal representation of the dialogic and multivalent religious discourse of late medieval

England.99 The next section argues, then, that Chaucer uses the Manciple’s Tale and its avian protagonist to navigate the debate over vernacular theology. In telling a story about a jangling crow, Chaucer deliberately evokes a complicated web of religious connotations.

III. The Tale Tellers and the Tattle-Tales: Context for Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale

97 MED, janglen (v.) 98 Dean, Introduction, Friar Daw’s Reply, p. 145. 99 For a discussion of birds and human identity in Chaucer, see Lesley Kordecki, Ecofeminist Subjectivities: Chaucer’s Talking Birds (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011); Lisa J. Kiser, “Chaucer and the Politics of Nature,” Beyond Nature Writing: Expanding the Boundaries of Ecocriticism, eds. Karla Armbruster, Kathleen R. Wallace (Charlottesville: UP of Virginia, 2001), pp. 41-56. 50

In the dedicatory epistle to the final version of Vox Clamantis and Cronica Tripertita, dated to the beginning of the fifteenth century, Gower imagines Archbishop Arundel as

Phebus, a source of light for a dark age:

As long as the Court of Rome destroys itself, which at present is seen to be divided, joy turns into sorrow. And since Christ’s law suffers because of the grievous age, I am sending you this book to read as a lament. But you who possess the radiant glory of divine healing power bestow that remedy upon the sorrowful so that it may cheer them. Now that the light has failed and faith grows dim, shed light on our affairs, you who are our Phoebus.100

In another of his Latin poems, “Presul Ouile Regis,” (1402) Gower also addresses Arundel as a light-giver: “O shepherd, a disease of spots affects the king’s sheepfold, / And while you hide the light their plague darkens all.”101 For Gower, Arundel is Phebus, possessed of authority and insight to rectify a nation fallen into error. When Gower was writing Confessio

Amantis, Arundel was the Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor to King Richard II; his allegiance (like Gower’s) later shifted to Henry IV.102 Clear sympathies, then, seem to exist between Gower and Arundel—in their allegiances and in their concern for the religious state of England. Arundel, as evidenced by his later Constitutions, was in favor of silencing

Wycliffite dissidents. In Gower’s “Tale of Phebus and Cornide,” though I will not argue that

Gower has Arundel in mind, the poet favorably presents just such an authoritative Phebus.

Whereas the Ovidian source-text and Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale are uncomfortable with silencing of any sort, I suggest here that Gower feels it to be necessary.

100 John Gower, Vox Clamantis, The Major Latin Works of John Gower, ed. Eric W. Stockton (Seattle: U of Washington P., 1962), pp. 13, 47. 101 John Gower, “Presul Ouile Regis,” The Minor Latin Works with In Praise of Peace, ed. and trans. R. F. Yeager (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 2005), ll.1-2. Yeager cites editor Macaulay in support of Arundel as the addressee here. 102 Jonathan Hughes, “Arundel, Thomas,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2007). 51

The first line of “The Tale of Phebus and Cornide” references the god’s light-giving abilities: “Phebus, which makth the daies lihte” (III.783). Given Gower’s propensity to use this figure and this characteristic in a complimentary manner, a line such as this introduces

Phebus as a positive protagonist within the following tale.103 This portrayal of Phebus creates a disjunction between the narrative of the tale and the stated moral, which at the beginning is

“hold thi tunge stille clos” and, at the end, is “[b]e ware therfore and sei the beste” (III. 769,

815). The events of the tale, in which Corvus reveals Cornide’s infidelity, Phebus kills

Cornide, and changes Corvus from white to black, would seem, in a book dedicated to the sins of wrath, to indict Phebus for wrongful behavior. Instead the tale condemns Corvus for cheste, defined as strife or contention by the MED.104 Given this narrative arc, Georgiana

Donavin notes that the moral Genius gives is “askance of the emphatic events.”105 J. Allen

Mitchell argues that the moral is deliberately at odds with the tale—testing, according to

James Simpson, the reader’s interpretative ability.106 Larry Scanlon argues that Gower is intent on creating these “disruptions” between exempla and moral so as to better navigate issues of lay and clerical authority.107

The mutation of the moral from silence to speaking well, though, points to the tale’s concern with who should be allowed to speak. Speech is only allowed if it accords with what one’s superior wishes to hear. If one cannot speak well, however, silence is preferable. The

103 Especially when contrasted with the later tale in this book—“The Tale of Phebus and Daphne,” in which Phebus is introduced secondarily and has no description other than his actions; Bk. 3, starting at l. 1685. 104 “chest,” Middle English Dictionary, U of Michigan, 2001. 105 Georgiana Donavin, “ ‘When Reson Torneth into Rage’: Violence in Book III of the Confessio Amantis,” On John Gower: Essays at the Millenium, ed. R. F. Yeager (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute, 2007), pp. 216-234, at p. 224. 106 J. Allen Mitchell, Ethics and Exemplary Narrative in Chaucer and Gower (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2004), pp. 64- 65. 107 Larry Scanlon, Narrative, Authority, and Power: The Medieval Exemplum and the Chaucerian Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1994), p. 249. 52 slightly varied morals work together to create a complete picture of circumscribed speech.

Even though Phebus is angry when he kills Cornide—“And he for wrathe his swerd outbreide”—it is Corvus that commits the sin to be remembered in the tale: “Wherof in tokne and remembrance / Of hem whiche usen wicke speche, / Upon this bridd he tok this wreche.” (III. 800, 803-806). In a tale advocating the value of silence, Phebus observes

Christian values, taking “full gret repentance” for his deeds (III.803). The bird, however, is

“fals” to speak against the lady that had raised him from a youth, even if what he speaks is truth (III.792). As if to vilify Corvus even more, Cornide is portrayed as particularly passive in her affair:

Bot what shal befalle Of love ther is no man knoweth, Bot as fortune hire happes throweth. So it befell upon a chaunce, A yong kniht tok hire aqueintance And hadde of hire al that he wolde. (III. 786-791)

Not only does chance largely dictate the affair, the passage almost portrays Cornide as a victim, subject to the appetite of the knight. Taking the tale as whole, then, both Phebus and

Cornide are victims of each other, of the knight, and of Corvus. The consequence for speaking is that Corvus’s nature is changed: “He was transformed, as it scheweth / And many a man yit him beschreweth / And clepen him into this day / A raven” (III. 809-812).

This is the first time that Corvus is referred to as a raven, and he takes on this term as a new and English label. Even though raven carries the same definition as its Latin counterpart, the word is introduced as if entirely new. The physical transformation, coupled with this label, takes on a particularly vernacular tone. Corvus has lost whatever status Latin could give him.

Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale replaces Gower’s raven with a crow, perhaps playing off of the confusion between the Latin corvus and cornix.108 The change in species also links the crow and Cornide more closely together by function of their names. This and other alterations serve to make the crow more sympathetic in Chaucer’s version. Phebus, for one, is depicted in a farcical light, thus decreasing sympathy for his later actions.109 Even his triumph over the terrifying Phiton, a detail meant to presumably ennoble the hero, is painted as ridiculous.110

He kills the beast while it is sleeping: “He slow Phitoun, the serpent, as he lay / Slepynge agayn the sonne upon a day” (ll. 109-110). Given moments like these, Phebus does not live up to Chaucer’s effusive praise, turning the poet’s accolades into comedic hyperbole.111 In contrast, the crow is portrayed as noble by reason of his unselfish desire to serve his master.112 Additionally, his position is inescapable, providing him with few options to do anything but that which he does. He is caged and forced to observe the act of adultery, and the tale is unique in showing that it is Phebus himself who has taught the bird to speak and thus given him the instruction necessary to reveal the adultery:113

Now hadde this Phebus in his hous a crowe Which in a cage he fostred many a day, And taughte it speken, as men teche a jay. (ll. 130-32)

108 Brian Striar, “The Manciple’s Tale and Chaucer’s Apolline Poetics,” Criticism 33.2 (1991), pp. 173-204, at p. 183. 109 In this way, one might argue that Chaucer is at least closer in sympathy if not in description to Ovid. As Striar points out, Ovid would have portrayed Phebus in a negative light because the mythological figure was representative of Augustus; Striar, p. 194. 110 Richard Hazelton, “The Manciple’s Tale: Parody and Critique,” The Journal of English and Germanic Philology 62.1 (1963), pp. 1-31, at p. 9. 111 Striar, p. 176. 112 J. Burke Severs, “Is the Manciple’s Tale a Success?,” The Journal of English and Germanic Philology 51.1 (1952), pp. 1-16, at p. 7. 113 Striar, p. 176; Britton J. Harwood, “Language and the Real: Chaucer’s Manciple,” The Chaucer Review 6.4 (1972), pp. 268-279, at p. 270; Obermeier, p. 94. 54

The crow’s speech, much like the Pardoner’s Latin in the prologue, is described in terms of imitation at the beginning of the narrative. He is able to parrot back the voices of others:

“Whit was this crowe as is a snow-whit swan, / And countrefete the speech of every man /

He koude, whan he sholde telle a tale” (ll. 133-35).

Since Chaucer emphasizes the role of speech in this tale,114 it is not surprising that his version of the Ovidian tale is the only one where the crow is deprived of speech as part of his punishment.115 When the crow’s feathers change from white to black (the most prominent change in the Gower and Ovidian analogues), he also loses the ability to speak:

And to the crowe, “O false theef!” seyde he, “I wol thee quite anon thy false tale. Thou songe whilom lyk a nyghtyngale; Now shaltow, false theef, thy song forgon, And eek thy white fetheres everichon, Ne nevere in al thy lif ne shaltou speke. (ll. 292-97)

In Phebus’s condemnation of the crow, there is yet one more change from the Ovidian source-text: the crow is accused of falsehood.116 By claiming that the bird has lied, Phebus attempts to change the narrative that the reader has been given and knows for truth. Phebus turns away from the true account of his wife’s affair, rather manipulating events to “rewrite” her as innocent—“to silence his wife absolutely.”117 This silencing corresponds to a change in Chaucer’s portrayal of Cornide, who loses a named identity and is presented much less sympathetically than in the version told by either Gower or Ovid.118

114 Craun points out that the majority of the differences between Chaucer’s tale and Ovid’s reside in issues of speech, p. 195. 115 Obermeier, p. 93. 116 R. D. Fulk, “Reinterpreting the Manciple’s Tale,” The Journal of English and Germanic Philology 78.4 (1979), pp. 485-493, at p. 488. 117 Kordecki, p. 137; Marianne Børch, “Chaucer’s Poetics and the Manciple’s Tale,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 25 (2003), pp. 287-297, at p. 289. 118 Børch, “Chaucer’s Poetics and the Manciple’s Tale,” p. 291. 55

The source-text for both Gower and Chaucer’s tales, the Ovidian myth, was a well- established tale in the Middle Ages, teaching its listeners and readers not to tell tales or to avoid janglers.119 Therefore, even though Gower employs the tale in a book dedicated to wrath, he cannot avoid making a comment on speech in his telling of it. Chaucer develops the story more fully into a tale about speech and silence, burdening its narrator, the

Manciple, with an explication by way of his mother that directs the audience to think specifically on the advice to “[k]epe wel they tonge” (l.362). Some scholars read the moral in

Chaucer’s version to correspond very closely with the traditional medieval interpretation of the myth—an interpretation that Gower himself largely promotes. Lesley Kordecki identifies the moral as the imperative to “keep one’s mouth shut.”120 Lisa J. Kiser similarly argues that the tale promotes the choice of self-censorship and falsehood over telling the truth with its painful consequences.121 Others see the moral of the tale as implicitly borne out by its structure. Carolynn Van Dyke writes that the tale “leaves us eager for silence,” and Carl

Lindahl points out that the ending of the tale leaves the “option of silence” as a viable modus operandus.122 In broad agreement with these readings are those interpretations which see the

Manciple’s Tale as one which reinforces traditional medieval hierarchies. Stephen D. Powell argues that the prologue to the tale proposes the moral that the lower classes should maintain their place and recognize authority.123 Stephanie Trigg, taking a similar line, writes that this tale reinforces the notion that the traditional hierarchy allows more powerful

119 Jamie C. Fumo, “Thinking Upon the Crow: The Manciple’s Tale and Ovidian Mythography,” The Chaucer Review 38.4 (2004), pp. 355-375, at pp. 355, 365. 120 Kordecki, p. 125. 121 Kiser, p. 148. 122 Carolynn Van Dyke, Chaucer’s Agents: Cause and Representation in Chaucerian Narrative (Cranbury: Rosemont P., 2005), p. 103; Carl Lindahl, Earnest Games: Folkloric Patterns in the Canterbury Tales (First Midland, 1989), p. 155. 123 Stephen D. Powell, “Game Over: Defragmenting the End of the Canterbury Tales,” The Chaucer Review 37.1 (2002), pp. 40-58, at p. 48. 56 individuals to enjoy a “deeper subjectivity.”124 If one agrees with these readings, then

Nicholas Watson’s argument that Chaucer was a quietist in regards to clerical sins makes sense.125

However, there are numerous aspects of the Manciple’s Tale that complicate the

Manciple’s explicit moral. For one, Chaucer makes the parodic changes (outlined above) to

Gower’s “Phebus and Cornide” that make it seem highly unlikely that he would then seriously advocate Gower’s moral. Richard Hazelton argues that Chaucer is deliberately mocking Gower in this tale.126 Jamie Fumo, as well, writes that Chaucer is echoing Gower’s exemplum, evoking the author by his use of “my sone.”127 The term “my sone” occurs in the context of the Manciple’s epilogue to this tale—the recitation of his mother’s advice to him:

But natheless, thus taughte me my dame: “My sone, thenk on the crowe, a Goddes name! My sone, keep wel thy tonge, and keep they freend. A wicked tonge is worse than a feend; My sone, from a feend men may hem blesse. My sone, God of his endelees goodnesse Walled a tonge with teeth and lippes eke. (ll. 317-323)

In Gower, the term appears in the mouth of the confessor, Genius, who tells stories to correct Amans’s sins as a lover.128 In Chaucer’s tale, then, the stately figure of Genius is transformed into the mockable and talkative mother of the Manciple, satirizing Gower’s rhetorical seriousness. Given this dialogic context, Chaucer is unlikely to be presenting his own moral unironically. In fact, some scholars have interpreted the actual moral of the story to be exactly the opposite of the stated one. R. D. Fulk says that the tale is not advocating

124 Trigg, p. 327. 125 Nicholas Watson, “Chaucer’s Public Christianity,” Religion and Literature 37.2 (2005), pp. 99-114, at p. 110. 126 Hazelton, at p. 22. 127 Fumo, pp. 357, 359. 128 Fumo, p. 359. 57 silence in the face of superiors, and Mel Storm interprets the story as an “apologia for non- candor.”129 Ultimately, as Michaela Paasche Grudin argues, this tale is one that promotes the role of the story-teller, the speaker, in the face of silencing.130

I would argue, then, that Chaucer is undermining Gower’s tale and moral not merely to assert his own role as story-teller, but to assert the importance of telling truth to authorities in the very specific context of his own time when not only was royal patronage unsure, but the church hierarchy was seeking to silence those who would question accepted theology or point out errors and sins of the clergy. As such, the changes he makes in his tale from Gower’s are couched in specifically religious rhetoric. Even more so, the frame narrative presents the characters of the Manciple, the Cook, and the Host in a dialogue laden with Wycliffite undertones. Specifically, his use of the vocabulary outlined in section two of this chapter reveals Chaucer’s participation in the religious debates of his day.

Whereas few scholars actually identify Chaucer himself as Wycliffite, they have identified aspects of his texts that engage with Wycliffite rhetoric—given that there were many proponents of Lollardy in Chaucer’s milieu.131 Andrew Cole, for example, asserts, especially in regard to the Treatise on the Astrolabe and Chaucer’s discussion of translation, that it was Wycliffism that gave Chaucer the critical tools he needed to fully express his own ideas:

This is not to say that Chaucer was a Wycliffite but rather to point to the larger implications in his marking his authorial identity by the salient terms of other authors, other translators. Wycliffism supplied Chaucer with the

129 Fulk, p. 491; Mel Storm, “Speech, Circumspection, and Orthodontics in the Manciple’s Prologue and Tale and the Wife of Bath’s Portrait,” Studies in Philology 96.2 (1999), pp. 109-126, at p. 116. 130 Michaela Paasche Grudin, Chaucer and the Politics of Discourse (Columbia: U of South Carolina, 1996), p. 155. 131 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. 27. 58

contemporary critical languages he needed to submit his views, for the first time, to a contemporary but local discussion about translation.132

Cole’s statement neatly sums up the approach of many scholars to Chaucer’s use of

Wycliffite discourse in his texts at large and specifically in the Canterbury Tales. In not labeling

Chaucer a Wycliffite, however, these critics still identify complicating (and potentially heterodox) elements of Chaucer’s writing. He is not a heretic, as Alistair Minnis explains, but instead exhibits a “radicalism” that might be defined as “uniquely Chaucer’s own.”133 Fully aware of Church traditions, Chaucer was engaged in “examining, not reiterating them.”134

Working most often with poetry in the Canterbury Tales, a form that James Rhodes argues actively promoted the vernacular consideration of theology, Chaucer created a text that, if not heterodox in its own time, was considered so afterwards.135 Peggy Knapp writes that, in retelling old stories, Chaucer, alongside others like Langland and Wyclif himself, opened up

“a social space to write what would to later generations seem revolutionary,” a reality confirmed by John Foxe labeling Chaucer a Wycliffite in the sixteenth century.136 If, as

Minnis claims, “just about any Middle English text, however innocuous its use of theological and philosophical doctrine, could be cited as evidence of heterodoxy,” Chaucer’s work is not so unique, but, nonetheless, Canterbury Tales shows up in fifteenth-century heresy trials and in numerous Lollard revisionary texts.137 The text takes on an atemporality regarding its

132 Andrew Cole, “Chaucer’s English Lesson,” Speculum 77.4 (2002): pp. 1128-1167, at p. 1166. 133 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p. xvi. 134 David Aers, Chaucer, Langland, and the Creative Imagination, p. 81. 135 James Rhodes, Poetry Does Theology: Chaucer, Grossteste, and the Pearl-Poet (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2001), p. 3. 136 Peggy Knapp, Chaucer and the Social Contest , p. 9. 137 Minnis, Fallible Authors, p.32; Frances McCormack discusses the case of John Baron, who, charged with heresy in 1464, was called to account for his possession of the Canterbury Tales, “Chaucer and Lollardy,” Chaucer and Religion, ed. Helen Phillips (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010), pp. 35-40, at p. 35; Derrick G. Pitard also points out that, almost from its initial composition, the Canterbury Tales have been associated with Lollardy, 59 orthodoxy, as later uses and adoption of it reflect back on its original composition. Though one cannot trace Chaucer’s motivations and allegiances through this backwards lens, the attribution of Lollard agenda to the Canterbury Tales should alert readers to the potential discourses with which the text and author were engaging. As Knapp states, the Tales

“constitute a symbolic meditation on the destiny of a community.”138

However, to label Chaucer or his Canterbury Tales heterodox or orthodox is potentially counterproductive. Cole points out that to use these labels falsely differentiates similar texts and ideas.139 In the following section, I will discuss the Manciple’s Tale within the context established above. Chaucer is not a heretic nor a Wycliffite nor a Lollard, nor is it easy to determine some label for him on the spectrum between orthodox and heterodox. As

Derrick Pitard writes, he “exposes the fiction that all Christians are the same,” disrupting a picture of a homogenous orthodoxy, whilst still acknowledging the existence of an orthodoxy for himself.140 Thus, if Chaucer does use or allude to Wycliffite texts, he moderates and circumscribes them by incorporating orthodox texts and allusions as well.141

This intersection of ideas allows space for Chaucer to criticize and reflect on the Church as it stood in late medieval England, utilizing the discourse of religious debate—but for his own ends, which cannot be so neatly categorized. I would argue that we find such criticism in the

Manciple’s Tale. So, when Karen Winstead argues that the Parson’s Tale and the Man of Law’s

Tale “dramatize a pre-Arundelian censorship,” her point is well supported and can even be

“Sowing Difficulty: The Parson’s Tale, Vernacular Commentary, and the Nature of Chaucerian Dissent,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 26 (2004), pp. 299-330, at p. 306. 138 Knapp, Chaucer and the Social Contest, p. 9. 139 Cole, “Chaucer’s English Lesson,” p. 1161. 140 Pitard, “Sowing Difficulty,” p. 322. 141 Lynn Staley, “Chaucer and the Postures of Sanctity,” The Powers of the Holy: Religion, Politics, and Gender in Late Medieval English Culture, eds. David Aers, Lynn Staley (University Park: Penn State UP, 1996), pp. 179-260, at p. 202. 60 expanded to apply to the Manciple’s Tale in which, I will argue, Chaucer is deliberately addressing the danger of indulging an increasingly censorious Church.142

IV. Providing a Space to Speak: Chaucer’s Engagement with the Vocabulary of Speaking in the

Manciple’s Tale

The Manciple’s Tale embeds the Ovidian tale of betrayal within a complex framework of stories, prologues, and interceding dialogue. Preceded by the Canon Yeoman’s tale of alchemy, the Manciple’s Tale is told when the Manciple determines the Cook to be too drunk to take his turn in the game. After telling his tale of Phebus and the crow, the Manciple concludes his story by reciting at length the advice of his mother to “keep wel thy tonge” as a reflection on the moral of his tale (l. 319). Both the prologue to the tale and allusions to other tales within the Canterbury Tales provide important context for understanding the linguistic touchstones complicating this overly simple moral.

Next to tongue, the most frequently used word in the mother’s speech in the Manciple’s

Tale is janglen and its variant forms.143 Within eight lines, the word is repeated three times. In her extensive moralizing, the mother warns her son that “[a] jangler is to God abhomynable”

(343). She goes on to elaborate on the harmful effects of listening to a jangler or acting as one:

Dissimule as thou were deef, if that thou here A janglere speke of perilous mateere. The Flemyng seith, and lerne it if thee leste, That litel janglyng causeth muchel reste. (ll. 347-50)

142 Karen Winstead, “Chaucer’s Parson’s Tale and the Contours of Orthodoxy,” The Chaucer Review 43.3 (2009), pp. 239-259, at p. 240. 143 Donald Howard, The Idea of the Canterbury Tales (Berkeley: U of Cal P., 1976), p. 304. 61

As mentioned above, janglen indicates the noise of a bird. Interestingly enough, though, janglen never occurs in the context of the tale itself, though the word choice is surely meant to direct the reader’s attention from the moral back to the tale and the now-silent bird.

Janglen, of course, has two other important definitions elaborated on in the first half of this chapter: gossip or chatter and to dispute or argue.144 As I’ve shown, both of these definitions lend themselves to use in the late medieval religious debate over vernacular theology. In the Parson’s Tale, we receive an in-text definition for janglen. The Parson defines the sin as wordiness: “Janglynge is whan a man speketh to muche biforn folk, and clappeth as a mille, and taketh not keep what he seith” (l. 405). This is a very conventional definition of the sin, and it is a definition that neatly wraps back to the General Prologue, because the

Miller is described as a “janglere” (l. 560). It is also a definition that matches up with the mother’s moral in the Manciple’s Tale.

However, Chaucer’s use of the word varies throughout the Canterbury Tales.

Sometimes, he employs janglen to indicate female gossips or idle and drunken talk, namely in the Man of Law’s Tale, the Merchant’s Tale, and the Tale of Melibee. Often, though, the word takes on familiar religious significance, signaling lay or lewd inquiry into difficult topics. In the Squire’s Tale, for example, a crowd of onlookers expresses doubt of both the brass horse and its rider: “Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete, / As lewed peple demeth comunly / Of thynges that been maad moore subtilly / Than they kan in hir lewednesse comprehende” (ST ll. 220-223). The people are not merely arguing or disagreeing about the nature of the horse, but they are specifically chattering about something beyond their ken.

The parallel to religious mysteries is an easy one to make. In another example, in the Friar’s

144 Middle English Dictionary, janglen (v). 62

Tale, the summoner is portrayed as a morally corrupt character. As such, he is “ful of jangles,” a condition which means that he is “evere enquerying upon every thyng” (ll.1407-

09). Here, the connotation of gossiping is conflated with the corruption of a religious individual and janglyng leads to constant inquiry. Though the summoner’s inquiries seem largely innocuous, regarding the dwelling place of the yeoman he has encountered, we quickly find out that the summoner is in fact seeking knowledge from a demon, including knowledge of how to win money in his office. Janglyng is dangerous business. The Wife of

Bath, when she tears a page from Jankyn’s book on the theological foundations of women’s errors, is labeled a “verray jangleresse” (WoBT l. 638).145 These examples ask for a re- examination of the use of janglen in the Manciple’s Tale. The prologue and tale have more to say about vernacular theology than gossip. In large part, this analysis is supported by the use of both janglen and lewd (a pairing previously examined in Friar Daw’s Reply) in the prologue and tale, along with other words significant to the debate over lay access to Scriptures and religious discourse.

The prologue, with its focus on the ability (or lack thereof) to physically speak, first inflects the tale with religious concerns. The Manciple sets himself up in authority over the drunken Cook and deprives him of his tale. The way in which he does it reflects contemporary discourse on heresy and vernacular dissent. Though the Manciple begins to

145 Interestingly enough, in The House of Fame (1379-80), a poem consumed with the workings of fame and how knowledge spreads, and therefore seemingly rife with opportunities to use janglen, Chaucer only uses a form of the word once. (For a quick reference of word appearances in Chaucer, I have consulted the Chaucer Concordance, provided online by the University of Maine at Machias.) The House of Fame, though, written prior to much of the Wycliffite controversy and concerned more with secular than religious topics, does not require the semantic breadth of the word in the way that the Canterbury Tales does. Chaucer, The House of Fame, The Riverside Chaucer, ed. by Larry D. Benson (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1987), pp. 347-374. 63 describe the Cook’s drunkenness in terms of physical effects, his description quickly takes on metaphorical significance:

For, in good feith, they visage is ful pale, Thyne eyen daswen eek, as that me thynketh, And, well I woot, thy breeth ful soure stynketh: That sheweth wel thou art not wel disposed. Of me, certeyn, thou shalt nat been yglosed. (30-34)

Though the term yglosed can likely be understood in the sense of flatter, its use here also indicates something about the Manciple’s position relative to that of the drunken Cook.146

Peggy Knapp includes the term glosen in her list of vocabulary of special significance to

Wycliffites.147 Following from Wyclif’s concern that patristic commentary hindered lay access to the Bible, Wycliffites advocated “gospel glossing” instead, a sparing commentary that competed with and sought to undermine patristic glosses.148 However, as with most religious terminology at this time, the association of glossing with speciousness was not one exclusive to Wycliffites alone.149 The church hierarchy employed the term against the Lollards in the same way.150 Given this context, the prologue sets up the Manciple as a mediator, one who restricts or controls the reading of a text. This is significant given that he is responsible for denying access to the Cook’s tale.

Despite his claim that he will not gloss the Cook, the Manciple does direct our interpretation of the Cook in the following lines. He instructs the Cook and their fellow pilgrims on the danger of the Cook’s mouth:

146 “glosen,” Middle English Dictionary, U of Michigan, 2001, 147 Knapp, Chaucer and the Social Contest, p. 65. 148 Peggy Knapp, “Wandrynge by the Weye: On Alisoun and Augustine,” Medieval Texts and Contemporary Readers, eds. Laurie Finke, Martin B. Shichtman (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1987), pp. 142-157, at p. 153. 149 Knapp, Chaucer and the Social Contest, p. 75; Hudson, Lollards and Their Books, p. 170. 150 Knapp, “Wandrynge,” p. 153. 64

Hoold cloos thy mouth, man, by thy fader kyn! The devel of helle sette his foot therin! They cursed breeth infecte wole us alle. Fy, stynkyng swyn! Fy, foule moote thee falle! (ll. 37-40)

The breath of the Cook has become infectious and his mouth tainted by the devil. Since the

Cook’s mouth would, of necessity, open in order to tell a tale, the Manciple’s reproof is at once both an exclamation against his drunkenness but also a silencing gesture. The description of the breath as cursed and infectious also forces comparisons to a common metaphor of the late middle ages—describing heresy as disease. Ian Forrest explains that using disease as a metaphor for heresy worked well because all readers and listeners could easily grasp the illustration.151 Philip Repingdon, for example, uses the metaphor to describe the purpose of a convocation in 1413: “He explained that Arundel had called Convocation to find a remedy for this [misty and heretical blindness] lest more people were infected with the stinking plague of heresy.”152

Lee Patterson argues that the Manciple’s description of the Cook as a swine also alludes to Gower’s description of the animals (a metaphor for the laity and the commoners) in the Visio Anglie: “I next saw hackled pigs, gone mad, possessed / By demons, standing all around in gangs. / A large assembly gathered all as one, / Infecting all the air around with dung” (ll. 301-304).153 Gower references here the gospel account of the pigs driven over the cliff after Jesus directs a loquacious demon into them. 154 Doing so, he represents the primary threat to the commonwealth as imprudent speech. The Manciple, building on these

151 Ian Forrest, The Detection of Heresy in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Clarendon P., 2005), p. 155. 152 Ian Forrest, p. 87. 153 Lee Patterson, Chaucer and the Subject of History (Madison: U of Wisconsin P., 1991), p. 229; John Gower, Visio Anglie, John Gower: Poems on Contemporary Events, ed. David Carlson, tr. A. G. Rigg (Toronto: PIMS, 2011), ll.301-304. 154 Matthew 8, Mark 5, Luke 8. 65 references, constructs the Cook as dangerous. Faced with these condemnations, the Cook is stunned into silence. The narrator describes this experience as one of the Cook losing the ability to speak—a fate not unlike that of the crow in the tale:

And with this speche the Cook wax wrooth and wraw, And on the Manciple he gan nodde faste For lakke of speche, and doun the hors hym caste, Where as he lay, til that men hym up took. (ll. 46-49)

Given his silencing, Fulk argues that the Cook is a type of the crow.155 Obermeier posits instead that the crow is a type of Chaucer, repeating the narrator’s “Blameth nat me if that ye chese amys” (l. 3181) in Miller’s Prologue where he states that he will not sing amiss (l.248).156

With either comparison, the crow is analogous to characters that are silenced or concerned about the possibility.

The Miller’s Prologue serves as a parallel to the Manciple’s Prologue. In both, drunkenness threatens to deprive a pilgrim of his tale. The Miller overcomes objections and succeeds in telling his story, and the narrator Chaucer advises his squeamish readers not to takes its crudeness too seriously: “And eek men shal nat maken ernest of game” (MT l. 3184). The situation is not so easily dismissed in the Manciple’s Prologue, because the Cook does not succeed in avoiding his silencing. The possibility that he will take offense at the Manciple’s treatment is likely. At the end of the prologue, the Host praises the power of drink to diffuse the argument between the Manciple and the Cook, echoing Chaucer’s statement in the

Miller’s Prologue: “O Bacus, yblessed be thy name, / That so kanst turnen ernest into game!”

(ManT ll. 99-100). Though the Host speaks cheerfully, he has, in fact, inverted Chaucer’s caution in the Miller’s Prologue and this inversion carries serious implications. Whereas

155 Fulk, p. 492. 156 Obermeier, pp. 91-92. 66

Chaucer’s concern in the Miller’s Prologue is for readers to not misinterpret what is, in fact, a game, the Host hopes to take what is, in fact, earnest and forget it in the jollity of wine. And unlike the Miller’s Prologue in which the Miller is able to tell his story, the Cook is effectually silenced and denied his tale, a haunting reminder of how unstable privilege is. The prologues in Canterbury Tales, as Scanlon argues, thus play with the conflict between “moral ernest and narrative game.”157 The earnestness of this next-to-last prologue belies the “jape” the

Manciple has played on the Cook (ManT l. 84).

Despite the Host’s gladness at the seeming resolution to the quarrel between the

Manciple and the Cook by the end of the prologue, he does also reprove the Manciple for his behavior. The Host reminds him that the Cook is capable of pointing out the Manciple’s flaws if angered enough158:

“But yet, Manciple, in feith thou art to nyce, Thus openly repreve hym of his vice. Another day he wole, peraventure, Reclayme thee and brynge thee to lure; I meene, he speke wole of smale thynges, As for to pynchen at thy rekenynges, That were nat honest, if it cam to preef.” (ll. 69-75)

The relationship between the Manciple and the Cook, then, is one much like that which the theological discourse of late medieval England set up between the church and the laity.

Members of the laity were meant to remain silent and submissive under the rule of the

Church authorities, but they also had the means by which to criticize the Church. This was a point of anxiety for orthodox writers, as evidenced earlier in this chapter. The Manciple also

157 Scanlon, Narrative, Authority, and Power, p. 137. 158 Obermeier, p. 90. 67 seems to recognize the threat that the Cook thus offers him. The Manciple’s response is to make superficial amends; he offers the wine to the Cook but in threatening terms:

And wite ye what? I have heer in a gourde A draghte of wyn, ye, of a ripe grape, And right anon ye shul seen a good jape. This Cook shal drynke therof, if I may. Up peyne of deeth, he wol nat seye me nay. (ll. 82-86)

Though Mum and the Sothsegger is written a short while later, this scene from the Canterbury

Tales is disturbingly similar to the silencing of truth-tellers in that poem:

I askid of a eldryn man as I best couthe Yf any sothesigger sate in the halle, And he answerid sharply that “the Sothesigger Dyneth this day with Dreede in a chambre, And hath ydrunke dum-seede, and dar not be seye Sith Mum and the mayer were made suche frendes. (ll. 835-840)159

Given a drink by someone claiming authority, both Soothsayer and the Cook are silenced.

The drink given the Sothsegger is harmful, so as to effectually silence him forever. As far as we know, the Cook is also definitively silenced by the Manciple’s wine.160

The Manciple, much like his literary colleague Friar Daw Thopias, is an oppressive figure and painted with religious colors, based on his rhetoric and his moral’s association

159 James M. Dean, ed., Mum and the Sothsegger, Richard the Redeless and Mum and the Sothsegger (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 2000). 160 Grudin has argued that the Manciple is also silenced in the prologue, reined in by the Host, but also argues that he still retains power by “perpetuating the evil he began by criticizing” (Grudin, p. 46). Thus, though the Manciple sincerely advocates censorship, hoping that the Cook will remain silent regarding any of his own shortcomings (Børch, p. 290; Grudin, pp. 153-54; Howard, p. 299; Fulk, p. 485), Craun argues that he ultimately distances himself from his own advice (Craun, pp. 200-201). As a result, he ultimately undermines or denies the moral of his own tale (Craun, pp. 200-201). Perhaps, as Striar writes, the Manciple is thus mocking us as he mocks the lawyers for whom he works (Striar, p. 188) While I agree that the Manciple might be taking advantage of his audience to distance himself from his own advice, I would argue that he still advocates it for others. In doing so, even as Craun argues, the tale points out the “inherent contradictions and limits of discourse on deviant speech” (Craun, p. 189). It is Chaucer who proposes a different moral, by juxtaposing this prologue and tale. The Manciple, via the wine, has turned earnestness into a game, but Chaucer cautions us that this topic is of real earnestness, unlike the matter of the Miller’s Tale. 68 with the tales of other corrupt religious figures in the Canterbury Tales. 161 In the prologue to the Tales, the Manciple is grouped closely with the Summoner and the Pardoner. As David

Aers has argued, the Summoner, in his own tale, is concerned with who has the authority to speak and gloss Scriptures.162 The answer, for him, is only those with authority in the church, but in asserting this moral, he reveals his own investment.163 The Summoner, alongside the

Pardoner, is one of the most corrupt pilgrims described in the Prologue. They both base their authority in large part on their ability to speak Latin or to deliver homilies. The

Summoner can speak only a “fewe termes” and is compared to a jay (GP ll. 639, 642). The

Pardoner’s tongue is trained to “wynne silver” (GP ll. 712-13). In both cases, their authority to speak is both their privilege and their failing. As Mitchell points out, the Summoner undermines the advice of the friar in his tale--that “it is no good to criticize the powerful”— and thus opens himself up for criticism as well.164 Both portraits of these pilgrims beg for judgment on the part of the reader or listener. To do so, however, the reader or listener must adopt a Wycliffite mindset. As Peggy Knapp argues, the Pardoner is sufficient in his role,

“unless assumptions about personal and institutional access to means of salvation closer to

Wycliffism are adopted.”165 If not a Wycliffite himself, then, Chaucer does want space to question the Church and he uses Wycliffite discourse and presuppositions in order to create room to do so.

161 Friar Daw is potentially modeled on the Summoner and the Friar from the Tales depending on the composition date; Dean, Introduction, Friar Daw’s Reply. 162 Aers, p. 89. 163 Aers, p. 89. 164 Mitchell, p. 100. 165 Knapp, p. 81. 69

As was discussed earlier, though, Wycliffite discourse is not stable. Friar Daw can adopt the label of lewd for himself. So can the Manciple. In his tale, he portrays himself as essentially lewd: “for I am man noght textueel” (ManT l. 235). In the General Prologue, this label is explicit: the Manciple is described as possessing a “lewed mannes wit,” but one that can

“pace / The wisdom of an heep of lerned men” (574-75). By claiming this identity, the

Manciple allies himself with the Chaucerian narrator who cites his own short wit as the reason that he might only “pleynly speke” (GP l. 746). The narrator does this to defend himself from any complaints about the tales he will pass on. Ostensibly worried as he is that he might receive blame for another’s words or actions, the narrator resembles the crow of

The Manciple’s Tale:

Whoso shal elle a tale after a man, He moot reherce as ny as ever he kan Everich a word, if it be in his charge, Al speke he never so rudeliche and large, Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe. He may nat spare, althogh he were his brother; He moot as wel seye o word as another. Crist spak hymself ful brode in hooly write, And wel ye woot no vileynye is it. Eek Plato seith, whoso kan hym rede, The wordes moote be cosyn to the dede. (GP ll. 731-742)

Affection and loyalty are not reason enough to refrain from reproducing the words of a tale exactly. The last line of this narratorial comment links it closely with the Manciple’s Tale, since the Manciple also cites Plato: “The wise Plato seith, as ye may rede, / The word moot cosyn be to the werkyng” (ll. 207-208). The Manciple, as well, asks forgiveness from his audience for the coarseness of his tale: “Certes, this is a knavyssh speche! / Foryeveth it me, and that I yow biseche” (ll. 205-206). Both the narrator and the Manciple thus beg for an audience who

70 will listen to their stories without becoming angry—not, in other words, to respond as

Phebus does, by blaming the crow for his faithfulness to Plato’s precept.166 This address to the audience, asking for tolerant listeners as opposed to advocating careful speech, seems to be in direct contradiction to the moral that will follow shortly thereafter in the tale—to

“taketh kep what that ye seye” (ManT 310). Unlike the Chaucerian narrator, the Manciple clearly does not feel that the word must always reproduce the deed. The forgiveness he asks is not one he proffers the crow. He instead advocates silence. By comparing the narrator and the Manciple, Chaucer highlights the hypocrisy of the latter figure and his moral. The use of lewd only serves to highlight, then, the ways in which the Manciple actually denies vernacular literacy to others. Friar Daw, in his adoption of lewd, performs a similar maneuver—denying

Jack a voice by his adoption of the label.

The Manciple’s tale is thus in objection to his moral. Chaucer introduces a specifically religious rhetoric into the tale and epilogue that complements the dialogue of the prologue just discussed. The change from the Gowerian and Ovidian version of Phebus and

Cornide that lays the foundation for this reading is that which Marianne Børch discusses— the wife in the Manciple’s Tale is not the sympathetic character of Gower’s tale.167 Whereas the justification of Phebus’s actions is questionable in Gower’s tale—despite the corresponding greater sympathy for Phebus—Chaucer judges both Phebus and his wife.168 Phebus is simple and his wife is villainous in her deception:

This Phebus, which that thoghte upon no gile, Deceyved was, for al his jolitee. For under hym another hadde shee,

166 Kiser, p. 148. 167 Børch, p. 291. 168 Severs, p. 6. 71

A man of litel reputacioun, Nat worth to Phebus in comparisoun. The moore harm is, it happeth ofte so, Of which ther cometh muchel harm and wo. And so bifel, whan Phebus was absent, His wyf anon hath for her lemman sent. (ll. 196-204)

The Manciple follows this up with an admonition against the nature of women, which extends into a discussion of the meaninglessness of class status when it comes to the true nature of any person. In condemning the adultery, the Manciple describes lust of the flesh with a term that works on two levels:

Flessh is so newefangel, with meschaunce, That we no konne in nothyng han pleasaunce That sowneth into vertu any while. (ll. 193-95)

While the word newfangled is used here to indicate that flesh is never happy in virtuous pursuits, but rather seeks out pleasure in novelty, it also takes on a religious connotation as a word often leveled against heterodox views.169 To be new or newfangled is an epithet often applied to perceived heretics: heretical opinions are newfangled and without foundation.170

In the trial of William Swinderby, Bishop Trefnant accuses Lollards of reading in a “modern fashion” unsupported by the faith.171 Similarly, The praier and complaynte of the ploweman vnto

Christe, a probable Lollard text (attributed to the late fourteenth- or early fifteenth-century by editor Douglas H. Parker) compares the contemporary accusations against Lollards to those with which the priests condemned Jesus:

Even now after the same maner / that ye maye grope with youre fyngers / that oure holy byshops with all their ragmans rolle / be of the selfe same sorte / and veraye childerne of their fathers the phareses / Bischops and

169 “neufanglesse,” Middle English Dictionary, U of Michigan, 2001. 170 Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion, p. 14. 171 Found in Rita Copeland, Pedagogy, Intellectuals, and Dissent in the Later Middle Ages: Lollardy and Ideas of Learning (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004), p. 108. 72

prestes / wich so accused Christ and his Apostles of new lerninge: ye do se how they defame sclaunder and persecute the same worde and preachers and folowers of it / withe the selfe same names / callinge it new lernings / and them new masters. And retayne the people in erroure with their fathers olde face of religiouse phareses. [italics mine]172

However, the pejorative connotation of new is also used by Wycliffites to condemn the

Church. For example, in his Acts and Monuments, John Foxe describes John Wyclif’s era as one of corruption and abuse, describing the ceremonies and sacraments of the church as new: “Besides this, with how many bondes & snares of dayly new fangled ceremonies, the sely consciences of men redeemed by Christ to liberty, were snared and snarled?”173 In an attempt to establish an orthodox authority based on tradition and history, new took on negative connotations for writers positioned all along the late medieval religious spectrum.

The use of the word in the Manciple’s Tale signals Chaucer’s preoccupation with the privilege to speak as do janglen and lewd. The use of these religiously-charged words, in a tale preoccupied with careful and right speech, alerts the reader to read against the grain of the text. However, they do not necessarily label Chaucer as Wycliffite or heterodox. Instead, he engages in the argument by using these slippery words to his advantage. The words denote a debate that his audience would recognize, but do not necessarily limit him to a pro- or anti-

Church position. While complicating the Manciple’s simple moral, Chaucer still maintains a protected stance from which he may preserve his own right to speak.

Returning to his tale, the Manciple describes again the wife’s active role and enjoyment in her affair: “Whan Phebus wyf had sent for hir lemman, / Anon they wroghten

172 The praier and complaynte of the ploweman vnto Christe,” ed. Douglas H. Parker (Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1997), p. 109. 173 John Foxe, Acts and Monuments, 1583 ed., John Foxes’s The Acts and Monuments Online, Humanities Research Institute (U of Sheffield, 2011), p. 448. 73 al hire lust volage” (ll. 238-39). The wife, then, as a figure at fault in this tale somewhat vindicates the crow’s actions. He speaks truth and reveals a truly sinful action. Phebus, however, as the overseer of his wife, must ultimately silence and refashion such criticism, denying her fault after he has killed her: “O deere wyf! O gemme of lustiheed! / That were to me so sad and eek so trewe” (ll. 274-75). Phebus, then, is advocating a silence that is particularly like the canonical silence enforced by church hierarchy. Even if a priest or cleric were to sin, it is necessary to keep quiet. Though no doubt still imitating the voices he has heard, the tale seems to imply that part of the reason the crow finds himself in danger is that he does not merely repeat back old tales or counterfeit voices, but introduces a new tale and new criticism: “My sone, be war, and be noon auctour newe / Of tidynges, wheither they been false or trewe” (ll. 359-60). Even if rumors of sin are true, it is better to remain silent and not disturb old traditions, rather than risk the introduction of new heresy.

The crow’s punishment takes on a religious coloring as well. In addition to losing his voice, in Chaucer’s tale, the crow is condemned to hell:

And to the crowe he stirte, and that anon, And pulled his white fetheres everychon, And made hym blak, and refte hym al his song, And eek his speche, and out at dore hym slong Unto the devel, which I hym bitake; And for this caas been alle crowes blake. (ll. 303-308)

The condemnation to the devil seems particularly harsh, especially given the greater punishment of silence already present in Chaucer’s version of this tale. It indicates, as

Obermeier writes, “the fate of the author who does not measure up in the eyes of the church hierarchy, patron, and God.”174 Damnation, associated as it has been with religious fault

174 Obermeier, p. 94. 74 heretofore, seems to move the crow’s sin out of the realm of the secular and into that of the religious. With this plot point, the Manciple’s Tale strikes the same note as the Friar’s Tale, in which a summoner is given into the devil’s hands. Much like the Manciple’s Prologue’s revision of the Miller’s Prologue, though, the tale strips the humor away that is present in the friar’s consignment to hell. The crow’s demise seems particularly cruel and violent.

The epilogue, as the Manciple drives home his moral, emphasizes the religious significance to the tale. Echoing his mother, he explains the potential for sin in the tongue:

A wikked tonge is worse than a feend; My sone, from a feend men many hem blesse. My sone, God of his endelees goodnesse Walled a tonge with teeth and lippes eke, For man sholde hym avyse what he speeke. (ll. 320-324)

The construction of the mouth described here alludes to yet another moment in the larger

Canterbury Tales. The walled tongue is reminiscent of the Wife of Bath’s physicality and one of her significant features, the gap-toothed smile.175 Mel Storm argues that the emphasis on teeth in the Wife of Bath’s description is reminiscent of the tradition of regarding teeth as the wall and guard to the mouth.176 The Wife of Bath’s gap indicates a freedom or superfluity of speech.177 Storm thus identifies her as heterodox and constructs her as the opposite of the

Manciple who, for example, instructs the Cook to close his mouth either to protect against or prevent the spread of sin.178 The Manciple wishes, by his own description of the role of teeth, to restrain the freedom of such speakers as the Wife of Bath. The Manciple, as someone thus aligned with the structural hierarchies of church and state, accordingly tells a

175 Storm, p. 124. 176 Storm, p. 124. 177 Storm, p. 124. 178 Storm, pp. 122-23. 75 story that advocates his preferred moral. In fact, it is the clerks who teach the necessity of verbal restraint:

My sone, ful ofte, for to muche speche Hath many a man been spilt, as clerkes teche, But for litel speche avysely Is no man shent, to speke generally. (ll. 325-328)

The sin of the tongue that the crow ostensibly commits in this tale is thus clearly inflected by the relationship between laity and church hierarchy. It is the authority and teaching of clerics that advise silence. To speak ill is to offend God. The tale brings us thus again to janglen. In the reading I have offered, it seems more likely to consider janglen as a term denoting also the danger of religious dissidence. With that connotation, the following condemnation of janglers places the Manciple’s Tale not only into conversation with Gower’s “Tale of Phebus and

Cornide,” but also texts like Friar Daw’s Reply:

A jangler is to God abhomynable. Reed Salomon, so wys and honurable; Reed David in his psalmes; reed Senekke. My sone, speke nat, but with thyn heed thou bekke. Dissimule as thou were deef, if that thou heere A janglere speke of perilous mateere. (ll. 343-348)

It is ironic, then, that the Manciple’s (or his mother’s) advice depends on lay access to

Biblical texts. The son is urged to trust the authority of David and Solomon in order to learn that he should avoid janglers. Chaucer here includes a very pointed criticism of the Manciple’s moral in the same vein as his lampooning of the Wife of Bath’s defense of women in her prologue. The very texts referenced undermine the speaker’s point, just as the Manciple reference to Plato accords very little with his moral: “The wise Plato seith, as ye may rede, /

The word moot cosyn be to the werkyng” (ll. 207-208). Literacy is, in fact, the key to recognizing the inherent fallacies of the Manciple’s conclusion.

The issue of silencing is a religious one for Chaucer, at least as much as it is one of court in this tale, and given the nod to Wycliffite discourse especially present in the prologue, a reader cannot assume Chaucer to agree with the Manciple as narrator. The

Manciple, like the Pardoner and like the Summoner, is an unreliable and untrustworthy narrator. Chaucer, instead, seems sympathetic with Lollard ideology—an inclination in the

1370s and 1380s, D. A. Lawton reminds us, that did not necessarily mean one identified as a

Lollard.179 This is not an identity that I am trying to push on Chaucer either. I do, however, agree with McCormack that he is sympathetic to the Lollard preference for the English language.180 Aware and concerned as he thus is with language and its suitability, I cannot help but believe his choice of words in any tale to be meticulous and deliberate. Whereas Gower’s

Latin restricts and circumscribes the role of the lay reader, Chaucer’s English encourages discussion and interaction with this text, as he depends on a linguistic and lexical familiarity between himself and his audience to clarify his intentions. If written late in the cycle of the tales, like the Parson’s Tale, the Manciple’s Tale would have been composed in an atmosphere of increasing suspicion and circumscription of Wycliffite and Lollard ideas.181 The Manciple’s

Tale is thus timely, advocating if not for Lollardy, then for free discourse. By incorporating

Wycliffite rhetoric and concerns in the tales of self-identified orthodox pilgrims, Chaucer deliberately complicates an interrogation or condemnation of heterodoxy.

179 D. A. Lawton, “Lollardy and the ‘Piers Plowman’,” The Modern Language Review 76.4 (1981), pp. 780-793, at p. 780. 180 McCormack, p. 114 181 Craun, p. 193; McCormack, p. 20. 77

Gower, in the Visio Anglie, fears the disorder of an assertive peasantry. Writing about the rebellion of 1381, he imagines the voice of the rebellion as a bird, a jay:

When all this host of monsters, like wild beasts, Was unified like sand upon the shore, One jay stood forth, well versed in rhetoric; No cage could keep this orator at home. (ll. 679-682)

The Manciple describes the nature of the bird in a similar fashion:

Taak any bryd, and put it in a cage, And do al theyn entente and thy corage To fostre it tendrely with mete and drynke Of all deyntees that thou kanst bithynke, And keep it al so clenly as thou may, Although his cage of gold be never so gay, Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand foold, Levere in a forest that is rude and coold Goon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse. (ManT ll. 163-171)

Gower and the Manciple agree on the nature of birds, but Chaucer does not agree with either of them on the treatment of these birds. Whereas Gower can sincerely advise careful speech (“My gode sone, as I thee rede” [CA 3.817]), Chaucer bases the Manciple’s Tale on

Gower’s text to mock him, and having mocked him, advocates the opposite—freedom of speech. This freedom, for Chaucer, is intimately tied up with the English language. The growing capability of authors writing theology in English necessitated a broader and more dialogic approach to orthodox Christianity, one that allowed the lewd to jangle. The Host, following the Manciple’s tale, enjoins the Parson “[u]nbokele and shewe us what is in thy male,” giving him the freedom to say whatever he would despite former accusations of

Lollardy (PT l. 26). In answer, the Parson produces a prose piece, insisting that he “wol nat glose” (PT l. 45). The response of the pilgrims is what Chaucer would advocate for all of his

78 own work and for English theology and works at large, promoting as he was a vernacular identity—“to yeve hym space and audience” (PT l. 64).

CHAPTER 2: “HE THAT IS BRENT, MEN SEYN, DREDITH THE FYRE”: DE HAERETICO COMBURENDO AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF A CRITICAL VERNACULAR ORTHODOXY IN DIVES AND PAUPER AND HOCCLEVE’S THE REGIMENT OF PRINCES

In 1401, William Sawtry became the first Lollard in England to be burned on charges of heresy.1 Numerous factors conspired to make the conditions right for his execution. The environment among church and political authorities was increasingly anti-Lollard;

Archbishop Thomas Arundel was zealous in his desire to suppress Lollardy. Eager to solidify his claim on the throne after usurping it from Richard II in 1399, Henry IV also needed

Sawtry’s execution and the Lollard threat to establish his own authority in the face of this common enemy (as he defined it) to England’s religious and political security.2 De haeretico comburendo, a statute authorizing and demanding the burning of unrepentant heretics, followed closely on the heels of Sawtry’s death, having been under parliamentary consideration during his trial.3 Sawtry’s execution and De haeretico comburendo ushered in an era of increased religious persecution in England. Martyrdom by fire was now a very real possibility for those who publicly and stubbornly professed to holding views deemed lollard

1 Anne Hudson, The Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Oxford: Clarendon P., 1988), p. 435. 2 Paul Strohm, England’s Empty Throne: Usurpation and the Language of Legitimation, 1399-1422 (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 1998). See pp. 36-45 for a discussion of William Sautre and De haeretico comburendo. Strohm argues that Lollardy featured prominently in Lancastrian propaganda as a specter against which to unite the country in the wake of the usurpation. 3 Strohm, p. 43. 80 or heretical.4 The publication of Arundel’s Constitutions in 1409, which forbade translation of

Scripture as well as the reading of Wycliffite books, helped to provide a material witness by which to prosecute these heretical views:

therefore I establish and ordain, that no one hereafter translate on his own authority any text of sacred scripture into the English language, or any other, by way of book, booklet, or tract, neither should any manner of book, booklet, or tract composed recently in the time of John Wyclif, or more recently, or compiled after, in part or whole, public, or secret, be read under pain of greater excommunication, until that translation shall have been approved through provincial council: whoever goes against this will be likewise punished, as a supporter of heresies and errors.5

This article establishes the composition, possession, and reading of English books, specifically those influenced by Wycliffite thought, as evidence of heresy. As material objects, books and manuscripts were visible and prosecutable representations of inward conviction.

Arundel’s Constitutions were not the first manifestation of this persecution via codex, but were rather the logical extension of earlier practice in England. Katherine Kerby-Fulton outlines the censorship of Wycliffite texts in the fourteenth century:

…by 1389, English translations of the Bible and English interpretative works were being systematically confiscated and burned, and those who wrote them imprisoned; by 1401, the Statue De heretico comburendo was in effect, and now not only suspicious books, but authors, could be consigned to the flames; by 1407 it was an offence to preach the faults of the clergy before the laity; by 1409, virtually any religious literature written in English could be suspect, unless issued with episcopal approval.6

4 John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments, first published in 1563, was essentially dedicated to canonizing the English martyrs from the 14th and 15th centuries. 5 “Constitutiones domini Thomae Arundel, Cantuariensis, archiepiscopi, factae in convocatione praelatorum et cleri Cantuariensis provinciae, in ecclesia cathedrali S. Pauli London, incepta 14 die mensis Januarii, A.D. M.CCCC.VIII. et translationis suae an. Xiii contra haereticos,” Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae ab Anno MCCL ad Annum MDXLV, vol.3, ed. David Wilkins (London, 1737), p. 317. Translation mine. 6 Qtd. in Katherine Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion: Censorship and Tolerance of Revelatory Writing in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2006), p. 2. 81

Kerby-Fulton presents a progression of prosecution that transfers the properties and treatments of the text to the author. If a text could be burned, so also could the author.

Whatever the text contained reflected naturally back on the author. As can be seen in the heretic trials and examinations of the early fifteenth-century, these textual characteristics were also transferred to readers. This was a transference based on association rather than production and one that was initiated out of need to produce physical and observable testimony of one’s spiritual condition. Consequently, reading and writing became almost synonymous activities when determining guilt. In some cases, reading a text was even more suspect than the composition of it, as when the possession of Chaucerian texts cast their owners into a bad light.7

This chapter will discuss the response of two texts contemporary with de haeretico comburendo and the Constitutions to the hard strictures and capital punishment introduced by these statutes: Dives and Pauper and Regiment of Princes. Both texts contribute to an understanding of the general dissatisfaction with Lancastrian rule in the early fifteenth- century. As was explored in the first chapter of this project, writers were becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the censorious attitude of both crown and Church at the end of the fourteenth century and the beginning of the fifteenth. Richard II was widely

7 Frances McCormack discusses the case of John Baron, who, charged with heresy in 1464, was called to account for his possession of the Canterbury Tales, “Chaucer and Lollardy,” Chaucer and Religion, ed. Helen Phillips (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010), pp. 35-40, at p. 35; Derrick G. Pitard also points out that, almost from its initial composition, the Canterbury Tales have been associated with Lollardy, “Sowing Difficulty: The Parson’s Tale, Vernacular Commentary, and the Nature of Chaucerian Dissent,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 26 (2004), pp. 299-330, at p. 306. 82 recognized as a tyrant in Lancastrian propaganda, unwilling to listen to truth-tellers in court.8

However, those situated as Lancastrian advisers (like Thomas Hoccleve) also exhibited anxiety about their security at court. 9 The Lancastrians, after all, as usurpers, were also viewed as violent and unjust lords.10 Placed in these perilous positions, then, advisers and writers within both courts adopted pacifist views. Both Chaucer and Gower, for example, were advocates of peace over war.11 In the texts analyzed in this chapter, the authors will urge a different kind of anti-violent position: mercy toward heretics.

Dives and Pauper was composed between 1405 and 1410 by an unknown author.12

This text is a religious dialogue between a rich man (Dives) and a poor man (Pauper) about the best interpretation of the Ten Commandments. Dives is eager to learn how he, as a rich man, can still enter into the kingdom of heaven. Regiment of Princes was written by Thomas

Hoccleve, a clerk in the Privy Seal, between 1410 and 1411.13 The text begins as a Boethian dialogue between a fictive Hoccleve and an Old Man about how Hoccleve can procure better fortune. The dialogue then becomes a Fürstenspiegel, a mirror for princes, directed to

Prince Henry, which Hoccleve composes in the hope of currying favor with the prince and thereby assuring his annuity.

8 Jenni Nuttall, The Creation of Lancastrian Kingship: Literature, Language and Politics in Late Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2007), pp. 11, 14. 9 Strohm, England’s Empty Throne, pp. 174-75. 10 Sheila Delany, Impolitic Bodies: Poetry, Saints, and Society in Fifteenth-Century England: The Work of Osbern Bokenham (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1998), p. 136 11 R. F. Yeager, “Pax Poetica: On the Pacifism of Chaucer and Gower,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 9 (1987), pp. 97-121, at p.98 12 Ed. Priscilla Heath Barnum, Dives and Pauper, vol.2 (London: EETS, 2004), p. ix. 13 Ed. Charles R. Blyth, The Regiment of Princes, by Thomas Hoccleve (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 1999), pp. 1, 4. For a biography of Thomas Hoccleve, see J. A. Burrow, “Thomas Hoccleve,” Authors of the Middle Ages (Aldershot: Variorum, 1994). 83

I will begin my analysis of these texts’ response to censorship and the burning of heretics by examining the impact that heresy trials had on the role of the written document.

Then I will look at the way in which Dives and Regiment interact with the vernacular theology under scrutiny in the early-fifteenth century, and, lastly, how each text individually comments on the legitimacy of executing Lollards. In expressing criticism of de haeretico comburendo, the texts introduce a vernacular literary identity that neither endorses nor violently condemns heresy, moderating our conceptions of the orthodox text.

I. Written Text as Witness

As a physical witness to an internal state, written texts were important evidence in many interrogations. First of all, as a matter of course, the defendants were to be given a written copy of the charges being brought against them.14 Secondly, in a travesty of the judicial process, many Wycliffite defendants were essentially forced to incriminate themselves at trial through writing: “Instead of being charged with committing a specific crime (for example, preaching a heretical doctrine), suspects were required to give their views in writing concerning condemned Wycliffite propositions, and they were convicted on the basis of their answers.”15 This process occurs in many of the heresy trials of the fifteenth century. For purposes of illustrating how the written document functions both legally and doctrinally, this chapter will take a brief look at some of the trials that took place between

14 Henry Ansgar Kelly, “Trial Procedures against Wyclif and Wycliffites in England and at the Council of Constance,” Huntington Library Quarterly 61.1 (1998), pp. 1-28, at p. 13. 15 Henry Ansgar Kelly, “Inquisition, Public Fame and Confession: General Rules and English Practice,” Culture of Inquisition in Medieval England,” eds. Mary C. Flannery, Katie L. Walter (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2013), pp. 8- 29, at p. 21. 84

1401 and 1417, during which time De haeretico comburendo and Arundel’s Constitutions were strong influences on and directives of procedure.

William Sawtry, as has been discussed, was burned in 1401, the first man to be burned for heresy in England. During his trial, articles were read against him out of a

“certayne scrole written”; in response, he “asked a copye of such articles and conclusions, and a competent space to aunswer vnto the same.”16 When later called upon to answer the aforesaid articles, Sawtry “exhibited a certain scrole conteyning the answers.”17 William

Swinderby, examined in 1401 as well, also begs a space of time in which he can deliberate over the charges brought against him.18 Answers are here the product of deliberation, a thought-process aided by the ability to write down one’s defense.

The Letter of Richard Wyche provides us with a first-person account of Wyche’s examination in 1402-1403. While in his cell, days into the examination, Wyche is sent a note from the bishop with an orthodox explanation of the Eucharist, to which note Wyche is required to respond in writing: “After that argument is read, my lord wishes for R.W. to respond to the conclusion above and to the specific issues raised there—to give a precise exposition of his understanding, how he regards them in writing. He should write this in his own hand.”19 In his own hand is an important part of these instructions. This procedure forms a physical link between the testimony and the accused, and so serves as a visible marker for

16 “Convocatio praelatorum et cleri provinciae Cantuar. in crastino Conversionis S. Pauli, viz. 26 die mensis Januarii, in ecclesia S. Pauli London,” Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae, p.255. Translation in: John Foxe, The Unabridged Acts and Monuments Online or TAMO, 1563 edition (Sheffield: HRI Online Pub., 2011), p. 522. 17 Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae, p.255, Translation in Foxe, p. 523. 18 “Quibus objectis eidem Willelmo coram eis, et per eosdem commissaries comparenti, conclusionibus et articulis memoratis; petitoque termino per eundem Willelmum ad deliberandum super conclusionibus, et hujusmodi articulis, et ad respondendum eisdem . . . .” Fasciculi Zizaniorum Magistri Johannis Wyclif Cum Tritico, ed. Walter Waddington Shirley (London: Longman, Brown, Green, Longmans, and Roberts, 1858), pp. 334-35. 19 Richard Wyche, “The Letter of Richard Wyche: An Interrogation Narrative,” Trans. Christopher G. Bradley, PMLA 127.3 (2012), pp. 626-642, at p. 636. 85 the invisible soul. Wyche, however, refuses to explain his views. He eventually recants and is released, only to come under interrogation again and be burnt in 1440.20 The Testimony of

William Thorpe is another autobiographical account of a Lollard under examination in 1407.

Archbishop Arundel, in examining Thorpe, more than once uses a written account from a witness to question Thorpe’s Eucharistic beliefs: “Anoon þe clerke took out and leide forþ vpon a cupboard dyuerse rollis and oþer writingis, among which was a litil rolle which þe clerk toke to þe Erchebischop. And anoon þe Archebishop radde þis rolle . . . .”21 Though

Thorpe does not produce his own document of beliefs in trial, both Wyche and Thorpe essentially provide written testimonies of their belief for a wider audience, adopting the practices of court to provide a physical testament of their faith for their peers.

In the 1410 examination of John Badby, the first layman to be burned and the first real victim of de haeretico comburendo, written documents are still important, but they are not produced by the defendant.22 Rather, the examination records emphasize the archbishop’s care to translate a record of the examination into the lingua materna for Badby in order to convince him to recant what he had thus far declared:

When all these thynges were thus finished, and that all the sayd conclusions were often read in the vulgar toung: the foresaid Archbishop demaunded of hym, whither he would renounce and forsake hys opinions & such lyke conclusions or not, & adhere to the doctrine of Christ and catholicke fayth? He aunswered, that accordyng to that hee had sayd before, hee would adhere and stand to those wordes, whiche before he had made aunswere vnto. 23

20 Bradley, p. 626. 21 The Testimony of William Thorpe 1407, Two Wycliffite Texts, ed. Anne Hudson (Oxford: EETS, 1993), pp. 24-93, at p. 42. 22 Peter McNiven, “Badby, John,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2004-14). 23 “Convocatio praelatorum et cleri provinciae Cant. 17. die Februarii in eccl. S.P. London,” Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae, p. 327. Translation in Foxe, 1570 ed., p. 644. 86

Not considered literate for the purposes of the church court, Badby is not required to write down his beliefs himself, but is rather made to respond to someone else’s record of his beliefs. Oral testimony is not sufficient. Because of the necessity to translate the Latin clerical records, the conclusions, in a limited sense, take on Badby’s voice and authorship.

John Claydon, burned in 1415, was also illiterate, though this did not keep him from commissioning English books which he then had read aloud to him by others.24 In his trial, he is interrogated about the contents of these books and whether he finds them “to be catholike, profitable, good and true.”25 The books and other documents discovered in

Claydon’s house become the equivalent of a written testimony of his faith. He is personally responsible for their production and they are heretical, providing the points of dispute for the trial:

the[n] after that were read diuers tractations, found in the house of the sayd Iohn Claydon: out of the which, being examined, diuers poyntes were gathered and noted for heresies and errours, and speciallye out of the booke aforesayd: whiche booke the sayd Iohn Claydon confessed by hys owne costes to be writte[n] & bounde, which booke was intituled, the Lanterne of light.26

As the century progressed and book circulation and lay literacy (or involvement with written texts) increased, defendants created written testimony to their beliefs even before being brought to trial, whether by commissioning books or in composing declarations of belief unique unto themselves.

24 Christina von Nolcken, “Claydon, John,” ODNB; Foxe, p. 778. Latin version of the trial can be found in “Acta contra Johannem Claydon in causa haereseos,” Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae, p. 371. 25 Foxe, p. 778. 26 Foxe, p. 778. 87

Margery Kempe, who recounts in her autobiographical text her constant struggles to practice her faith, recounts interrogations she underwent in 1417.27 As an illiterate layperson,

Kempe’s examinations feature few written documents but they also seem relatively informal affairs. However, Kempe still clearly sees the value in having a written testimony to her orthodoxy. After her interrogation, she seeks out a letter “to record what conversation she had had during the time she was in Leicester,” even though this is not a document demanded by any court.28 In the case of John Oldcastle, brought to trial in 1413 but not burned until 1417, he crafts a statement of his faith before trial in order to resist coerced testimony.29 He tries to deliver this to the king, but is turned away.30 Forced to face the church courts instead, Oldcastle refuses to listen to the proceedings against him and instead immediately produces his own statement to read: “Sicque licentia petita et obtenta, extraxit de sinu suo quondam schedulam indentatem, ac contenta in eadem publice ibidem perlegit, eandemque schedulam nobis realiter tradidit.”31 As can be seen in these latter cases, the written text became not only a tool of the courts, but one adopted and embraced by the laity.32 It also became a means by which to publicize the fate of those who embraced heterodox views, as in the case of Oldcastle’s trial when the account of his examination was sent throughout England.33

27 Felicity Riddy, “Kempe, Margery,” ODNB. 28 Margery Kempe, The Book of Margery Kempe, trans. and ed. Lynn Staley (New York: Norton, 2001), at p. 86. 29 John A. F. Thompson, “Oldcastle, John,” ODNB; Fasciculi zizaniorum, p. 438. 30 Foxe, p. 315. 31 Fasciculi zizaniorum, p. 438. Translation: Thus, entreating permission and obtaining it, he drew out from his own bosom a certain folded document, and also straightening out the same, he read over it publicly in that same place, and handed over the same document to us. 32 For a discussion of the increase in faith statements in response to a culture of heresy trials, see Genelle Gertz, “Heresy Inquisition and Authorship, 1400-1560,” Culture of Inquisition in Medieval England, pp. 130-145. 33 Thompson, “Oldcastle,” ODNB. 88

Arundel’s Constitutions and these publicly-discussed trials produced a culture of anxiety and suspicion, but they did not, as Kerby-Fulton points out, produce all that many actual executions or even prosecutions.34 Many recanted and abjured their reputed heresies,35 and oftentimes books and practices condemned by Arundel did not actually get prosecuted.36

The threat of execution in addition to the burning of notable heretics was enough, though, to raise questions about the morality of killing heretics in Lancastrian texts. Such questions were almost always raised alongside expressions of concern about the author’s own security.

Written texts were the basis for most convictions in trials. Consequently, manuscripts and codices had taken on the identity of witnesses, permanent in comparison to oral speech.

Authors who discussed the fallout of De haeretico comburendo were sensitive about whether the words they wrote could implicate them in heresy. To write was to write a defense for one’s self, whether implicitly or explicitly. To write, especially on topics of political or religious sensitivity, was to craft a witness to one’s own orthodoxy or heterodoxy.

34 Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion, p.397. 35 See, for an example of a famous recantation, the discussion of John Purvey in The Testimony of William Thorpe. During the Norwich heresy trials from 1428-1431, abjurations were a part of almost every trial: see Emily Steiner, Documentary Culture and the Making of Medieval Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2003), p. 230. Diane Vincent also notes that “medieval inquisitorial processes . . . seem to end most often in convictions and abjurations,” “The Contest Over the Public Imagination of Inquisition, 1380-1430,” Culture of Inquisition in Medieval England, p. 60. This was consistent in the Early Modern Period as well. As G. W. Bernard remarks, “almost all those detected of heresy in the early sixteenth century formally renounced the heresies which they confessed and then performed the penance imposed upon them;” The Late Medieval Church: Vitality and Vulnerability Before the Break with Rome (New Haven: Yale, 2012), p.218. 36 Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion, pp. 16, 397. 89

II. Vernacular Orthodoxy

Primarily the only English texts of interest to the church hierarchy under the terms of the archbishop’s statutes were theological or scriptural ones.37 Other literatures, courtly or otherwise, largely did not concern the authors of de haeretico comburendo and the 1409

Constitutions.38 However, we should not take this to mean that secular writers were not aware of and did not either unconsciously or deliberately respond to these censorious restrictions.39

For decades after the 1381 Peasant’s Revolt, which forged a link between political and religious reform, courtly and political texts commented to the religious issues of the day.40

With the Lancastrian interest in Lollardy, especially, court and church had become less distinct entities in the early-fifteenth century. The fear of treason and the fear of heresy had become one and the same in the “Lancastrian discursive register.”41 Consequently, to write any text in English (even though to a much greater extent with theological texts) was still to engage with Arundel’s Constitutions and the threat of prosecution embedded therein. The two texts primarily under discussion in this chapter, Dives and Pauper and Regiment of Princes, reflect the two different arenas of the religious and the political respectively. Despite these different provenances, however, both texts are very much concerned with issues of heterodoxy.

Neither Dives and Pauper nor Regiment of Princes appear, on the surface, to be concerned about their status as English texts. First of all, they both exist in numerous

37 Nicholas Watson, “The Politics of Middle English Writing,” The Idea of the Vernacular: An Anthology of Middle English Literary Theory, 1280-1520 (Philadelphia: Penn State UP, 1999), p. 343-44. 38 Kerby-Fulton, Books Under Suspicion, p. 3. 39 Nicholas Watson allows room for his famous discussion of Arundel’s Constitutions to have implications for secular writers as well, though he does not elaborate; “Censorship and Cultural Change in Late-Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate, and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409, Speculum 70.4 (1995, pp. 822-864, at p. 824. 40 Steven Justice, Writing and Rebellion: England in 1381 (Berkeley: U of California P., 1994), p. 75. 41 Strohm, England’s Empty Throne, p. 120. 90 manuscripts, indicating a fairly popular reception.42 Secondly, their presentation of English within their texts is unflinching. The author of Dives and Pauper, for example, is aware of

Arundel’s Constitutions, but nonetheless supports a system of lay theological education.43

While discussing the fourth commandment, Dives refers to men who “seyyn þat þer schulde no lewyd folc entrymettyn hem of Godis lawe ne of þe gospel ne of holy writ, neyþer to connyn it ne to techyn it.”44 Pauper, in answer, argues that listening to these men would be disastrous:

Þat is a foul errour & wol perlyous to mannys soule, for iche man & woman is boundyn aftir his degree to done his besynesse to knowyn Godis lawe þat he is bondyn to kepyn. And fadris & moodris, godfadris & godmoodris arn boundyn to techyn her childryn Godis lawe or ellys don hem be tauȝt. And þerfor God seyth: Erunt verba hec, etc., þese wordis þat Y bydde þe þis day schul ben in þin herte.45

Pauper believes that discussing theology in English is necessary to faith. As such, he repeatedly translates Latin words and Latinate concepts into English for Dives. For example, he goes to great pains to explain the two types of worship: divine or latria (“worship of

God”) and common or dulia (“honour owed to men”). Important to his explanation is how the English concepts are extrapolated from the Latin, in which each type of worship is defined and summed up by a separate word: latria and dulia.46 Pauper’s ability and willingness

42 Dives and Pauper is included in 8 manuscripts and in several fragments, Barnum, ed. Dives and Pauper, vol.2, p. xi. Regiment of Princes exists in 43 complete manuscripts, Blyth, ed., The Regiment of Princes, p. 14. 43 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, pp. xix-xx. 44 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 327. 45 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 327. 46 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 102. Glosses from Barnum’s notes. She attributes the definitions to Augustine, vol. 2, p. 36. In addition to scriptural translation, Dives also translates the Latin “martir” into the English “witnesse” (208), “Oriens” into “Crist” (115), “Fiat” as “it schulde be don” (263), “pectoris, temporis & eternitatis” as “of herte, of tyme, and of endeles lestyng” (272-73), “dulciter, prudenter, fortiter” as “swetelyche, wyselyche, myȝtelyche” (301), “susurro” as “mustrere” (pt. 2, p.7), “lingua dolosa” as “gylous tongue” (12), “occasion” as “manslaute” (33), “iusta causa, iustus ordo, iustus animus” as “ ryȝtful ordre, process, & entencion” (37), “iusticia” as “ryȝtfulnesse” (50), “iusta causa, iustus animus, et auctoritas legitimi principis” as “ryȝtful cause, a ryȝtful intencioun, & autorite of a lauful prynce” (55), “fornicacio, meretricium, 91 to use Latin and English so interchangeably reflects his own role in the narrative of Dives and

Pauper. He is introduced as an educated man, and, because of this, Dives is astonished that he should also be poor and common: “I meruayle mechil sythin þu art a lettyrd man þat þu wylt puttyn þe in þis pouert to been in euery mannys daungeer for þin lyuyngge, goon aboutyn the word so nakyd and nedy as a forsakyn man and been a iape and a scorn to al the peple.”47 Pauper’s response is to embrace his status: “God chees folye thynggys of þis word for to shame and shende þese wordily wysse meen þat letyn so wel be here wyȝt as þu doist.”48 Pauper is thus both educated and simple in his holiness. The vernacular bridges the gap between these two identities, allowing Pauper to translate his learning to men like Dives.

If we accept the traditional explanation of Dives as a member of the literate and wealthy laity and Pauper as a friar or unidentified poor clergyman, English is also the appropriate means by which Dives can be taught in accordance with Pauper’s own convictions about the laity’s education and with Dives’s embrace of English education.49 In so far as using English makes sense for the characters within the text, so it makes sense for the unidentified author of Dives and Pauper. Pauper is very likely a representation of the author himself. Barnum speculates

adulterium, stuprum, sacrilegium, incestus, peccatum sodomiticum, voluntaria in se pollucio et per se prouocata, et libidinosus coitus coniugalis” as fornicacion, & lecherie with comoun women, auouterie, defylyng of maydynhod, defylyng of chastite avouhyd to God, defylyng of hem þat ben nyhȝ of ken or of affinite or of godsibrede, & sodomye (þat is mysuhs of manys body or womanys in lecherie aȝenys kende), & pollucion of manys body or womanys be her owyn steryng & be himself, whiche is a wold horrible synne, and also sinful medlyng togedere atwoxsyn housebounde & wif” (58), “rapina” as “raueyn” (135), “prediales” as tithes that come from the earth, and “personales” as tithes that come from workmanship (167), “perniciosum” as lies that do harm, “officiosum” as lies that do good, and “iocosum” as lies that do neither good or evil (213), “philomena” as “nyȝtyngale” (260). 47 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt.1, p. 53. There are two alternate versions of the table and prologue to Dives and Pauper. Through this paper, I reference A as opposed to B. 48 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt.1, p. 53-54. 49 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p.x 92 that he may have been a friar in the employ of a rich businessman.50 If so, he was a religious man who was comfortable with the act of translating Scripture and viewed his English as based in Latin rather than competing with it.51 Latin, for him, was a failsafe for moments when English was not sufficient, as in the case of latria and dulia, wherein the Latin presented concepts that English could only approximate through long and winding definitions.52 So, even while embracing the vernacular, Dives and Pauper does not discount or disregard Latin as the authoritative language of religion. This treatment of English seems to make the author feel more secure in his vernacular identity.

Even though Regiment is a text that is ostensibly concerned with money and fortune, it also discusses an issue that tangentially approaches the debate over the religious use of the vernacular: the danger of heresy and the burning of John Badby. As Ruth Nissé argues,

Hoccleve aligns himself with Badby and so draws attention to the risk of vernacular writing.53 For the most part, though, this topic does not seem to make Hoccleve uneasy regarding his vernacular poetry. As a court writer, he is in a less tenuous position than the author of Dives and Pauper regarding his use of the vernacular. For one, writing in English may have been a way for Hoccleve to engage in Henry IV’s initiative to use English as a means to unite the kingdom.54 Though Hoccleve would have been intimately familiar with both French and Latin because of his work in the Privy Seal,55 he composes the first English

50 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol.2, p. xxv. 51 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, pp. xxxi-xxxii. 52 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. xli. See Chapter 4 of this dissertation for a discussion of the way in which Reginald Pecock capitalizes on this perception of Latin to craft English as an acceptable religious language. 53 Ruth Nissé, “ ‘Oure Fadres Olde and Modres’: Gender, Heresy, and Hoccleve’s Literary Politics,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 21 (1999): pp. 275-299, at p. 280. 54 John H. Fisher, “A Language Policy for Lancastrian England,” PMLA 107.5 (1992), pp. 1168-1180, at p. 84. 55 Burrow, “Thomas Hoccleve,” pp. 2,4. 93 mirror of princes in addition to a large body of other vernacular work.56 In fact, in Regiment,

Hoccleve’s persona claims that he cannot write adequately in French or Latin, but only in

English, embracing the latter language at the expense of the first two. He deliberately downplays his knowledge of French and Latin when the Old Man commands him to

“[e]ndite in Frenssh or Latyn thy greef cleer,” arguing that “of hem ful smal is my taast.”57

Of English he also claims he knows “but a lyte,” but the existence of the text itself contradicts him. Hoccleve’s deliberate rejection of French and Latin as he writes to Prince

Henry marks his confidence in the English language to best please his patron. Hoccleve also embraces English because it is the language of Chaucer, “the honour of Englissh tonge.”58

Though they embrace the vernacular, both Hoccleve and the author of Dives and

Pauper are still highly aware of the potential for their texts or intentions (not necessarily the same thing) to be read amiss, since the use of English makes their works accessible to a larger audience. After all, fear over lay misinterpretation of Scripture and the theological tenets of the Christian faith was one of the primary arguments behind prohibiting lay access to religious texts.59 Therefore, though it can be seen that Pauper insist that “it is mor profitable to heryn Godis word in prechynge” than anything else, he is nonetheless anxious about the potential for teachers and laity to misinterpret scripture.60 He stresses the need for proper interpretation and proper use of English. When Dives attempts to make the claim that Solomon teaches men to flee poverty, Pauper corrects his interpretation and complains

56 Ethan Knapp, The Bureaucratic Muse: Thomas Hoccleve and the Literature of Late Medieval England (University Park: Pennsylvania State UP, 2001), at p. 81. 57 Hoccleve, Regimemt, ll. 1854, 1859. 58 Hoccleve, Regiment, l. 1959. Chaucer, who makes English acceptable, is, in turn, co-opted as a symbol of orthodoxy for the Lancastrian agenda; Blyth, ed., Regiment, p. 14. 59 See, for example, Anne Hudson, Lollards and Their Books (London: Hambledon P., 1985), p. 145. In chapter 4, I have a much longer discussion about this aspect of vernacular anxiety. 60 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 22. 94 to Dives “þu alleggist aȝens me wyt fals Englysh and nought conuenyent.”61 Again, later, when Dives attempts to translate the words of Christ as evidence against swearing, Pauper teaches him that his interpretation is wrong: “Þat is nout þe Englich of Cristis word, but þis is þe Englych.”62 This difficulty in translation between Latin and English is at the root of misunderstanding in Pauper’s view. In discussing with Dives the proper way to treat images in the church, Pauper attempts to distinguish between different types of worship, but finds it hard to do without recourse to Latin. This reliance on Latin makes any English discussion of worship prone to error:

And forasmechil as alle þese manerys of wurshepe so dyuers been clepid wyt on name of wurshepe on Englysh tonge, and often þe Latyn of wurshepe is takyn and vsyd vnpropyrly & to comounly, þerfore meen fallyn in mechil doughte and errour in redyngge and nought wel vnderstondyn qhat þey redyn.63

Given the Wycliffite disparagement of images, this reference to erroneous reading seems especially pointed at the Lollard desire for vernacular texts. Despite his advocacy of lay education, Pauper is not unaware of the danger associated with open access to God’s words.

He is not a Lollard.

Hoccleve is anxious about the misinterpretation of both Scripture and his own work, though his anxiety seems colored more by fear of consequence than by true dedication to the integrity of translation and comprehension. Hoccleve’s anxieties seem best articulated in the warnings of the Old Man when speaking to the fictive Hoccleve in Regiment. The Old

Man anticipates objections and vindicates Hoccleve’s text. He provides the authoritative

61 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt.1, p. 60. 62 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 231. See also Barnum’s interpretation that Dive’s errors are the result of misinterpretation—“from the narrow literalism of his reading of the Bible,” Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. liii. 63 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 109. 95 voice to warn the reader against misinterpretation by calling for confirmation from the fictive Hoccleve that there is nothing of vice within his poem. He advises Hoccleve on how best to write to Prince Henry: “Wryte him nothyng that sowneth into vice.”64 Hoccleve assents to this.65 This follows directly after a passage warning against flattery, but also not long after the discussion on what language Hoccleve should write his poem in.

The Old Man’s warning also cannot be entirely disconnected from the discussion of the death of John Badby and the danger of errant thought near the beginning of the prologue. Badby is the example of a man who “musith ferthere than his wit may strecche, /

And as the feendes instigacioun / Dampnable errour holdith.”66 The Old Man questions

Hoccleve on whether he holds to the same errors as Badby to which Hoccleve vehemently responds “I? Cryst forbeede it, sire.”67 The Old Man has thus vetted Hoccleve for the purposes of his audience, warning both author and readers against false beliefs. These false beliefs and errors Hoccleve explicitly links with the misinterpretation and misuse of scriptural text (much like the author of Dives and Pauper). In his “Address to Sir John

Oldcastle,” written in 1415 to both reprimand and win back Oldcastle, Hoccleve scolds the knight for meddling too much in the Bible: “Clymbe no more in holy writ so hie!”68 To write in English safely, according to his own guidelines, Hoccleve must make sure that he is not writing anything that might incriminate himself or that might encourage another to look too deeply into Church theology or state policy.

64 Hoccleve, Regiment, l. 1947. 65 Hoccleve, Regiment, l. 1953. 66 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 281-284. 67 Hoccleve, Regiment, l. 374. 68 Thomas Hoccleve, “Address to Sir John Oldcastle,” Hoccleve’s Works, vol. 1, ed. Frederick J. Furnivall (London: EETS, 1892), pp. xx, 14. 96

As if to further anticipate and reject responsibility for any misinterpretations of their own texts, both the author of Dives and Pauper and Hoccleve introduce characters that take pains to clarify their own orthodoxy and serve to verify the orthodoxy of conversational partners—who are occasionally implicated in less orthodox views. Dives, for example, raises concerns about icons which Pauper must lay to rest. The fictive Hoccleve finds himself wandering suspiciously near Smithfield, the execution site of heretics, before he meets the

Old Man who guides his steps and thought back into more productive avenues.69 Pauper and the Old Man are the teachers in their texts. As authoritative figures, they embody orthodox theology and serve to subsume any heterodox inclinations on the parts of their pupils or the readers of these texts.

At the beginning of Dives and Pauper, Dives inquires where Pauper has come from.

Pauper answers in such a way that he is confirmed as God’s servant and God’s preacher: “Be seent of heritage, myn contree is paradyis, from qhens I and þu and al mankende been banshyd for the treturye and the forfeth of our fadyr, Adam, into þis wrecchydde word.”70

When asked what “maner man” he is, Pauper’s answer is again confirmation of his teacherly role: “Sumtyme I was free as othere been, but for Cristys sake, to wynnyn the soulys þat he boughte so dere, I haue mad me seruaunt to alle meen ryche and pore to seruyn hem of soule bote.”71 So Pauper is the teacher in the text, and he is a fairly orthodox one. He repeatedly supports the traditional practices and liturgies of the Church and—by the end of the text—appears to have succeeded in teaching Dives how to live a holy life in accordance

69 Ethan Knapp discusses the dangerous liminality of the suburbs of London and their connection with heterodox identity, The Bureaucratic Muse, p. 136. 70 Dives and Pauper, ed. Priscilla Heath Barnum, vol.1, part 1 (London: EETS, 1976), p. 52. 71 Dives and Pauper, p. 53. 97 with the Ten Commandments.72 Even as he came from paradise, Pauper hopes to see Dives in heaven as the two end their discussion: “In þis blisse, leue frend, Y hope ȝou to sene & with ȝou to dwellyn in þe heye cite of Ierusalem in þe kyngis court of heuene.”73 Priscilla

Heath Barnum, the editor of the EETS edition of Dives and Pauper (and thus one of the few scholars to have looked at it in any depth) asserts that the author was aware that his presentation of theology in the text might be dangerous, but that he was nonetheless orthodox in his treatment of the Church and her sacraments; he was not calling for a church-wide reform.74 This claim is supported by Pauper’s insistence within the text that “we arn boundyn be þis comandement to worchepyn our gostly fadir þat hath cure of our soule, as pope & our buschop, our prelat, our persoun, our vykir, our curat, our confessour.”75

Other scholars support Barnum’s interpretation of Dives and Pauper; it is an orthodox text that contains many distinctly anti-Wycliffite views.76 It is the character of Pauper who helps to confirm the affiliation of the text with orthodox Church doctrine.

The Old Man in Regiment similarly determines the affiliation of both Hoccleve, the character, and Hoccleve, the author. As was noted above, the Old Man calls upon Hoccleve, confessor-like, to confirm that he does not commit the same errors as John Badby.77 In many other ways, he also represents a clerical figure, guiding the discussion in the prologue

72 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, v.2, p. xlvii. 73 Dives and Pauper, v. 1, pt 2., p. 326. 74 Barnum, Dives and Pauper, v.2, pp. xxiii, xlvii-xlviii. 75 Dives and Pauper, v. 1, pt. 1, p. 330. 76 Anne Slatter, “Dives and Pauper: Orthodoxy and Liberalism,” The Journal of the Rutgers University Libraries 31 (1967), pp. 1-10; Moira Fitzgibbons, “Women, Tales, and ‘Talking Back’ in Pore Caitif and Dives and Pauper,” Middle English Religious Writing in Practice, ed. Nicole R. Rice (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 181-214, at pp. 184- 85; Margaret Aston, Lollards and Reformers: Images and Literacy in Late Medieval Religion (London: Hambledon P., 1984), at p. 208. 77 Katherine C. Little discusses Regiment as a confessional text in Confession and Resistance: Defining the Self in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2006), p. 101. 98 and affecting the construction of the Fürstenspiegel. His orthodoxy is established early. When the Old Man first meets Hoccleve, he expresses a wish that he may help him: “I hope I shal thee cure.”78 The Midde English verb curen has two pertinent and overlapping definitions in this instance.79 It implies, first of all, that the Old Man will be able to heal the “grevous torment” that causes Hoccleve to look “pale and wan.”80 Curen also carries the sense of curacy—in which the Old Man is responsible for the care of Hoccleve’s soul. As well as establishing the Old Man’s orthodox role in the text, this verb also cues the reader into the religious implications of much of the following conversation.

Not only is the Old Man given the status of curate, the poem also draws parallels between him and Jesus. When the Old Man offers to “cure” Hoccleve, Hoccleve responds almost angrily with “Cure, good man? Yee, thow art a fair leeche! / Cure thyself that tremblest as thow goost, / For al theyn aart wole enden in thy speech.”81 In the gospel of

Luke, Jesus foresees that the Jews will respond to him similarly on the cross: “Doubtless you will say to me this similitude: ‘Physician, heal thyself’.”82 At the crucifixion, they do say something very like this: “He saved others; let him save himself if he be Christ, the elect of

God.”83 The Old Man mirrors the Lucan Jesus again when he prepares to depart from

Hoccleve. In fact, the whole dialogue of the prologue is reminiscent of the encounter of the disciples with Jesus on the road to Emmaus. Jesus encounters two disciples walking on the road after his resurrection and he asks them, “What are these discourses that you hold one

78 Hoccleve, Regiment, l. 161. 79 See Middle English Dictionary, v. curen 80 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 128, 154. 81 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 162-63. 82 Luke 4:23 Douay-Rheims Version. The Vulgate Bible, vol. VI, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2013). 83 Luke 23: 35. 99 with another as you walk and are sad?”84 Jesus spends time with them, comforting them. As they draw near to town, the disciples beg for him to eat with them. He agrees to do so: “And he went in with them, he took bread and blessed and brake and gave to them. And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight.”85 At the end of the prologue, in which the Old Man has joined Hoccleve on his nighttime wanderings in order to comfort him, Hoccleve mimics the disciples when he protests at the Old Man’s departure:

“What, fadir, wolden yee thus sodeynly / Departe fro me? Petir, Cryst forbeede! Yee shal go dyne with me, treewely.”86 Hoccleve’s pleas are the same as those of the disciples, but the

Old Man’s answer is not the same as Jesus’s. He insists on departing. At the end of Luke,

Jesus promises a visitation of power upon the disciples’ heads if they wait in Jerusalem. The

Old Man’s promise of another visit is more mundane: he explains that he will be at the

Carmelite refectory every day at the seventh hour.87 Nonetheless, his advice encourages

Hoccleve to take action: “An on the morwe sette I me adoun, / And penne and ynke and parchemeyn I hente, / And to parfoume his wil and his entente / I took corage . . . .”88 The walk with the Old Man has instilled in Hoccleve the courage and ability to perform his will, and, in so doing, Hoccleve performs the will of the orthodox authority figure, Jesus and cleric.

However, in withholding the revelatory meal which the disciples experience in Luke, it may be that Old Man deprives Hoccleve of the revelation that the disciples receive after

Jesus breaks bread with them. This failure of insight at the beginning of the Fürstenspiegel

84 Luke 24: 17. 85 Luke 24:30. 86 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 1996-1998. 87 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 2003-2008. 88 Hoccleve, Regiment ll. 2012-2015. 100 points to Hoccleve’s perpetual anxiety regarding his own authority and the authority of others. The fairly conventional humility topos at the end of Regiment takes on heightened significance in this context. Hoccleve wants to be held innocent of error, and relies on the book itself to convey that independent of him as author:

Byseeche him of his gracious noblesse Thee holde excusid of thyn innocence Of endytynge, and with hertes meeknesse, If anything thee passe of negligence, Byseeche him of mercy and indulgence, And that for thy good herte he be nat fo To thee that al seist of loves fervence; That knowith He Whom nothyng is hid fro.89

Hoccleve asks for leniency at the beginning of the Fürstenspiegel as well, but here he himself, not his book, is presented as the agent. Addressing himself to the prince, he is “[r]ight humbleby axing of yow licence / That with my penne I may to yow declare / (So as that can my wittes innocence) / Myn inward wil that thristith the welfare / Of your persone.”90

Hoccleve asks license at the beginning of the Fürstenspiegel but instructs his book to ask mercy at the end. Between the beginning and the end, a distancing takes place between author and text. As he tells the Old Man, “But how I speke, algate I meene weel.”91

Hoccleve recognizes that his words or even his book might not adequately represent what he really wants to say. But in his protestation that he always means well, there is a lingering doubt. After all, the Old Man thinks he “seist well ynow.”92 Do we get an accurate representation of Hoccleve via his text or no? In his hesitancy to trust his own words, it seems that Hoccleve is not as confident in his own orthodoxy as the Old Man. He

89 Hoccleve, Regiment ll. 5456-5463. 90 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 2024-2028. 91 Hoccleve, Regiment, l.1986. 92 Hoccleve, Regiment, l. 1987. 101 repeatedly claims to be “symple” and to have “small konnynge” when he introduces the

Fürstenspiegel, and realizes that he “in avenutre / Wole I me putte” when he writes to the prince.93 He is a lewd man, asking mercy—which makes Hoccleve both like and unlike

Badby. Badby did not ask for mercy, but should the prince have given it anyways? Is

Hoccleve in need of mercy?

Both Dives and Regiment struggle with this question of whether heresy deserves mercy and, consequently, with their position in regards to authority of church and state. Thus, despite their desire to be orthodox, as evidenced by the characters of Pauper and the Old

Man, these texts raise questions about the nature of orthodoxy itself and about what the consequences of heterodoxy should be. The dialogue genre, with which both texts engage, allows for this anxiety and orthodoxy to coexist. Rooted in Latin tradition, the dialogue presents opposing views in conflict.94 In both Dives and Regiment (to a lesser extent) we see examples of the vertical dialogue or debate, in which there is a clear authority figure who wins over his conversational partner by the end of the dialogue.95 This type of vertical dialogue supports the initial goal of the Latin dialogue—to confirm and develop orthodox doctrine.96

As a genre that typically dictates a clear pedagogical end, the dialogue in both Dives and

Regiment works much like the characters of Pauper and the Old Man to produce an orthodox

93 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 2066, 2073, 2075-76. 94 Peter Binkley, “Debates and Dialogues,” Medieval Latin: An Introduction and Bibliographical Guide, eds. Frank Anthony Carl Mantello, A.G. Rigg (Catholic U of America P., 1999), pp. 677-682, at p. 677. 95 Thomas L. Reed, Middle English Debate Poetry and the Aesthetics of Irresolution (Columbia: U of Missouri P., 1990), p. 3; Charles R. Blyth, the editor to the TEAMS text of Regiment, argues that the dialogue in the beginning of Regiment is Boethian, but is quickly transformed into a begging poem (6, 8). Knapp also argues that Regiment ultimately rejects Boethian ideals (Bureaucratic Muse, pp. 12, 94). A rejection of Boethius (in many ways a model for later debate/dialogue poems and texts) does not equal an entire rejection of dialogue conventions, even if distorted. Hoccleve’s engagement with the dialogue genre, however brief or unusual, still indicates that the text is touching on the conventions of the genre for meaning. 96 Steven F. Kruger, “Dialogue, Debate, and Dream Vision,” Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Literature, 1100-1500, ed. Larry Scanlon (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2009), pp. 71-82, at p.75. 102 text. However, the dialogue and debate genre was also sometimes used in the Middle Ages to introduce irresolution as narrative conclusion.97 With this history of embracing the bivocality of debate, the genre also allows characters like Dives and Hoccleve to voice their anxieties, introducing doubts or questions of official policies, even if they are ostensibly subjugated to

Pauper and the Old Man by the end of the text. The dialogue genre creates this space for ambiguity in both Dives and Regiment and thus provides a measure of protection for the authors.98 If any of their opinions are less than orthodox, the dialogue folds them back into an overarching narrative of orthodox instruction.

The status of both Dives and Regiment was hardly static though. The vernacular theological text was ultimately subject to greater question and suspicion on the part of

Church authorities than courtly texts. The orthodox identities of the Dives author and

Hoccleve (and their texts) were fluid in their own time and shortly thereafter, subject to change according to reader interpretation. Barnum has indicated that Dives and Pauper may even have been composed in hiding.99 After all, the dialogue it presents is both more complicated and more controversial than most other contemporary dialogues.100 And though scholars generally consider the text to have been received as orthodox at the time of composition, Dives and Pauper was used as evidence in the Norwich heresy trials less than

97 Kruger, “Dialogue,” p. 74. 98 One might also consider how the genre of Decalogue exposition plays into this dynamic. The only equivalent text to D&P is Wyclif’s De mandatis divinis, which Barnum speculates might be the text to which D&P is responding (Barnum, p. xvi). If, as Fitzgibbons argues, D&P is also strongly influenced by Pore Caitif, a text that entertains a more fluid idea of orthodoxy, D&P may be sanitizing Pore Caitif but, at the same time, be struggling with its own orthodoxy in the face of these Wycliffite influences (“Women, Tales, and Talking Back,” pp. 182-83, 189.) The dialogue genre allows the text to resist categorization as it struggles to establish its orthodoxy. 99 Barnum, Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. xxiii. 100 Barnum, Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. xxxv. 103 twenty years later.101 Robert Bert was charged with heresy on account of possessing a manuscript of the text, which was said to have errors written within it102: “Qui, per prefatum reverendum patrem tunc ibidem iudicialiter impetitus, dixit iudicialiter et recognovit quod ipse olim habuit quendam librum vocatum Dives et Pauper. Cui quidem Roberto dictus pater dixit quod ille liber continet in se plures errors et hereses quamplures.”103 Robert claims innocence of having written any heresies within the text, accusing whoever possessed the book after him. If the text was not in and of itself heretical, then, it seemed to attract the attention and notes of a less than strictly orthodox crowd. It also seems to have been a text shared and passed around a community of Lollard thinkers.

The orthodoxy of Hoccleve and Regiment is perhaps more stable than that of Dives and Pauper, but it is not untouchable. The majority of scholars regard Hoccleve as vehemently anti-Lollard, a tool of the Lancastrian court and a layman dedicated to the

Church—a perspective supported by Hoccleve’s numerous poems combating Lollard theology and prominent Lollard supporters.104 Hoccleve’s anti-Lollard stance is not uncomplicated though. Hoccleve is, himself, a liminal figure, speaking from the margins,

101 Anne Hudson, “Old Author, New Work: The Sermons of MS Longleat 4,” Medium Ǣvum 53 (1984), pp. 220-238, at p. 228; Aston, Lollards and Reformers, pp. 96, 208. Slatter also discusses how later Reformation readers modified the text to their own use as well, “Dives and Pauper: Orthodoxy and Liberalism,” p. 2. 102 Hudson, “Old Author,” p. 228; Aston, Lollards and Reformers,” p.96 103 Heresy Trials in the Dioecese of Norwich, 1428-31, ed. Norman P. Tanner (London: Offices of the Royal Historical Society, 1977), p. 99. Translation: Who, having been legally accused in that place then by the aforesaid reverend father, legally said and recognized that he formerly had a certain book called Dives and Pauper. To which Robert, the aforesaid father said that the book contained within it many errors and many more heresies. 104 For examples of the way in which Hoccleve is portrayed as a Lollard antagonist, see: Richard Firth Green, Poets and Princepleasers: Literature and the English Court in the Late Middle Ages (Toronto: U of Toronto P., 1980), pp. 184-85; Burrow, “Thomas Hoccleve,” p. 20; Andrew Cole, Literature and Heresy in the Age of Chaucer (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2008), p. 103; Karen Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 2007), p. 52; Ruth Nissé, “Oure Fadres Olde and Modres’: Gender, Heresy, and Hoccleve’s Literary Politics,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer 21 (1999), pp. 275-299, at p. 286; Larry Scanlon, “Nothing But Change and Variance: The Problem of Hoccleve’s Politics,” Chaucer Review 48.4 (2014), pp. 504-523, at p. 520. 104 both within the court but outside the physical space of the court.105 He cannot help but dwell on the dangers of heresy and “too much thought,” anxious lest he himself commit the same errors as those he condemns.106 As a result, he sees the division between orthodoxy and heterodoxy as much less clear than some of his contemporaries.107 Instead, he sometimes writes himself much like a Lollard, prioritizing interiority and exhibiting “emotional excesses” similar to the “punished transgressions of the heretic.” 108 Depending on how you read his work, Hoccleve’s response to this anxiety about his own identity is to either urge silence or to urge truth-telling, the latter more sympathetic to Lollard agenda than the former.109 Additionally, Hoccleve attempts to reclaim the vernacular language from its

Lollard reputation.110

Regardless of his response to his own internal struggles, Hoccleve’s tortured relationship with his own orthodoxy opened him up to be labeled a Lollard. John Bale, for

105 Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, p. 13; James Simpson, “Nobody’s Man: Thomas Hoccleve’s Regement of Princes,” London and Europe in the Late Middle Ages, eds. Julia Boffey and Pamela King (London: Westfield Publications in Medieval Studies, 1995), pp. 150-80, at p. 176. The Bureaucratic Muse outlines the unique position of the Privy Seal in the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century and Hoccleve’s role within it. 106 Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, p. 130; Little, Confession and Resistance, p. 116. 107 Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, p. 14; Shannon Gayk, Image, Text, and Religious Reform in the Fifteenth-Century England (Cambridge: U of Cambridge P., 2013), p. 83; Katherine Little disagrees with this reading, arguing that the line between heterodox and orthodox beliefs are much stronger in Hoccleve, than they are in Gower, for instance, Confession and Resistance, p. 102. 108 Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, p. 130; Lee Patterson, “What Is Me?: Hoccleve and the Trials of the Urban Self,” Acts of Recognition: Essays on Medieval Culture, ed. Lee Patterson (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2010), pp. 84-109, at p. 101; Antony J. Hasler, “Hoccleve’s Unregimented Body,” Paragraph: The Journal of the Modern Critical Theory Group 13.2 (1990), pp. 164-183, at p. 171. 109 Anne Scott and Lee Patterson argue that Hoccleve argues for truth-telling even if he is anti-Lollard, and Perkins posits that Hoccleve tries to shut down religious conversation; Anne Scott, “Speaking Up for the Aged: Thomas Hoccleve and the Regiment of Princes,” Sociability and Its Discontents: Civil Society, Social Capital, and Their Alternatives in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, eds. Nicholas A. Eckstein and Nicholas Terpstra (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009), pp. 87-105, at p. 92; Patterson, “What is Me?,” p. 104; Nicholas Perkins, Hoccleve’s “Regiment of Princes”: Counsel and Constraint (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2001), p. 11. 110 Knapp explains that Hoccleve reclaims the vernacular in his Marian liturgies, while Gayk argues that he subverts Lollard ideology to his own ends by setting up Sir John Oldcastle as a saint; Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, p. 150; Gayk, Image, Text, and Religious Reform, p. 55. 105 example, described him as such.111 In his Index Britanniae Scriptorum (1548-1552), Bale cites the chronicles of Thomas Walsingham as evidence that Hoccleve did not believe in transubstantiation: “Thomas Oklefe Anglus, Berengarij opinionem astruebat, in altari manere panem et vinum post consecrationem a sacerdote factam. Precessit Wicleuum.”112 Charity

Scott Stokes also points to a charge of heresy brought against an “Oklefe,” recorded in

Walsingham’s chronicles, that might point to Hoccleve’s association with Wycliffism.113

Additionally, Hoccleve may have had more sympathetic connections with Oldcastle than would be guessed. The Keeper of the Privy Seal, John Prophet, was both a loyal subject to the king and family to Oldcastle.114 Hoccleve, then, would have been acquaintances with not only Prophet but a circle of Lollard sympathizers.115 He was also associated with John

Carpenter, who may not only have promoted Hoccleve’s work, but was also responsible for the circulation of common profit books that allowed the laity to read and distribute vernacular theology.116 None of this is to say that Hoccleve was not orthodox, or was not ultimately anti-Lollard, but he was aware of the complications of self-identity in matters of faith.

111 Gayk, Image, Text and Religious Reform, p. 83; Charity Scott Stokes, “Sir John Oldcastle, the Office of the Privy Seal, and Thomas Hoccleve’s Remonstrance Against Oldcastle of 1415,” Anglia-zeitschrift Fur Englische Philologie 118.4 (2001), pp. 556-570, at p. 563. 112 John Bale, Index Brittaniae Scriptorum, ed. Reginald Lane Poole and Mary Bateson (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 2006), p. 448; Nicholas Perkins, “John Bale, Thomas Hoccleve, and a Lost Chaucer Manuscript,” Notes and Queries 54.2 (2007): pp. 128-131, at p. 129. 113 Stokes, “Sir John Oldcastle,” at p. 562. 114 Burrow, “Thomas Hoccleve,” p. 21; Stokes, “Sir John Oldcastle,” p. 556. 115 Stokes, “Sir John Oldcastle,” p. 563. 116 John J. Thompson, “Thomas Hoccleve and Manuscript Culture,” Nation, Court, and Culture: New Essays on Fifteenth-Century English Poetry, ed. Helen Cooney (Dublin: Four Courts, 2001), pp. 81-94, at p. 90. For a discussion of Carpenter’s common-profit books, see Wendy Scase, “Reginald Pecock, John Carpenter, and John Colop’s ‘Common-Profit’ Books: Aspects of Book Ownership and Circulation in Fifteenth-Century London,” Medium Ǣvum 61 (1992), pp. 261-74. Hoccleve appeals to Carpenter for money in his short poem, “Balade to my maister Carpenter,” Hoccleve’s Works, vol. 1, pp. 63-64. 106

At the time of their initial composition, though, as I have discussed above, neither text seems to have been deemed heretical—at least to any prosecutable degree. Published between 1405 and 1411, however, both Dives and Regiment are well placed to comment on the

Lollard controversy and the introduction of legislated capital punishment for unrepentant heretics. One piece of evidence used to establish terminus a quo for Dives, in fact, is its reference to De haeretico comburendo.117 Similarly, the dating for Regiment is based on its discussion of the burning of John Badby. These texts are grounded in their historical context precisely because the prosecution of Lollardy and the executions that accompanied the talked-about trials were prominent concerns in the early-fifteenth century.

Despite their crafted orthodoxy, these texts regard the burning of heretics as morally questionable, and, in expressing their doubts, the authors find themselves in opposition to the laws and statutes of both king and church. I will argue in this chapter that both Regiment of Princes and Dives and Pauper not only question, but ultimately express disapproval with, burning heretics. By voicing this disapproval, the authors introduce the specter of the

Lollard martyr into their text as a sympathetic figure even if his religious perspective is rejected. Dives and Regiment thus introduce a tension between orthodox and heterodox identities that they cannot entirely resolve within their own frameworks. This conflict exemplifies the Sisyphean nature of early-fifteenth century attempts to define and maintain an uncomplicated orthodoxy in the face of a complex reality.

III. Dives and Pauper

117 Barnum, ed. Dives and Pauper, p. xix. 107

Due to the involvement of Henry IV, and later Henry V, in the prosecution of

Lollardy, heresy became inextricably linked with treason in the early-fifteenth century.118

Throughout Dives and Pauper, Pauper speaks of the two powers of church and state in similar terms. He struggles both to establish the authority of king and Church in the face of Dives’s doubts and to point out where individuals holding ecclesiastical or political power could be in contradiction to the laws of God. Within this attempt to establish both state and church authority, Pauper is particularly concerned that Dives value spiritual law as much or more than secular law.119 In a discussion about the rightness of killing thieves caught in the act,

Pauper reminds Dives that he should not do so—not merely because of the law of the land, but because of God’s law:

Syth men don so mychil reuerence to þe kyngys lawe and londis lawe to flen myscheuys þat schuldyn fallyn but þe lawis were kept, mychil mor reuerence schuldyn þey don to Goddis lawe and holy chyrche lawe and ben achu to forfetyn þeraȝenys, for Goddis law and holy chyrche lawis ben as reasonable and as goode as þe kyngis lawis of Engelond. Nethles þe kyngys lawys, ȝif it ben iust, it arn Goddis lawis.120

Pauper establishes here not only that God’s laws should be respected as much as the king’s laws, but also that the king’s laws are ultimately subject to God’s laws. By means of subjugating one to the other, Pauper has asserted his right to mentor Dives on matters both religious and secular. They are one and the same.

Disobedience to God’s law, in fact, spells disaster for the kingdom. Pauper connects the threat of French victory in the Hundred Year’s War with spiritual disobedience. This connection is made clear in a discussion of perjury. Pauper blames perjurers who “ben fals

118 Strohm, p. 120. 119 Barnum, ed. Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. li. 120 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt.1, p. 160. 108 to God, to þe kyng, to prelatis of holy chirche” for the danger facing the English identity:

“Swiche arn cause þat þis lond is in point to ben lost & to ben changed to anoþer nacion & into a new tonge.”121 The authorities of God, king, and prelates are here synonymous, and perjury, though established as a spiritual failing, is most definitely connected to the security of secular rule. Perjury is not the only sin that threatens the nation. Similarly, disobedience to parents will also result in the destruction of the commonwealth:

For whan ȝong folc waxyn revel to fadir & moodir & ȝeuyn hem to swyche ryot & welfare & to ydylchep, but þey ben chastysyd & withstondyn in þe begynnynge, þei schul schendyn þe comounte of þe peple be roberye & morde & manslaute, be colligaciouns & wyckyd companyys & makyn rebellion & rysynge aȝens her souereyns & so ben cause of distruccion of þe lond, of þe cite & of þe comounte.122

Pauper builds an argument about why sins that might be considered minor in fact lead to greater transgressions, like murder and treason. Critical to this argument is again the conflation of the religious and secular realms. The sin of disobedience will ultimately tear apart the nation on every level: land, city, and community.

In part, Pauper feels the need to discuss sin in light of these global consequences because he thinks the clerics have failed in their educational duties. Instead of correcting errors in their congregations, clerics have fostered and instilled them through bad instruction. Because of their own lewdness, they have contributed to the lewdness and idolatry of the laity: “Coueytise of meen of holy cherche and lewydnesse bothe of hem and

121 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 253. Pauper continues to draw connections between morality and national identity. Pauper commends a Scotsman for not swearing wrongfully before a judge, as if to shame his English audience into recognizing the validity of his teachings (p. 255). Pauper also links perjury into the tumultuous past of England, arguing that perjury was the reason that the Bretons lost out to the Saxons, the Saxons to the Danes, and the English to the Normans. He threatens again that, due to perjury, England will again be given over to the Bretons (pp. 257-58). 122 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 308. 109 of þe pepl been cause of sueche ydolatrye.”123 Pauper’s point is borne out by Dives who has heard that many clerks advocate the worship of images.124 Clerics are not only held accountable for idolatry, they are also accused of ignorance and neglect. Their congregations are consequently “disperplyyd be heresye, be debat, diuysioun & dissencioun.”125

Throughout Dives, Pauper makes this connection between the inadequacy of the clergy and heresy among the laity. According to Pauper’s exposition of the Commandments, this inadequacy is akin to manslaughter: “Also men of holy chirche slen her sogetis gostly þat be myseggynge & mysconseyl & mysinformacioun bryngyn hem in dedly synne & in heresye . . .

.”126

Clerical error and neglect seem to map onto many of the sins forbidden by the

Commandments. Theft, for example, also has its clerical equivalent: “Also þey ben þeuys of

Godys wordys þat allechyn Godys wordys & holy wryt falslyche to menteþyn errouris and heresye & synne & schrewydnesse.”127 Bearing false witness equates as well to homiletic error: “for ȝif þey hydyn þe trewþe in fauour of synnerys & nout wil prechyn aȝenys her vycys, or ȝif þey prechyn falshed and errouris to schewyn her wit by curyouste of speche or prechyn heye materys nout profitable to þe people ne helpely to mannys soule, alle swyche prechouris arn clepyd fals witnessys.”128 Though not explicitly mentioned, heresy is also gestured at in this last instance. The presentation of heye materys as dangerous points towards a Lollard-like curiosity; the errors that stem from such curiosity could very well be heretical.

123 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 107. 124 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt.1, p. 107. 125 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 331. 126 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 20. Pauper repeats this point in the next chapter (p. 21). 127 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 134. 128 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 225. 110

In some ways, then, Pauper seems to group all clerics and preachers together, regardless of official Church affiliation. All teachers are responsible to teach the truth with a selfless dedication to God. To do otherwise is to run the risk of heresy.

In the realm of spiritual education, all violations of the Commandments lead to heresy. These heresies and errors are not always Wycliffite, however. Though Pauper still finds images useful, he is quick to condemn those clergy who use them wrongly, partaking in a Wycliffite judgment, if not a Wycliffite solution. This indiscriminate condemnation on

Pauper’s part, reproving all types of preachers, places him in a position somewhat outside of the orthodox-heterodox binary. Consequently, Pauper’s attitude towards both church and state authority is complicated. More so than other turn-of-the-century texts, Dives recognizes that the errors of these authorities can complicate obedience to them. In many places,

Pauper does present the usual theological arguments regarding respect due to clerics. In an extension of the sixth commandment, for example, Pauper orders readers to worship their spiritual father and mother, the pope (and officials under him) and the Church, in addition to their earthly ones.129 This order is undercut, however, by the prolonged discussion concerning wolf-like curates that concludes the chapter. Expectation is again overturned when Dives (who is most often associated with Wycliffite views in this text) presents the un-

Wycliffite view that “þe goodnesse of þe preste amendith nout þe sacramentis ne his wyckydnesse apeyrith nout þe sacramentis.”130 Though Pauper nominally agrees (“þe sacrament is nout þe warse for þe malice of þe preste”), he still objects to lecherous priests

129 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt. 1, p. 330. 130 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 108. For a brief discussion of Wyclif’s views on priests and the sacraments, specifically as it concerned marriage and sex, see Helen L. Parish, Clerical Celibacy in the West: c. 1100-1700 (Burlington: Ashgate, 2010), p. 134. 111 giving the sacraments.131 His initial case is based on the shame this brings on the clergy, but his later arguments seem to indicate that he does, in fact, believe that the status of the priest has some effect on the sacraments: “And no man ne woman, seith he, be so hardy to heryn her offys, for why, seith he, her blyssyng turnyd into cursynge and her preyere into synne.”132

Pauper is committed to the clerics proving themselves by “two tungis,” that of speech and that of deed.133 So, even if he supports the authority of clerics, Pauper is uncomfortable with excessive amounts of corruption that he perceives and offers an almost Wycliffite response to it.

Pauper’s discussion of obedience to both Church and king (presented as parallel rulers in the text) represents the conflict between orthodox and reformist positions hinted at above. In the discussion on the fourth commandment, Dives asks about the extent to which he has to obey the king, his secular masters, the pope, and other curates.134 The spiritual and secular realms are inextricably entwined in the following chapters. Pauper speaks of them in the same terms, and he advocates that both sovereigns and curates should be obeyed in all things “resounable & leful” even if they don’t teach the correct things.135 Here, again, Pauper seems to represent orthodox theology wherein authorities, either religious or secular, should be obeyed even if in error.136 However, Pauper raises other possibilities immediately thereafter when he breaks down the responsibility to king as opposed to the responsibility to pope. Pauper explains that a subject does not need to obey a king or master if their orders

131 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt.2, p. 108. 132 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, pp. 108-109. 133 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 229. 134 Barnum discusses Dives and Pauper’s debate about lay and secular rulers in her commentary to the EETS edition, vol. 2, pp. li-liv. 135 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt. 1, p. 338. 136 See chapter 2 for an extended discussion of this theology in the fourtheenth- and fifteenth-century. 112 are in conflict with God’s laws. The spiritual realm is given priority. In making this distinction, Pauper also makes a distinction between body and soul. Whereas the body is subject to secular rule, the soul is not: “And manys soule & womanys is fre so þat he may han his þout, his loue, his will inward as hym lykith wihtoutyn leue of his souereyn, & þerby he offendith nout his souereyn but only God þat knowith sykyrly manys herte.”137 Pauper does not here indicate that thought or will is free from God’s oversight. However, with the conflation of treason and heresy in the early-fifteenth century, it is notable that Pauper allows the layman or subject some interiority even in the secular realm.

The pope and bishop have limited power as well; they can only order men in “alle

þinge þat longith to kepyng of þe feyth & of Goddis lawe & fleynge from vycis.”138 When

Dives asks whether it is necessary to obey an unrighteous prelate, Pauper insists that it is necessary because God puts both good and bad men into positions of authority.139 In cases of both secular and religious orders, though, Pauper allows readers to not obey in cases where they think the orders of either are against those of God. If in doubt, laymen should obey both king and prelate. If convinced of the wrongness of the order, though, a man should “not obeyen in ony wyse to his byddyng,” whether it is the order of king or prelate.140

After Pauper establishes these exceptions, Dives raises the very specific case of whether when “þe offyceris of þe kyng wetyn wel þat a man or woman is dampnyd to þe deth vngyltelyche, shul þei obeyyn to þe iuge þat byddith hem slen man or woman withoutyn

137 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 339. 138 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1., pt. 1, p. 340. 139 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 341. 140 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 342. 113 gilte?”141 Pauper’s answer is unchanging: if sure that the man or woman is not guilty, then he or she should not be killed. Instead, one should “obeyyn to God þat byddyth hym slen no man ne woman vngylty.”142 If unsure, though, one should defer to orders given. When Dives broaches the topic of whether or not one should kill upon orders, he touches on a topic that preoccupies Pauper and cuts to the root of secular and clerical authority.143 Pauper struggles with how one should prosecute heretics (who epitomize resistance to clerical authority) and with whether capital punishment (legislated by secular authority) is the proper response to unrepentant heretics.

Though he may struggle to understand the correct response to it, Pauper is not unsure about the evils of heresy. Heretics are the devil’s tools, by which he hopes to discourage prayer and devotion to God: “And þe mor deuocion & loue þat he seeth men haue to God þe mor is his confusion and his peyne. And þerfor is he so besy þese dayys be faytouris, heretikys, ypocritys, hese principal messageris, to lettyn preyere, preysyngys, melodie, song & seruyse in holy chirche.”144 Those men who teach heresies “takyn Godis name in ydilchepe.”145 And it is not men and demons alone who interact with heresy. Heresy also affects the heavens. According to Pauper, it is partly due to heresy (along with falsehood, perjury, murder and other sins) that God sent a “wondyrful comete and sterre queche apperydde vpon þis lond þe ȝer of oure lord MCCCCII” as warning of his anger.146

In addition to spiritual ramifications, heresy has legal ones. Pauper outlines the situations in

141 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, pp. 342-43. 142 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 343. 143 Pauper seems concerned with the justness of just wars as well, questioning whether one should truly kill others when called upon to, Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 57; Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol.2, p. lii. 144 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 204. 145 Dives and Pauper, vol.. 1, pt. 1, p. 222. 146 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt. 1, p. 147-48. 114 which a heretic can provide legal witness: “An heretyk & an heþene man may beryn witnesse aȝenys anoþir hertyc & aȝenys anoþir heþene man, in helpe of a cristene man, but aȝenys a cristene man shul þei beryn no witnesse.”147 Pauper is concerned with both the spiritual and social role of the heretic, then. He does not consider the heretic to be a Christian. Much like the heathen, the heretic occupies a minority role in relation to Christian society, allowed to help but not to harm the Christian. Equal with the heathen, the heretic can also be killed and deprived of goods upon the order of secular and religious authorities: “But heretykys,

Saraceynys, paynymys be autorite of cristene princys mon lefullyche ben slayn and spolyyd of her goodis.”148

When Dives asks Pauper how he should discern between good Christians and others like heretics and heathens, Pauper explains that the good can be identified by their “goode dedis.”149 Dives raises an objection: “Ypocritys & heretikys don many wol goode dedys &

þouȝ ben þey schrewis.”150 Here, Dives attributes to heretics the same characteristics as

Pauper uses to define Christians. Pauper’s solution to Dives’s confusion is to differentiate between private and open deeds, accusing heretics of being wolves in sheep’s clothing.151

However, Dives has already introduced a problem. Heretics do not necessarily appear different from good Christians. Even if they act differently in private, this will not be apparent to any outside judge other than God.

Two chapters previously, Dives and Pauper had discussed martyrs, a topic that both by its textual juxtaposition with the question of heresy and in the context of de haeretico

147 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 236. 148 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 144. 149 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 212. 150 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 212. 151 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 212. 115 comburendo relates to this issue of recognizing and punishing heretics. Dives inquires why there are no longer martyrs as in the old days. Pauper denies the validity of the question, explaining that “[w]e han þese dayys martyris al to manye in þis lond.”152 Pauper objects, in fact, to the sheer number of martyrs. Rather than praising the sacrifice of the martyrs,

Pauper is more concerned with the state of any land that condones such killing: “For þe more martyris þe mor morde and manslaute & þe more schadying of innocentis blood, and

þe mor morde & schadynge of innocentis blood þe mor venchance shal fallyn þerfor.”153

Who are these martyrs? The martyrs are those who “ben slayn for þe trewþe paciently in charite.”154 Pauper blames shrews, or evil people, for the falsehood that condemns these truthful martyrs. Few people are able to escape the machinations of these shrews: “þey sparyn neyþer here owyn kyng ne her buschopys, no dignyte, non ordre, no stat, no degre but indifferently slen as hm lykyth.”155 One might initially seek to connect the schrewis of this passage with the Dives’s heretical schrewis. However, the martyred victims should give us pause. It is, first of all, quite clear that Pauper is and has been concerned with England as the country under discussion. The king in England most recently deceased and possibly murdered was the deposed Richard II. This seems like a dangerously anti-Lancastrian claim—king as martyr. Many of the first Lollard martyrs were also clerics and priests, and would have been the subjects of some of the most prominent executions in the early- fifteenth century. Additionally, the emphasis on indifference toward class and degree seems particularly pointed given the death of John Badby in 1410, the first lay martyr, and the last

152 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 208. 153 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 208. 154 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 208. 155 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt. 1, p. 209. 116 possible date of composition for Dives and Pauper. The possibility of viewing Richard II’s death as a martyrdom is problematic, given the Lancastrian regime’s stance on Ricardian supporters. If Pauper is not in support of the Lancastrians, then he may not be quite as ill- disposed toward the Lollards either, since, as has been discussed before, the conflation of heresy and treason had, in some ways, made the Lollards the arch-traitors of the decade.

So, Pauper’s stance on heretics is as complicated as his stance on church and state authority. Pauper clearly associates truth with martyrs, and falsehood with heretics and shrews. But who, exactly, are the heretics? For one, they are false, contrasted with truth- tellers. Even as he mourns the murder of martyrs, Pauper mourns the murder of truth- tellers: “And ouermore, so welawey, they haue ordeyned a comoun lawe that what man speke with the trewthe aȝens here falshed he shal ben hangen, drawen and heueded.”156 This reference to a common law is a reference to de haeretico comburendo.157 Since heresy and treason were so closely linked, the 1401 statute was used to prosecute both political and religious truth-tellers, and Barnum posits that the Dives author may have had in mind the execution of a Franciscan who outspokenly supported Richard II.158 Pauper may also have had Lollards in mind when he mentions truth-tellers as well. Truth-telling was an attribute very often associated with Lollards, and many of the executions that ultimately resulted from de haeretico comburendo were specifically linked with Lollard ideology.159 Regardless, Pauper finds the discussion of England’s wickedness in regards to heresies and martyrs to be very depressing and he begs a change in topic: “This materie is wol heuy and doolful. Speke we of somwhat

156 Dives and Pauper, vol.1, pt. 1, p. 148-49. 157 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. 57. 158 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. 57. 159 See chapter 2 for a discussion about the relationship between truth-telling and Lollards. 117 ellys.”160 This moment in which the dialogue takes on actual conversational similitude seems to speak to a real and pressing sorrow that the author feels. The issue of heresy and the execution of martyrs and innocents preoocupies him.

Pauper distinguishes between heretics and truthtellers, so if Pauper’s truthtellers are

Lollards, heretics are something else altogether. Unlike truthtellers and martyrs, however,

Pauper has very little sympathy for heretics as was seen above when he condoned murdering and robbing them. Again, however, his stance is complicated by his view on de haeretico comburendo. Pauper disapproves of this statute, and he also appears to disapprove of officially executing heretics—whoever they may be. If nothing else, Pauper creates a Pilate-like distinction between church and secular duty in executions, and condemns any clerks who are complicit in burning a heretic: “ȝif ony clerk bere wode or fer or ony materie to þe brennynge of an heretyk, ȝif he be ded þerby or his deth hastyd þerby he is irreguler þey þe pope or buschop ȝeue pardon to alle þat helpyn to þe deth of þat heretyk.”161 Even if the pope himself pardons you, Pauper says, you are still guilty of violating church law if you help to burn a heretic. Pauper adds this instruction piecemeal from John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum after a long list of examples determined to be manslaughter taken from Raymond of Peñafort’s Summa.162 His addendum from Freiburg indicates that the burning of heretics was a particular concern for the Dives author.

So, for Pauper, a heretic seems to have been associated with heathens and heresy included among a list of sins that would bring God’s wrath down on England. However, he does not seem to consider the victims of de haeretico comburendo or Lancastrian propaganda to

160 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 149. 161 Dives and Pauper, vol. 1, pt. 2, p. 43. 162 Barnum, ed., Dives and Pauper, vol. 2, p. 186. 118 be heretics, but rather groups them among the martyrs. Most likely, the Dives author, through the voice of his instructive character Pauper, was not supporting Lollard ideology, but neither was he supportive of the oppressive statutes handed down by church and state.

He was hesitant to execute those with differing religious and political views. De haeretico comburendo was extreme and dangerous, threatening even to dialogues as relatively orthodox as that found in Dives and Pauper. In presenting this critical view of the 1401 statute, the Dives author takes on a vernacular identity. Though he may respect Latin as the authoritative language of the Church, he embraces a dialogic freedom that is epitomized in the very language and format of his own text. He hopes to protect his own discourse as well as others by criticizing de haeretico comburendo.

IV. Thomas Hoccleve and The Regiment of Princes

In 1410, nine years after de haeretico comburendo was legislated, Prince Henry attended the execution of John Badby. Badby had been convicted of heresy based on his views of transubstantiation in the sacrament of the Mass. Refusing to recant these views, Badby had been sentenced to death by “the kings writ.”163 The method by which he was executed was

163 Foxe, 1570 ed., p. 644. Thomas Walsingham recounts the execution as follows: “As the wretched fellow was in no way willing to give up his opinion, he was handed over to the secular courts. After he had been condemned to burning and shut in the cask at Smithfield, Prince Henry, the king’s eldest son, who was then at Smithfield, went up to him and counselled and advised him to abandon his foolishness and submit to Christian teaching. But the worthless rascal ignored the salutary advice of so great a prince and chose rather to be burnt to death than to show reverence to the life-giving sacrament. And so, shut up in the cask, he was attacked by the flames of devouring fire, and bellowed pitiably in this position of extreme peril. The prince was moved by his pitiful shrieks, and gave orders for the materials of the fire to be dragged away from him and for the heat to be moved far away. When this had been done, he ordered the cask to be lifted off him, while he prepared to renew his words to the criminal. The man was now almost dead, but the prince comforted him and promised that, if he recanted even now, he should keep his life and obtain pardon and receive three pence daily from the royal treasure for the rest of his life. But the unhappy fellow had recovered his spirits after being revived by the colder air and rejected such a handsome offer, his heart no doubt hardened 119 brutal but relatively standard: “I. Badby stil perseuering in hys constancie vnto [th]e death, was brought into Smithfield, and there being put in an emptie barel was bound with yron chaines fastened to a stake, hauing dry woode put about hym.”164 Badby cried for mercy after the fire was set, and Henry stayed the execution in order to give Badby one last opportunity to repent, offering him a yearly stipend if he should do so. Badby refused. The prince had no further mercy: “Wherefore, when as yet he continued vnmoueable in hys former minde, the prince commaunded him straight to be put againe into the pype or tunne, & that he should not afterward looke for any grace or fauour.”165

Hoccleve writes The Regiment of Princes sometime between Badby’s execution and the coronation of Henry V. In addressing the prince, which this Fürstenspiegel explicitly aims to do, Hoccleve also addresses the execution itself and the issues of mercy and justice at play in

Henry’s response to the martyr’s death.166 In fact, the execution of John Badby overshadows the entire text, as both the beginning and the end of the poem are concerned with heresy and combating threats to the Christian kingdom.167 The very means by which the Old Man finally engages Hoccleve in conversation is to test his orthodoxy.168 Even the geographical location of the conversation within the text reflects this concern with heresy. The walk that

by an evil demon. And so the prince ordered him to be shut back in the cask, with no chance of getting any more favours. And so it happened that this meddler burnt to ashes there at Smithfield, miserably dying in his sin.” Thomas Walsingham, The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham, 1376-1422, ed. James G. Clark, trans. David Preest (Woodbridge: Boydell P., 2005), p. 376. 164 Foxe, p. 644. 165 Foxe, p. 644. 166 Hoccleve expresses that his exempla are directed to Prince Henry at the end of the prologue: “I took corage, and whyles it was hoot, / Unto my lord the Prince thus I wroot,” (ll. 2015-16). 167 Nisse, “Oure Fadre Olde and Modres,” pp. 290-91. 168 Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, p. 151. 120

Hoccleve and the Old Man take runs within a liminal space on the edge of the city; most likely the walkers pass near to Smithfield where heretics were notoriously burned.169

Even when not explicitly addressed, then, the physical reality of religiously-motivated execution lingers at the edge of the entire text. The prologue forces the character of

Hoccleve to directly address his own orthodoxy and the choice and translation of the exempla in the Fürstenspiegel (drawn from the Secreta Secretorum, the De regimine principum, and

Jacob de Cessolis’s Chessbook ) allude to Hoccleve’s constant theme.170 In one of the most- cited exempla from the section on pity, De pietate, Hoccleve relates the tale of a workman who crafts a metal bull within which to burn people because he thinks it will please his bloodthirsty king.171 Both Andrew Cole and James Simpson have equated this bull with

Lancastrian anti-Lollard measures. The metal bull can be read either as Hoccleve’s own text, working on behalf of the king and prince to condemn heretics, or as the barrel in which

Badby is burned.172 If the latter, Hoccleve’s preoccupation with Badby’s execution might reflect an identification with the executed rather the executor.173 The objection to this reading rests mostly in a reluctance to view Hoccleve as capable or desirous of criticizing the

Lancastrian monarchy. Recent scholarship on Hoccleve, though, has argued that he is indeed capable of such criticism.174 Cole argues that Hoccleve’s main criticism of Prince Henry is his lack of mercy and pity. In Badby’s execution, Henry shows more passion than virtue, and

169 Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, pp. 135-36. 170 Blyth, ed. Regiment of Princes, pp.8-10. 171 Hoccleve, Regiment, pp. 127-128. 172 Cole, Literature and Heresy, pp. 115, 121, 123; James Simpson, Reform and Cultural Revolution, The Oxford English Literary History, vol. 2 (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002), p. 208. 173 Knapp emphasizes Hoccleve’s sense of bodily vulnerability, and Patterson notes Hoccleve’s discomfort in regards to Badby’s death; Knapp, Regiment of Princes, p. 13; Patterson, “What is Me?,” p. 98. 174 See Karen Elaine Smyth, Imaginings of Time in Lydgate and Hoccleve’s Verse (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), p. 126; Judith Ferster, Fictions of Advice: The Literature and Politics of Counsel in Late Medieval England (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 1996), pp. 140-41; Perkins, Hoccleve’s “Regiment of Princes,” p. 45; Patterson, “What is Me?,” p. 99. 121

Cole highlights Hoccleve’s implicit criticism of the prince who would support de haeretico comburendo and then offer a somewhat stinted mercy in response to the consequent execution.175

By identifying with Badby in his criticism of Henry, I argue that Hoccleve does not merely advocate the virtue of mercy for an abstract victim, but rather takes on the very distinct rhetorical space of the Lollard martyr. He does not actively embrace (rather, he still denounces) Badby’s theological position, but he assumes the status and language of the martyr in order to make a bid for the king’s mercy on his own poverty. After all, Badby is offered a steady yearly stipend—the very thing which Hoccleve so desires. In taking on the identity of the Lollard, Hoccleve invests it with a certain power and validity—Badby is as much deserving of mercy as himself. He thus expresses an indirect disapproval of de haeretico comburendo and its consequences, and crafts a vernacular identity that provides a voice for the heretic within an orthodox framework.

Hoccleve’s position as an impoverished clerk already places him in a marginalized role with respect to court and monarchy.176 His complaints about his position also place him within the Badby narrative. Before Hoccleve has had a chance, or even expressed an inclination, to talk to the Old Man, the Old Man warns him about the danger of thought and cites Badby as an example: “Sum man for lak of occupacioun / Musith ferthere than his wit may strecche, / And at the feendes instigacioun / Dampnable errour holdith, and can nat

175 Cole, Literature and Heresy, pp. 103-130, specifically pp. 117-118. For perspective on the power dynamics at play in Henry’s gesture of mercy, see Hasler, “Hoccleve’s Unregimented Body,” p. 171. 176 For a discussion of Hoccleve’s position identification as and response to the marginalized Other, see: Larry Scanlon, Narrative, Authority, and Power: The Medieval Exemplum and the Chaucerian Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1994), p. 303; Ferster, Fictions of Advice, p. 148; Simpson, “Nobody’s Man,” p. 176; Hasler, “Hoccleve’s Unregimented Body,” pp. 165, 171. 122 fleche / For no conseil ne reed, as dide a wrecche / Nat fern ago, which that of heresie /

Convict and brent was unto asshen drie” (ll. 281-87). The Old Man’s discussion of Badby’s beliefs and execution is extensive. He explains Badby’s disbelief in transubstantiation and wonders where his soul might be now. The majority of the Old Man’s description, however, is dedicated to the prince’s attempts to save Badby.

My lord the Prince—God him save and blesse— Was at his deedly castigacioun And of his soule hadde greet tendrenesse, Thristynge sore his sauvacioun. Greet was his pitous lamentacioun Whan that his renegat nat wolde blynne Of the stynkynge errour that he was ynne.

This good lord highte him to be swich a mene To his faidr, our lige lord sovereyn, If he renounce wolde his error clene And come unto our good byleeve ageyn, He sholde of his lyf seur been and certain; And souffissant lyflode eek sholde he have Unto the day he clad were in his grave.

Also this noble prynce and worthy knight— God qwyte him his charitable labour— Or any stikke kyndlid were or light, The sacrament, our blessed Sauveour, With reverence greet and hy honour, He fecche leet, this wrecche to converte, And make our faith to synken in his herte.

But al for naght, it wolde nat betyde; He heeld foorth his oppinioun dampnable, And caste our holy Cristen faith aside As he that was to the feend acceptable. By any outward tokne reasonable, If he inward hadde any repentance, That woot He that of nothing hath doutance. (ll. 295-322)

123

The Old Man’s words are undeniably antagonistic to Badby and his heretical views. He is also unstintingly complimentary about the prince’s behavior. In fact, his account of the execution is somewhat different than other contemporary reports which record that Henry only offered mercy after the fire was lit, not before.177 The prince is portrayed by the Old

Man as reasonable and merciful, and Badby is portayed as an agent of the devil. If the prince is a model of orthodoxy in contrast with the heretic Badby, though, Hoccleve (as character) has much more in common with the heretic. He is drawn into conversation because the Old

Man puts him momentarily into Badby’s position: “Sone, if God wole, thow art noon of tho

/ That wrapped been in this dampnacioun?” (ll. 372-73). Hoccleve vehemently proclaims his orthodoxy, specifically in reference to transubstantiation: “I in the sacrament / Of the auter fully byleeve” (ll. 380-81). However, Hoccleve opens Regiment by admitting how well he knows thought, which the Old Man condemns as perilous and as the root of heresy: “This dar

I seyn, may no wight make his boost / That he with thoght was bet than I aqweyted, / For to the deeth he wel ny hath my feynted” (ll. 12-14). Hoccleve considers himself near to death on account of thought. So even though Hoccleve announces himself to be safely orthodox, his concern about thought makes his self-identification less secure. This identification is further destabilized by the Old Man’s confidence that “ther been many mo” heretics than

Badby, after which he prompts Hoccleve to define his own beliefs (l. 329).

The Old Man is relieved to hear that Hoccleve believes in transubstantiation, because he was first worried that “thow thurgh thoughtful adversitee / Nat haddest standen in thy feith aright” (ll. 390-91). Thought, as adversary, however, does not vanish after the Old Man has comforted himself in regards to Hoccleve. The tortures of thought throughout Regiment

177 See Cole, Literature and Heresy, p. 118. 124 are depicted in terms of physical sensation—and very often in terms of fire. In addition to keeping Hoccleve awake with dreams, thought provokes “frosty swoot and fyry hoot fervence” (l. 108). Though meant to evoke the cold and hot sweats and physical sensation of a poor night’s sleep, the reference to fire’s fervency foreshadows the inquiries of the old man and the specter of John Badby that he will raise. Much later in the prologue, Hoccleve reiterates this description of thought: “Myn herte is also deed as is a stoon; / Nay, there I faille; a stoon nothing ne feelith, / But thought me brenneth and freesyngly keelith” (ll.

1804-06). Again, thought burns Hoccleve. The fluctuation between hot and cold also reminds the reader of Badby’s unique position, put on and off the fire as the king offers pardon and then orders the execution resumed. Throughout the prologue, Hoccleve’s struggle is consistent.

Within the Fürstenspiegel as well, fire is used to describe emotional states. When discussing pity, Hoccleve warns the prince against anger, lest he act rashly: “A prince moot been of condicioun / Pitous, and his anger refreyne and ire, / Lest an unavysid commocioun

/ Him chaufe so and sette his herte on fyre, / That him to venge as blyve he desire, / And fulfille it in dede. Him owith knowe / His errour, and qwenche that fyry lowe” (ll. 3102-08).

Given the section within which this advice occurs and the preceding exempla of the brazen bull, this advice becomes charged with implications about the execution of Badby. The prince should quench the fire of anger within himself in favor of pity and should renounce his own error. Error is repeated twice within the stanzas about Badby, wherein the prince urges the martyr to renounce his errors. In this case, it is the prince rather than the subject who is in need of understanding and must recant. The fire, which seems now both

125 metaphorical and real (in so far as this passage also echoes the Badby stanzas) should be quenched. Anger is unsurprisingly described in terms of fire again a few lines later when

Hoccleve, through the voice of Aristotle, instructs the prince to avoid rage and its consequent bloodshed: “If he wolde have his regne endure and laste, / That for noon ire he nevere be so hoot / Blood of man shede” (ll. 3111-13). In the section on patience that follows, the imagery repeats yet again. Anger is a fire, because a “herte voide of ire / Hath naght wherewith to sette a tonge afyre” (ll. 3471-72). Drink is also capable of “kyndlen ire and fyren leccherie” (l. 3835). To describe the sin and foolishness of anger in terms of heat is not unusual, but rather follows naturally from the physiognomic sensations that accompany the emotion. Given the extended discussion of Badby’s execution in the prologue to

Regiment, however, any images of fire conjure up associations with Smithfield—especially in the context of discussing the murder and manslaughter that follow naturally from anger.

When Hoccleve elsewhere in the poem uses the aphorism “He that is brent, men seyn, dredith the fire,” he expresses the function of the fire metaphor within his own work (l.

2382). The poem is constantly at work to remind its readers of the execution that occurred only a year or two before.

Though establishing himself in opposition to Badby’s heretical beliefs by embracing transubstantiation, Hoccleve nonetheless finds himself occupying the status of heretic and martyr who suffers from the fire echoed again and again in the text. The thought that torments Hoccleve, causing him to metaphorically burn and for which he begs the prince’s mercy, is anxiety over his poverty. For the purposes of the poem, poverty takes on some of the characteristics of heresy. The Old Man, after all, embraces poverty as the means by

126 which to know God.178 Hoccleve, in contrast, does not accept his poverty: “If I seur were of

[the annuity] be satisfied / Fro yeer to yeer, thanne, so God me save, / My deepe-rootid greef were remedied / Souffisantly” (ll. 828-31). By extension, Hoccleve does not really know God. As the Old Man attempts to save Hoccleve from his impoverished position, he presents his advice in terms of saving Hoccleve from sin. The Old Man explains his own poverty as the consequences of sin, and advises Hoccleve that “If thee list flee that may povert engendre, / First synne eschue and God honure and drede” (ll. 1331-32). Poverty and sin are here equated; both are to be avoided. Hoccleve’s complaint and the Old Man’s advice come after the Old Man has already once warned Hoccleve not to complain about his poverty: “Be thow never so bold / Ageyn povert heeraftir grucche, I rede” (ll. 1076-77). The

Old Man bases this warning on Christ’s own life and grumbles against the presumption of men who would consider themselves deserving of that which their savior denounced (ll.

1079-92). Based on his response, Hoccleve must be considered unrepentant because he is persistent in his complaint. In this way, he is as recalcitrant as Badby.

Hoccleve further identifies himself with Badby and other heretics through lexical choices. In discussing heretics, Hoccleve is fond of using the word twynne to indicate the action of being estranged from God. The “Address to Sir John Oldcastle,” written a few years after Regiment in 1415, reproves Oldcastle for his heretical foolishness, using this word:

“And in gretter errour ne knowe I noon / Than thow, þat dronke haast heresies galle, / And art fro Crystes faith twynned & goon.”179 Twynnen, in broad terms, means to separate.180

Hoccleve uses the term in this broad way in some cases, but in other circumstances, he also

178 Hoccleve, Regiment, ll. 690-93. 179 Thomas Hoccleve, “Address to Sir John Oldcastle,” ed. Furnivall, ll. 6-8. 180 See Middle English Dictionary, v. twinnen 127 employs a more specific definition—to “be estranged (from God or Christ).”181 Such an instance can be seen above in “Address,” and in other instances in Regiment. Twynnen is an active word that evokes the splitting of paths, a useful image in the context of a poem that begins with walking. It also presupposes initial unity, which makes it particularly appropriate for discussions of heresy, in which errant views threaten the orthodox whole. The word is first used when the Old Man urges Hoccleve to abandon tortuous thought: “Sone, swich thoght lurkynge thee withynne, /That huntith aftir thy confusioun, /Hy tyme it is to voide and lat him twynne, / And walke at large out of thy prisoun” (ll. 274-77). Here, the Old Man advocates the separation; it is thought that must split off. Thought is the breeder of heresies.

Thought separates one from God, and must be allowed to go without Hoccleve. However, thought here sets a dangerous precedent. The Old Man makes clear that the orthodox believer must not separate himself from God: “Lat us not fro God twynnen and His glorie; / as Holy

Chirche us bit, lat us byleeve” (ll. 353-54). Hoccleve is faced with one of two choices. He must let go of thought or he must let go of God. Though, in the first example, twynnen is used positively (since separation is recommended), the word in both cases underscores and highlights the danger of heresy. Later, in the Fürstenspiegel, Favel is also reprimanded in that he “from our Sauveour / Twynnest and sleest they lordes soule also” (ll. 3078-79). Whether it be thought or man that twynnest, that which separates is bad. Hoccleve, then, tormented as he is by thought, is dangerously similar to not only Badby, but, according to his own later work, to heretics like Oldcastle as well. One other instance of the word twynnen in Regiment also connotes danger—specifically when it comes to issues of justice, a matter of some importance in the cases of executions. In the Fürstenspiegel, Hoccleve explains that the poor

181 MED, twinnen (v). 128 man is unjustly treated in legal matters (compared to the rich), and cannot “twynne” from the web in which he is caught (l. 2827). This is an important moment to consider in light of

Badby’s case, given that Badby is the first lay man to be executed under de haeretico comburendo.

Despite how often twynnen is held up as a choice to be made, this usage points out a lack of choice and agency. This subversion of the word’s general use throughout the poem highlights a contradiction in Hoccleve’s work. The possibility of not being able to escape, of not being able to twynne, from the stifling bureaucracies of an unjust government (with its poor and inefficient pay, long hours, and wearying work) is as frightening a possibility as separating one’s self from a just authority (God). The other uses of twynnen in Regiment first appear to undercut the tension of these moments just discussed: the Old Man twice indicates that he must teach Hoccleve more before he leaves (ll. 1228, 1587), the children in the John of Canace exempla become mad before they leave the empty chest (l. 4347), and the soul leaves the body upon death (l. 2725). However, all of these moments point to an absence or lack that leaves one party in physical or spiritual need. John’s children are punished for their negligence. The body is abandoned. And how secure is Hoccleve without the Old Man’s guidance? Is he yet free from thought? Or is he rather stuck within governmental webs, unable to free himself?

Hoccleve portrays his struggle to secure his annuity as a physically strenuous one. He is only able to work for his payment with “greet peyne” (l. 835). In the prologue, his description of the process recalls the description of the Christian life: “But paiement is hard to get adayes, / And that me putte in many foule affrays. / It gooth ful streite and sharpe or

I it have” (ll. 825-27). The description echoes Matthew 7:14: “How narrow is the gate and

129 strait is the way that leadeth to life, and few there are that find it.” Hoccleve certainly seems to consider his annuity to be his security of life, and conflation elsewhere in the prologue of poverty with sin raises Hoccleve’s monetary struggles to a holy plane.

Initially, Hoccleve does not fault the monarchy for his troubles, praising the grace of the king:

My lige lord, the kyng which that is now, I fynde to me gracious ynow; God yilde him, he hath for my long servyse Guerdouned me in covenable wyse. In th’eschequeer, he of his special grace Hath to me grauntid an annuitee Of twenty mark whyle I have lyves space. (ll. 816-19)

However, not long after, Hoccleve mourns the loss of both pity and mercy from the land, as he anticipates the troubles of earning money in his old age (ll. 862-63, 882). In response to

Hoccleve’s distress, the Old Man encourages him to call on Prince Henry for aid: “My lord the Prince, knowith he thee nat? / If that thow stonde in his benevolence, / He may be salve unto thyn indigence” (ll. 1832-34). The appeal to the prince’s benevolence recalls the Old

Man’s description of the prince’s “tendrenesse” at Badby’s execution (l. 297). The prince’s aid to Hoccleve is placed in the context of fire as well: he will “qwenche they greet hevynesse” (l. 1851). Hoccleve thus finds himself again in the place of Badby. He must resort to the prince’s mercy. He must write something that the prince wishes to hear. Given the contextualization of the prince’s mercy within the prologue, the Old Man also embeds a warning within his instruction:

Syn he thy good lord is, I am ful seur His grace to thee shal nat be denyed. Thow woost wel he benign is and demeur To sue unto; nat is his goost maistried

130

With daunger, but his heart is ful applied To graunte, and nat the needy werne his grace. (ll. 1842-47)

The Old Man warns Hoccleve to not imitate Badby, to not refuse the prince’s grace since he is in need.

However, Hoccleve recognizes that even if he is to praise the prince’s mercy, laws and bureaucratic restrictions hinder the prince’s ability to be merciful. The Old Man suggests that “[s]yn thow maist nat be payed in th’eschequer, / Unto my lord the Prince make instance / That thy patente into the hanaper / May changed be” (ll. 1877-80). Hoccleve explains to the Old Man that his suggestion is implausible: “Faidr, by your souffrance, / It may nat so by cause of th’ordenance: / Longe aftir this shal no graunt chargeable / Out passe” (ll. 1880-83). The ordinances to which Hoccleve refers were those overseen by the prince himself in an effort to reduce debt by tampering with the payout of annuities.182 The prince is hindered in his ability to help Hoccleve by laws he himself has supported and enforced. The mercy he offers Badby is similarly fraught with these implications of power.

As Cole reminds us, “the Prince endorsed the very statute legalizing the burning of heretics

(De heretico comburendo) and was himself the ‘driving force’ behind the first execution occasioned by this enactment—that of William Sawtre in 1401.”183 The mercy of the monarchy is suspect when it creates the need for mercy. It becomes impossible for the victim to twynne himself from these institutional corruptions.

Hoccleve’s criticism of the prince is subtle, since he does not attribute the ordinances affecting his annuity to the prince. Neither does he attribute de haeretico comburendo to him.

However, by contrasting the prince’s futile attempts at mercy in these concrete instances

182 Blyth, ed., Regiment of Princes, p. 216, n. 1881-83. 183 Cole, Literature and Heresy, p. 117. 131 with the explicit and repeated call for mercy and pity within the exempla, Hoccleve highlights an incongruity within the Lancastrian policies. While his desire to overturn the financial ordinances is obvious, Hoccleve also emphasizes how wrong it is to kill within the

Fürstenspiegel and thus criticizes de haeretico comburendo as well. Not only does the law encourage hypocrisy on the prince’s part, it also advocates bloodshed, and Hoccleve feels very uncomfortable about execution as punishment. As Cole explains, Hoccleve recognizes that murderers should face just and equal consequences such as execution (ll. 3116-20), but otherwise support pardons, and, in general, supports pity over killing.184 Rather, death is

God’s domain: “And God seith, wel I woot, / That unto him reserved is vengeance; Whoso that sleeth shal have the same chance” (ll. 3113-15). In the exempla, of course, there are numerous instances where killing is condemned. A true councilor is killed and proclaims his innocence as he dies (ll. 2570-2583). The Roman duke Camilus refuses to kill the children of a besieged city and consequently gains the city without bloodshed: “We Romains keepen rightes of bataille / As trewely as the rightes of pees; . . . . We armes bere / Ageyn the armed men, hem for to dere, / And nat ageyn children undeffensable” (ll. 2612-2619). But even war, armed man against armed man, Hoccleve shies away from, urging Mary, her mother

Anne, and Jesus to stop the war between England and France: “O Lady Seint Anne, / Thy doghtir preye to byseeche hir sone / To stynte of werres the dampnable wone” (ll. 5381-83).

A false judge condemns a man to death and is flayed himself instead (ll. 2675-2688). The brazen bull is condemned as an instrument of torture (ll. 3004-3038). There are numerous other pieces of advice throughout the Fürstenspiegel that further bear out this theme of aversion to capital punishment.

184 Cole, Literature and Heresy, pp. 124-29. 132

In lieu of execution and murder, Hoccleve insists that the role of justice is to stop the “shedynge of blood” (l. 2510). He describes this justice as one of largess: “A kynges justice is as greet richesse / Unto his peple as plentee or largesse / Of eerthely good, and better than reyn / Fallying at eeve from hevene” (ll. 2524-2527). The metaphor is particularly apt for Hoccleve, who would very much like to see the king’s or prince’s justice as real and physical earthly goods. In sum, the best way to govern, Hoccleve advises the prince, is through the tenderness that the Old Man had problematically attributed to the prince in the prologue: “Thus herte chaast and tender gentillesse / Conquereth hertes rather than duress”

(3709-10). This holds true even in cases of heresy. Hoccleve advocates correction over execution:

For whan a man yfalle into errour is, His brother owith him conseil and rede To correcte and amende his wikkid dede; And if he be vexed with maladie, Ministre him help his greef to remedie. (ll. 2488-92)

The word errour recalls Badby and his “stynkynge errour” (l. 301). The discussion of maladies and grief also reminds the readers of the conversation between Hoccleve and the

Old Man. Those in need of correction or cure should be dealt with according to their need, rather than summarily executed or abandoned to an impoverished old age.

At the end of Regiment, Hoccleve personifies his book and sends it off to the prince in hopes of gaining some money or a stipend for his efforts. He hopes to capitalize on the mercy that he has advised the prince to have: “And if lust be, to his magnificence / Do by thy reed; his welthe it shal witness” (ll. 5454-55). At the end of the poem, though, Hoccleve reinscribes himself into the systems of power he has criticized. He assumes the language of

133 repentance, recanting his errors so as to merit the prince’s mercy. As if in confession,

Hoccleve admits himself to be guilty of spending his money unwisely: “The indigent men setten nothing by. / I, Hoccleve, in swich cas am gilty; this me touchith” (ll. 4359-60).

Having confessed his sins, he repents them, constructing the prince as the only means of his salvation: “And whens [releef] come shal, can I nat gesse, / My Lord, but it proceede of your hynesse. / I me repente of my misreuled lyf; / Wherfore, in the way of sauvacioun / I hope

I be” (ll. 4374-78). By this point in the poem, Hoccleve has hopelessly conflated the request for money with a request for spiritual salvation. He is both heretic and poor bureaucrat requesting mercy from the prince.

Having reached this point of self-identification and confession, despite his earlier condemnation of the prince’s hypocrisy, Hoccleve finds that he must work within the system to achieve his relief. The contrived nature of the humility topos at the end mimics the contrived nature of the mercy which he requests. He scolds the impudence of his own book that it would dare to teach the prince: “O litil book, who gaf thee hardynesse / Thy wordes to pronounce in the presence / Of kynges ympe and princes worthynesse, / Syn thow al nakid art of eloquence?” (ll. 5440-43). The nakedness of the book is described further in tangible and concrete terms, becoming less formulaic and more evocative of fleshly reality:

“And why approchist thow his excellence / Unclothid sauf thy kirtil bare also?” (ll. 5444-45).

Metaphorically, the book’s nakedness indicates a lack of eloquence. The concreteness of the description alludes, though, even at the end, to the stripped body of the martyr at the stake or in the barrel. One cannot forget Badby. One can, however, succeed where he failed.

Hoccleve concludes his text by asking to be excused of any mistakes that he has made:

134

Byseeche him of his gracious noblesse Thee holde excusid of thyn innocence Of endytynge, and with hertes meeknesse, If anything passe of negligence, Byseeche him of mercy and indulgence, And that for thy good herte he be nat fo To thee that al seist of loves fervence; That knowith He Whom nothyng is hid fro. (ll. 5456-5463)

Hoccleve praises the grace and mercy of the prince, but falls back for his ultimate authority on God himself, the one in whose domain death ultimately belongs. With his rhetorical flourishes praising the prince’s virtues, Hoccleve asks that the prince not merely put on a show of mercy, but rather truly practice it. To feign peace and do otherwise is, in Hoccleve’s opinion, entirely too common: “Yee, so I drede me, by Seint Thomas, / The kus of Judas is now wyde sprad; / Toknes of pees been, but small love is had.” (ll. 5081-82).

In taking on the rhetorical space of Badby, a Lollard martyr, Hoccleve attempts to expose the vulnerability of the lay citizen at the hand of harsh and oppressive statutes. In doing so, he validates not only his own position and his claim to a steady annuity, but also the right of Badby to merit a pardon despite his unwillingness to recant. For Hoccleve, this does not mean that Badby was even remotely correct in his heretical beliefs. Rather,

Hoccleve hopes for a more peaceful solution to conflicts between crown and citizen in general. For the Dives author, the question of the justice of de haeretico comburendo seems more distinctly religious in nature, since he hopes to preserve freedom for discourse, but also questions the Lancastrian definition of heretic. In order to express their concerns, both authors take on complex vernacular voices that either complicate the reception of Latin and

English as religious languages or use loaded vocabulary as touchstones for a larger religious and political discussion running beneath the explicit text.

135

SECTION 2 LATINATE ENGLISH AND ANGLICIZED LATIN: CRAFTING A VERNACULAR GRAMMAR

136

CHAPTER 3: “NOT THE INK WRITTEN, NEITHER THE VOICE SPOKEN”: REGINALD PECOCK AND THE SCHOLASTIC VALIDATION AND CIRCUMSCRIPTION OF THE VERNACULAR

Reginald Pecock, composing his texts in the vernacular in the fifteenth century, was aware of the widespread anxiety concerning language and theology that had been spurred into outright controversy with the advent of Wycliffism. In order to defend his own linguistic choices, as well as to unify his readers in a common language and common faith,

Pecock explicitly addressed this anxiety in most of his works, recognizing that language both dictated and shaped his theology. Addressing a diverse audience, Pecock attempted to soothe the anxieties of lay and church audiences alike by both using the vernacular and explicitly explaining its capability, establishing the vernacular as a stable language in and of itself throughout all of his works. By specifically marketing the vernacular to both constituencies, Pecock hoped to create a unified audience, one willing to listen to his work and one that would protect him from accusations of error and heresy. This chapter examines the reasons behind Pecock’s choice to use the vernacular, and more importantly, the way in which he uses the vernacular as a surrogate Latin, calling upon his own scholastic background to Latinize English through explicit engagement with the semantic debate between nominalism and realism that had taken on great significance post-Wyclif. By employing this approach to the vernacular, the ill-famed bishop hoped to shape a language acceptable to church hierarchy and lay reader alike.

137

I. Choosing the Vernacular

Reginald Pecock, addressing a Lollard audience that embraced English, was aware of the insecurity the church hierarchy felt about English as a theological language. 1 As such, he was careful in his own work to defend his choice to present theology in English, going so far as attempting to prove it an appropriate linguistic medium.2 One of Pecock’s methods of proving the acceptability of his own work is to condemn the extremes which other advocates of the English language supported, one extreme being their insistence on reading the Bible in English:

If eny man wole aske and wite whi þis present book and þe bookis to hym perteynyng y make in þe common peplis langage, herto y answere þat þis present book, and alle oþere bookis to him longing maad in þe comoun peplis langage, ben so maad principali forto adaunte, rebuke, drive doun and conuerte þe fonnednes and þe presumpcioun of ij soortis of peple. Oon is of hem whiche holden hem silf so stifly and so singularly, foolili and oonli to þe vce of þe bible in her modiris langage . . . alle oþere bookis writun or in latyn or in þe comoun peplis langage to be writun into waast3

Furthermore, he provides assurance to those who are anxious or judgemental in regards to his language choices that his book will cause the lay reader to throw away any other vernacular books that threaten the church hierarchy: “And þei schulen caste aside her seid wlatsum bookis, ȝhe perilose bookis, vntrewe bokis, vnsufficiently teching bokis, vnformally,

1 Though one could easily argue that the lay readership at large was Pecock’s intended audience, he clearly perceives the Lollards to be a particularly important section of this readership, expressly addressing some views often labeled lollard in the fifteenth century. Thus, I will specifically address certain audiences as Lollard readership or audience in some places, so as to distinguish between lay readers who would not consider themselves heterodox and readers who may have deliberately embraced a more anti-Church stance—categories at least relevant in Pecock’s perspective. 2 Sarah James, “ ‘Langagis, whose reules ben not writen’: Pecock and the Uses of the Vernacular,” Vernacularity in England and Wales, c. 1300-1550, eds. E. Salter and H. Wicker (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), pp. 101-117, at p. 102. 3 Reginald Pecock, The Reule of Crysten Religioun, ed. William Cabell Greet (London: EETS, 1927), p. 17. 138 vnschaply and vnseemely tretyng bokis, as þingis no lenger worþi to be had in haunt and in vce”.4

Pecock also conciliates the church hierarchy by assuring his readers that he will not present ideas that are too “hiȝe and sutil” for a lay audience to comprehend and therefore be led astray by them.5 Consequently, he provides theology regarding the Trinity in Latin, cloaking the most complicated theology and appealing to learned clerics among the Church hierarchy in the process. Pecock’s use of Latin here complicates his own orthodox image as well, though, as he explains the Latin passage afterwards as too complicated, not merely for lay readers, but for readers like himself as well, because the point does not follow from the

‘doom of reason’ he values so highly:

fforwhi þese poyntis now here rehercid in latyn mowe not liȝtly be comprehendid in hem silf and in her principlis bi our resoun neiþer þei folewen in a liȝt cleernes of resoun fro eny certen and sure article of oure feiþ; and þerfore vpon hem for her hardenes and hiȝenes aboue oure cleer vndirstonding, is greet contrauersie and contrariete amonge doctouris; but so it is þat þe oþere trouþis tretid in þis present first partye folewen in open resoun perceivable of ech competently wittid man out of a certeyn and sure article of oure feiþ which is þere sette6

By this statement and by his previous Latin presentation of the Trinitarian theology, Pecock both presents himself as entirely in line with the church hierarchy, proclaiming Latin as the appropriate language for complex theology, but concurrently proclaims such complex theology as ultimately unimportant to the lay believer and as one open for debate even among doctors of theology. Even in his attempts to identify himself as orthodox, Pecock rather presents himself as a hybrid figure. As Mishtooni Bose points out, he wished to

4 Pecock, The Reule, p. 19. 5 Pecock, The Reule, p. 88. 6 Pecock, The Reule, p. 90. 139

“present his works as the currency of discussion between clergy and laity rather than simple repositories of undisputed fact,” and thus, by his mere form, “was inviting the alignment of his work with. . . a ‘canon’ of English prose dialogues that had already marked out an arena, somewhere on the boundaries between ‘heterodoxy’ and ‘orthodoxy’.”7

By employing the vernacular, Pecock finds himself taking on the identity of the lay reader, potentially also the heterodox reader. The assumption of this identity is seemingly active even as his protestation of orthodoxy seems similarly active and yet ultimately more futile. As he does in more than one of his works, Pecock composes a relatively standard defense against the charge of heresy in The Reule of Crysten Religioun, professing himself subject to correction:

Now in þe eende of þis prolog, y make protestacioun þat it is not myne entent forto holde, defend or fauoure in þis book or in eny oþer bi me writun or to be writun in latyn or in þe comoun peplis langage eny errour or heresie, þat is to seie, eny conlusioun which is aȝens treuþe and specialy aȝens þe feiþ or lawe of oure lord god. And if eny such it happe me to write or offre or purpose or holde, defende or fauoure, bi eny vnavisidnesse, hastynes or ignoraunce, eer þan y may se þe treuþe, or bi eny oþer maner, y schal be redy it to leeve, forsaake, and retrete mekely and deuoutly at þe assignementis of myn ordynaries fadris of þe chirche after þat þei han take sufficient avisyng þerupon; ȝhe and it þe same y now as for þanne, forsake and leeve.8

What Pecock fails to realize, however, is that this protestation offers far from full protection.

Bose highlights the way that Archbishop Arundel’s 1409 Consitutions no longer allowed for such a protestation to “excuse an errant teacher.” 9 Thus, despite the fact that Pecock attempts to align himself with the church hierarchy, he again exhibits a disjunction between it and himself, unaware of the potential inadequacy of his own defence, and therefore

7 Mishtooni Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” Lollards and their Influence, eds. Fiona Somerset, Jill C. Havens, and Derrick G. Pitard (Woodbridge: Boydell P., 2003), at pp. 232, 234. 8 Pecock, The Reule, p. 28. 9 Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” pp. 220-21. 140 potentially unaware—if nonetheless nervous—about his resulting heterodoxical or, in the eyes of the hierarchy, heretical stance. Bose states that “he was writing in denial (if not actually in ignorance) of the experimentation with academic strategies of argumentation that the

Wycliffite controversies had released into the vernacular.”10

Occupying this hybrid status, “poised between authority and vulnerability,”11

Pecock, I argue, is concerned not merely with calming the church hierarchy’s qualms regarding the linguistic stability of English, but also encouraging lay readers who were themselves unsure or still experimenting with this relatively new use of the vernacular.

Consequently, Pecock’s very act of writing in English is, in and of itself, an attempt to unite lay readers and church hierarchy in a common concern about the stability of the vernacular, though the causes of concern stem from separate reasons for each party. By creating a common and acceptable vernacular for both, he hopes to create a common and acceptable faith, grounded upon reason. This intention is well expressed in the Boethian dream vision that Pecock relates at the beginning of The Reule. In this vision, “a multitude of persoonys ful comely and faire” (ladies shortly afterward identified as the “treuþis of vniuersal philosophie comprehendying lawe of kynde and lawe of feiþ”) approach Pecock in order to inspire him to win people to the truth—not merely lay readers, but presumably also the clerks, which the ladies condemn as drawn away by the “douȝtris of men þat ben wordly trouþis, oolde rehercellis, strange stories, fablis of poetis, newe invenciouns, which haue seemed faire

10 Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” p. 234. 11 Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” p. 223. 141 wiþoute forþ by cause þei han be gaili apparailed wiþ curiose divisyngis and wiþ newe langage forgyng, but wiþynne forþ in hem silf, þei ben in reward of vs ful foule.”12

There is significant evidence in this vision to argue that the philosophical ladies feel their injunction to Pecock can be accomplished best through English—as a means to unify both clerks and laity in truth. For one, the way in which the ladies discuss the clerks’ works is similar to the way in which Pecock describes the Trinitiarian theology that he provides in

Latin later in the same text—difficult to understand and subject to much debate and talk:

And þanne folewingly þorouȝ hem þo clerkis han gendrid and brouȝt forþ giauntis manye and stronge—þat is to seie, þo clerkis han writen so manye grete volumes and bookis þat housis schulde raþer to tere þan conteyne hem, wittis schulde be encumbrid eer þan þei schulde rede hem and remembre hem. And þese volumes ben myȝti and famose in þe world þat wel nyȝ þer is no man holde a clerke but if he can of hem be a talker, no man worþi to sitte in cumpanye but if of hem he can be a dadelar, no man worþi or acceptable to preche but if he be of his sermoun byy hem a florischer.13

It is clear also that the clerks’ errors lie, for the most part, in the way in which they present their material rather than in the material itself, using “newe invenciouns” and “new langage.”14 Though it cannot be said that the ladies are specifically referring to the clerks’ use of Latin, the fact that the approach they offer for Pecock to pursue is in English couples the subtlety of the clerks with their chosen language, Latin, and thereby sets the languages in opposition: “and as þou schalt receyue so sette þou forþ in writyng, for in happis þerby we schule mowe to vs summe louers wynne; And for þat we wolen wowe þe more multitude, we schulden hilde into þee no gay langage but comune and rude.”15 Given the language in

12 Pecock, The Reule, p. 31-32. 13 Pecock, The Reule, p. 33. A dadelar (n.) is “one who engages in glib or superficial discussion,” Middle English Dictionary. 14 Pecock, The Reule, p. 32-33. 15 Pecock, The Reule, p. 36. 142 which the majority of lay readers received this text, the no-nonsense language that the ladies advocate also takes on an English identity. Pecock does not use English to simply appeal to the lay reader, thus forcing himself to defend it against the church hierarchy; rather, he thinks it a necessary tool for both parties and that it will more clearly provide a faith comprehensible and acceptable to all. Though the Reule was initally composed in Latin and then translated for circulation,16 the text’s Latin roots do not serve to undercut Pecock’s use of English, but rather emphasize the translation, especially considering its extensive discussion of language and its uses. English has supplanted the Latin in the text, so that when Pecock initially describes his philosophical visitors as approaching with “oon voice, oo crie, oo desire,” the reader cannot help but to understand their combined voice to speak in

English, because that is the language in which Pecock ultimately presents them.17 It is a singular voice, rather than a bilingual one.

The ladies are also presented as a clear extension of Pecock’s own authority, so that all their advice regarding language, though superficially presented independent of him so as to excuse him from censure, ultimately collapses back into his own authorial identity. The text reveals this by the way in which the ladies beg for consideration before they are dismissed:

But þou man to whom þis grace is ȝouen to haue oure profre, to heere oure zeele, to vndirstonde oure entent, forsake not þe ȝifte which is to þee presentid, turne not aȝen from whens þou art entrid, prove us weel eer þou forsake vs, fynde defaut in vs eer þou blame vs, fynde insufficience in vs eer þou for oþere chaunge vs.18

16 James, “Langagis, Whose Reules Ben Not Writen,” p. 103. 17 Pecock, The Reule, p. 32. 18 Pecock, The Reule, p. 34. 143

The ladies’ plea for their advice to be proved and found insufficient before being cast away is very similar to Pecock’s own requests for his own intent to be understood by readers and for his texts to be proved erroneous before being condemned. In the beginning of The Donet,

Pecock defines heresy and asks that he not be considered heretical:

Fferþirmore, siþen an errour or heresye is not þe ynke writen, neiþer þe voice spokun, but it is þe meenyng or þe vndirstondyng of þe writer or speker signified bi þilk ynke writen or bi þilk voice spokun, and also neuere into þis daie was enye man holde iugid of condempnid for an errer or an heretyk, but if it were founde þat his meenyng and vndirstonding whiche he had in his writynge or in his speking were errour or heresie: þerfore y desire and aske for charite þat noon harder or hastier holding or iuging be made anentis me.19

In The Folewer to the Donet, also, Pecock requests that his views be tested before being tossed, evoking the language of the ladies in The Reule:

if þei be founde trewe, þat þei be bi so mych þe redier araied and foormyd to be acceptid, holden and grauntid of þe reder and of þe heerer for trewe; And, if þei ben founde untrewe, þat the reeder or þe heerer may knowe þe bettir of what conclusions he schal be ware, þat he hem not holde and graunte, which ellis parauenture he wolde, and in deede schulde, in sum tyme haue holde and grauntid.20

He reiterates this same sentiment later: “Wel y wote, ϸat many doctouris in her writyngis holden ϸe contrari of my seiyng now here, but ϸat may not lette me forto holde what y kanne openli proue, whilis ϸei her parti kunnen not openli proue.”21At the end of this text, his defense becomes more acerbic, but also more directed against specific clerical attacks, reflecting the dream-vision of The Reule even more closely:

No man wijte me, þouȝ y speke and write so oft for my defensis. Þe malice of summe clerkis (as y heere seie, and sumwhat haue felid) is so greet aȝens

19 Reginald Pecock, The Donet, ed. Elsie Vaughan Hitchcock (London: EETS, 1921), p. 4. 20 Reginald Pecock, The Folewer to the Donet, ed. Elsie Vaughan Hitchcock (London: EETS, 1924), p. 6. 21 Pecock, The Folewer, ed. Hitchcock, p. 72. 144

me þat þis and mych more is litil y-nouȝ forto aȝenstonde it, and forto assaie to make hem leue and ceese from it. I wolde þei took vpon hem forto fynde and trace out a quarter of so hard a purpos as y do in myn englisch and in myn latyn writyngis;22

Equating the status of his English and (lost) Latin compositions in this passage, Pecock, by his mere mention of the language in which his texts were written, is reminding the reader that the relationship between content and language is of the utmost importance, both to the detractors he was anticipating and later facing and for his own purposes. It is not merely what he is saying, but the way he is saying it that is drawing unwelcome attention. In the passage from the Donet concerning the definition of heresy, Pecock is clearly drawing a distinction between what is written on the page and authorial intention, calling into question the stability of the written signifier. What a reader gleans from the page cannot necessarily be traced back to the author’s intended meaning at all, if Pecock hopes to obtain a potential defense by separating intention from the written signifier. How, then, are we to understand

Pecock’s texts or language, much less the English language? Pecock provides an answer immediately:

And forto knowe what myn vndirstonding and meenyng is, and schal be, in wordis of my writingis, englische and latyn, certis, oon ful goode weie is forto attende to þe circumstauncis in þe processis whiche y make þere bifore and aftir, and whiche y make in oþire placis of my writingis. Ffor by þis weie Seynt Austyn leerned what was þe riȝt meenyng in þe wordis of holi scripture23

Here Pecock presents a practical means by which people might better understand him, by paying attention to context, both on the page and in the body of his work at large. Relating this process to that of Saint Augustine’s understanding the Bible, Pecock is specifically

22 Pecock, The Folewer, ed. Hitchcock, p. 226-27. 23 Pecock, The Donet, p. 4. 145 addressing the reading of a religious text, and again, as he does in The Folewer, he is equating

English and Latin. In many ways, explaining the process of reading English and establishing it as a stable language are among Pecock’s most dwelt-upon topics, due, no doubt, to his investment in defending his own orthodoxy.

Thus, though he often refers to the vernacular as the language of the common people, Pecock also refers to it as “modiris langage,” a term still directed at an audience of lay listeners and readers, but one that, nevertheless, embraces all those born in England.24

James posits that Pecock distinguishes between these terms, using the term mother’s language, a term she says is embedded in “family bonds,” to most often refer to oral delivery, while using common people’s language to signify written texts.25 However, she recognizes that his use is not always consistent along these lines, which calls for us to take another look at these terms.

Most significant, I think, is that both terms are deliberately employed to create a defense for the use of the vernacular by the construction Pecock places on them. He reclaims terms that appear to divide by attributing English only to the common people and the lay reader, and he uses them to rather create a unified audience. For one, he pointedly mentions in The Reule that English has been used by others before him in sermons, and thus presents his own writing as merely a logical extension:

An oþer cause is forto stire and bringe þe peple into loue and into deuotioun anentis god, his benefetis and hise lawis, so þat what prechers ben aboute to do bi her preching in þe comoun peplis langage, y am aboute to do by my writing in þe comoun peplis langage. And þis, as y weene, is not yuel me to do, namelich siþen it is cleerly proved in þe book cleepid þe “bifore crier” þat preching to þe peple vpon þe seid vij maters schal neuer take his parfite effect, neiþer in ȝeuyng to þe peple sufficient and stable doctryne neiþer in

24 Reginald Pecock, The Repressor of Over Much Blaming of the Clergy, ed. Churchill Babington (London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1860), at p. 47. 25 James, “Langagis, Whose Reules Ben Not Writen,” at p. 110-113. 146

prentyng into hem abiding deuocioun, wiþoute þat þe peple haue at hem silf in writing which þei mowe ofte rede or heere oft rad þe substancial poyntis and trouþis whiche ben to hem to be prechid by mouþe.26

Though here Pecock still separates the laity from their teachers, aligning himself with preachers supported by church hierarchy, he writes of the church hierarchy as being in support of his views—and in support of his vernacular cause. Later in the same treatise, he further aligns the common people with the learned by imagining them as neighbors:

Also, bisidis al þis plenteuose present instaunce and profris of vertues…comeþ ful ofte open to our iȝen and myche oftir to oure mynde þe greet nede of oure neiȝboris soulis asking oure help to studie and recorde sermouns to be seid to hem, or forto write fruyteful treticis and bookis for hem whiche schule preche and teche contynueli and perpetuali hem into þe worldis eend.27

One can assume these treatises and books were written in the common people’s tongue, given his prior declarations. Here, however, the power dynamic between preacher and audience is changed in favor of a more equitable relationship—between neighbor and neighbor. The use of the common people’s language creates a unified neighborhood of believers. Pecock confirms this relationship by a later statement in the text, asserting that he writes not merely for the laity but for enclosed religious: “And for þat al þis schulde be parfijtly doon and vsid in religiose couentis was oon cause whi y make and lete make my bookis of deuocioun and of doctryne as wel in þe comoun peplis langage as in latyn.”28

Therefore, even though Pecock protests in The Donet that he was not ready for two of his texts to be released to a larger audience in the common tongue (given his desire to edit them and present them for approval to the church hierarchy), he does not, even then, deprecate

26 Pecock, Reule, pp. 19-20. 27 Pecock, Reule, p. 392. 28 Pecock, Reule, p. 423. 147 his use of English, but only the unperfected texts, with the promise that edited ones will be made available.29

In his later text, the Repressor, Pecock makes his most definitive statement regarding the status of English and Latin, assigning English to the laity and Latin to the clerics, but not defining one as better than the other. Rather, he writes in expectation that his audience will agree with him about translation for the common people. In the process of arguing that commonly accepted principles cannot be deduced from Scripture alone, but only with the help of reason, Pecock presents the following common principle:

Also thou schalt not fynde expresseli in Holi Scripture that the Newe Testament schulde be write in Englisch tunge to lay men, or in Latyn tunge to clerkis; neither that the Oold Testament schulde be write in Englisch tunge to lay men, or in Latyn tunge to clerkis; and ȝit ech of these gouernauncis thou wolte hold to be leeful, and to be a meritorie vertuose moral deed forto therbi deserue grace and glorie…30

Though seemingly written to combat Lollards, the tone in which he frames a common precept to prove his point about reason implies no disagreement on Pecock’s part concerning the Scripture in English.31 Rather he ignores what might be perceived as a controversial statement in order to highlight the necessity of using reason to aid interpretation where the Bible does not provide explicit instruction—and he implies that this is an aide that both sides of the controversy must surely allow as useful.

29 Pecock, Donet, pp. 6-7. 30 Pecock, Repressor, p. 119. 31 This statement follows as proof of his first conclusion that “Who euere (whether he be God, man, aungel, or Scripture) biddith bi word or bi ensampling of deede expresseli eny gouernaunce to be doun, he theryn and therbi biddith includingli or closingli al it to be doon, which folewith in formal argument of resoun out of thilk gouernaunce bedun,” p. 111. The argument, as a whole, is directed against common people who would would not hold with his “xj. gouernauncis,” p. 110. Here, Pecock tries to show that those who advocate Bible in English for the laity are making their arguments based on reasonable extrapolation, rather than explicit instruction. 148

Despite his attempt to create common ground, the church hierarchy, in view of

Pecock’s fate, did clearly take issue with his assumptions about the use of reason to supplement Scripture, and therefore with some of his conclusions.32 Pecock, however, does not allow his audience such space for disagreement within his writings. Rather, he assumes that his audience will agree that translating the Scripture into English for the laity is leeful.

Therfore, though at first glance, the above passage from The Repressor seems to divide the laity and the clerks into separate parties, it instead unifies them, giving each group equal access to Scripture, while reassuring the clerks that he does not seek to deprive them of

Latin, but rather hopes to provide vernacular texts that will unite them with their charges. In fact, by providing difficult texts in English, Pecock deliberately sets up the potential for a fruitful relationship between clerks and laity, creating a necessity for the laity to seek out the instruction of clerks:

[H]e schal paraventure se þere ferþir riȝt good cause whi it may be expeident and profitable þat summe of þo bookis which ben to be maad in lay tunge, and to be delyuerid to lay men, be so hard þat þei be not liȝtli and esili vndirstonde of þe wittiest lay men which schulden rede and studie and leerne þerinne; fforwhi þerbi summe and many lay men mowe be tamyd and repressid and chastised fro pride and fro presumpcioun; And þei mowe þerbi leerne þat clerkis schulen be to hem necessari . . . And so bi occasioun herof þat my writyngis maad to lay men ben so hard in many processis to lay men, grettir frendschip, loue and good acqueyntaunce and felawlik comunycacioun and good spendyng of tyme schulen rise and contynue bitwix clerkis and lay men, þan if such hardnes in þo writyngis were not.33

In addition to the usefulness of the vernacular to create Pecock’s ideal audience, we cannot forget that the use of English was of great practical and compositional value to the bishop as well. As Karath explains, Pecock did not merely translate his works into English,

32 Stephen E. Lahey, “Reginald Pecock on the Authority of Reason, Scripture and Tradition,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 56.2 (2005): pp. 235-260, at pp. 235-36. 33 Pecock, Folewer, p. 8. 149 he often composed them in English first, attributing to this practice his ability to capture his ideas at all.34 Karath points to Pecock’s statement in the beginning of The Folewer as proof of the bishop’s reliance on English:

And parauenture, if y shulde abstene me here now fro writyng herof in lay tunge, y schulde neuer write it, neiþir in lay tunge neiþir in latyn tunge . . .And leefir y hadde forto write suche maters and treuþis in lay tunge, vndir hope þat aftirward þei schulen come into latyn tunge, þan forto putte hem into perel forto neuer be of me writen.35

Such a reliance on Pecock’s part highlights further his estimation of English. Not only did he feel that he could make theological truths accessible to the lay person without devaluing them in this tongue, Pecock also found the vernacular adequate to the initial composition and construction of his own beliefs and ideology. The form of the English that Pecock ultimately embraces in this way is one of his own making, however, modified to accommodate the bishop’s reliance still on Latin to understand his own philosophy.

II. Changing the Vernacular

Pecock clearly considered that grammar and the construction of language, the form of his ideas, contributed greatly to the content expressed by that form, so it makes sense that a language he composed in would therefore take on crucial consequence for him. Given this, it also makes sense that he would take a significant amount of textual space to make sure his audience understood how he used language. In the Reule, for example, Pecock explains that paying attention to the rules of writing breeds a good writer:

34 Tamás Karáth, “Vernacular Authority and the Rhetoric of Sciences in Pecock’s The Folewer to the Donet and in The Court of Sapience,” After Arundel: Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century England, eds. Vincent Gillespie and Kantik Ghosh (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), pp. 285-306, at pp. 295-296. 35 Pecock, Folewer, pp. 29-30; Karáth, “Vernacular Authority and the Rhetoric of Sciences in Pecock’s The Folewer to the Donet and in The Court of Sapience,” pp. 295-296. 150

Bettir it is a man to leerne write slowli and morously in keping þe reulis whiche þe crafte of writing techiþ, into tyme he haue parfitely alle þe reulis þerof, and so aftirward bi proces of tyme he haue parfitely alle þe reulis þerof, and so aftirward bi proces of tyme to growe sobirli into boþe a swift writer and also þerwiþ al into a speciose and a curiouse writer.36

More specifically, Pecock believed that attention to grammar would help readers and writers to understand divinity and theology—a consequence, no doubt, of his scholastic training. As

Stephen Lahey points out, though he spent most of his life in clerical office, Pecock was nonetheless trained as a scholar, having earned his MA from Oxford in 1416 and his

Bachelor of Theology in 1424.37 As such, Pecock would have been educated in the trivium— grammar, logic, and rhetoric—from a relatively young age. Though he recognized theology and grammar as two different fields of study, Pecock nonetheless emphasizes that in books of grammar, a reader can find theological insight, referencing the Catholicon as an example:

“ȝit the bokis of grammar rehercen with inne hem and witnessen summe treuthis of dyuynyte as in Catholicon, which is a book of gramer.”38 Later, in the Book of Faith, Pecock goes further and says that “ech good gramarien hath power to construe Scripture.”39 The true understanding of Scripture and theology, for Pecock, rested in an ability to understand the text on the word and sentence level. This, of course, makes sense within the context of medieval scholasticism, in which grammar was grouped alongside logic, both of which

36 Pecock, Reule, p. 388. 37 Stephen E. Lahey, “Reginald Pecock on the Authority of Reason, Scripture and Tradition,” at p. 236; Wendy Scase, “Reginald Pecock,” English Writers of the Late Middle Ages, ed. M. C. Seymour, Authors of the Middle Ages (Aldershot: Variorum, 1996), p. 79. For Pecock, only approximate dates can be offered, since complete records concerning his birth and entry into the university are not available. 38 Pecock, Repressor, p. 33. The Catholicon is a Latin dictionary compiled by Ioannes Balbus Ianuensis, revised from the work produced in earlier generations by Osbern Pinnock, Hugutio of Pisa, Petrus de Alingio, and others: Richard Sharpe, “Vocabulary, Word Formation, and Lexicography,” Medieval Latin: An Introduction and Bibliographical Guide, Eds. F. A. C. Mantello and A. G. Rigg (Catholic U of America P, 1996), pp. 93-105, at pp. 96-97. 39 Reginald Pecock, Book of Faith, ed. J. L. Morison (Glasgow: James Maclehose and Sons, 1909), at p. 279. 151 disciplines were engaged in a long-reaching debate concerning the nature of language and signs at large.

The discussion of signs in medieval scholasticism revolved around the separate theoretical pursuits of signification and supposition, the second contingent upon the first.40 The goals of each pursuit, though different, were never so completely separated as in Ockham’s work during the fourteenth century.41 Ockham (1287-1347), whose own work was dependent on that of Bacon (1214-1294) a generation earlier, devised a theoretical approach to the study of terms that reflects more closely our modern discipline of semiotics. Despite similarities, however, medieval terminalism—even that reflected in the texts of Bacon and

Ockham—was engaged in a discourse somewhat different than our current theories. This discourse surrounding the referential and representational nature of signs would have been available to Pecock, as a one-time student at Oxford, where Ockham’s work still resonated and where Wyclif’s specter was not yet dispelled. Though Lahey points out that Pecock seemed to align himself most often with the work of Aquinas (1225-1274) and Duns Scotus

(1266-1308), he does not pursue his analysis of Pecock’s discourse beyond arguments surrounding reason and will.42 He also recognizes the impossibility of neatly categorizing

Pecock into any one philosophical school, given the tendency for scholars at Oxford during

Pecock’s residence to rather “stitch together patchwork quilts in which Thomas’s arguments are arranged cheek-by-jowl with Scotist and Ockhamist arguments.”43 Bose also writes about the rather amorphous nature of Pecock’s theoretical and academic stances, referencing “the

40 Catarina Dutilh Novaes, Formalizing Medieval Logical Theories: Suppositio, Consequentio, and Obligations, Logic, Epistemology, and Unity of Science (Dordrecht: Springer, 2007), at pp.17-19. 41 Jesse M. Gellrich, Discourse and Dominion in the Fourteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton UP, 1995), at p. 55. 42 Lahey, “Reginald Pecock and the Authority of Reason,” at pp. 237-38. 43 Lahey, “Reginald Pecock and the Authority of Reason,” at p. 238. 152 way in which his ‘translation’ of an eclectic scholastic theology into the vernacular has the effect of effacing his precise debts to established academic discourses.”44

Regardless of how Pecock aligned himself within scholastic camps, it is crucial to an understanding of medieval semantics, as Catarina Dutilh Novaes emphasizes, to understand the difference between signification and supposition, a distinction and division not present in the same way in modern semiotics. For the scholastic, signification was the study of how relations are formed between reference and referent, or signa and res.45 One of the main debates regarding signification was whether the spoken or written word, as verbal signs, referred to a mental concept (often referred to as species) which, in turn, referred to a thing (res), or whether the word directly referenced the thing. Early Aristotelian and Boethian schemas were invested in the idea of conceptual mediation or species, to which tradition Aquinas held.46 Bacon and Ockham argued differently, however, placing themselves in an extensionalist camp.47 Bacon considered verbal signs to signify the object upon which they were imposed.48 Ockham took largely the same stance: terms do not point back to a concept or species, but are rather “subordinate signs” to concepts because they signify the same thing, only in a lesser way and without mediation: “spoken words are used to signify the very things that are signified by concepts of the mind, so that a concept primarily and naturally signifies

44 Mishtooni Bose, “Two Phases of Scholastic Self-Consciousness: Reflections on Method in Aquinas and Pecock,” Aquinas as Authority, eds. Paul van Geest, Harm Goris, Carlo Leget (Peeters: Thomas Instituut te Utrecht, 2002), at p. 93 45 Novaes, Formalizing Medieval Logical Theories, at pp. 17-19. 46 Umberto Eco, “Denotation,” On The Medieval Theory of Signs, eds. Umberto Eco and Costantino Marmo (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Pub. Co., 1989), pp. 43-80, at pp. 47, 50, 54. 47 Eco, “Denotation,” at pp. 59-63. 48 Andrea Tabarroni, “Mental Signs and Representation in Ockham,” On the Medieval Theory of Signs, pp. 195-224, at p. 199. 153 something and a spoken word signifies the same thing secondarily.” 49 Therefore, both concept and term are referents to the thing.50

Supposition required the foundation of signification, but was concerned with an entirely different avenue of inquiry—the way in which language was actually used to communicate.51

As a “theory of interpretation,” the goal of supposition was not the “determination of referents” but rather to “establish the range of possible supposita of a term in a given propositional context.”52 Therefore, the concern of scholastics using this theory was not to discern in what way a term did or did not directly refer to a thing, but rather to generate numerous meanings for a term that would be acceptable given the context of the text.53

Though most scholars deferred to the argument that the author’s intention ultimately determined the supposition of a term, if the author was absent or dead, supposition provided an alternate means of interpretation.54 This theory came in useful for both Biblical interpretations and the textual commentaries required of masters’ students. As Copeland says, the medieval commentary built upon a specifically medieval conception of grammar as a relative rather than exact science, wherein the commentator did not “treat the text as a pre- given universal for which philological science can supply a fixed exposition.”55 Where literal interpretations of a Biblical passage would be considered false or ludicrous, the use of supposition allowed scholars to accumulate numerous readings without denying the

49 Tabarroni, “Mental Signs,” p. 199-200; William Ockham, Ockham’s Theory of Terms: Part I of the Summa Logicae, trans. Michael J. Loux (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 1974.) at p.49. 50 Eco, “Denotation,” at p. 63. 51 Novaes, Formalizing Medieval Logical Theories, at pp. 9, 19. 52 Novaes, p. 17. 53 Novaes, p. 17, 22, 26. 54 Novaes, p. 22, 26. 55 Rita Copeland, Rhetoric, Hermeneutics, and Translation in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1991), at p. 63. 154 credibility or authority of the Scriptures.56 Similarly, in textual commentaries, where they were unable to directly criticize their source, students were able to use supposition to open up a textual interpretation to accommodate their own positions.57

The importance of medieval semantics for defining orthodoxy, and consequently affecting the acceptance of English as a theological language, reached a critical point when

John Wyclif (1328-1384) rejected the nominalism of Ockham, Bacon, and their scholastic descendants. Wyclif was unhappy with the overwhelming attention to signs and language in the face of what he considered universal truths.58 Though he agreed in part with Ockham’s arguments, Wyclif highly disapproved of Ockham’s prioritization of the individual’s intuition—a priority placed on the human and created intellect’s ability to understand the things (res) mediated by the ultimately artificial medium of language.59 Rather, Wyclif wanted to emphasize the universal, non-subjective truth of God present in Scripture among other things, a truth that preceded human understanding and artificial language.60 The result of this was that Wyclif argued for an attention to realism and found the doctores signorum to be unhelpful, advocating concentration on truth rather than on language.61 Wyclif defines the first step any philosopher should take in his Tractatus de Universalibus by emphasizing the importance of recognizing the reality behind the sign, rather than the sign itself:

So we should then leave these byways: what the philosopher must first do is to grasp the real universal. And then he will grasp that a term is a genus in a derived sense because it is the appropriate sign of a genus in reality. So too with the other signs of universals. And it is clear that it is easier to speak in

56 Novaes, p. 25. 57 Novaes, p. 33. 58 Gellrich, Discourse and Dominion in the Fourteenth Century, at p. 81. 59 Gellrich, at pp. 81-83. 60 Gellrich, at pp. 80-82, 88. 61 Gellrich, at pp. 81-82. 155

the language of the philosophers than in the language of the moderns, because truth is its own best ally.62

In his extensive study of Wyclif and his influence on vernacular texts, David W.

Lavinsky points out that these views led Wyclif to advocate the translation of the Scriptures and hermeneutic texts into English, so that the truth could be widely accessible.63 However, for Wyclif, this did not lead to an explicit defense or prioritization of English, but rather an argument for the non-linguistic nature of the universal truth.64 For Wyclif, there was a truth to Scripture that transcended grammatical science, and thus, language:

In light of what has been said, any Christian will come to the conclusion that the proof derived from the authority of Holy Scripture, which is proof from faith, is the most fitting possibility of all . . As I said above, it is absolutely essential that every person be a theologian, having first set his own affections in proper order. For then the Truth will deign to descend and instruct him in manner free from all deception. Therefore, just as all rivers flow to the sea, so all created authority depends upon the authority of the First Master. Now if asked on what basis such a syllogistic form holds, on what basis is that the greatest particular truth, or from which source follows this sense or that sign, or this testimony and that human reason, it is because he tells me this, and thus it is true.65

Pecock decidedly ignored this approach to Scripture and theology, pointedly discussing his use of language while, at times, specifically disparaging Wyclif, perhaps as a way to deliberately set himself apart from Wyclif and those advocates of the vernacular who followed in his footsteps.

62 John Wyclif, On Universals, trans. Anthony Kenny (Oxford: Clarendon P., 1985), pp. 8-9. 63 David W. Lavinsky, “After Wyclif: Lollard Biblical Scholarship and the English Vernacular, c. 1380-c. 1450,” (doctoral thesis, U of Michigan, 2009), 6, 13. 64 Lavinsky, 23. 65 John Wyclif, On the Truth of Holy Scripture, trans. Ian Christopher Levy (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 2001), at p. 200. 156

Pecock condemns Wyclif by name in The Reule, blaming him for leading the laity astray concerning the eucharist, a theological tenet that ultimately rested on a discussion of signification and supposition:

. . . ffor whi þei haue not her erryng bi þis þat þei ouer myche þenken and resonen vpon and biȝonde eny article delyuerid to hem bi þe chirche, but þei camen into her erring bi summe clerkis , namelich Johan Wiccliffe and hise disciplis, which token by occasioun of holy writt not wele vndirstonden þe seid errour to þe comoun peple. . .66

Here, Pecock rests the blame for Wyclif’s error on a misunderstanding of Scripture, which means that he is particularly grounding his own refutation on a debate over the interpretation of Scripture and signa. As a result and given his own compositions in English,

Pecock seemed particularly invested in English as a language and its specific qualities in a way that Wyclif, unlike some of his followers, was not. Perhaps because Pecock still allowed for a discussion of signification as important in a way that Wyclif did not, he changed the nature of the English he offered—a language grounded in the same theoretical roots as

Latin. Pecock felt he could most effectively set himself apart from Wyclif by engaging in the same debate.

In combating Wyclif, Pecock also seemed to feel he should be safe from the church’s condemnation, despite the church hiearchy’s uneasiness with the academic treatment of theology, especially after 1382 when universites were cited as places that potentially bred heresy and yet resisted outside control.67 Arundel, for example, the author of the Constitutions, considered Oxford to be “infected water” from whence unorthodoxy flowed, though as the

66 Pecock, The Reule, p. 96. 67 Ian Forrest, The Detection of Heresy in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005), at p. 49. 157 century progressed, the tension between church hierarchy and university began to dissipate.68

Perhaps, by appealing to an existing and familiar rhetoric and discourse, Pecock hoped to find some protection, in which case it does not seem that he accounted for the aforesaid suspicion of academic and educational institutions. Again, in his fifth constitution, Arundel specifically forbids the teachers of grammar to instruct on faith as well:

Similiter, quia id quod capit nova testa inveterata sapit, statuimus et ordinamus, quod magistri sive quicunque docentes in artibus, aut grammatica, pueros, seu alios quocunque in primitivis scientiis instruentes, de fide catholica, sacramento altaris, seu aliis sacramentis ecclesiae, aut materia aliqua theologica, contra determinata per ecclesiam, se nullatenus intromittant instruendo eosdem69

[Similarly, because that vessel which holds the new tastes of the old, we establish and ordain, that teachers or anyone teaching boys in the arts, or grammar, or instructing any others in the first sciences, in no wise allow teaching those same boys concerning the catholic faith, the sacraments of the altar, or the other sacraments of the church, or any theological material contrary to the determinations through the church.]

Though this constitution seems aimed more at primary education than at universities and not specifically at grammar teachers so much as non-clerical instructors who might claim some knowledge privy to church instruction, the inherent uneasiness the church hierarchy felt toward some educational institutions is clear. How, then, would a rhetoric based on academic discourse protect Pecock?

However, given that Pecock would have been familiar with these two theories of signification and supposition, I find it highly unlikely that he would discuss language, even using

68 J. I. Catto, “Wyclif and Wycliffism at Oxford 1356-1430,” The History of the University of Oxford, vol. II, eds. J. I. Catto and Ralph Evans (Oxford: Clarendon P., 1992), pp. 175-262, at pp. 244, 255. 69 “Constitutiones domini Thomae Arundel, Cantuariensis, archiepiscopi, factae in convocatione praelatorum et cleri Cantuariensis provinciae, in ecclesia cathedrali S. Pauli London, incepta 14 die mensis Januarii, A.D. M.CCCC.VIII. et translationis suae an. Xiii contra haereticos,” Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae ab Anno MCCL ad Annum MDXLV, vol.3, ed. David Wilkins (London, 1737), p. 317. Translation mine; John Nelson Miner, The Grammar Schools of Medieval England: A. F. Leach in Historiographical Perspective (McGill-Queen’s UP, 1990), at p. 223. 158 terms like signify and signification in his own text, without deliberately engaging in this scholastic discussion. Even if a proponent of Aquinas and the Aristotelian tradition, Pecock would still have been aware of Ockham’s more dynamic and newer theories regarding these two fields. I would argue, then, that, in explicitly addressing the issue of the suitability of

English for theological discourse, Pecock could not help but reference a much larger and prevalent academic discourse of signification and supposition that would have been a crucial part of his own education and would have helped to form his own theories of how language functioned and was to be interpreted. Those pursuing their masters of arts in the medieval academy, after all, were often, though not always, forced to call on the framework of supposition to compose textual commentaries, and, as Bose points out, Pecock would have been invested in defending himself from a potentially hostile audience. 70 He falls back on his scholastic education for this defense.

In what way, then, does Pecock incorporate English into a discussion and theory largely predicated upon Latin? How does the use of English change the discussion of these theoretical fields of signification and supposition? By incorporating these theories, is Pecock creating a vernacular deliberately founded on scholastic and Latin roots, an English different in intention and feel than the universality of the Wycliffite vernacular? Hitchcock, the editor of the Folewer, describes Pecock’s incorporation of scholastic theory into the vernacular as

“daring,” as he creates a discourse that falls somewhere between the unlearned and learned, creating a new rhetorical space for the lay believer.71 His approach to English is similarly adventurous. As James says, Pecock may have been invested in creating a corpus that would

70 Novaes, Formalizing Medieval Logical Theories, at pp. 33-35; Bose, “Two Phases of Scholastic Self- Consciousness,” at p. 89. 71 Ed. Hitchcock, The Folewer, by Reginald Pecock, p. lv. 159 standardize the theological vernacular, in much the same way as Chaucer did with his vernacular poetry.72 Scholars have commented on the often unique style of Pecock’s vernacular as he attempted this standardization of a language that had many times previously been considered ill-equipped to handle religious discourse.73 In some ways, he creates a rhetoric resonant with Latin, due perhaps to his own clerical background and a desire to make comfortable clerical audiences reading his work. He translates Latin words into the closest English approximate and occasionally still includes Latin, whether as a whole paragraph in order to discuss his hardest material or as a single word providing clarification to the English.74 This was not enough to make the English adequate to Pecock’s purposes.

Pecock expanded the English vocabulary by creating new definitions for extant words and incorporating words from French and other languages in an anglicized format.75

As Hardwick explains, Pecock is also forced to adopt a very “circumlocutory style . . . deemed necessary in order to convey information on contentious doctrinal issues.”76 The longwindness for which Pecock is known is, in many ways, a direct result of his desire to adapt the English language to theological discourse. The description of the sacraments as a form of worship that Pecock includes in the Reule exemplifies his preoccupation with providing clarification by means of extensive synonyms and long-winded sentences, especially when discussing concepts most often theorized in Latin:

fferϸermore siϸen sacramenting is not ellis ϸan an holy outward worschiping by outward feleable or sensible signes or tokenes dyuerse from voicis, bi

72 James, “Langagis, Whose Reules Ben Not Writen,” p. 113. 73 For a discussion of this topic, see Paul Hardwick, “Breaking the Rules that ‘ben not writen’: Reginald Pecock and the Vernacular,” Parergon 19.2 (2002), pp. 101-118. 74 Ed. Elsie Vaughan Hitchcock, The Folewer, by Reginald Pecock, at pp. lx-lxii. 75 Ed. Elsie Vaughan Hitchcock, The Folewer, by Reginald Pecock, at pp. lx-lxii. 76 Paul Hardwick, “Breaking the Rules that ‘ben not writen’: Reginald Pecock and the Vernacular,” p. 110. 160

cause ϸat sacramenting is a remebraunce making of sum persoonys worϸines, dignite, benefet or goodnes, or of ϸerof ϸe execucioun, bi benefet, punysching or lawe, so ϸat ϸilk witnessing be do bi sum outward sensible signe not beyng a significatijf voice, and for an holy cause of soulis helϸe oonli, as schal be touchid in ϸe “bookis of sacramentis” in latyn; And sacramentis, in as myche as ϸei ben sacramentis, ben not ellis ϸan outwardli sensible or feleable signes and tokenes dyuers fro spechis, by whiche signes we remembren vs silf or oϸere persoones wiϸ vs in place being, vpon sum persoonys dignite worϸines, benefet or goodnes, or ϸer of ϸe now seid execucioun, for such seid holy entent and eende, and ϸerfore bi whiche signes we worschipen ϸe same persoon, in as muche as ϸerbi we declaren and witnessen ϸerbi his seid worϸines, dignite, benefet or goodnes, or ϸer of ϸe executid ϸing—as is oϸen ynou[gh] bi grammer andn be writingis of kunnyng holi doctouris ynou[gh[ in plenti, as schal be schewid in ϸe “bookis of sacramentis” in latyn; it folewiϸ ϸat sacramentyng is not ellis ϸan a spice of outward worschiping.77

In addition to making clear a nominative stance toward worship via sacraments in this passage, Pecock shows an acute awareness of the fact that sacraments are more often discussed in Latin texts by his repeated references to a Latin text of his own. Since he is discussing this theological issue in English, however, Pecock employs a “circumlocutory” rhetoric, seeking to create specific definitions via a superfluity of words.

In some ways, then, Pecock’s English must have seemed similar to the English of the

Early Version of the Wycliffite Bible. As Hudson explains, this translation, dated to the late fourteenth century, is considered “virtually unintelligible without recourse to the Latin source.”78 The Early Version is more circumlocutory than the Later Version, a translation meant to be more colloquial. We can compare these two Bible translations, however, and both are, in many ways, more similar to each other ultimately than to Pecock’s English:

Luke 15:29-30 A. Early Version

77 Pecock, The Reule, p. 252. 78 Anne Hudson, ed. Selections from English Wycliffite Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978), at p. 163. 161

And he answerende to his fader, seid ‘Lo, so manye ȝeres I serue to ϸee, and I neuere passede ouer ϸi comaundement, and ϸou neuere hast ȝove to me a kide that Y shulde wiϸ my frendus be fulfild.

B. Later Version And he answeride to his fadir, and seide, ‘Lo, so many ȝeeris I serue ϸee, and I neuere brak ϸi comaundement, and ϸou neuere ȝaue to me a kyde that I wiϸ my frendis shulde haue eeten.79

While the translators of the Wycliffite Bible obviously felt more constrained to a source text, their attempts to colloquialize the Scripture resulted in less complex syntax, whereas Pecock, unconstrained by a source text, maintains a more awkward syntax and more complicated vocabulary some forty years at least after the Later Version of the Wycliffite Bible had been finished. Pecock’s English does not seem to be the attempts of a man who was entirely unfamiliar with colloquial theology, but rather to be a very particularized language, influenced by Pecock’s own education and predilections.

In addition to modifying the English language until he deemed it suited to his purposes, Pecock engaged in the scholastic discourse described above to refine English as a scholastic language and, consequently, as a religious language. When discussing definitions and significations of English words, he is not only explicitly discussing the capability of the language itself, he is also implicitly labeling it as worthy by the mere content it communicates. In this way, he is, in part, pursuing the opposite approach of Wyclif or

Wycliffites—embracing the scholastic analytical mindset that perceived ambiguities not as a detriment of the language but as a possibility for reader engagement. Despite embracing the mindset in general, however, Pecock also expresses uneasiness over the supposition that follows from the theory of signification. As a consequence, Pecock seems at first to support

79 “Wycliffite Bible: Luke 15.11-32,” Selections from English Wycliffite Writings, ed. Hudson, pp. 46-49. 162 the use of the vernacular because, according to his own scholastic studies, all language, even

Latin, was far from ensuring clearcut interpretation, especially when an author could no longer provide his interpretation and context. Pecock also, however, finds himself uncomfortable with this resulting ambiguity. As an author himself, he is wary and anxious about misinterpretation. Even though the main scholars who had worked with supposition argued that authorial intention ultimately dictated textual meaning, they also recognized that authorial intention was very often unavailable. As if eager to answer this objection, Pecock asserts his voice and asserts his authority over the interpretation of his words time and time again, thus resisting supposition and ambiguity. Therefore, Pecock’s defense of English— insofar as his utilization is a defense—rests in an uneasy incorporation of scholastic method, technically working within the theoretical framework, but in many ways resisting its ultimate theoretical justification—the embrace of ambiguity. In this Pecock was not so different from many of those in the church hierarchy, whose resistance stemmed from a wariness that the university was a breeding ground for heresy.80

This specific and unique approach seems to stem, in part, from Pecock’s own anxiety over his status as both author and reader. As a student at Oxford, Pecock would have been trained to read and to perform supposition on texts, becoming a reader who is simultaneously an author—and a reader, as described above, encouraged to embrace ambiguity. As Copeland notes concerning the composition of medieval commentaries, the

80 This also makes Pecock perhaps more sympathetic to some of Wyclif’s concerns that he may have liked to admit, wary of ambiguity and eager to present an absolute reading of his own material. By writing in the vernacular, Pecock had grouped himself within a very specific heritage, regardless of his wishes. The consequent anxiety is seen, I would argue, in the resulting intricacies of his arguments that seek at once both to support scholastic nominalism and yet sometimes fall short. See also: Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” at pp. 232, 234. 163 commentary itself becomes an authored text to be considered by later commentaries.81 The reader becomes an author, and that author is acutely aware of reading practices. Thus, as an author trained in scholastic commentary, Pecock was too fully aware of the scholastic reading practice to feel established in his authorial persona. Many scholars, Mishtooni Bose among them, have explored the ways in which Pecock expresses authorial anxiety and seeks to establish authority.82 I would like to add a dimension to that discussion—showing how

Pecock exerts himself as author, defending his use of English and his use of reason by presenting throughout his texts a modified scholasticism, in which signification and stable referents are important, but supposition less so in the face of a dominant authorial presence.

The supposition that he does allow is one heavily mediated by inserting himself almost physically into the text—making the reader aware of the I that speaks. In monitoring the text in this way, Pecock attempts to create an accessible English, but in fact creates a safe English that, while supposedly making texts accessible to the people is, in and of itself, inaccessible to the people, surrounded and circumscribed by the authority of another. It is also an

English that attempts to incorporate the very rhetoric of scholasticism that Wyclif considered to be a “barrier to the wellsprings of faith in the oral language,” and therefore, becomes a Latin-equivalent English.83 Pecock advocates English by Latinizing it on more

81 Copeland, Rhetoric, Hermeneutics, and Translation in the Middle Ages, at p. 65. 82 Bose, for example, argues that Pecock claims authority through his own admissions of fallibility and that he tries to assert control over the accessibility of his texts. Taylor links the author and his texts, positing that the Pecock ultimately determines the meanings of his texts. Karáth argues that Pecock claims authority through the empowerment of the vernacular; Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” pp. 219, 227; Andrew Taylor, “Translation, Censorship, Authorship and the Lost Work of Reginald Pecock,” The Politics of Translation in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, eds. Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Luise von Flotow, Daniel Russell (Ottawa: U of Ottawa P., 2001), pp. 143-160, at p. 157; Karáth, “Vernacular Authority and the Rhetoric of Sciences,” pp. 285, 302. 83 Gellrich, p. 111. 164 than the morphological level, and thus makes his texts “so hard þat þei be not liȝtly and esili vndirstonde of þe wittiest lay men.”84

As a scholar engaged in the theory of signification, Pecock, unsurprisingly, seems to fall into the camp of Bacon and Ockham, considering words, signa, to be natural, as opposed to special. For a sign to be natural, it had to contain within it an intrinsic relationship with the res, much the same way as a nonverbal signum like smoke refers to fire because of a relationship that exists between these two elements.85 He also operates similarly to Bacon and Ockham in that he is an extensionalist, believing the signa to point directly to the res, as opposed to a species or mental concept. Pecock sets this out, by explicitly defining signification in the Reule of Crysten Religioun, in the context of explaining eendal [i.e. essential] and meenal [i.e. intermediate] virtues:

A meenal moral vertu may resonably and worþily be cleepid þilk moral vertu if he in him silf is no moral vertu neiþer haþ eny moral goodnes in him silf saue for þis þat he is a meene leeding into an oþer moral vertu which is an eendale vertu not being a meene into an oþer moral vertu ferþer aftir him and bi him to be brouȝt forþ. Al þis is so open bi þe propre significaciouns of þese wordis eendal and meenal, and bi þe propre diffiniciouns for significatis—þat is to seie of þe þingis signified bi hem—þat it is no neede to make proof þerfore.86

Pecock sets up a direct relationship between the things signified—the virtues themselves— and the words used to signify them, without dwelling on a mediating concept. He also seems to imply that the words in and of themselves naturally and openly point to their referents, by explaining that the words, if properly understood—implying therefore an absolute relationship between sign and signified—would reveal their definitions and require no other

84 Pecock, Folewer, p. 8. 85 Novaes, p. 19. 86 Pecock, Reule, p. 379. 165 proof. Pecock’s text, therefore, serves as not only an explanation of these different virtues but as an education into the theory of signification itself, as also indicated by his aside about the proper definition of significatis—the term he uses to indicate the signified. In this passage,

Pecock engages in supposition by defining the terms as they appear in the specific propositions he is making. However, he makes claims about the nature of signification at the same time.

In the Folewer, the companion text of the Donet, Pecock practices supposition for his readers, instructing them on the importance of comprehending the numerous ways wherein a term might be understood. He feels that supposition is an important first step for understanding:

Certis, forto wite how it is trew and how it is vntrew, þou muste heere mych more, fforwhi þou muste heere and wite what is þus to seie, and what meeneþ þus to seie, ‘þis þing is bi violence constreyned’; and in how many maners þis speche may be vndirstonde, ‘þis þing is bi violence constreynyd’. And þerfore, sone, take heede what y schal teche and seie.87

Pecock makes clear that there are several ways to understand the proposition that he is considering in this passage. Reflecting his scholastic training, no doubt, he then proceeds to outline the ways in which the proposition should be interpreted: “In v maners þis speche, ‘a

þing is constreynyd’, may be vndirstonde, and in þe iiij maners of hem it is to be vndirstonde

þat a þing is constreynyd bi violence.” 88 In this passage, however, Pecock is again combining the roles of author and reader, thus depriving his actual readers of a chance to engage with the theory of supposition. He provides the tools, but little or no opportunity to use them.

87 Pecock, The Folewer, p. 123. 88 Pecock, The Folewer, p. 123. 166

Only marginally interested in ambiguity, then, Pecock seems in many ways invested primarily in signification and in supposition only insofar as it is a means to understand authorial intent. In fact, Pecock expresses dissatisfaction with clerks who bend texts to their own readings—a view not entirely dissimilar to one that Wyclif expressed in his disgust for doctores signorum. His description of such clerks sounds very much as if they are practicing supposition. In the Donet, Pecock compares the actions of these clerks to those which misinterpret the commandments:

as prechers ben woned to wrynge oute of a worde alle maters whiche to hem liken, bi wrasting of sillablis and of lettris, and bi hookis and crokis of lettris, which conteynyng is litil worþ, and vnable to make þerbi eny sufficient doctryne to be receyuid of þe peple, ffor it is without proof, and þerfore wiþoute foundement and grounde.89

No doubt, presenting himself in contrast to these clerks, Pecock hopes to guide his audience more surely, leading them beyond the maze of supposition and asking them to rest their faith in an author like himself rather than in scholars indulging in ambiguity in order to further their own ends. His dislike of these clerks—even though we may, in actuality, read him as doing a similar thing—may, in part, also explain his desire to make clear the scholastic theories with which he is working. By revealing and circumscribing the act of signification and supposition to his audience, Pecock moves to establish an ethos based upon his methodological transparency.

Though Pecock’s arguments occasionally do express concerns disarmingly similar to some of Wyclif’s, we should be careful to draw too close of a comparison between them.

Pecock, as has been shown above, clearly includes Wyclif in among the clerks who breed errors. He also appears to patently disagree with Wyclif’s main concerns over the universal

89 Pecock, The Donet, p. 140. 167 truth and supremacy of the Scriptures. In the Repressor, Pecock engages with the theories of signification and supposition to assert instead the possible supremacy of reason over the

Scriptures—or at least an equality between the two. Though using the rhetoric of signification, Pecock’s argument at first does seem to correlate with a Wycliffite view on the importance of considering Scripture as something more than any other writing:

That Holi Writt mai be take for the outward lettris writun and schapun vnder dyuerse figuris in parchemyn or in velim, and forto speke of Holi Writt in this maner is not according to this purpos. For Holi Writt in this wise takun, is not holier neither better than eny other writing is which hath lijk good ynke, and is lijk craftili figurid.90

Rather than regarding Scripture as merely ink on parchment, Pecock posits a different sense of understanding it:

In an other maner, accordingli to this present purpos, Holi Writt is takun for the kunnyng wherbi the thing is kunne which is signified and bitokened bi the now seid outward Holi Writt writun in parchemyn or velym, or ellis mai be take for the outward writing, as it signifieth hise trouthis bitokened bi it, and as it is ioyned and couplid with the kunnyng of tho treuthis signified bi the outward writing.91

Instead of resting with this argument, however, Pecock uses these two opposing ways of regarding Scripture not to confirm the supreme authority of Scripture, but rather to elevate the status of reason by comparison between these two sources of knowledge. He explains that reason can be regarded in the same two ways as Scripture—in doing so, he glorifies a reason that relies on signification, with its propositions and terms, at the expense of a reliance on Scripture alone, thus reenacting the belittlement of Scripture for which Wyclif disparaged the university:

90 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 81. 91 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 81. 168

Also it is to vndirstonde that doom of resoun mai be take in ij. wisis pertinentli, and accordingli to this present purpos. In oon maner doom of resoun is the deede of resonyng in mannis resoun, bi which the power of resoun (or the man bi the power of resoun) resoneth, making proposiciouns of simple wordis and termys knyt to gidere, and making sillogismys of proposiciouns knyȝt to gidere bi teching of certein reulis . . . In another maner doom of resoun is take for the kunnyng of the conclusioun which is concludid in a sillogisme mad bi doom of resoun92

Pecock refuses to then determine which is more worthy, Scripture or reason, which, in one sense again decenters Scripture by the mere fact he considers any source of knowledge to be potentially equal to it:

[a]nd ȝit whether Holi Scripture be worthier or profitabiler to man than is the now seid doom of resoun taken in the ij. maner, forto serue God and deserue meede in hevene, schal not be disputid and determyned here in this book, but perauenture it schal be determyned in my writingis to heerers of hiȝer vndirstonding.93

Again, despite deliberately utilizing the methods of scholastic reasoning, Pecock determines the ability of his audience and censors how much he is willing to reveal of his philosophy. In this way, he rides the line between accessibility and inaccessibility.

The readers of Scripture whom Pecock trusts to handle Scripture are those trained in scholastic methodology and willing to embrace it: “ȝhe, and ech good gramarien hath power to construe Scripture, so that as the verri dewe, litteral undirstonding we schulden aske and leerne of a greet leerned sad divine, rather than of another ȝonger and lasse leernyd divine.”94

Ultimately, Pecock’s reader—though Pecock wishes him or her to learn—is different than

92 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 81-82. 93 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 83. 94 Pecock, The Book of Faith, p. 279. 169

Wyclif’s desired reader: “a learned reader who knows what commentaries of the auctores to refer to for accurate understanding.”95 For Wyclif, every Christian should be a theologian:

To this I say that the assumption is true, because every Christian must be a theologian, as I have demonstrated elsewhere. For it is essential that every Christian learn the faith of the Church, either through infused knowledge, or along with this, knowledge aquired from human teachers.96

For Pecock, every Christian should be willing to submit to a theologian within the church hierarchy. The identity of the imagined reader, then, is perhaps the primary way in which we can differentiate between these two writers. This difference influences their approach to language, philosophy and scholasticism. The similarities that do exist regardless between these two figures, however opposed they might be, points to a pervasive anxiety inherent in the use of the vernacular and the concept of lay readership that cannot but help, in some ways, to reconcile even fervid enemies.

When Pecock seems to exhibit the most anxiety over ambiguity and the theories of supposition, it is during moments of perceived personal risk—showing again a confusion over the role of author and reader. Accompanying his distress at the errors of clerks, Pecock expresses anxiety over the manipulation of his own texts. Pecock sets out a passage in the

Donet, wherein he defines a word, and therefore exerts authorial control by creating a supposition of the proposition’s terms, without leaving the reader to perform the scholastic action on his or her own. In this way, Pecock both presents the scholastic discourse but mediates it, thereby not placing complete control of the text or language into the readers’ hands. In the Donet, he defines the word dede (or deed) and very obviously inserts the

95 Gellrich, Discourse and Dominion in the Fourteenth Century, pp. 93-94. 96 John Wyclif, On the Truth of Holy Scripture, at p. 300. 170 authorial presence so as to guarantee his own supposition. He is not speaking of the term’s signification, so much as its meaning within the specific context of his own work:

Neuerþeles, sone, þou schalt herwiþ vndirstonde þat in my writingis ful oft and moche, for shortnes of speche, I comprehende and conteyne withynne þe significacioun of þis worde ‘dede’ boþe doyng and suffring, and also refusyng of a doing or of a suffring; And also bi þis worde ‘leeuyng vndo,’ or ‘cecing’, or ‘vndoyng’, or ‘forbering’, I vndirstonde alwey, or welnyȝ alwey, or at þe leest moche oft, a dede of þe wil which is a nylling or a refusyng, and not a noon worching or þe wil oonly. and þis I wole þat þou not forȝete for eny þing.97

Pecock urges his readers, in no uncertain terms, never to forget who controls the language and the text they are reading. By specifically incorporating the scholastic theories of signification and supposition, and thus recognizing the act of reading (at least according to his own definition) he closes his readers off to opportunities to engage in scholastic endeavors themselves. Therefore, the language, even the English vernacular, is safe.

Uneasy as he is concerning his readers, then, Pecock makes clear that though he will employ supposition, he largely eschews ambiguity in favor of his own authority. He feels himself free to discuss only terms and words he considers to be safely unequivocal (unlike the Wycliffite bible which takes head-on the challence of dealing with equivocal words).98

Writing about the commandments in the Donet and whether they are meant to mean more to

97 Pecock, The Donet, p. 184. 98 The Holy Bible , containing the Old and New Testaments, with the Apocryphal Books, in the Earliest English Versions, made from the Latin Vulgate by John Wycliffe and his Followers, eds. Rev. Josiah Forshall & Sir Frederic Madden, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1850), p. 59. Italics in the text.The prologue of the Wycliffite Bible, discussing the possibility of error when translating an equivocal word, one that can have more than a single meaning in its Latin or Greek original, expresses its anxiety most explicitly: But in translating of wordis equiuok, that is, that hath manie significacions vndur oo letter, mai liȝtli be pereil, for Austyn seith in thew ij. Book of Cristene Teching, that if equiuok wordis be not translatid into the sense, either vndurstonding, of the autour, it is errour; as in that place of thez Salme, the feet of hem ben swifte to shede out blood, the Greek word is equiuok to sharp and swift, and he that translatide sharpe feet, erride, and a book that hath sharpe feet, is fals, and mut be amendid.

171

Christian than Jews, Pecock combats those who regard the words of the commandments as equivocal, or open to numerous interpretations. Whereas the Wycliffite Bible Prologue seems to indicate that equivocal words should be easily recognized for what they are and then carefully dealt with, Pecock implies that there is debate over what terms are in fact equivocal. Pecock clearly supports an unequivocal reading of such questionable terms:

And if eny man feyne, as summe doon, þat þo x comaundementis writen in moyses tablis signifien and betoken to vs cristen men ferþir and fullier þan þei diden to þe Jewis, certis, þis may not be seid, þat þis ferþir and larger signifying schulde rise to vs bi vertu of þe wordis writen in moyses tablis; ffor whi þese wordis signified in oon maner to hem and to vs, bi cause þei were not, neiþer ȝitt ben not, equyuocal, þat is to seie, wordis of manye significaciouns, as clerkis in latyn and in ebrewe and greke wel knowun.99

As well as supporting his point with a multilingual stance, envisaging a unified front of Latin,

Hebrew, and Greek scholars, Pecock expresses uneasiness with clerks who quickly jump to reading terms as equivocal. It is his own authority and supposition that thus removes ambiguity from these commandments, in the same way that he removes ambiguity from

English—when he is there to circumscribe it.

Pecock’s uneasiness seems grounded in a concern over his own safety. Already aware of opponents who disapproved of his stance on the duties of bishops to preach in their own parishes, expressed in sermons, and of his English texts, he uses his own approach to medieval textual semantics to assert his own innocence from heresy in any opinion that he might express. In a quote we have already addressed under different circumstances above,

Pecock points out that signa, words, do not determine heresy, but rather supposition—and that supposition is governed by authorial intention:

99 Pecock, Donet, p. 118. 172

Again, by defining heresy in this way, Pecock also dictates the actions of his readers: “god send to be reders in my bokis suche men as wolen gladli aspie aftir my meenying in my wordis.”101 Pecock, no doubt, feels this anxiety over readership justified, especially in the aftermath of Ockham’s theories, in which, though he advocated the ultimate supremacy of authorial intention, he still emphasizes the linguistic ambiguity of the words on the page separated from the writer’s hand.102

Given his precarious position as a theological writer working in English, the issue of

English as a language is one area in which Pecock surprisingly shows little anxiety. When discussing the signification of terms, he feels comfortable speaking about the definition of

English words, referencing their Latin equivalent, but applying scholastic theory to the

English. In The Repressor, for example, Pecock cites a concordance regarding the Latin and

English terms for the word meed, without showing anxiety over the possibility of a different signification for the two terms:

Certis in thise iij. now bifore going textis and in manye mo than other xl. conteyned in Holi Scripture, (as a man mai se bi The Concordaunce in this word merces in Latyn, meede in Englisch,) this word meede is take forto signifie and bitokene a thing ȝouun in the maner and for cause now seid;103

100 Reginald Pecock, The Donet, p. 4. 101 Pecock, Donet, p. 5. 102 Novaes, p. 25. 103 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 390. 173

His attention to the specific signification of this English word is especially interesting given

Pecock here addresses the signification of words in the Holy Scripture—a text in which, given his role as bishop, he would have encountered merces more frequently than meede.

Following this passage, Pecock does indicate that the English word is sometimes taken in error, implying an underlying anxiety over the proper reception or use of the English language: “In an other maner this word meede or reward is takun vnpropirli and out of his dewist signifiying and bitokenyng.”104 Rather than advocating a return to Latin, or discouraging readers of the vernacular, however, Pecock builds on the methods he has already established earlier in this text and others—employing supposition to his advantage and for correction: “and this word meede or reward thus takun signifieth al oon with this word fynding, forto speke of such fynding as is mynystring of costis and expensis and othere necessarie or profitable thingis. . .”105 This passage is uniquely macaronic in that the Latin haunts the analysis of the English words. The Latin word appears briefly, so as to remind the reader of its presence, serving to highlight the importance of the English analysis that follows. Pecock discusses the misintepretation of English words without addressing the possible error in engaging in English interpretation at all. Pecock does not try to abandon the Latin, but rather tries to include the English. For him, neither language excludes the use of the other, much in contrast to Bury’s argument in Gladius Salomonis. Because of this, for example, Pecock is comfortable including Latin from the Vulgate in his English translations.

Discussing a passage from II Timothy, Pecock employs the term Mambres, designating those who stood against Moses, a term drawn, according to the editor Babington, from the

104 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 390. 105 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 390. 174

Vulgate.106 In his Book of Faith, Pecock indicates again that the Latin signifies to the same as the English, according to any good grammarian; here he is discussing the meaning of the word catholik: “Also it is to be undirstonde that ‘catholik’ is as myche to seie as general . . .

This wole good and trewe gramer, and this wolen oold doctouris of divinite, as Ysider and

Bede in her writingis. And all witti men knowen that tho propir significaciouns of wordis in latyn, ouȝten be take of grammer.”107 Pecock discusses the proper significations of Latin words in English, creating a unique macaronic blend without having to actually utilize both languages on the page. Regardless of the overwhelming presence of English on the page, both languages actually intertwine throughout the whole of Pecock’s texts. Perhaps because of the fact that he presumably wrote in both Latin and English (given his references to Latin copies of his own works), Pecock creates a fluid textual persona in which English is, in a unique way, Latin for all intents and purposes.

In The Repressor, especially, the text broadens the discussion of signs beyond verbal signs, and addresses, in depth, the nature of images as signs. In this discussion, Pecock seems to provide an additional defense for the use of English, creating the image as a parallel for the vernacular, thus building into his defense of images a defense of the language so that the two defenses can most productively be read in light of each other. The defense of both, of course, incorporates a circumscription. If properly directed, the laity, cut off from their own suppositions, can safely approach both images and theology in the vernacular. Shannon

Gayk has discussed Pecock’s position on images extensively and to good effect. She explores

Pecock’s viewpoint in the context of a fifteenth-century church hierarchy which thought

106 Pecock, The Repressor, p. 479 107 Pecock, Book of Faith, p. 285. 175 images were a safer medium than texts by which the laity might access devotional knowledge, but which was also anxious concerning the danger of idolatry.108 Gayk argues that Pecock understood images as visual signs to be paired with textual signs in order to best achieve lay education.109 She posits that Pecock is urging his readers to realize that both speech and images are ultimately referential.110 Those who committed idolatry were, in his opinion, merely suffering from “semiotic confusion.” 111 I do not mean to revisit her argument, so much as to comment briefly on the way in which Pecock’s defense of images reflects his use of, and thus ultimately constitutes a defense of the language. Whereas Gayk does draw parallels between Pecock’s discussion of written and visual signs, she does not comment on the significance of his decision to write in English nor that we can and should apply to his use of English his argument concerning images—that when properly approached, images are unlikely to lead to idolatry.

Pecock draws an explicit parallel between images and the use of English in the second part of the Repressor, requiring the proponents of English to accept the use of images, and vice versa (requiring the proponents of images to accept the use of English):

But so it is, that the yuelis whiche comen out and bi the having and holding of ymagis in chirchis, ben noon othere or not gretter than ben the yuelis of whiche it is spokun in the firste partie of the next seid supposicioun or reule; and ȝit ferther to seie, thei ben not gretter than the yuelis whiche occasionarili comen fro the having and the vsing of profitable craftis and marchaundising; neither gretter than ben the yuelis coming bi this, that lay men vsen the Bible in her modir tunge; neither gretter than the yuelis which comen bi this, that preestis ben and that prechers ben.112

108 Shannon Gayk, Text and Religious Reform in the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2010), p. 156. 109 Gayk, p. 157. 110 Gayk, p. 181. 111 Gayk, p. 174. 112 Pecock, Repressor, p. 158-59. 176

To those who disagree with him, the ones who discredit the use of images, Pecock suggests that one could not do away with images unless one also did away with “the hauing and vsing of Holi Scripture among the lay persoones.”113 As if to provide an example of what he himself advocates, Pecock turns to a translation of a passage of Exodus to support the use of naming images by that which they signify. In doing so, he grants the vernacular the power to validate and authorize an orthodox practice, bestowing on the vernacular some orthodoxy as a result:

That Holi Writt confermeth weel and allowith weel this answere, that the ymagis of thingis mowe weel be clepid bi the names of the thingis of whiche thei ben ymagis, lo, Sir, it is writun Exod. xxve . c. that God bade to Moyses thus: Thou shalt make on euer-either side of Goddis answering place ij. Cherubims of gold and beten out with hamer; oon cherub in the oon side, and an other cherub in the other side of Goddis answering place. . . certis thane folewith that the ymagis of cherubim God clepid cherubyim?114

Pecock’s argument thus defending the naming of images, which calls upon an understanding of signification that he has provided before, is as well supported by a vernacular as a Latin translation of Exodus. In this manner, Pecock provides English as an adequate language by which to discuss theology, claiming it for orthodoxy and in support of practices dictated by the church hierarchy, rather than advocating English as a means by which the laity might gain complete access to sacred texts. Pecock’s texts express his own and his readers’ anxiety over the status of English itself, rather than the status of lay access. By his careful authorial control, Pecock is not advocating a laissez-faire approach to lay theology, but rather a controlled one—in English.

113 Pecock, Repressor, p. 159. 114 Pecock, Repressor, p. 152. 177

By defending English in this way, Pecock is clearly trying to create an English that is not burdened by Lollard significance and connotation—especially since the ultimate end of his argument concerning images is that their use is worth more than lay literacy.115 The

English he crafts is one equivalent to images, functioning under the structures and constrictions of scholastic and academic scholarship, and most of all, an English strictly controlled by the author himself. This, then, is a unifying English, in Pecock’s view. An

English established as rigorous enough to withstand scholastic analysis, proven to signify in the same way as its Latin counterpart, so as to appeal to an anxious lay readership; an

English that is like images (as is all language for Pecock, Gayk explains116) and thus orthodox, so as reassure an anxious church hierarchy.

However, as Simpson argues in Reform and Cultural Revolution, it may have been

Pecock’s constant moves toward “conciliarism” that ultimately condemned him.117 A man concerned with unification can hardly refuse to abjure his own heretical opinions when faced with a church court. So, though Pecock considered English potentially dangerous in much the same way as the church hierarchy, taking care to circumscribe its usage in his own texts, he was ultimately rejected by this same hierarchy. Ultimately, in Pecock’s opinion, the learned—the clerk or the grammarian—best understood how to read theology no matter the language. This, then, for Pecock, validated the use of English—bringing him oddly enough to a conclusion very similar to that of the Wycliffite prologue: no language is better than another. As an author, anxious about his authority and the position of the reader in regards

115 Pecock, Repressor, pp. 208-216. 116 Gayk, p. 181. 117 James Simpson, Reform and Cultural Revolution, The Oxford English Literary History, vol. 2 (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002), p. 476; Gayk, p. 183. 178 to him, Pecock’s punishment was fitting, if tragic—condemned to be held in a monastic cell at Thorney Abbey without access to writing materials.118 Pecock defined himself as everyone’s helper, explicitly labeling himself as such to the laity and to the Lollard contingent he was combating, and implicitly labeling himself as such to the church hierarchy by his repeated protestations; but for him, there was no help because his way of helping was ultimately to doubt the power and ability of his audience:

If ȝe asken who y am, which makith him so bisi here aȝens ȝou, forsothe, he is the man which hath more laborid and doon into ȝoure goostli availe, as of trewe kunnyng to be had of ȝou, and errour to be removed fro ȝou, than ȝe ȝou silf ben of kunnyng, and of power, forto so do to ȝou silf.119

III. Consequences of Using the Vernacular

The texts composed to combat Pecock’s errors during and after his examination for heresy help us to understand that, though the views the bishop expressed were problematic for the church hierarchy, his use of the vernacular, though inventive, was a problem in and of itself. John Bury composed his refutation, Gladius Salomonis, in 1457. Pecock, in that same year, was under examination for heresy—the event, no doubt, to which Bury is responding.120 In his dedication to the Archbishop Bourgchier, Bury makes sure to answer

118 Scase, p. 116. 119 Pecock, Book of Faith, pp. 204-205. 120 Wendy Scase, “Reginald Pecock,” English Writers of the Late Middle Ages, ed. M. C. Seymour, Authors of the Middle Ages (Aldershot: Variorum, 1996), p. 108. Scase provides the most current biography of Reginald Pecock. In brief, Pecock received his MA (1416) and bachelors (1424) and doctorate in theology (1445) from Oxford, and became a bishop first in the see of St. Asaph (1444), then in Chichester (1450). Pecock engendered controversy over his sermons concerning the rights of bishops (that they not be required to preach in their bishoprics) and involved himself in printing theological and common-profit books. He composed six major theological works in English (Latin originals or copies no longer extant). Eventually, Pecock’s notoriety concerning these works and his sermons (as well as Lancastrian political motivations) landed him before Archbishop Bourgchier’s court on charges of heresy. He abjured and burned his own books, but rather than being returned to his bishopric as planned, Pope Pius II capitulates to royal and church hierarchical demands 179 any objections the Archbishop might have to the manner in which he has cited his opponent’s work. Claiming to copy out passages from Pecock’s Repressor of Over Much Blaming of the Clergy word for word in order to refute him better, Bury is unsure whether the

Archbishop will approve his juxtaposition of English with Latin:

Fortassis arguet tantus pater quod in bove simul araverim et asino, et quod vestem contexerim ex lana linoque. Ad quod ego, Ne judaizare videar, Judaeorum maledicta contemptui, sacramenta mihi neglectui sunt.121

[Perhaps, the renowned father will argue that I will have been plowing with an ox and an ass at the same time, and that I will have been covering myself with a garment made from wool and flax. To that, I say, lest I seem to follow Jewish law, that I hold the curses of the Jews in contempt, and their oaths as worthless.]

Bury presents here a colorful metaphor to explain the relationship between the Latin and

English tongues. Their very natures, even if employed to the same purpose, either to clothe a person or to plow a field, are not compatible. Bury draws his metaphor from Deuteronomy

22:10-11, in which God lays out strict guidelines regarding the mingling of different substances in both sewing and sowing:

Non arabis in bove simul et asino. Non indueris vestimento quod ex lana linoque contextum est.122

[You will not plow with an ox and an ass at the same time. You will not clothe yourself in vestments which have been woven from wool and from flax.]

The danger in mixing unlike things is best encapsulated in the preceding verse,

Deuteronomy 22:9. The verse is not specifically referenced by Bury, but surely alluded to:

that Pecock not be returned to his former station. Pecock is sent to live out his days at Thorney Abbey, deprived of writing materials. 121 John Bury, Excerpts from Gladius Salomnis, The Repressor of Over Much Blaming of the Clergy, ed. Churchill Babington (London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1860), p. 573. Translation mine. 122 The Vulgate Bible, ed. Swift Edgar, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library (Harvard P, 2010). Translation mine. 180

Non seres vineam tuam altero semine ne et sementis quam sevisti et quae nascunter ex vinea pariter sanctificentur.123

[You will not sow your vineyard with other seed; lest the sowing which you have sown, and that which is grown from the vineyard, are equally sanctified.]

If Latin and English are used together, the writer runs the risk of sanctifying English, and thus consequently desanctifying Latin, in the same way in which sanctifying different plants from the vineyard is forbidden because such a result will make the sanctification in some sense null. In addition, the passage implies by the mere act of comparison, that one or the other of these tongues is inadequate to the purpose of discussing theology.

The incorporation of the vernacular into Bury’s own work helps to illuminate exactly why he and other writers affiliated with the church hierarchy were anxious about language itself, in addition to the ideas it was used to express. Raising opposition to the use of lingua anglicana, as Bury does in Gladius Salomonis, risks endangering the writer and drawing him into the use of it. Daniel Boyarin, in his monograph on the development of heresiology in the context of Jewish-Christian relations in late antiquity, argues that those who seek to monitor or suppress what they consider to be error often, in fact, help to disperse it: “those very inspectors of religious customers, in their zeal to prevent any contraband from crossing the borders they sought to enforce by fiat, were, themselves, the agents of illicit interchange of some of the most important contraband.”124 It is exactly this phenomenon, the inadvertent spreading of heresy, James Simpson argues, that leads Reginald Pecock to his own trial:

“Precisely because he articulated Lollard positions, in English, albeit in order to refute them,

123 Vulgate, ed. Swift Edgar. Translation mine. 124 Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: Upenn P., 2004), p. 2. 181 he attracted the attention of a failing king, Henry VI, on the lookout for scapegoats.”125 In using vernacular to reproduce what he deems heretical opinions, Bury is clearly anxious that he himself should not be perceived as heretical, an anxiety not at all irrational given the author he is critiquing. Steven Justice points out that using the vernacular while it was as yet undeveloped in its theological vocabulary opens the author to accusations of using a language identified as that of the heretic.126 Though he wishes to use the English tongue only to accurately reproduce Pecock’s errors and proclaims the use of it unpleasant and problematic, Bury is yet forced to defend his limited use of it by the very nature of his objection. In response to the hypothetical disapproval of his reader, Bury rests his defense in differentiating himself from the original Jewish audience who would have received the law regarding the mixing of animals in plowing and seeds in sowing. The mere engagement with the issue of vernacular translation thus forces Bury not only to defend himself from accusations of heresy, but also accusations of Judaism—both accusations which could deprive Bury of the Christian orthodox status so crucial to his self-identity.127

The natural extension of Bury’s argument, though, is that an objection to using both

English and Latin in the same text is to live as a Jew, constrained by the Old Law rather than the New. Bury catches himself on the horns of a dilemma—either he is a heretic or he is a

Jew, either he uses English or objects to its use and thus abides by law rather than spirit. If

125 James Simpson, Reform and Cultural Revolution, The Oxford English Literary History, vol. 2 (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002), p. 471-72. 126 Steven Justice, “Inquisition, Speech, and Writing: A Case from Norwich,” Criticism and Dissent in the Middle Ages, ed. Rita Copeland (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996), pp. 289-322, at p. 304; Mishtooni Bose, “Reginald Pecock’s Vernacular Voice,” at p. 220. 127 Though this fear of being labeled as a Jew is no doubt more of a rhetorical and metaphorical construct by which to answer the hypothetical objections of the Archbishop than an expression of fear that any such real label will be attached to him. The rhetorical move is significant in and of itself, however, and cannot be dismissed too quickly on these grounds of mere rhetoric, but must be considered in light of anxiety over losing sacraments and orthodox status which seems to truly underlie this passage. 182 he is no heretic and no metaphorical Jew—and there seems to be no space left in his argument to be anything else—then he, in turn, must be accusing the potentially disapproving reader of being one of these two things as well. Bury claims his right to orthodoxy because he is no Jew and therefore he is free to produce this macaronic text. This claim, however, makes Bury uncomfortable. He is uneasy with the accusation of heretic to which his own argument leaves him prey. Retreating to a place of security by expressing again his own reluctance to the task and the necessity for it, Bury introduces a space where he is neither heretic or Jew. This space is created by introducing the voice of another, and thus giving away a portion of his control over the text:

Est et aliud quod Reginaldum in suo vulgari scribentem me compulit introducere. Mussitatores enim sui ubique ferme theologos et juristas nostros incusant quod scilicet perverse interpretentur, quae in dicto Reginaldo non nisi rectissime denunciant exarata. Hac re cautior effectus non verbum e verbo transtuli, sed velut exemplaria probant, quae propriis annotavit digitis, Anglicanam, prout ipse conscripsit linguam, eloquio litterarum Latino immiscere volui. Sic nempe respondi “imprudenti viro juxta stultitiam “suam,” ne sibi sapiens esse videatur. Nec tamen materna, qua usus est voce, studui respondere, ne sibi censerer esse consimilis.128

[And it is this that compels me to present Reginald in his own vernacular writing. For whisperers of his nearly everywhere criticize our theologians and our lawyers in that they have been interpreted wrongly, which things, dug up against the said Reginald, they denounce with some justice. I, made more cautious by this, have not translated word for word, but I have chosen to mingle English, just as he wrote the tongue, with the Latin eloquence of letters, just as the copies which he annotated in his own hand, demonstrate. Thus, I have truly responded to the imprudent man according to his own folly, lest he seem in himself a wise man. Yet neitheir did I desire to respond in the mother-tongue, which was the voice he used, lest I be judged to be similar to him.]

It is Reginald Pecock who speaks in English, not Bury. It is Reginald Pecock who speaks heresy, and thus Bury is neither heretic or Jew. However, by introducing this protection for

128 Bury, Gladius Salomonis, p. 573. Translation mine. 183 himself, Bury loses a measure of control over his text. As Tamás Karáth argues, explicitly referencing and discussing the use of the vernacular and recognizing its dangerous status can work to bolster authority; such a discussion can also, however, negate authority.129 In the case of Gladius Salomonis, even though Bury seeks to circumscribe Pecock’s English passages by refuting the heresies contained therein, he cannot fully avoid a temporary and intermittent loss of authority by thus transcribing so carefully the words of another, a problem he compounds since his quotations are, in fact, not that precise and introduce more of his own voice in English than he claims—thus he attributes even his own composition to another’s voice.130 Bury’s extensive description of his own reluctance to copy Pecock’s words serves to emphasize this loss of authority more than it asserts his own orthodoxy. Bury does not wish

(non…volui) or desire (nec…studui) to write in English, but is compelled (compelit) to write in

Pecock’s voice. This reluctance seems to remove the text at the very beginning from Bury’s control.

The insertion of the vernacular voice overshadows the Gladius Salomonis, even though the majority of it is composed in Latin, not only because the mere written difference of the English from the Latin draws the eye, but also because of the anxiety that underlies the usage of English and thus garners attention. It is in this way that Bury’s text highlights the problem of any self-proclaimed orthodox religious text131 written in the vernacular, even if only partially composed in it. The vernacular cannot help but introduce the authority of an

129 Tamás Karáth, “Vernacular Authority and the Rhetoric of Sciences in Pecock’s The Folewer to the Donet and in The Court of Sapience,” p. 285. 130 Bury, p. 576, n.1. 131 A text that contains repeated appeals to correction by those who know better, that is dedicated to individuals in church hierarchy, etc. By this definition, any of Pecock’s works are also self-proclaimed orthodox texts. Obviously, writers and their contemporary readers do not necessarily agree on what orthodoxy means, as in the case of Pecock. 184 other(s), whether of a faceless amalgam of texts and persons or of a specific writer. The vernacular could not be fully controlled by any who wished to negate or deny it. Even if made to act and speak as Latin, as Pecock attempted to do, English could not but insinuate a heterodoxy unwished for by its author when employed in a fifteenth-century religious text.

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CHAPTER 4: “AND TO HIR HE WROTE A BOOK”: VERNACULAR THEOLOGY AND THE GENDERED RESPONSE TO HERESY IN JOHN CAPGRAVE’S WORKS

John Bury had a successful career within the Augustinian Hermits’ Order after he wrote Gladius Salomonis. Reginald Pecock had been examined in 1457. Bury wrote his treatise in response to the bishop’s heresies a year or so later, and by 1459, he was elected the prior provincial of the order in England.1 It was appropriate that Pecock’s opponent should come from the ranks of the Augustinians. They were known as a preaching order and were recognized as very orthodox.2 The order also had a longstanding reputation as being anti-

Wycliffite.3 The prior previous to Bury aligned himself by connections and philosophy against Pecock as well, praising the provost of King’s College, William Millington, who would later also write a polemic against the unfortunate bishop: “He presides over the college at Cambridge, and in the questionings in the scholls, as well as in profound literature and in the perfection of his morals, surpasses many who had gone before him.”4

John Capgrave, the prior in question, served in that capacity from 1453-1457.5 Born in 1393,

Capgrave joined the order at Lynn before he was sixteen.6 He received his doctorate in

1 James G. Clark, “Bury, John,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2004, online edition 2008). 2 M. C. Seymour, “John Capgrave,” English Writers of the Late Middle Ages, Authors of the Middle Ages, vol. III, nos. 7-11 (Brookfield: Variorium, 1996), p. 202. 3 Seymour, p. 205. 4 Seymour, p. 204, 214; John Capgrave, The Book of Illustrious Henries, ed. and trans. Francis Charles Hingeston (London: Longman, Brown, Green, Longmans, & Roberts, 1858), p. 154. 5 Seymour, p. 204. 6 Ed. Cyril Lawrence Smetana, Life of Saint Augustine, by John Capgrave (Toronto: PIMS, 2001), p. 2. 186 theology at Cambridge in 1425, and composed his first work, In Regum, circa 1435.7

Possessed “with a passion for order and orthodoxy,” Capgrave was a prolific writer, composing and translating exegetical treatises, saints’ lives, and other assorted texts.8 As a member of the Lynn friary, one of the major foundations of the order, Capgrave came into contact with wealthy patrons, including King Henry VI during his visit to the friary in 1446.9

The audience for his books were thus a mixed group: members of religious houses and members of the nobility in turn.10

In large part, Capgrave wrote his books in Latin, especially those exegetical in nature.11 Those works that have survived to the present day, however, are primarily the ones he wrote in or translated into English. Of these, the majority are saints’ lives—hagiographies of Norbert, Katharine, Augustine, and Gilbert. That his English works are hagiographies is probably not a coincidence. Archbishop Arundel’s Constitutions, published in 1409, had instituted restrictions on the production of vernacular translations of scripture and theological texts. By 1450, even though these restrictions had significantly “relaxed,”

Capgrave and fellow authors still felt the threat of these constitutions.12 Vernacular hagiography was a relatively safe genre, given its usual emphasis on exemplars rather than theology, allowing Capgrave, who “considered himself profoundly orthodox,” to approach

7 Seymour, p. 236. 8 Smetana, p. 3. 9 Seymour, p. 203; Ed. Peter J. Lucas, John Capgrave’s Abbreuiacion of Cronicles (Oxford: EETS, 1983), pp. xv-xviii. 10 Peter J. Lucas, From Author to Audience: John Capgrave and Medieval Publication (Dublin: University College Dublin P., 1997), p. 17; Seymour, pp. 221-224. 11 The texts that Capgrave composed in Latin were intended primarily for a clerical or religious audience, though De Illustribus Henricis is an exception to that rule. Otherwise, the list is as follows: In Regum, In Genesim, In Exodum, Concordia, In Leviticum, In Numeros, In Deuteronomium, Super epistolas Pauli, Tretis (revision of a sermon), Manipulus doctrinae christianae, In Actus Apostolorum, In Apocalypsim Joannis, De Fidei symbolis, Seymour, pp. 214-219; Lucas, pp. xv-xviii. 12 The Church feared that “modeling intellectual piety to a laity not equipped to pursue it might lead to heretical speculation,” Karen Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century (Philadelphia, Upenn P., 2007), pp. 21, 53, 85. 187 theological discussion without censure via an exemplary narrative.13 Even if safe, however,

Capgrave takes great care within his hagiographies, and his other English-language works

(Solace of Pilgrimes and Abbreviacion of Cronicles), to establish his orthodoxy in regards to the use of the vernacular. Much like Reginald Pecock, Capgrave was dedicated to the idea of a reasonable faith and was an advocate of vernacular translations of the Bible.14 Unlike Pecock, however, Capgrave is not brought to trial for heretical views. Though presenting theology in the vernacular (via extended dialogue in his hagiographies and otherwise),15 Capgrave presents his texts to a limited audience, often only upon commission. He also controls his information in a way that Pecock failed to do (in the Church’s opinion).16

The following discussion will examine Capgrave’s approach to vernacular theology— especially the manner in which he presented his work to different parties. Most particularly, this chapter will analyze how the gender of his audience dictated Capgrave’s treatment of heresy in English works. I argue that Capgrave promoted a safe, orthodox vernacular, but was yet still anxious about the possibility of lay misinterpretation of vernacular theology— especially on the part of women. He perceived literate women to be dangerous and more prone to error, so he attempted to instruct his female audience how to passively, rather than

13 Winstead, pp. 53, 84-85. 14 Winstead, pp. 5, 53, 59. 15 This is particularly true of the debate between St. Katherine and the emperor’s men in The Life of St. Katherine. Winstead explores the implications of Capgrave’s extended version of the debate in John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, pp. 60-64. Jacqueline Jenkins also discusses how Capgrave prolongs, rather than shortens, the debate: “ ‘This Lyf en Englyssh Tunge’: Translation Anxiety in Late Medieval Lives of St. Katherine,” The Theory and Practice of Translation in the Middle Ages 8 (2003), pp. 137-148, at p. 140. 16 See chapter 4 for an extended analysis of Pecock’s attempt to control the interpretation of his English texts via a reliance on grammatical and scholastic principles. Christopher Edward Manion also describes Capgrave’s efforts as one of controlling access rather than denying translations (183), “Writers in Religious Orders and their Lay Patrons in Late Medieval England” (PhD diss., The Ohio State University, 2005). 188 actively, respond to heresy, thus lessening the chance that they themselves would become heretics.

I. The Orthodox Vernacular

In the prologue to Life of St. Katherine (1445), Capgrave provides an extensive transmission history for his source-text. He describes the efforts of a priest who “grete labour he had in his lyve / To seke thi liffe” (Pro. 48-49).17 After much effort, the priest finds Katherine’s legend, written in Latin by her own clerk and buried in Greece. He translates it into English: “He mad thi lyff in Englysch tunge ful well” (Pro.57). The priest’s

English is “derk” though, and Capgrave takes it upon himself to finish the priest’s work:

“Aftyr him nexte I take upon me / To translate this story and set it more pleyne” (Pro.62,

232-33). Capgrave’s intention is to make the legend more open (Pro.64).18 However, he acknowledges that hagiography is a different beast than theology. Human tongue, and most especially English as implicated by the language he writes in, is inadequate to that latter task:

“Swech langage in synfull tunge is but brok” (3.1429).19

As Karen Winstead has noted, though, Capgrave does not actually avoid the discussion of theology in English, especially not in his hagiographies.20 His English, also, is not the Latinate English of Pecock, who attempts to elevate the vernacular into scholastic regard. Capgrave adopts a “straightforward” English, a language influenced by Latin learning

17 John Capgrave, Life of St. Katherine, ed. Karen Winstead (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 1999). 18 To a certain extent, the priest’s poor translation vindicates Capgrave in his own efforts: Jenkins, “Translation Anxiety in Life of Saint Katherine,” p. 143. 19 See also Winstead’s note, l. 1428. 20 See note 15; Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, p. 67. 189 but entirely separate from Latin vocabulary and forms.21 In his writings, he does not strive for linguistic beauty so much as consumability.22 As such, he uses words in unique ways to fit his own needs. For example, in his Life of Saint Augustine, he transforms the adjective more into a noun when discussing the etymology of the name Augustine: “For it soundith in oure langage as a morer of þe lordchip” (16).23 In many ways, then, Capgrave seems comfortable embracing English on its own merits, rather than on the basis of its linguistic similarities to

Latin.

Capgrave is not, however, unaware of the potential danger that either church authorities or lay readers might misinterpret both his meaning and his motivations. Shortly after the completion of the Life of Saint Katherine, Capgrave’s fellow Augustinian, Osbern

Bokenham, translated his own version of the legend.24 In his prologue, he disparages

Capgrave’s version, penning an “explicit dismissal of the book he describes as ‘rare / and straunge to gete’.”25 In his first English work, Life of Saint Norbert, Capgrave also acknowledges that readers might react violently to his work: “Who shal þese dayis make now ony þing / But it schal be tosed & pulled as wolle? / Summe schul sey alle þis is flateryng; /

Summe of charite schul preise it at þe fulle. / Now lete hem rende, lete hem hale & pulle” (ll.

21 Ed. Lucas, Abbreviacioun, pp. xci-xcii. Smetana, editor of the Life of Saint Augustine, also notes that Capgrave’s English had both “clarity and simplicity,” p. 9; Shannon Gayk, “ ‘Ete this book’: Literary Consumption and Poetic Invention in John Capgrave’s Life of St. Katherine,” Form and Reform: Reading Across the Fifteenth Century, eds. Shannon Gayk and Kathleen Tonry (Columbus: OSU P., 2011), pp. 88-109, at pp. 89, 91. 22 Gayk, “Ete this book,” p. 89. 23 See also Smetana’s note 33. 24 Jenkins, “This Lyf,” p. 137. 25 Jenkins, “This Lyf,” p. 137. 190

8-12).26 Winstead argues, based on the vivid imagery, that Capgrave’s statement is not merely formality or humility topos, but is evidence of real anxiety on his part.27

How, then, does Capgrave protect both himself and his readers from charges of heresy? How does he avoid Pecock’s fate? After all, the vision that the priest receives in the prologue of Katherine directing him toward her Latin legenda is “all misty and derk,” much like the priest’s own English translation (Pro.79). Divine revelation is hard to understand, and the lexical echo between vision and translation across seventeen lines helps to explain the priest’s flawed translation. It is difficult to adequately communicate in English the substance of the legenda. In part, this is because the legenda is not merely a retelling of Katherine’s life, but in some ways embodies her actual suffering. When Capgrave explains that the priest died before he was able to finish his translation, he explains that “[t]hy passyon, lady, and all that scharp whele / He left behynd” (Pro.59-60). As in much of Christian theology, the word is synonymous with the res. The actual tools and events of Katherine’s martyrdom are conflated with the words retelling it. Shannon Gayk describes this “allegorical collapsing” as a “sort of transubstantiation.”28 With the translation from Latin to English, the legenda also represents a metaphorical translation of the saint’s relics from Greece into England.29

The translation of Katherine must be undertaken with great care, and so Capgrave approaches his task in a circuitous fashion. Having given the abridged version of the legenda’s discovery, he tells the story again with more elaborate detail via a summary of the priest’s prologue to his own translation. In this version, the priest has the vision mentioned above in

26 John Capgrave, The Life of St. Norbert, ed. Cyril Lawrence Smetana (Toronto: PIMS, 1977). 27 Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, p. 69. 28 Gayk, “Ete this book,” p. 106. 29 Jenkins, “This Lyf,” p. 144. 191 which he is urged to eat a moldering book he finds in his hand (Pro.78-112). Like in the Old

Testament account of Ezekiel, which the vision mirrors, he finds the book sweet to the taste despite his initial reluctance (Pro.107).30 Consumption of the dream-book enables the priest to find the legenda and consequently translate it and make it more widely available to readers.31 Before he can finish his task, though, the priest dies at Lynn, establishing

Capgrave’s place within this lineage of writers (Pro.219). Capgrave emphasizes the limited audience of the priest’s original translation, as if to underline the danger of distributing an unclear translation: “It cam but seldom onto any mannes honde; / Eke whan it cam it was noght undyrstonde / Because, as I seyd, ryght for the derk langage” (Pro.207-209). In order to justify his own translation, then, Capgrave has provided the authority of his initial source twice over. This careful and gradual introduction of the audience to his subject is just one of the ways in which he controls the presentation of his vernacular text.

Throughout his English works, Capgrave makes clear that his use of English is not meant to challenge the supremacy of Latin. Not only does he consistently praise Latin as kin to Hebrew and Greek (the languages of the Bible) and therefore not “[b]arbare” like English

(Augustine, 18), Capgrave also frequently draws explicit attention to the act of translation.

This gesture toward his linguistic source allows Capgrave to ground his text within Latin authority. By constantly reminding his readers of the superior Latin original, Capgrave introduces the gloss as a necessary mediation between reader and text, reasserting the necessity for religious institutions and educated clerics. Translation demonstrates the need for the Church, much as Pecock attempted to argue some few years later.

30 Ezekiel 3. 31 Gayk argues that it is, in fact, the act of consumption that allows Ezekiel to translate the divine into human tongue, “Ete this book,” p. 95. 192

The Life of St. Augustine provides Capgrave with numerous opportunities to show his readers the importance of Latin. Written in 1450 for a female benefactress, Augustine is a translation of the Latin vita written by Jordanus of Saxony.32 Capgrave adds relatively little original content to the text, supplementing Jordanus with Augustine’s own Confessions where necessary.33 What he does add, though, is significant to our purposes.34 Building on

Jordanus’s Augustine, Capgrave expands on the role that language plays in the saint’s life.

The original vita already draws a picture of Augustine as a quick learner, who values the Latin language above all others: “Grecas sane litteras quibus docebatur oderat, Latinas vero satis diligebat ut ipse hec memoratur in primo libro Confessionum” (80).35 It is this

Latin learning that promotes Augustine above other clerics. The bishop Valerius, searching for a new church leader, recognizes the utility of Augustine’s learning, especially since he himself is little versed in Latin: “Cui rei se minus utilem preuidebat cum esset natura grecus et in latina lingua et litteris minus doctus” (96-97).36 In addition to translating the bishop’s sentiments, Capgrave reiterates the disparity between the Greek and Latin languages and their respective speakers by introducing Valerius in terms of what he lacks: “He was also a

Grek of birth and coude not parfithly þe langage of þat cuntre” (54). When Capgrave translates the chapter “Qualiter factus est episcopus,” he emphasizes again Valerius’s failing

32 Smetana, ed., Life of St. Augustine, by John Capgrave, pp. 3, 5, 9; Seymour, “Capgrave,” p. 221. 33 Smetana, ed., Augustine, p. 3; Rudolph Arbesmann, “Jordanus of Saxony’s ‘Vita S. Augustini’, The Source for John Capgrave’s ‘Life of St. Augustine,’ Traditio, 1 (1943), pp. 341-353, at p. 351. 34 Some of these additions include Capgrave’s reflection on his own reading practices, condemnations of Wycclifites, comments on Augustinian canons, and more information about Augustine’s mother than Jordanus provides. I will discuss these additions at further length later in the chapter. Arbesmann, “Jordanus,” p. 348; Smetana, ed., Augustine, pp. 11-12. 35 Translation, by Capgrave, is as follows: “He loued bettir as we sayde before þe Latyn letteris þan þe Grek, notwithstand þat he lerned first þe Grek letteres” (22). Jordanus of Saxony, Vita s. Augustine, Life of St. Augustine, by John Capgrave, ed. Smetana, pp. 77-111. 36 Translation, by Capgrave: “For he himself was not rith redy to swech þingis, for he was not gretly letteryd and eke born he was of þe Grek tonge and coude not mech skil on Latyn bokes which were vsed most in þe prouynce of Cartage” (55). 193 in this regard via the bishop’s letters begging for Augustine’s instatement: “In which letteres he alleggid his age, his febilnesse, and eke who he was not redy in langage to erudicion of þe puple and destruccion of heresie as Augustin was” (58). Capgrave’s additions reinforce

Jordanus’s praise of Augustine’s authoritative preaching against heresy in that same chapter

(99).

In Augustine, Capgrave thus establishes Latin as the ideal language for addressing heresies and for instructing the laity. This application of the language is lifted from its own temporal moment, as well, when Latin would have been the vernacular. Capgrave universalizes the utility of Latin by recognizing its superiority in comparison with English. As mentioned above, English is one of the barbare languages, thus anachronistically rejected by

Augustine (18). To speak of heresies is much safer in Latin. In English, they are “ful perilous to be rehersed” (24). Capgrave brings this up in regards to Manichaeism, the heresy which

Augustine himself subscribed to during his youth. Jordanus, at this moment in the vita, proceeds to describe the specificity of Manichaean error (80). Capgrave does not, standing by his statement. Though he later complicates this stance by describing heresies elsewhere— in Augustine, Katherine, and Abbreviacioun of Chronicles—, Capgrave loudly proclaims an orthodox position here, directing his readers to view his translations as safe.

In Augustine, Capgrave contextualizes and legitimizes his translation by constantly referencing the Latin of his source text and making transparent his process. When he translates a Latin phrase or word that he reproduces within the text, he often explicitly signals the act of English translation by saying something along the lines of “The sentens of

þis texte may be englischid in þis wise” or “This is to sey in oure tonge” or “This is to sey in

194

Englisch” (36, 44, 62).37 By doing so, Capgrave reminds his readers of his presence as translator and draws their attention to the act of translation. In this situation, drawing attention to the act of translation reinforces the complexity of the topic and language at hand, necessitating Capgrave’s mediation. In some ways, as translator, Capgrave equates himself with his own subject, St. Augustine. When Augustine reads the psalms, Capgrave provides the Latin which Augustine would have read and then an English translation in

Augustine’s voice: “And whan he came to þat verse: In pace in idipsum dormiam & requiescam,

þan wold he crye: ‘A þou pese, a lord, þou art þe very pes in which we schal both slepe and rest’” (38-39). Augustine’s response to the moving verse is not an exact translation, but he still provides access to the meaning of David’s words for the lay readers of this text.

Augustine, as translator, reinforces the authority of the Church, especially as he himself would never have spoken English. In Jordanus’s vita, of course, his response to the verse is in Latin: “O in pace, O in idipsum, O qui dixit dormiam et requiescam? Tu es, domine, idipsum valde, qui non mutaris et in te solo requies” (87). Capgrave’s English translation of

Augustine’s response is not exact. Namely, he neglects qui non mutaris. The inexact translation shows that Capgrave neither feels the need to nor expects that he can perfectly translate

Latin into English.

Complex Latin terms that do not have a simple English equivalent Capgrave takes care to unpack. By doing so, he highlights the Latin illiteracy of his readers (thus reinforcing their dependence on him) and presents Latin as a more compact and suitable language for religious discussion. For example, he adds to Jordanus’s vita a definition of catechumen: “A catechumen is as mech to seye as a newe receyuour of þe faith, for in elde tyme men had

37 Capgrave does this in his other English works as well. For example, see Abbreviacioun, pp. 45, 123, 134, 173, 195 certeyn days assigned betwixt here conuercion and here baptem þat þei myth lerne wel þe articules of oure faith or þei were bounde þerto” (23). When Capgrave outlines the etymology of the name of the town Hostie, he provides a similarly-motivated explanation:

“Hostie is a fayre town xvi myle fro Rome, where þat Tibir rennyth into þe se, for hostium in

þe Latyn tonge is a dore and þat is clepid so as a dore of þe se” (46). The effect of these glosses is to depict Latin as a symbolically-charged and dense language. Each term contains within it a host of meaning only arrived at in English by extended discussion. If one were to do away with Latin, equivalent English terms would lose much of their own meaning, since the essence of the res seems tied up in the Latin word describing it. This becomes clear when

Capgrave provides the etymology for monk: “For monos in þe oþir tonge is as mech to say as solitary. And so monachus, þat is to sey a munk, is swech a man þat lyueth in solitary lyf” (70).

The Latin term, as an elaboration upon the Greek (another of the non-barbare tongues), makes the English term monk possible.

Capgrave’s emphasis on etymologies, then, reveals his belief in the true substance that is housed in the Latin tongue.38 Etymology, as Capgrave explains, is “cleped in gramer þe trewe exposicioun of a word” (16). Much like Pecock, Capgrave had been educated in the university setting, where he would have been exposed to the study of signification under the auspices of grammar. Capgrave’s attitude toward language in Augustine seems to reflect the later stance (advocated by Bacon and Ockham) on signification: the verbal sign or word referred directly to the res in a primary or secondary fashion rather than to an intervening

38 Capgrave includes etymologies in Abbreviacioun of Chronicles as well, drawing on Isidore’s Chronica Majora as a source, see note 39 below; Capgrave, Abbreviacioun, pp. lxxii, 15, 43-44. 196 species.39 In approaching the etymology of the name Augustine, Capgrave indicates that the various senses of the word are directly tied to the character of Augustine the man.40 The name means “lordchip” and Augustine had “excellens aboue alle oþir” (16). The name means “þat moth in heruest which is þe hattest month” and Augustine was “brennyng in charite” (16). Finally, the etymology of the name indicates the root words as augeo auges, which reveal the truth of who Augustine was:

It is eke compowned of ana, þat is as mech to sey as aboue. It is eke compowned of astim, whech is as mech to sey as a cite. So for to putte alle þese parties togidir, þe name of þis glorious seynt is þus browt onto þis reson a morer of þe cite aboue, a gret encreser of þe blis of heuene, for he was cause whil he lyued with his tonge, and aftir his deth with his bokis, þat many a soule is ledde þe rith weye to heuene. (16-17)

The name Augustine refers to the res of Augustine the man. Capgrave’s etymological analysis, here and elsewhere with catechumen, hostium, and monachus, rests in the Latin language.41 He does not attempt to do the same thing with English. A full and complete understanding of

39 Catarina Dutilh Novaes, Formalizing Medieval Logical Theories: Suppositio, Consequentio, and Obligations, Logic, Epistemology, and Unity of Science (Dordrecht: Springer, 2007), at pp. 17-19; Umberto Eco, “Denotation,” On The Medieval Theory of Signs, eds. Umberto Eco and Costantino Marmo (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Pub. Co., 1989), at pp. 47, 50, 54. 40 As a form of exegesis, etymology was able to “reveal the hidden spiritual truth or the providence of God in the signs of words,” Joni Henry, “Capgrave’s Dedications: Reassessing an English Flunkey,” Studies in Philology 110.4 (2013), pp. 731-761, at p. 746. The etymological analysis of Augustine’s name is Capgrave’s own contribution to Jordanus’s vita, though it was based on Isidore; see Arbesmann, p. 350. For Isidore, “the etymological-grammatical investigation of language reveals the truth of things to which the words refer”: Mark E. Amsler, Etymology and Grammatical Discourses in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, Studies in the History of the Language Sciences, v. 44 (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Pub. Co., 1989), p. 134. 41 In many ways, De illustribus Henricis is also a prolonged etymological study, illustrating that Capgrave favored the examination of the word’s connection to the res. Capgrave composes this text in Latin, completing it in 1446-47 (Lucas, ed., Abbreuiacioun, p. xvii). Examining its Hebrew origins (“the mother of all languages”), Capgrave concludes that the name Henry indicates that “he who is crowned with this name, possesses a fountain which the hart, panting and renewing its youth, swiftly running, longs for. And cleansing also the eye of the mind from beam and mote, he will patiently await until it may be proclaimed to him as it was of old by the Lord to His Disciples:--‘Blessed are the eyes which see the things which ye see.’ ‘My shepherd’ or ‘my pasture’ is joined to this name in sufficiently suitable relationship, because our king is the leader of the whole flock, not only by reason of surpassing authority, but also by the exercise of good works, and the people devoutly regarding this, devours it as food. Further, the Ǣthiopic darkness is referred along to this, that I believe our king to be pure from the worst defilements, and therefore innocent and exempt, and not stained with the smoky hue of any dark color.”; Capgrave,Book of Illustrious Henries, pp. 3-4. 197

Augustine’s life is thus contingent upon an understanding of Latin and scholastic grammar.

Unlike Pecock, Capgrave does not attempt to make English equally viable within the grammatical system, but rather, through grammar, presents Latin as ultimately irreplaceable.

This, seemingly, was a safer stance to take. Capgrave promoted a vernacular that was less threatening to the religious authorities.42

II. Hammering the Heretics

Capgrave, having established the orthodoxy of his endeavor by subjugating English to Latin, uses his vernacular texts to further promote the cause of orthodoxy by combating heresies which threaten the Church, a mission very much in line with that of the Augustinian

Order. The Life of St. Katherine, The Life of Saint Augustine, and The Abbreviacioun of Chronicles all contain extensive condemnations of heresy—primarily Lollardy and Wycliffism via the examination of older heresies like Manichaeism and Pelagianism. The latter two texts are especially derivative of their source-texts, but where Capgrave has expanded, he has mostly dedicated that space to a condemnation of heresies.43 The existence of these additions demonstrates his overwhelming concern about heretics, more so even than his initial choice of source-texts, though these also lend themselves well to his purposes.44

42 This is, of course, not to say that Capgrave was eager for a lay audience to become literate in Latin. It is interesting that in his Life of St. Norbert, even though primarily unchanged from his source-text, there is an account of a girl determined to be possessed of a demon because she can speak Latin (l. 1072). Latin does not belong in the mouths of the laity. 43 Ed. Lucas, Abbreviacioun, p. lxxvi; George Sanderlin, “John Capgrave Speaks up for the Hermits,” Speculum 18.3 (1943), pp. 358-362, at p. 359. 44 Especially as the choice of source-text is often dictated by a patron. Nonetheless, it is interesting that St. Norbert, St. Katherine, and St. Augustine are all known as combatants of heresy: ed. Smetana, St. Norbert, p. 14; Jane C. Fredeman, “John Capgrave’s First English Composition, ‘The Life of St. Norbert’,” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 57 (1975), pp. 280-309, at p. 291; Capgrave, St. Katherine, bk. 1, ll. 281-84; 198

The anomaly is Capgrave’s first English work, The Life of St. Norbert (1440). In this vita, he actually minimizes the protagonist’s interaction with heresy. St. Norbert is known for his suppression of the Tanchelin heresy, but the account of this victory is one that Capgrave excises from his source-text in the act of translating it.45 The reason behind this decision has not been fully explored in current scholarship. If, as Winstead suggests, Capgrave crafted his translation in response to restrictions on preaching, it may be that he reshaped the source- text to emphasize this aspect of Norbert’s life.46 This emphasis, though, raises questions about Norbert’s own orthodoxy. He is portrayed in such a way as to intimate that he himself

“might have fallen victim to anti-Lollard zealots had he lived in fifteenth-century England.”47

Norbert is called to examination for preaching and the “bisschopis accused him before here iustise / As þouȝ he of feith an heretik were” (ll. 331-33). This response to Norbert’s preaching reflects the restrictions of Capgrave’s own day: preachers required a license.48

Lollards were dissatisfied with this sort of overbearing regulation and protested the qualifications required to receive a license.49

Capgrave’s comment on contemporary conditions via the mistreatment of his saint reflects his concern that orthodox behavior, such as the preaching exemplified by Norbert, was being hereticated by the Church in response to a growing fear of Wycliffism.50 As

Winstead has argued, his response to this over-eager heretication was to advocate for an

Edmund Colledge, “John Capgrave’s Literary Vocation,” Analecta Augustiniana 40 (1977), pp. 185-95, at p. 193; Capgrave, St. Augustine, p. 67; Arbesmann, p. 345. 45 Fredeman, p. 291; ed. Smetana, St. Norbert, p. 14. 46 Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, p. 70. 47 Winstead, pp. 72-73. 48 Winstead, p. 70. 49 Winstead, p. 71. One of the qualifications for a license that the Lollards disparage is knowledge of grammar (Winstead 71). This reinforces the unstated argument that Capgrave has made regarding the superiority of Latin via his contrasting use of the two languages. 50 Winstead, p. 53. 199

“orthodox rooted securely in Holy Church’s past” instead of overbearing regulations.51 To accomplish this, Capgrave outlines the way in which the heresies of old were handled. He encounters a danger in doing this, however. As has been outlined above in Augustine,

Capgrave did not trust himself to discuss heretical beliefs at length in the vernacular; it is “ful perilous” (l. 24). In his first English work, St. Norbert, perhaps we see this reluctance at play when Capgrave removes the narrative most concerned with heresy.

Much like he does with his warning against discussing theology in English, though,

Capgrave seems to ultimately abandon his sanction against talking about heretical beliefs in

English as well.52 There is, of course, a distinction between discussing the existence and punishment of heretics and discussing their tenets of belief. Capgrave does both throughout

Katherine, Augustine, and Abbreviacioun, expanding upon his source-texts to emphasize the prevalence and infectious nature of heresy. In defying his own rules, though, in discussing both theology and heresy at length in his vernacular texts, Capgrave complicates the orthodoxy of both his protagonists and his readers. In doing so, he provides crucial instruction on the approach lay and uneducated religious readers should take to his texts.

Upon her first introduction, Katherine is predicted to be a victor over the heresies that plague Greece: “God of His grace, as seyth the story, / Agens alle heretykys that reygned thoo there / Wold all His conquest and His victory / Should be arered only be hir”

(1.281-84). Katherine will “ovyrcome heresye and blaspheme / Thorowowte all Grek, thorowowte all thi reme” (1.286-87). Her early debates with her father gesture toward this identity. Still pagan, she defies her father’s wish that she should marry, citing that it would do

51 Winstead, p. 53. 52 See notes 15 and 20; Winstead, p. 76. 200 little good even then since a man can only be in one place at one time. To think otherwise is a heresy: “O man may not be in dyverse place / And that at ones, fore be oure phylosophye

/ It is condempned as for an heresye” (2.649-51). The use of heresy is somewhat odd here.

Katherine does not use the term to define a belief in contradiction to the Christian faith, but in contradiction to the rules of natural law. The incident establishes Katherine’s combative nature and foreshadows her fight against Christian heresy later in the text. However, the moment also complicates Katherine’s definition of heresy for readers.

When the Virgin Mary appears to Adrian the hermit, ordering him to go to

Katherine and prepare her to be the bride of Christ, she establishes that she will be a

“comfortour” to Katherine when she fights “[a]geyns the heresye of philosophye” (3. 224,

226). Acknowledging Katherine’s current definition of heresy, the text promises that this definition will change. She will abandon pagan philosophy for Christian theology. This transformation is partly accomplished by Adrian. He visits Katherine, and when she questions him about Christian theology, Katherine uses heresy in much the same way as she did with her father. She is skeptical of the ideas that the hermit has presented and warns him against speaking ill: “Lok if youre spech be now no heresye--/This wote I well, that it offendyth phylosophye!” (3.706-7). Katherine’s definition of heresy rests, at this time, entirely upon the laws of nature. According to her current philosophy, the views that the hermit espouses are heretical.

Adrian uses her definition of heresy to his own advantage. He turns her “owne tung and speche” back on her and references the books of philosphy that she favors to prove the nature of God (3.747). These books have named a “Fyrst Mevere” that is the origin for all

201 other things—in order to avoid heresy: “And for thei fro that heresye schuld hem save /

Whech two begynnynges puttyth in kynde” (3.763-4). In order to save herself from heresy,

Adrian argues that Katherine must become a Christian. He essentially changes the conversation by adopting her definition of heresy as his own, placing both himself and

Katherine on the same side of the argument.

Once converted, Katherine must face the judgment of Emperor Maxentius. His stance on the Christian faith is the same as her pre-conversion one. The emperor urges

Katherine to renounce her faith, explaining that her current views are by “ilke man o lyve /

As for heresies evyr more hath take” (4.674-75). Katherine returns in kind, stating that the emperor is in “ful grete heresy” (4.714). She even imitates his bandwagon appeal to ethos:

“This is the treuth, what evyr ony man seyth” (4.721). Both Katherine and Maxentius have claimed for their own defense the idea that their opinion is universally accepted. But as the rest of Katherine has shown us, the definition of heresy even is far from agreed upon.

Of the times that the word appears again in the rest of the text, though, it is most often directed at Katherine, not used by her. The emperor is determined to convert the queen. He employs all of his clerks and philosophers against her. They state that they will “sonest destroy this heresye” (4.824). Even Katherine’s uncle encourages her to renounce her faith in the face of the emperor’s threats: “ ‘Cosyn,’ he seyd, ‘leve thys heresye. / Thynk of your kynrode, both kyng and qwene” (4. 1060-61). Her relative’s attempt to persuade Katherine is similar to the arguments made in favor of her marrying when she was still a pagan. In this way, her arguments from natural philosophy are made equitable again to her arguments now from Christian faith. Looking for encouragement, Katherine prays to God for eloquence so

202 that no one should be able to argue against her—“[n]eyther of the secte of hethen ne of heresye” (4. 1169). The conflation of heathen and heretic reflect Katherine’s own pre- conversion state as well. In this way, she condemns her own former state, though the legenda as a whole presents both pre- and post-conversion Katherine as wise. As such, it only seems natural that, linked to the philosophers as she is by her own former allegiance to natural philosophy, Katherine should be able to defeat them. The philosophers are converted and the emperor’s response to their conversion is similar to that of the Church’s response to fifteenth-century heretics. He speaks of his philosophers’ conversions as a passive action, one stemming from the infectious nature of heretical words: “Lete hem crye now on this wylfull mayde / Whech hath browte hem into that heresye!” (5.185-86). What Katherine has accomplished is much the same thing as Capgrave feared when he hesistated to write about heretical beliefs in the vernacular. Heresy is dangerous even to listen to. The emperor has no recourse but torture and execution. After she has been persecuted, he asks her again if she will “yete susteyne / Youre elde heresye in whech ye be falle” (5. 640-41). She, of course, does continue in her beliefs. The emperor is angered and astonished. He explains that those she has faith in—Jesus, Mary, Peter, and John—were all traitors, “dampned to the deth for treson and heresy” (5.1017). If a heretic, then, Katherine is in good company.

At the end of the text, the narrator uses the word heretic for the first time since the beginning when he explained the prophecies surrounding Katherine. Describing the execution of the knights of Maxentius’s court (who have converted to Christianity as well), the Capgravian narrator makes clear that they do not die as heretics: “Thei were not brent as heretykys in fyre, / But in her martyrdom thus were thei spede: / Too hundred were there,

203 of whech not on flede, / Her hedys the emperour bad thei shuld of smyte” (5.1690-93). The narrator feels the need to clarify the knights’ executions insofar as the style of one’s death indicated one’s crime. He depends on this description to make clear what has been confusing in the text: despite all the accusations thrown against Katherine and her followers, they are not heretics.

This statement is complicated by the context of the deaths, though. The emperor’s anger and final order of execution on these men is driven by his feeling of betrayal. His closest knight, Porphyry, “a very fadyr to yong folke that shuld lere” had converted to

Christianity (5.765). Learning this, he calls on all of his knights to express their allegiance, warning of the judgment that will fall “[o]n swech renegatis that othir men leded / Fro her trew lawes” (5.1650-51). The knights also announce their newfound Christianity and are killed. What I would like to note here, though, is the similarity between Porphyry and John

Oldcastle, a “grete heretik” (Capgrave, Abreuiacion 239). In his Abbreuiacion of Cronicles,

Capgrave ties Oldcastle tightly into the king’s court. Not only was he considered dangerous because he was a “knyte of þe kyngis houshold,” but he had also married into the king’s family (239). The king, favorable to him from their long association, grants a time for penance to Oldcastle only to have Oldcastle betray him and use that time to escape (241).

Similarly, Maxentius, wounded by Porphyry’s betrayal, gives him a chance to recant and escape death: “If thou wilt leve this new cursyd scole, / Thu shall have grace, thu shalt no dey” (1632-33). 53 Porphyry ultimately rejects this opportunity as Oldcastle does. The threat of the renegade knight to the religious and political structure is a powerful one, as indicated

53 Consider Winstead’s argument in John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century that the portrayal of Katherine as queen is meant as a criticism of King Henry VI’s uber-piousness. Given this context, it is not unsurprising that Maxentius’s court might reflect elements of the Lancastrian court. 204 by the conversion of the other knights of Maxentius’s court and by the constant uprisings that Capgrave attributes to Oldcastle in Abreuiacion.54 By equating the martyred knight

Porphyry with Oldcastle in this way, Capgrave complicates the orthodox-heretic divide.

Christians are thus called heretics far more often than the pagans in Katherine, and, despite the comment from the narrator that assures us that Porphyry and his fellow-knights are not heretics, the description still makes them sound disturbingly similar to Oldcastle and his Lollard knights. The definition of heresy within this text is a confusing one then.

Winstead acknowledges this confusion by pointing out that Capgrave repeatedly draws connections between Christians and Lollards in this text:

Indeed, Capgrave does not shrink from adumbrating parallels between Maxentius’ persecution of Christians and the Church’s persecution of the Lollards . . . . For example, Christians are denounced by ‘[a] byschop . . . with mytere and with crose’ (4.309) and persecuted for engaging in unlicensed preaching (4.1431-35), while Capgrave puts into the mouth of an idolatrous pagan the very arguments by which the Church defended the veneration of devotional images (4.1499-1512).55 So even if Capgrave is entirely and unquestioningly orthodox, as most scholarship and his own testimony seems to suggest, he curiously conflates the orthodox and heterodox identity of the saints in his vernacular hagiographies.56 As seen above, Norbert is treated as a heretic.

Katherine also is continually accused of heresy by her enemies, and Augustine is actually a

54 See Hoccleve’s “Address to Sir John Oldcastle,” for an extensive condemnation of the knight’s views and attitudes that recalls to mind Maxentius’s reproofs of Porphyry, in Hoccleve’s Works: The Minor Poems, ed. Frederick J. Furnivall and I. Gollancz (Oxford: EETS, 1970), pp. 8-24; Capgrave, Abbreuiacion, pp. 239-44. 55 Winstead, ed., The Life of St. Katherine, p. 8. Sarah James also comments to the similarity between Lollard concerns and those of Katherine’s cohort: “John Capgrave and Osbern Bokenham: Verse Saints’ Lives,” Companion to Fifteenth-Century Poetry, eds. Julia Boffey and A.S.G. Edwards (Suffolk: D. S. Brewer, 2013), pp. 99- 112, at p. 103. Janice McCoy argues that the poem argues for an orthodox use of images: “Wheels and Wycclifites: The Role of the Sacred Images in Capgrave’s ‘The Life of St. Katherine’,” Fifteenth-Century Studies 37 (2012), pp. 97-111. 56 Insofar as he believes in the sacraments and decries Wycliffites, and insofar as we assume orthodoxy by lack of religious censure or punishment. There is probably no such thing as an unquestioning orthodoxy. This dissertation argues that all medieval Christian authors questioned their own orthodox identities and those of others. As McCoy points out, there is nothing to indicate that the Life of St. Katherine was ever considered suspect (98). 205 heretic for a short while. To some degree, this reflects Capgrave’s creation of a new definition of orthodoxy.57 However, embedded in this conflict of orthodox and heterodox identities is a resolution to Capgrave’s belief that it is perilous to talk about heresies in

English and his continuous practice of doing so anyways. Capgrave is worried about lay access to theology. How could he not be, given his environment? However, he is also convinced that lay education is the answer to heresy.58 Capgrave’s hagiographies thus make explicit the very real danger that talking openly about theology can bring. Even saints are not safe from accusations of heresy. The hagiographies thus limit lay participation in religious discussion. You may be educated, these vernacular texts say, but you aren’t necessarily ready to debate the Church. You may not be a heretic, the vitae warn, but why risk being accused as such? The hagiographies present exemplars, but these exemplars are saints with authority directly from God. They are mediators. They are not lay readers. Capgrave thus models correct reading for his audience in a way that Pecock does not. This instruction on engaging with heresy is especially aimed at female readers, as I will argue in the third section of this chapter. For all readers, he paints heresy as incredibly frightening.

Capgrave makes the terror of heresy relevant to his readers by repeated references to the Wycliffites and Lollards of his own day. In Katherine, he incorporates both anti- and pro-

Lollard rhetoric, and, at one point, raises the threat that Katherine herself will be called a

Lollard for her outspoken beliefs (3.327). In The Life of St. Augustine, Capgrave draws a sort of lineage between Wycliffites and the Manicheans and Arians of Augustine’s day.59 He

57 Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, p. 53. 58 See note 14; Winstead, p. 78. It is heretics, after all, who burn books and limit access to knowledge, acc. to Capgrave. For examples, see Katherine P.191, Abbreuiacioun, p. 60. 59 Winstead, p. 81. 206 describes the behavior and gatherings of Manicheans in comparison to rumors of Wycliffite immorality: “In on of [Augustine’s] books tellith he þat þe Manicheis held here skoles be nyth and þedir cam both men and women. And alle sodeynly afitr þe lesson þe lith schuld be blow owt; and þan schuld þei pley, as Wiclif disciples played, ‘Sistir me nedith’ ” (45). All heretical sects are essentially the same, Capgrave implies with this description, and they are associated with the worst of sins.60

As Capgrave portrays him, then, Augustine’s main and most important identity is a

“hard hambyr [hammer], euyr knokkyng” on these heretics (67). And it is, to a large extent,

Capgrave who shapes Jordanus’s vita into such a campaign against heresy. Jordanus also records that Augustine was the “grettest enmye to heretikes,” but it is Capgrave who, by his translation choices, narrows the focus of the hagiography.

Jordanus spends time early in the vita discussing Augustine’s time as a Manichean and his mother’s consequent sorrow. Capgrave closely reproduces the description of the theological errors into which Augustine has fallen:

Tho felle he into þe grete erroure of þe Maniches; for þei saide þat Goddis son of heuene was not bore of a mayde, ne he had not very flesch and blood as oþir men haue, but rather a fantastical body made of þe eyr in whech he semed for to deye, but deth was þere non, for very body was þere non. In þis fals heresie whech avoideth þe most substauns of oure faith fell he. Many mo heresies held þei whech were ful perilous to be rehersed specialy in our tongue.In þis heresie abood Augustin ny ix ȝere, inqwiring and sekyng groundes and treuthis or ellis resones for to defende þis heresie, but he fond non. (24)61

60 Colledge emphasizes Capgrave’s “detestation” of Wycliffism and his “horror” of heresy, pp. 188-89, 194. 61 The Latin vita reads so: Diuine ergo ualefaciens scripture in Manicheorum errorem incidit qui dei filium non verum corpus sed fantasticum assumpsisse affirmant et carnis resurrectionem negant; ponunt eciam duo rerum principia, unum bonorum et aliud malorum. Ad has eciam nugas perductus est ut arborem fici plorare crederet cum ab ea ficus uel folium decerperetur, ut ipse in eodem libro tercio Confessionum refert. In predicto autem errore permansit fere novem annis, vt in principio quarti libri Confessionum humiliter confitetur (80). 207

Capgrave’s insistence that he cannot fully describe the heresies of the Manicheans in English is only partially true. Capgrave leaves out part of the Latin explanation, namely the belief that there were two competing powers at the beginning of the world: a good one and an evil one.

However, he chooses to expand on the belief that God did not die or resurrect in the flesh but in spirit, by emphasizing Mary’s role in the incarnation process. For Capgrave, this seems to better explain why Augustine’s choice to follow this theology put him in contradiction with the very essence of Christian faith. Thus he does not avoid discussion of erroneous beliefs so much as choose to reveal the aspects that will most encourage his readers’ faithfulness. This process is made especially clear by Capgrave’s choice to explain the heresies of the Arians later in the text. Jordanus simply notes that the Empress Justina is an

Arian; Capgrave describes what Arianism is:

The emperesse cleped Iustina was infect with þe venemhous heresie of the þe Arianes, whech held þat þe Fadere and þe Son and þe Holy Gost be not of o substauns. For þe Son calle þei a creature mad of þe Fadere, and þe Holy Gost clepe þei a creature mad of a creature, þat is to sey, of þe Son. Thei sey ferþermore þat Crist took flesch and blod withouten ony soule. (41)

Capgrave’s explanation serves to unite the Manicheans and the Arians into a conglomerate heresy, since both theological systems contest the nature of the incarnation. In composing this passage for his readers, Capgrave has provided a united front against which Augustine must fight—a front that extends to the Wycliffites. After all, one of the main errors that

Capgrave attributes to the Wycliffites is their lack of belief in transubstantiation, an issue ultimately of incarnation: are Jesus’s flesh and blood truly present in the Eucharist? In

Abbreuacion, Capgrave condemns this heretical belief: “Mani foul errouris multiplied Wiclef,

208 more þan Berengari: that Crist was þere, as he is in oþir places, but sumwhat more specialy; that þis bred was not bettir þan oþir bred, saue only for þe prestis blessing” (185).

Capgrave continues to defend the sacraments against heretical attack throughout

Augustine. He adds a passage near the end of the text that summarizes all of the heresies plaguing Augustine’s flocks. The errors largely revolve around baptism or issues of incarnation:

Many heresies were in his cuntre at þat tyme, both of þe Donatistes and eke of þe Manicheis; and both, with þe myty grace of God whech was plenteuously withinne him, he conuicte and ny destroyed. The Donatistes were þei þat be cleped Rebaptiȝatores, for þei wold admitte no man to here secte but if he were baptiȝed newly with here baptem. Thei lyued in continent lif, þat is to seyn in chastite as ferre as myth be aspied. Þei had eke a secte withinne hem whech þei cleped Circumcelliones. Þis meny runne aboute on nytes with wepun and armure, and compelled men with strokis to her heresie. The Manycheis has many oþir fals opinions, for þei said þat Crist was no very man but lich a man, and þat he took no flesch ne blood of þe mayde as we belue; but he took, I wot not verily what þei mene, a body þei sey of þe eyr, in whech he ded all þoo myracles and in whech he suffered passioun. These folk with sly termes deceyued many men. There were also in his tyme oþir heretikes cleped Pelagianes. And þei held þis opynyoun þat a child begotten of a Cristen man and a Cristen woman schuld not be baptiȝed ne nedith nowt. And all þis secte oure Augustin destroyed. (68)

In this description, Capgrave accomplishes more than one thing. He manages again to unite all heresies as one threat, a threat that may change and move, but is ultimately homogenous.

Despite the differences between the five sects, they are conflated by the fast-moving list and the focus on similar errors. Capgrave also explicitly labels them as one enemy by his final sentence: all these variant groups are part of one “secte.” The errors he outlines are relevant to his contemporary readers, as well, who feared the Lollard threat and its disruption to traditional orthodox practice. Lastly, Capgrave invites his readers to model his own reaction

209 to this list of heresies. He admits confusion at the incomprehensibility of the errors and unites his readership in support of “oure Augustin.”

The main conflict in Augustine thus becomes that between orthodox Christians and their heretical enemies. Capgrave’s focus is supplemented by some of the small word-level translation choices he makes as well. At the beginning of the vita, Jordanus writes about the refusal of Augustine’s father to baptize his son and the divine plan behind such a lapse. His reasoning is as follows: God delayed Augustine’s baptism because it was better he should sin more before baptism than after (“. . . cuius mundacio dilata fuit quasi necesse esset ut adhuc sordidaretur si uiueret quia maius peccatum esset si post baptismum peccaret”62). Peccatum would normally translate to sin. Capgrave translates it as heresy: “And þis was þe cause as men suppose whi oure lord wold not suffir him to be baptized, for it was lesse greuauns to his soule þat þe filth of heresie schuld be in him rather before his baptem þan aftir his baptem”

(22). The change here underscores Capgrave’s main concern that his readers should not be tempted by heresy. Capgrave performs the same trick of translation at other points in the text as well, sometimes underplaying the threat posed and sometimes increasing it—but all performed so as to keep the word heresy constantly before his readers. Faustus, the famous leader of the Manichees, is described by Jordanus as a “magnus laqueus dyaboli,” which

Capgrave translates as “a grete snare of the deuele” (26, 82). Capgrave elaborates on the description, though, also labeling Faustus “þe moost famous heretic of alle þe Manicheis”

(26). Where Jordanus writes “secta” in reference to the Manichees, Capgrave writes

“heresie” instead of sect (29, 83). Where Jordanus writes “falsitate,” Capgrave writes “false heresie” (30, 83). None of these translations is strictly wrong. Both heresy and false heresie are

62 Jordanus, Vita S. Augustine, p. 80. 210 contextually accurate substitutions for secta (sect) and falsitate (falsehood), but they also reveal

Capgrave’s mindset when recording these segments of the saint’s story. In his sense-for- sense translation, Capgrave controls his readers’ interpretations of the hagiography, privileging his own position as translator with access to the Latin source text.

Even more so than in Katherine, then, Capgrave presents a frightening picture of the ubiquity of heresy in Augustine. In response to this terror, he directs his readers to depend on the authority of the Church. When Augustine calls men to make up a second monastery, he recruits “clericos” (96). Capgrave makes it extremely clear that those men who followed in

Augustine’s footsteps were not laity: “And Augustin gadered to here noumbir mo owt of þe world, not lewid men, but clerkys and lerned men” (54-55). Augustine’s rejection of lewd men serves not only as a call to education for Capgrave’s readers, but also as a reinforcement of the traditional Church hierarchy. Augustine, in fact, is so far above the typical lay audience, that he requires no master or teacher to understand philosophy, geometry, arithmetic or any number of sciences (26).63 This is presented to the typical reader as astonishing and unusual, not a license for him or her to learn in the same way.

Both Jordanus and Capgrave value the act of reading as a way to combat heresy. In both versions, Augustine reads and “derk errouris whech he had hold were passed awey fro him” (36). He also writes a book in order to combat Manichaeism (27). Capgrave, however, has ultimately a much more pointed agenda in his translation of Augustine than does

Jordanus. Because his text is in English, Capgrave must take greater care to play up the dangers of erroneous thought for fear of his readers contracting heresies. The cumulative

63 Jordanus’s vita notes that Augustine “ipsum intellexit,” but Capgrave’s translative choice makes the emphasis on Augustine’s independence even more striking. 211 effect of Capgrave’s major and minor changes to the source-text for Augustine indicates how he attempts to dictate audience reaction and access to vernacular theology. There must be no doubt in his audience’s minds that the errors of Wycliffism are very much the same as the renowned heresies of old. In response to these heresies, they should trust in the authority of the Church.

Augustine is a hammer in Abbreuacioun of Cronicles as well. The heresies of the

Priscilanists and Pelagians are “beten and knokked be þe myty hambir of God whech was called Augustin” (66). As this quote indicates, in many ways Abbreuiacioun is constructed with much the same motivation as Augustine. Capgrave finishes the text in 1462-63 and dedicates the completed project to Edward IV. Based on a variety of source texts, Abbreuiacioun provides a history of the world (as pertained to England).64 The majority of changes that

Capgrave makes in translating his sources come down to his preoccupation with heresy.65

Organized in a straight-forward fashion, dates followed by corresponding events,

Abbreuiacioun is a less nuanced text than either Katherine or Augustine. As Lucas points out,

Capgrave presents a very black-and-white sense of morality throughout the Abbreuiacioun, and Lollards are painted as entirely wicked within that binary.66

Writing this text after Pecock’s trial in 1457, Capgrave is likely intent to avoid showing the same type of sympathy (if not empathy) that Pecock shows for his religious opponents. He succeeds in this respect, describing heresies—especially Wycliffism—with especial vitriol. Much like Faustus, Wyclif is a tool of the devil, but he is much more than

64 Capgrave’s source-texts were as follows: Chronica Majora, Isidore; Polychronicon, Higden; Chronicon Pontificum et Imperatorum, Martinus Polonus; St. Albans Chronicles, Thomas Walsingham (ed. Lucas, Abbreviacioun, p. lxxi-lxxii). 65 Ed. Lucas, Abbreuiacion, p. lxxvi. 66 Ed. Lucas, Abbreuiacioun, pp. lxxxix, xc. 212 that. He is “þe orgon of þe devel, þe enmy of þe Cherch, þe confusion of men, þe ydol of heresie, þe merour of ypocrisie, þe norcher of scisme” (188).67 Following in the steps of

Wyclif, Lollards are also evil: they “condemned þe teching of þe prophetis, þe gospel, and þe aposteles” (239). They are also a violent sect: “. . . a þousand were redy for to rise and distroye all hem þat wold not consent to her secte and her opinions” (239).

As with his hagiographies, Capgrave is concerned in Abbreuiacioun with directing yet again his reader’s response to heresy by emphasizing the real danger of it. In this case, the audience is primarily the king himself. How is the ruler of the secular realm meant to respond to religious conflict? Capgrave is disappointed with the clerical response to the

Wycliffite heresy: “The bischoppis of þis lond said rite nowt to þis mater, but kepte hem in her houses, and opened no mouth to berk ageyn þese erroneous doggis” (197).68 His emphasis in Abbreuiacioun, therefore, seems to be on the political and legislative response to the national threat that Lollards represented. In his Book of Illustrious Henries (1446), Capgrave had praised Henry V for his quick response to Oldcastle and his heretics: “But the king, aware of their plot, was beforehand with them, and was himself the first to enter the field with his men, catching the little heretic foxes as they crept out of their holes” (128). He had successfully “[cut] off of the vilest tares from the good grain” (128). Despite the king’s involvement, Capgrave still represents the threat as heresy rather than treason.

Now, having switched allegiances from the Lancastrians to Edward IV, Capgrave continues to urge a strong secular answer to the problem of heresy.69 The latter half of

Abbreuiacion marks again and again the punishment of Lollards. Pope Pelagius “ordeyned þat

67 This is similar to the way that Oldcastle is described in Henries, as a “satellite of the devil” (141). 68 Winstead, p. 75. 69 Henry, p. 732. 213 heretikes and scismatikes schuld haue no priuilege of þe Cherch, but þei schuld be punched be secular power” (72). During the time of King Richard II, the pope holds to much the same line, ordering the king to “be redy to punche al þoo whom þe bischoppis declared for heretikes” (205). Among these heretics are the Lollards, “tretoures to God and to þe kyng”

(205). And King Richard does kill Lollards—most notably the Earl of Salisbury: “The erl of

Salesbury was ded þere, and worthi, for he was a gret fauorer of Lollardis, a despiser of sacramentis, for he wold not be confessed whan he schuld deie” (216). In 1401, parliament establishes de heretico comburendo under Henry IV’s rule and a heretical priest is burned (218).

Prince Henry initially shows mercy to Badby, but “suffered him to be brent into asches” when the man refuses to recant (234). Abbreuiacion almost ends on the note that Benedict

Wolleman, a Lollard, is hanged and drawn on Michelmas Day (248). This litany of harsh executions leaves a clear directive for Capgrave’s dedicatee—heretics are “worthi” of death.

The majority of Capgrave’s readers, though, were not secular kings, but religious houses, and very often women.70 Even if disappointed in the clerical response to Wycliffism, then, Capgrave was still invested in instructing these readers on how to respond to heresy as well. For king, religious, and lay alike, heresy was a threat. Once educated on this threat, how were readers to respond? Augustine wrote books and combated heretics in debates, as did

Katherine.71 Norbert preached. As evidenced by these exemplars, Capgrave advocated a very literate response to heresy: they should preach, they should talk.72 In Augustine, for example, he praises the power of Augustine’s rhetoric: “And þei were so aferd of his arguments þat

þei desired his deth in so mech þat þei prechid amongis hem” (67). Winstead notes that this

70 Lucas, From Author to Audience, p. 17. 71 Colledge notes that Katherine is also made into a “hammer of heretics,” p. 193. 72 Winstead, p. 81. 214 non-violent approach to heresy was a popular opinion among Capgrave’s contemporaries.73

Yet the warnings in these texts also stand. Be careful what you say and to whom, lest the label of heresy be turned back on you.

The resolution to this seeming contradiction lies in the difference between appropriate male and appropriate female responses to heresy that Capgrave sets up in both

Augustine and Katherine. Both of these texts are most likely directed at female readers, and

Capgrave is anxious to control their response to the material he presents. Like many religious writers and thinkers of his day, Capgrave was unsettled by female literacy. He worried that it was easier for a woman to lapse into a heresy than a man. In Augustine, therefore, he makes a distinction between the way that men and woman should approach and handle theology. In

Katherine, he raises the specter of the female heretic through linguistic markers that label

Katherine’s literacy and combativeness particularly troubling.

III. A Debtor Unto Wise Men

In 2 Timothy, Paul warns his readers against false men who “have an appearance of godliness,” but in fact are not godly.74 Men such as these will “lead captive silly women laden with sins” (2 Tim 3.6). From this verse and other epistolary injunctions against women in teaching positions, the Church in the late classical and medieval periods developed a

73 Winstead, p. 82. 74 Douay-Rheims, 2 Timothy 3.5. 215 disapproving attitude towards female learning and literacy. Women were considered foolish and easily led astray. According to Jerome, “[e]very heresy had sprung up from women.”75

Consequently, the education of women was fraught with implications of heresy. Lollardy especially came under fire because of the sect’s insistence on translation, and consequently, lay (and female) access to Scriptures and theology: “Lollardy was enabling woman to preach—despite her being the root of all heresy, disqualified from a preacher’s role by her

‘silly unfitness to teach properly and her ease at seducing’.”76 Lollardy, therefore, did provide a certain level of gender equality for its members, and was perceived to be a draw for women both by the clerical authorities in the fifteenth century and by scholarship until only just recently.77

Heresy was thus perceived to promote female literacy. Conversely, female literacy often became associated with heresy, regardless of whether the woman in question identified as orthodox. Thomas Hoccleve, attempting to steer Oldcastle back into the fold, rails against women who try to read and discuss the Bible:

Some women eeke, thogh hir wit be thynne, Wele argumentes make in holy writ! Lewde calates! sittith down and spynne, And kakele of sumwhat elles, for your wit Is al to feeble to despute of it!

75 Richard Ullerston is required to answer this objection in his own defense of scriptural translation, Ralph Hanna, “The Difficulty of Ricardian Prose Translation: The Case of the Lollards,” Modern Language Quarterly 51.3 (1990), pp. 319-340, at p. 328. 76 Alcuin Blamires, “Women and Preaching in Medieval Orthodoxy, Heresy, and Saints’ Lives,” Viator 26 (1995), pp. 135-152, at p. 135; Hanna, p. 328; D.H. Green, Women Readers in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2007), pp. 167-68. 77 Hanna, p. 329; Shannon McSheffrey argues that Lollardy, in fact, attracted more men than women, and that it is wrong to believe that women were drawn to heterodox groups over orthodox practice, Gender and Heresy: Women and Men in Lollard Communities, 1420-1530 (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 1995), p. 2. The question at hand in this section relies only on perception, however, so though it may not reflect reality, Church paranoia over the connection between female literacy and heresy still provides valuable background for Capgrave’s discussion of St. Katherine. 216

To Clerkes grete apparteneth þat aart The knowleche of þat, god hath fro yow shit; Stynte and leue of for right sclendre is your paart. (ll. 145-152)78

Hoccleve’s concern is about a sort of general overturning of clerical authority on all sides, of which Oldcastle is the representative figure. The evidence for how badly things have become, for Hoccleve, is what he has outlined in the quote: even the women are reading. He does not label them as specifically Lollard, but finds their speech to be proof of heresy regardless. Diane Watt notes that this is one of the reasons that Margery Kempe is often accused of Lollardy and heresy as well. She cites the clerics’ response to Kempe’s defense of her orthodoxy through the use of Scripture: “[H]er wot we wel that sche hath a devyl wythinne hir, for sche spekyth of the gospel” (ll. 2973-74).79 From the orthodox perspective, a woman who could quote Scripture had something wrong with her.

Heresy in the late middle ages had thus become linked with female literacy, but it also became linked with other “problems” of the female body. Since women were viewed as inherently more sexual in the Middle Ages, it is perhaps unsurprising that many heretical sects—with their supposed emphasis on gender equality—were viewed as hotbeds of sexual sin and perversion.80 In the fifteenth century, Lollards were especially associated with sexual deviance.81 As was discussed above, Capgrave linked Wycliffites with Manicheism through

78 See also D.H. Green’s comment on Hoccleve’s poem, p. 167. 79 Margery Kempe, The Book of Margery Kempe, ed. Lynn Staley (Kalamazoo: TEAMS, 1996); Diane Watt, Secretaries of God: Women Prophets in Late Medieval and Early Modern England (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1997), p. 41. 80 Dyan Elliot, Fallen Bodies: Pollution, Sexuality, and Demonology in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia: UPenn P., 1998), p. 36; Ed. Conor McCarthy, Love, Sex, and Marriage in the Middle Ages: A Sourcebook (Routledge, 2004), p. 13; Albrecht Classen, “The Cultural Significance of Sexuality in the Middle Ages,” Sexuality in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times: New Approaches to a Fundamental Cultural-Historical and Literary-Anthropological Theme, ed. Albrecht Classen (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008), pp. 1-142, at p. 110. 81 McCarthy, p. 13; Carolyn Dinshaw, Getting Medieval: Sexualities and Communities, Pre- and Postmodern (Durham: Duke UP, 1999), p. 77, 146; Ruth Shklar, “Cobham’s Daughter: The Book of Margery Kempe and the Power of Heterodox Thinking,” Modern Language Quarterly 56.3 (1995), pp. 277-304, at p. 282. Fiona Somerset also 217 the common bond of illicit sex: “And all sodeynly aftir þe lesson þe lith shuld be blow owt; and þan schuld þei pley, as Wiclif disciples played, ‘Sister me nedith’ ” (45).

Accusations of witchcraft and demon possession brought against women in the

Middle Ages depended on the same types of markers as those for female heretics: dangerous female knowledge and highly-sexed bodies. Because women were reputed to have vivid sexual imaginations, they were deemed easy prey for demon possession.82 Inquisitor

Nicholas Eymeric in his 1376 treatise Directorium inquisitorum determined that women were active participants in their possessions, and were therefore heretics.83 The Book of Margery

Kempe shows how often accusations of heresy were tied up with accusations of demonic influence—and marked as feminine. Upon being interviewed by the mayor of Leicester, she is accused of being both a “fals strumpet” and a “fals loller” (2626). A friar who held a particular dislike for her declaims that she “hath a devyl wythinne hir” (3917-18). The epithet loller is closely linked in the mayor’s mind with Kempe’s sexualized femininity. The friar no doubt makes the same connection between possession and the female body.

Witchcraft, though a different problem than demon possession, was often perceived by clerics to be dependent on demonic aid as well.84 Given the supposed female propensity for demonic possession, it makes sense that, in both the Middle Ages and the Early Modern

discusses the link between Lollards, heresy, and sex in “Eciam Mulier: Woman in Lollardy and the Problem of Sources.” She tackles the false perception of women’s roles and freedoms in Lollard sects, but also establishes that women were perceived to be easily swayed toward heresy because of the attack on their chastity. She cites Roger Dymmok’s 1395 treatise against Lollards: “they intend to deceive and terrorize the simple, untaught souls of women, so that the women will in no way aim to remain continent, and in this way they will more easily be able to abuse them at will,” Voices in Dialogue: Reading Women in the Middle Ages, eds. Linda Olson and Kathryn Kerby-Fulton (Notre Dame: U of Notre Dame P., 2005), pp. 245-260, at pp. 245-46. 82 Elliot, p. 44. 83 Michael D. Bailey, “From Sorcery to Witchcraft: Clerical Conceptions of Magic in the Later Middle Ages,” Speculum 76.4 (2001), pp. 960-990, at p. 976. 84 Brian Levack, The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe, 2nd. ed. (London: Longman, 1995), p. 8. 218 period, the majority of prosecuted witches were female.85 Brian Levack argues that women participating in heretical sects may, in fact, have led to the mindset that witchcraft was a feminine pursuit.86 There is, of course, a rather famous instance of a woman accused of both witchcraft and heresy in the fifteenth-century. Joan of Arc would surely have been well within the public memory during the time that Capgrave was writing.

I argue, then, that Capgrave put the label witch into the mouths of Katherine’s accusers as a convenient catch-all term to convey the danger associated with the literate female. St. Katherine was an icon for “women’s learning.”87 Margery Kempe, for example, associated herself with Katherine and prayed to her.88 Winstead outlines the problematic nature of Katherine’s femininity in Capgrave’s legend. Dedicated to study, Katherine makes a poor ruler.89 She also represents the “mistrust of women’s learning that many of

Capgrave’s contemporaries apparently shared.”90 In repeatedly maligning Katherine as a witch or necromancer, Capgrave’s text demonstrates the conflated status of witch and heretic in the later Middle Ages. Female readers who follow Katherine’s example of active debater and preacher run the risk of being called a heretic even more than male readers.

After examining Capgrave’s use of witch throughout Katherine, I will turn to Augustine to examine the alternative response to heresy that Capgrave advocates for female readers.

85 Levack, pp. 133, 137; Jeffrey Burton Russell, Witchcraft in the Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1972), p. 281. Witchcraft was also associated with sexual orgies, Bailey, p. 962. 86 Levack, p. 135. 87 Shklar, p. 294; Jenkins, p. 138. 88 Shklar, p. 294, Kempe, l. 5002. 89 Karen Winstead, “Capgrave’s St. Katherine and the Perils of Gyneocracy,” Viator 25 (1994), pp. 361-376, at pp. 362, 366. 90 Winstead, p. 373. 219

Composed before 1445, Katherine appears to have been one of Capgrave’s more original translations, written in the style of Lydgate and Chaucer.91 Though the legend of St.

Katherine was popular among late medieval readers, the source mentioned in Capgrave’s prologue—the vita by the priest who died at Lynn—is unattested elsewhere.92 It may very well be a fictional source, providing an explanation for Capgrave’s expansion on the well- known events of Katherine’s life.93 The intended audience for this unique work was most likely female—perhaps nuns. 94 It was not unusual for Capgrave to write to women. Augustine was written in 1450 for a female benefactress and St. Gilbert, his last hagiography, was directed to women within the Gilbertine order.95 The readers of Katherine would have been meant to take instruction from both the life and treatment of the martyred saint, as she represented a female exemplar.96 Katherine was a complicated role-model, though. She encouraged the readers to visualize their status as wife or daughter to Jesus, which reinforced their position within the church hierarchy.97 She also, however, prioritized study and reading within her life—activities which threatened that very same hierarchy.98 Capgrave urged his readers to model themselves after the first example rather than the second by highlighting the danger into which Katherine was placed by her philosophical debating. More threatening than Katherine’s death and martyrdom, accusations of heresy and witchcraft (which impacted one’s eternal soul) were the consequence of Katherine’s study. The repeated

91 Seymour, p. 221; Ed. Winstead, Katherine, p. 6. 92 Ed. Winstead, pp. 2-3, 6. 93 Ed. Winstead, p. 6. 94 Seymour, p. 221. Winstead outlines the numerous concerns in Katherine that would have appealed to a female audience in her introduction to the TEAMS edition, p. 7. 95 Seymour, p.221. 96 Katherine also had implications for male readers, specifically regarding the rule of Henry VI, as has been outlined in Winstead’s John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century. 97 Winstead, “Capgrave’s St. Katherine and the Perils of Gyneocracy,” p. 374. 98 Winstead, “Capgrave’s St. Katherine and the Perils of Gyneocracy,” pp. 362, 372. 220 charges of witchcraft mark the warning as one specifically intended for Capgrave’s female audience.

The emperor Maxentius, when he condemns to death the clerks whom Katherine has converted in debate, connects the disintegration of his court with the subversion of gender norms. He exclaims that the clerks can blame Katherine for their executions: “Lete hem crye now on this wylfull mayde / Whech hath browte hem into that heresye!” (5.185-

86). Katherine is willful, an adjective that is more damning when paired with a female subject. Not only has the emperor faced the resistance of an obstinate heretic, he faces the resistance of an obstinate woman. Most of Katherine’s resistance is thus marked as female

(rather than gender-neutral) and so is especially upsetting to the status quo.

When the emperor makes one of his first proclamations for all Christians to abandon their faith, he uses the term witches to mark heretics: “Onto swech wycchys bothe fer and nere / We think for to mak oure lawe full clere” (4.277-78). At this point in the narrative, the term seems as if it could be a gender-neutral one, denoting the act of disobedience to

Maxentius’s gods. However, Katherine is the catalyst behind this clash of religions. After all, thanks to Adrian and her holy visions, she is responsible for bringing Christianity to her kingdom. As the narrative progresses, witch and witchcraft is used almost solely in reference to

Katherine, thus feminizing the term and reflecting a female quality back on its first uses in the legend. In book 5, Maxentius orders Katherine to be brought out from her prison with a litany of gendered terms:

Bryng forth this woman, bring forth this concionatrix! Bryng forth this scolde or a wycche; no man nay turne hir herte! In hir errour is sche made so fyx That fro it no man may make hir sterte. (5.960-63)

221

The list begins with her identity as woman, and the epithets that follow are linked with this identity. Concionatrix, which means a public speaker according to the classical Latin definition, here takes on the meaning of conjurer.99 Katherine’s role as a debater is subsumed within that of magic-worker—a co-optation initiated by her gender. She is also called a scold and a witch. The close succession of terms marks witch as feminine like scold, a word denoting a “shrewish, chiding woman.”100 Most of these insults are grounded in the act of speech, and the speech, when marked feminine, is dangerous and subversive. The gender dynamics are additionally played up by the way in which Maxentius pits Katherine against male influence: no man is able to move her from her position.

When Katherine defends her position, Maxentius is “with her words afrayde”

(5.1116). He responds in anger and horror that a “woman here defame / Oure hye goddys”

(5.1119-20). Appalled by Katherine’s steadfastness, he condemns her as a witch again in front of the crowds:

How long schall we this whych thus susteyne? How long schall we suffyr this cursidenes? To all good leveres it schuld be very peyne To here a woman with swech sturdynesse Ageyn all men, the more and eke the lesse, Thus evermore crye—ley on hondys, for schame— Ye stand as men me thinkyth were lame! (5.1121-27)

Maxentius’s anger is rooted in the affront to his own masculinity. Katherine resists the counsel and orders of the men around her, and the emperor perceives this as a sort of witchcraft. His response is physical (as it is throughout most of the narrative when his words or those of his clerks fail to defeat her), placing the power of words (and the associated

99 See glossing by Winstead, p. 255. 100 Middle English Dictionary, scold)e (n.) 222 witchcraft of Katherine’s influence) in the realm of women. When Porphyry is converted,

Maxentius attributes Katherine’s powerful rhetoric to witchcraft yet again: “My Porphirie, my knyth, thus is he lost, / So deceyved of witchcraft that he begynnyth rave” (5.1613-14).

Not only is Katherine’s witchcraft held to be in her speech, but the supposed result of her witchcraft is raving—an uncontrollable and unsanctioned speech. Maxentius’s closest friend has thus been destroyed even as the wheel was that he had ordered built for Katherine’s persecution: “Evene as the spokys rest in her nave, / So in his brest stood all my comforth”

(5.1615-16). The construction of wheel and friendship were similar, and both have been broken by witchcraft.

Maxentius does attribute the destruction of the wheel to witchcraft, but the witchcraft is not that of Katherine alone: “Therfor, avyse you weel, / For thow youre God hath brokyn oure wheell / Be witchcraft or be nygromancy, / Trost me in this: / we shall ordeyn a mene / For to distroye youre fals tretchery” (5.1462-66). This attribution of sorcery to the Christian God marks the other line of discussion regarding witchcraft in the text.

Even as the emperor perceives Katherine to be a witch, so he declares her God and saints to be. This is not unheard-of in late medieval England. In fact, the mystery plays often depict

Jesus as one accused of witchcraft and sorcery by his oppressors.101 Maxentius’s accusations thus align him with Pilate and Herod. He credits Katherine’s new faith to the witches and heretics that are Jesus, his mother, and his disciples:

The best born woman of this cuntre ye bene, Thus are ye namyd, and all this with sotylte Of certeyn wytchis—cursed evyr thei be— Is turnyd and lost, for other joy is there non

101 Richard Firth Green, The Bonny Road: Traffic with the Otherworld in the Middle Ages [provisional title] (Under consideration with U Penn P.), pp. 154-55. 223

But Jhesu Cryst, Mary, Petyr, and Jon,

Whech are tratoures proved be the senate And dampned to the deth for treson and heresy. Whi will ye lesse thus youre honourabil astate And gevyn attendans to witchcraft and lye? (5.1011-19).

Katherine’s witchcraft is descended from that of Jesus himself. By invoking Jesus’s name,

Maxentius places Katherine in the position of the persecuted Christ. She takes on his qualities, including that of witch. This example, then, seems to neutralize the gender dynamics of witch. Katherine is only a witch because Jesus and other male predecessors are.

However, the presence of Mary in the list raises an interesting possibility regarding the origin of Jesus’s witchcraft. Earlier in the narrative, Katherine’s allies attempt to persuade her from her faith as well, citing similar reasons as Maxentius. The King of the Medes maligns both

Jesus and Mary:

“Your God Christ,” he seyd, “is know full wyd That He was a wyche and so was His dame, And the grettest in wycchecrafte as is the fame. (4.1067-69)

By drawing attention to Mary as the mother of Christ, his dame, the king reminds the reader of the relation between her and Jesus. As a mother-figure, Mary is an instructor and mentor.

If she is a witch, the sorcery attributed to Jesus seems as much grounded in Mary’s miraculous conception of Jesus and feminine attributes as in Christ’s miracles. As was seen above, Mary is included in Maxentius’s list of witches, and Katherine, in her defense to the king of the Medes, makes sure to vindicate Mary as well as Jesus: “But wycche was he nevyr, my Lord, / Ne his blyssed modyr Mary” (5.1107-08).

I argue, then, that the inclusion of Mary in these lists, especially given her strong role in the legend as whole and her connection to Katherine, mark witch as a largely feminine

224 term within the text, despite its application to Jesus as well. The first mention of witch in the text is in Mary’s voice. She repeats the encouragement of her son to his disciples:

So sayd my Sone to His aposteles twelve, ‘Whan ye stand,’ He seyd, ‘before the dome Of many tyrauntys, and ye alone youreselve, Thow thei yow calle Lollard, whych, or elve, Beth not dismayed—I schall gyve yow answere.’ There can no man swech langage now yow lere— Ryght so schall thu have in thi langage Swech wonder termes that sche schall stonyed be. (3.324-31)

This advice is directed to Adrian to comfort him in his upcoming confrontation with

Katherine. That said, within the context of the larger poem, the advice must surely apply to

Katherine’s own later trials, as a debater in a public forum and under persecution from a tyrant. The verse that Mary references here is Matthew 10:19-20 and its gospel equivalents in

Mark 13 and Luke 21: “But when they shall deliver you up, take no thought how or what to speak: for it shall be given you in that hour what to speak. For it is not you that speak, but the Spirit of the Father that speaketh in you.” Capgrave thus adds to his translation of these

Bible verses the specific labels that Mary urges fortitude against: Lollard, witch, and elf.

Given the numerous times that Katherine is later called out as heretic and witch, this advice seems particularly pointed. Mary’s assumption of Jesus’s role as her own—she will instruct

Adrian as Jesus instructed his own disciples—asserts again the role of the female speaker within the text. In doing so, she marks her advice and those labels as potentially female as well—especially given Katherine as addressee.

The quote just discussed has broader implications as well. Mary is granting Adrian

(and by extension, Katherine) access to a heavenly language, a language with “wonder termes.” These terms are translated into Adrian’s tongue, “thi langage.” Given this

225 translation, Mary raises the issue of vernacular theology broached in Capgrave’s prologue.

The issue at hand is underlined by Capgrave’s own (changed) translation of the gospel verses. In granting access to heavenly language and knowledge, Mary promises a contentious future for Katherine. Mary foresees correctly the labels that will be thrown at Katherine if she converts and discusses her faith in the public forum. She will be called a Lollard and a witch.

As was argued in the first section of this chapter, the fate of the saints within

Capgrave’s hagiographies should be understood as a warning to the readers of them. Even if

Christian, you might be judged a heretic if you talk openly about theology. Directed at female readers, then, Katherine emphasizes the particular danger to women if they speak out on theological issues. The repeated use of the word witch reflects the overarching concern of the poem to mark female literacy as threatening both to the women and to the societal hierarchy once that literacy is transformed into speech.102 Literacy, for Capgrave, is thus made up of two parts: consumption and production. Women may consume, but not produce. They may be corrected of their errors but not engender further ones.

Augustine, written after Katherine, presents a model of the proper level of female literacy based on the dichotomy just outlined. That the text is directed to a female benefactress is made explicit in Capgrave’s prologue: “The cause of þis writing whech meued me moost now wil I telle. A noble creature, a gentill woman, desired of me with ful grete instauns to write onto hire, þat is to sey to translate hir treuly oute of Latyn, þe lif of Seynt

102 Significant to this discussion is the fact that in the primary pre-Capgrave Middle English version of Katherine’s life (see Winstead, ed., Katherine, pp. 6-7 ) only uses the word witchcraft or any of the variants discussed twice in contrast with Capgrave’s translation, ed. S. R. T. O d’Ardenne and E. J. Dobson, Seinte Katerine (Oxford: EETS, 1981). 226

Augustyn, grete doctoure of þe church” (15). In his introduction to the text, Smetana makes clear that the woman in question was literate, but by no means scholastic, necessitating care on Capgrave’s part to make his writing clear and simple.103 The additions that Capgrave makes to the narrative also reflect an awareness of his audience. He expands on Jordanus’s vita with more details about Monica, Augustine’s mother.104

In translating Augustine for his patroness, Capgrave mimics the act of his subject, who, near the beginning of the vita, is recorded as writing a book for his sister: “He had a sister but I haue not herd hir name, and to hir he wrote a book whech he cleped þe book of

Cristen mannes lyf. It begynnyth þus: Et ego peccator. The rubrich before þe bok is writyn þus:

The book of Seynt Augustine þe bischop onto his sister, a widow” (19). If Capgrave is modeling himself upon his subject, though, Augustine sets up a very careful precedent.

Augustine is anxious to avoid any temptation to sin or aspersions of wrong-doing, so he never talks to a woman alone: “If he schuld speke with hem, clerkys and seruanuntis schuld stande aboute, and þouȝ þei herd not what was sayd þei myth se what was doo. This cautele of so wyis a man schuld be to us alle a grete lernyng” (65). The injunction to heed

Augustine’s advice on this matter is present in Jordanus’s text (105), but takes on extra significance when examining the way in which Capgrave framed women’s approach to learning. Such learning should be carefully framed and contextualized by clerical authority so as to eliminate any danger of sin.

In his prologue, Capgrave makes clear that he is wiser than his audience. Referencing

Paul’s statement in Romans that he is a “dettoure onto wise men and onwise,” Capgrave

103 Smetana, ed., Augustine, pp. 9-11. 104 Smetana, ed., Augustine, pp. 11-12. 227 claims to be a debtor only to the unwise (15). He is nervous to pay debts of knowledge to any one more learned than himself (15). Therefore, he restricts himself to those like his current audience, “oþir simpil creatures þat be not lerned so mech as I” (15). In order to make what he has learned palatable and digestible to a simpler audience, namely his benefactress, he intends to pay his debt “with more esy laboure þan euyr I receyued hem”

(15). Capgrave’s promise implies not that he had an unclear teacher so much as it indicates that he will not only be translating the work from Latin, but also presenting it in such a fashion as to remove any chance of reader error. Both Capgrave and Augustine, though out of fear of different sins, thus set up the female audience as one fraught with potential for misunderstanding.

Women, after all, are weak. Capgrave expands on the danger of idleness to the faith by introducing a metaphor not found in Jordanus’s vita: “þane is it ful necessarie to do sum laboure with hand, þat ydilnesse whech is stepmodir of alle vertu schul not entre haue in hem” (71). As a threat, idleness is marked as feminine, a stepmother. Idleness is dangerous in so far as it opens you to sin more easily. Capgrave feels much the same about women. When a woman is not weak, Capgrave instead marks her as male, thereby reinforcing the notion that weakness and error is inherent to women. Monica, for example, finds strength in her faith and does not fear the sea. Capgrave adds the description of her heart’s consequent transformation to Jordanus’s text: “Hir grete faith and hope þat sche had to conuercioun of hir son, mad þe womannes hert bold and in maner turned it to a mannes hert” (30).When

Monica’s faith is at her strongest, she is more man than woman.

228

One of Monica’s main concerns in the beginning of the vita is Augustine’s participation in Manichaeism, which prevents his conversion to Christianity. Her response to her son’s heretical inclinations serves as a model for Capgrave’s female reader. Even in places where Capgrave has not changed his source-text, it can be safely assumed that he advocated Monica’s behavior, given his careful modeling of her through additions where he felt necessary. With this understanding, it behooves us to examine Monica’s reactions to heresy. Even if she possesses man-like faith, Monica’s actions are very much restricted to a female model of devotion.

Monica is, first and foremost, a woman praised for her “moderacion in hir wordes”

(20). She is a dedicated wife who honors the authority of her husband: “ȝet are wyuys put in swech manere of suieccioun þat þei be bounde to do dew seruyse onto men” (20). Unlike

“ȝong damesellis” with “clateryng tongis,” Monica uses her words to move other women “to more paciens and leued in more rest þan þei dede before” (20).

As this quiet and longsuffering woman, Monica works out her concern with her children’s sins, especially Augustine’s, in private anguish, rather than public reprimand.

Augustine says that “sche trauayled for hem neuly ageyn as often as sche say hem do ony

þing whech was ageyn þe plesauns of our lore, þat is to sey it greued hir as mech whan sche say hir childyrn trespass onto oure lord as euyr it greued whan sche bare hem bodily” (21).

As pictured here, Monica’s fears are reflected back on her own body, akin to childbirth, an intensely interiorized pain. Upon hearing that her son is a Manichean, Monica is overwhelmed with sorrow, and though the text mentions that she exhorts Augustine to change, it nonetheless dwells on her private faith (24). She receives a vision to comfort her,

229 in which a young man promises that Augustine will one day stand in the same faith as her

(24-25). When she explains this vision to Augustine, he attempts to dissuade her from its meaning, claiming that it means Monica will instead become a Manichean herself. She refuses to be convinced, clinging to the exact words that she has heard. Due to her dedication to the vision, she is “in hir consolacioun stabil and coude not be led oute fro hir trewe beleue with no sophisticacioun þat hir son coude make” (25). Monica is able to resist the heresy that her son represents by not engaging in rhetoric or argument, but simply maintaining the words she has heard. Instead of pursuing argumentation herself, Monica turns to a bishop for help. The bishop is described in a very different manner than Monica: he is “gretly lerned in holy scripture and gretly excersised to lede men fro errour” (25).

Capgrave draws this description from Confessions, indicating that he attributes some importance to its inclusion. The priest represents the different role that men have in the combating of heresy versus women. He urges Monica to “pray to God for him withoute ony letting” (25).

Again and again, then, Monica is presented as a woman of prayer. Unlike Augustine, who is portrayed as a “Biblical exegete” whose only “delectacioun” is “sette in redyng of holy scripture,” Monica is never seen to read (38).105 Abandoned by her son when he sails to

Rome, she spends an entire night “praying and sobbing,” a part of the narrative that

Capgrave expands on to emphasize her devotion (28). She continues to pray for him daily, and she has “more sorrow for him þan euyr sche had to bring him forth onto þe world”

(28). Again, her pain and devotion are linked to the female body and the agony of childbirth.

Once Augustine leaves Manichaeism, but has not yet converted to Christianity, she resumes

105 Winstead, John Capgrave’s Fifteenth Century, p. 59. 230 her “praieres onto heuene with grettir bisinesse þan euyr sche ded” (30). Her approach to converting Augustine is again contrasted with the role of a male cleric; she loves Ambrose for bringing her son to the point of intellectual “fluctuacioun” (30). Capgrave takes care to define what this fluctuation means: “Fluctuacioun calle we here whan a man is broute fo an euel entent, and ȝet þe same man stand in study wheithir he schal to þe good wey or nowt”

(30). Study is thus attributed to men. In contrast, Capgrave provides excerpts from Confessions and various of Augustine’s letters to describe Monica as a “deuoute soule ful of holy prayeres,” who engages in the physical practice of fasting (31). Thus, throughout Augustine,

Monica is portrayed as something of a mystic, whose devotion rested in prayer and physical sacrifice and pain. When she dies (soon after the famous vision at Hostia), Augustine praises his mother as one who “bond hir soule onto þe prys of thi blod whil sche lyued, for þere was no day left but sche wold be present where þe sacrifise and þe memory of þi holy blod schuld be had in myde” (48).

The proper form of female devotion is thus also the proper response to heresy: reliance on educated clerics and prayer. Though she does occasionally urge her son to change, Monica is overwhelmingly portrayed in the private sphere, engaged in prayer or internalized devotion. Capgrave provides Monica as a model for his female benefactress. At the end of the text, Capgrave acknowledges that Augustine is renowned as a doctor of theology: “Thus endith þe lyf of þis glorious doctoure whom all Cristen men ar bounde to do worchip, most specialy clerkys and lerned men þat haue grete stuf oute of his bokes to her lernyng” (76). In recognizing Augustine’s intellectual achievements, though, Capgrave

231 restricts the perusal of his books to clerks and learned men. For women, he instead urges prayer. The last words of the text, addressing the patroness, make this clear:

And as I hope, ȝe gentyl woman, ȝe schuld plese wel þis seint if ȝe wold se his place onys in a ȝere; and þouȝ ȝe left a day in heruest of ȝoure laboure, ȝe coude make retribucioun in oþir party. Thus I comende ȝou to God, and me to ȝoure prayeris; þat we both may com sumtyme where oure fader is, we schal prey both. Amen. The reader is told to pursue a physical form of devotion, pilgrimage, and Capgrave also mentions her prayers, linking her to Monica. This comparison is strengthened, when

Capgrave makes his own salvation (nominally) contingent upon the benefactress’s prayers.

She is put in the position of Monica, praying the intellectual into heaven. At both the beginning and the end of the vita, then, Capgrave transforms himself into Augustine. This only serves to reinforce his authority as the male teacher.

Katherine and Augustine thus present opposing views of women responding to heresy.

Katherine, by engaging in debate and study (the public, mental, and intellectual sphere), opens herself up to accusations of heresy and witchcraft. Monica, by praying and submitting herself to clerical authority (the private, physical, and laical sphere) is praised by Augustine himself and is held up as a model of behavior. Both of these approaches to heresy are grounded in the proper role of woman regarding vernacular theology and translation.

Capgrave is convinced that all men and women should be allowed to read about scripture and theology, but their use of this information is still dictated by their social and religious positions. Whereas men can actively work against heresy as either kings or clerics, women should keep themselves to the private sphere, praying and meditating. Augustine can be a

232 knight (thus evoking images of masculinity that transcend the secular-religious division), but

Katherine cannot be a queen.106

IV. A Note on a Manuscript

One of the extant attestations to Capgrave’s Life of St. Katherine is MS Arundel 20 held in the British Museum.107 The manuscript is dated to the late fifteenth-century and contains another text in it as well: Peter Idley’s Instructions to His Son.108 This text is exactly what it sounds like, the writings of a public servant who wishes to instruct his sons about legal and religious issues.109 In composing this work, Idley followed his sources closely, drawing from Liber Consolationis et Consilii, Liber de Amore et Dilectione Dei et Proximi, Robert

Mannyng’s Handlyng Synne and Lydgate’s The Fall of Princes. Given the male audience dictated by Idley’s works and (largely) by his sources, it seems an odd choice for someone to have compiled Katherine with Instructions. Most likely composed between 1445 and 1450, Instructions appears, on the surface, to have a somewhat different goal than Capgrave’s work.110 One might point to the common Lydgatean influences, but I would instead like to add as an addendum to my argument above MS Arundel 20 as further proof of the preoccupation with restricting female participation in vernacular theology.111

106 “…but oure lord euyr defended his knyth whech was ful necesarie onto þe church,” Augustine, p. 67. 107 M. C. Seymour, “The Manuscripts of John Capgrave’s English Works,” Scriptorium 40.2 (1986), pp. 248-255, at p. 252. 108 Charlotte D’Evelyn, ed., Instructions to His Son, by Peter Idley (Boston: MLA, 1935), p. 63. 109 D’Evelyn, pp. 4,5,8. 110 D’Evelyn, p. 58. 111 Winstead points to the Lydgatean influence on Capgrave’s works in Life of St. Katherine, p. 6. 233

MS Arundel 20 contains only the second book of Idley’s Instructions, which outlines the ten commandments and seven sins, treatises drawn from Mannyng and Lydgate.112 It also moves forward a discussion of sacrilege that usually comes later in the text.113 More to the point, this second book deals directly with vernacular theology—but a theology circumscribed by clerical authority. Missing from this manuscript is the first book which urged the reader (the son) to learn, lest “thou shalt be lewde” and to also “lerne it forth to othir” (I. 36, 41). In fact, “connyng enclosed is litell worthe; / But it be vsed soone will be lore” (I. 45-46). While the learning and teaching that this book urges need not be problematic or unorthodox, it is interesting that the beginning of the second book (and thus the beginning of this text as it is witnessed in MS Arundel 20) instead forefronts the role of the priest who hears confession: “Shryve the to a preist and haue noo drede” (II.A.59). By beginning with a discussion of the ten commandments, this manuscript reasserts the authority of the church in instruction and confirms the role of priests as mediators.

In those parts of Idley’s text that are present in this manuscript, there is also an emphasis on the dismembered and strange female body. In an exemplum about the dangers of unchaste speech, the text includes a narrative attributed to St. Gregory about a nun who acted chastely, but “spak wordis vayne and waste” (II.A.1569). Despite her good actions, the nun’s words doom her to torture after death. Buried in a chest before the rood because she was a gentlewoman, demons come to claim the nun’s soul after her death:

At midnyght next after the bodye aroos With a grisly noyse piteously crieng, And many a feende stode in that cloos Wher as the sexten the bell shold ryng.

112 D’Evelyn, p. 63. 113 Ibid. 234

The Nonnes aroos to beholde that thing That made this noyse and dulfull crie, And they asspied the dede bodie;

And many a feende aboute hir stande, And euery deeuell that ther was Hadde a brennyng swerde in his hande To slee this soule without ony graace; And even ther in that same place They cleeued this deede bodye euyn atwoo And brent the oon half to asshes also. (II.A.1581-94)

As a consequence of her illicit speech during life, the nun is viciously assaulted after death, cut in two by swords and burned. The moral of this exemplum, “Therefore it is goode thy tonge to refryne” seems somewhat buried under the description of this ghastly torture.

In the section addressing pride, there is another after-death punishment bestowed on a woman that is eerily similar to the nun’s predicament outlined above. This woman takes too great pride in her appearance and, when she dies, appears, succubus-like, to tempt one of the knights who had attended her burial. Led into a field by her ghost, this knight watches as she is tortured over and over again for her pride:

They hadde stonde ther but a litell space, He sawe foure deuellis in hir handis brynge ffire brondis and eche othir fast gan chace, And with hem a rounde whele orrible brennynge; Toward the lady they cam fast rennyng And sette this whele vppon hir hede— As ony hote Iron it was sparkling rede.

All to asshes this lady was brent, And after roose ageyn alive as she was; And efte she hadde the same torment; They brent hyr ageyn, this was the caas; This was hyr payne in that same plaas And this was hir Iugement to endure foreuere; ffor a soule for payne shall dye neuere. (II.B.316-329).

235

This lady is not being punished for any sort of illicit speech, granted, but her punishment is evocative of St. Katherine’s torture, given the iconic symbol of the wheel. Coupled as this text is with Capgrave’s legend, surely this description would remind readers of the vita.

The last exemplum I want to consider is that included in the section discussing sacrilege. In this tale, carolers take to dancing in a churchyard, refusing to quit upon order of priest or family. A young man goes to fetch his sister away and she falls apart in his hands:

Aiȝone went for the as hys father bad Vnto hys syster þat was in þe daunce, Pullyd hyr by þe harme and went to haue had Hys syster, but yt wolde not avaunce. Hyr arm bode in hys hand withouȝt greuaunce And departyd from þe body, as men myȝt see, As who pullyd a branche from a dede Tree. (239-245)

Unphased by her dismemberment, the girl, along with the other carolers, continues to dance.

The priest enshrines the arm so that all can see the power of God in punishing these carolers, forcing them to dance forever (275).

In all three exempla, women are disassembled bodily, reminiscent of the repeated attempts to kill Katherine. Their bodies are both physically and literally held up as lessons for the reader. I cannot say with absolute certainty that the compiler was consciously aware of how these exempla would evoke Katherine, but the texts as a whole testify to a certain view of the female body as sinful—especially if she talks. The end of the discussion on sacrilege especially singles out women as those who talk in church and disrupt the sanctity of holy places:

And specially þeis women, as I dare sey, Haue besy talking of huswyffrye; Gangle as a gosse and Iangyll as a iey, And how þeir husbandes be full off Ielosye 236

. . . As for God and oure lady ar lytyll in mynde. (414-417, 427)

Constructed as these two texts are, with passages cut and reshaped in Idley’s work, Katherine and Instructions provide valuable insight into each other, each governed by a distrust of female spirituality. As such, it makes more sense than it might at first seem for these two texts to be compiled into one manuscript. As a late fifteenth-century text, MS Arundel 20 also testifies to the continuing interest in vernacular theology into the early modern period and the sixteenth century.

237

SECTION 3

READING A MODEL OF FAITH: HOW THE PRINTED BOOK AND LAY READING CHANGED THE DEFINITION OF CHRISTIAN

238

CHAPTER 5: “YET PRINTING ONELY WYL SUBUERT YOUR DOINGES”: THE DEBATE OVER LAY LITERACY IN MORE, TYNDALE, AND FOXE AND THE CHANGING GROUP IDENTITY OF REFORMERS

In 1531, Edward Freese was arrested for heresy. He had a colorful past. As a young man, Freese had been sold to a monastery, and he had tried numerous times to escape the abbot that would “haue made hym a monke.”1 Finally, having fled to Colchester, he married and returned to the training of his youth, working as a painter. He was commissioned to paint signs for an inn. In doing so however, he incriminated himself as a heretic: “in the vpper border of þe clothes he wrote certayne sentences of the scripture, and by that he was playnly knowen to be one of them whiche they call heretykes.”2 In consequence, Freese was thrown into prison in the Lollard’s Tower. When his wife tried to visit him, she suffered a brutal assault by the guards, resulting in her own death and that of her unborn child. Despite these tragedies, Freese did not stop writing in prison: “But this paynter would euer be wryting on the walles with chauke or a cole, and in one place he wrote doctor Dodypall woulde make me beleue that the mone were made of grene chese.”3 In order to control him,

Freese’s hands were manacled, and when eventually given the chance to speak for himself,

Freese had been so maltreated that he could not talk: “the man was so ouerhungred that he

1 John Foxe, The Unabridged Acts and Monuments Online or TAMO, 1563 edition (Sheffield: HRI Online Pub., 2011), p. 546. Also, see editor’s commentary. 2 Foxe, Acts, p. 546. 3 Foxe, Acts, p. 546. 239 could saye nothynge.”4 By the time he was released, due to his brother’s suit on his behalf,

Freese was a ruined man: “And thus they, when they had spylte his body, and destroyed his wyttes, they sent hym backe agayne to Bearsie abbay, but he came awaye agayne from thence, and wold not tary amongest them, albeit he neuer came to perfect mynd to his dying day.”5

This account comes from the first edition of John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments, printed in 1563 by John Day. Acts, otherwise known as the Book of Martyrs, a compilation of texts about martyrs and heroes of the Reformation, became enormously popular in its first incarnation, and Foxe produced three additional editions during his lifetime—in 1570, 1576, and 1583.6 Foxe (c. 1516-1587) had begun the project with the idea of memorializing John

Wyclif and his Lollard followers, but expanded the work to include the early history of the church and to establish William Tyndale and other prominent martyrs as the heirs to

Wycliffite ideology. 7 The result was a text that provided a historical justification for the

Protestant faith and a condemnation of the Catholic Church.8 In fact, Acts was both lauded

4 Foxe, Acts, p. 546. 5 Foxe, Acts, p. 547. 6 Freeman, Tom, “John Foxe: A Biography,” TAMO. Ian Green notes that even though Acts had a relatively small number of printed editions, compared to other Early Modern books, it was still very influential (pp. viii- ix). Copies would have been available for consultation in cathedrals or richer households (pp. 25, 414). An abridgement of the work, Cotton’s Mirror of Martyrs was much more widely available (p. 415): Print and Protestantism in Early Modern England (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000). 7 John King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs and Early Modern Print Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006), p. 38, 185; Elizabeth Evenden, Thomas S. Freeman, Religion and the Book in Early Modern England: The Making of Foxe’s ‘Book of Martyrs’ (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2011), p. 111; Margaret Aston and Elizabeth Ingram, “The Iconography of the Acts and Monuments,” John Foxe and the English Reformation, ed. David Loades (Brookfield: Ashgate, 1997), pp. 66-142, at p. 94; Devorah Greenberg, “Community of the Texts: Producing the First and Second Editions of “Acts and Monuments,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 36.3 (2005), pp. 695-715, at p. 698; John N. King, “ ‘The Light of Printing’: William Tyndale, John Foxe, John Day, and Early Modern Print Culture,” Renaissance Quarterly 54.1 (2001), pp. 52-85, at pp. 60, 78; Elizabeth H. Hageman, “John Foxe’s Henry VIII as Justitia,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 10.1 (1979), pp. 35-43, at p. 35. 8 King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 185; John N. King, “ ‘The Light of Printing’: William Tyndale, John Foxe, John Day, and Early Modern Print Culture,” pp. 60, 78; Elizabeth H. Hageman, “John Foxe’s Henry VIII as Justitia,” p. 35. 240 and disparaged as a substitute for hagiographies, texts like the Golden Legend which commemorated and recorded the lives of saints.9

Compiled from both first-hand reports and extant accounts found in court records, autobiographical letters, and medieval chronicles and shaped by the editorial direction of both Foxe and Day, Acts is a valuable witness to the religious conflict between Protestants and Catholics in the sixteenth-century.10 Additionally, the text is itself a monument to the debate over vernacular theology in England during the three centuries represented in this dissertation.11 By Foxe’s day, printed books in English had made God more immediately available to Protestants than ever before, promoting privacy in practicing one’s faith and encouraging internalized devotion.12 The Great Bible, commissioned by Thomas Cromwell and printed in 1539, even provided an officially-sanctioned English Bible for use in church.13

Nevertheless, as can be seen in the example above, writing about theology in English, especially in the uncontrolled setting of an inn, was perceived as a threat well into the sixteenth-century. The “Act for the Advancement of True Religion” was introduced in 1542-

9 King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 16; John King, “Fiction and Fact in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs,” John Foxe and the English Reformation, pp. 12-35, at p. 15. Evenden, Freeman, Religion and the Book, p. 114. 10 Evenden and Freeman, Religion and the Book, p. 106; King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 28. 11 This chapter primarily focuses on the first three book of Acts, those which address figures and martyrs that would be concurrent with the authors and texts of the first four chapters of this dissertation. Therefore, my examination does not extend much beyond the reign of King Henry VIII, who represents a definite shift in the Church hierarchy. 12 Alan Sinfield, Literature in Protestant England, 1560-1660 (London: Croom Helm, 1983), p. 6. James Simpson presents Stephen Gardiner’s (d. 1555) argument that “every man would be his own church under the evangelical regime” because of the habits of solitary prayer; James Simpson, Burning to Read: English Fundamentalism and Its Reformation Opponents (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2007), p. 140. Elizabeth L. Eisenstein points out that the printed book encouraged silent instruction and, consequently, decreased the need for people to gather in worship or devotion (pp. 103, 105): The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2005). Take into account as well, Eiléan Chuilleanáin’s observation that William Tyndale addresses his works to an individual person, while More addresses a larger group; “The Debate Between Thomas More and William Tyndale, 1528-1533: Ideas on Literature and Religion,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 39.3 (1988), pp. 382-411, at p. 411. 13 Alister McGrath, In the Beginning: The Story of the King James Bible and How It Changed a Nation, A Language, and a Culture (New York: Anchor Books, 2001), pp. 94-95. 241

43 and it was designed to “delimit carefully the spaces in which and the social classes by which vernacular Bible reading [was] permitted, and to disallow Biblical interpretation.”14

The issue of lay access to religious texts—an issue that had preoccupied Pecock,

Capgrave, and many other writers of the fifteenth century—evolved, in the sixteenth- century, into a violent debate about how one should read the Bible. Thomas More (1478-

1535) and William Tyndale (c.1494-1536) are probably the most well-known participants in this debate. Their arguments across three printed works, A Dialogue Concerning Heresies, An

Answer Unto Sir Thomas More’s Dialogue, and The Confutation of Tyndale’s Answer, constitute the

“first major polemical contest of the English Reformation to be conducted in the vernacular,” an appropriate distinction given the nature of their struggle.15 Their debate examines many of the topics previously discussed in this project: the ability of lay readers to understand Scripture on their own, the position of the church as a mediator of divine knowledge, and the grammar of Scripture and theology. Not unlike Wyclif, Tyndale rejected many of the scholastic approaches to the Bible (including grammatical exposition) and embraced a sola scriptura position.16 More famously advocated a faith instead grounded in

Church tradition.

In recent years, scholarship has revisited and reexamined this definitive debate. Both

James Simpson and Brian Cummings, among others, have contributed new perspectives.

14 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 166. 15 Peter Auksi, “Reason and Feeling as Evidence: The Question of ‘Proof’ in Tyndale’s Thought,” Reformation 4 (1999): pp. 1-20, at p. 19. 16 Donald Dean Smeeton examines the potential Wycliffite and Lollard roots of Tyndale’s theology in Lollard Themes in the Reformation Theology of William Tyndale. According to Smeeton, Tyndale engages with Lollard rhetoric, and establishes Wyclif as an inspiration for his own work (pp. 75, 59). Wyclif also advocated a literal understanding of Scripture, a view that was later picked up by Erasmus and other humanists (pp. 101, 113-14). Tyndale was hardly alone in his approach (p. 118): Donald Dean Smeeton, Lollard Themes in the Reformation Theology of William Tyndale, Sixteenth Century Essays & Studies, vol. VI (Kirksville: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1986). 242

Apart from brief asides establishing culture or history, however, Foxe has not been featured prominently in these latest forays. Discussing Foxe in combination with More and Tyndale makes sense on more levels than mere temporal proximity. In many ways, Foxe answers

More with his own work. More, in both Dialogue and Confutation, presents a sort of anti- martyrological text. He describes the deaths or examinations of Richard Hun, John

Oldcastle, William Thorpe, and John Wyclif with an unsympathetic eye. Foxe, writing about thirty years later, answers these narratives with his mammoth compilation. Particularly,

More’s discussion of Richard Hun and the events surrounding his suspicious death in his prison cell (first thought to be suicide and later found out to be murder) is extensive, proclaiming the innocence of the suspected murderer.17 Foxe’s discussion, though equally extensive (more so even), mourns the tragedy of Hun’s death and declares the depravity of his murderers.18 Foxe unsurprisingly presents More in his text as a cruel man, more fearsome than the king for whom he worked.19 If Foxe’s text is not a direct answer to More’s writings, it is certainly in conversation with them.

The conversation that Foxe is having, defending the integrity of Protestant and proto-Protestants, reflects back on the debate in which More is more deeply invested. In this chapter, I argue that Tyndale’s defense of a sola scriptura reading approach (one which prioritizes unmediated lay access to Scripture) impacts the very definition of community for the sixteenth-century reformers. In my project thus far, I have outlined the way in which vernacular reading fractured or complicated orthodox identities. Here, I will propose that the

17 Thomas More, A Dialogue Concerning Heresies, Pt. 1, Eds. Thomas M. C. Lawler, Germain Marc’hadour, and Richard C. Marius, The Yale Edition of the Complete Works of St. Thomas More (New Haven: Yale UP, 1981), p. 325. 18 Foxe, Acts, p. 442. 19 Foxe, Acts, p. 500. 243 approach to vernacular reading that comes out of the More-Tyndale conflict was a much- needed answer to the fracturing of the community of Reformers under the intense pressure of persecution. Foxe applies Tyndale’s reading methods to the reading of martyrs and their narratives to encourage his audience to embrace all victims of the Church, regardless of whether they succumb and recant in the face of death. He establishes a definition of the true church that both corresponds with Tyndale’s definition and provides evidence for it. Foxe’s attempts to define the reformist community in this way are made possible by the medium of the printed book.

Before approaching Foxe’s contribution to this critical conversation, I will review the attitude toward vernacular translation in the sixteenth century and before, leading up to the printing of Acts, and the debate between More and Tyndale. The latter topic necessitates the analysis of a debate currently underway among Reformation scholars that reflects an ideological investment in the narratives constructed around the key players.

I. Debating Vernacular Translation

As has been discussed heretofore, writing or translating scripture and theological texts in English was anxious employment in medieval England, incurring censure from both church and state.20 At the beginning of the Reformation, as Brian Cummings has pointed out, the situation was much the same: “For the battle between prominent catholic humanists and Luther’s English supporters was as much about the English language as it was about the

20 Censure including the fallout from Arundel’s 1409 Constitutions, forbidding the translation of scripture into English or the composition of vernacular theology without license. It also includes De heretico comburendo, the 1401 statute that ordered the burning of heretics. 244 new theology.”21 In part, this conflict can be traced to the unease of religious scholars who were unsure English possessed the technical vocabulary or linguistic gravitas necessary to handle theological discussions.22 Consequently, for writers like Thomas More, a Catholic polemicist asked to answer the errors of William Tyndale and other Protestants in their preferred vernacular tongue, “errors of language and of theology are … virtually synonymous.”23 The debate between More and Tyndale is epitomized by the famous controversy over Tyndale’s translations of church, priest, and charity in his English New

Testament. More found Tyndale’s semantic choices inaccurate to the true meaning of scripture, and therefore theologically fallible.24

Given this context, it was not immediately apparent to Foxe that he should publish his tome in English. He was a scholar who had previously published in Latin. It was his printer, John Day, who influenced Foxe’s decision to ultimately print Acts in the vernacular, embracing a “national audience.”25 Despite his insistence on a Latin introduction appealing to the scholarly reader,26 Foxe’s choice to produce this text in English unites him in spirit with many of the martyrs praised in its pages. Edward Freese, from our opening example, suffered imprisonment and torture for his decision to make his monastic education available to the laity. In painting scripture on the sign of an inn, Freese had aligned himself with a

21 Brian Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation: Grammar and Grace (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002), p. 188. 22 Cummings, p. 189. 23 Cummings, p. 192. 24 Thomas More, A Dialogue Concerning Heresies, p. 286; Cummings, pp. 192-93. 25 Susan Felch, ”Shaping the Reader in the Acts and Monuments,” John Foxe and the English Reformation, ed. Loades, pp. 52-65, at p. 58. 26 Felch, “Shaping the Reader,” p. 58. 245 heretical crowd.27 This tension between religious authorities and literate laity over access to scripture is evident in many of the accounts Foxe includes in Acts.

For Protestants, it was paramount that they “remaine and continue in the worde of the sonne of God.”28 By translating the scriptures, Tyndale had accomplished a “most holsome worke for the English nation,” fulfilling a pressing need.29 Richard Wyche, examined in 1382 for heresy, had stated that “[e]uery laie man is bounde to vnderstande & knowe the Gospel,” and Tyndale had made this a realizable achievement for English reformers.30 The idealized state where “craftes men shuld singe spiritual psalmes sitting at their work,” proposed by John Lambert in his own 1538 trial, was more possible than ever.31

Acts is filled with accounts of lay men, women, and children reading vernacular theology and scriptures in the face of persecution, and they are held up as exemplars for Foxe’s readers.

Readers would be reminded both of their privilege and their responsibility as they listened or perused the English Acts.

The accounts are drawn from both the fifteenth- and the sixteenth-centuries, demonstrating the recurring nature of the struggle. In the autobiographical account of

William Thorpe’s 1407 examination for heresy, Thorpe requests the archbishop to translate

Latin into English, not because he is unable to read Latin, but because he wishes secrets to be made clear: “And also syr accordingly hereto in the secreat of the mid masse on

Christmasse day it is wryten thus. Idem refulsit deus, sic terrena substancia nobis conferat quod diuinum est: which sentence syr with the secreat of the forth fery qua tuor temporum

27 The editors of TAMO note that this arrest for heresy was probably not Freese’s first, either; Acts, p. 546. 28 Foxe, Acts, p. 267. 29 Foxe, Acts, p. 576. 30 Foxe, Acts, p. 193. 31 Foxe, Acts, p. 607. 246 septembris. I pray you sir declare here openly in English.”32 Simon Fish’s wife, in the early sixteenth century, demands translation in much the same spirit, insisting that if visiting friars said the Gospel in Latin in her house, they must say it in English as well.33

The rest of Acts endorses this move toward openness, portraying members of the laity reading English texts (and, by implication, Scripture or theology). In 1429, the wife of

Thomas Moone is accused of comforting Lollards, and the same text implicates her daughter: “and also the doughter of Thomas Mone is partly of the same sect, and can read

English.”34 In the following litany of persons examined on charges of heresy, the ability to read English is commonly cited. Richard Fletcher is accused of having “a boke of the new law in Englishe, which was syr Hue Pies fyrst.”35 For the religious authorities, a vernacular text indicated the presence of heresy, a physical sign or symptom of the illness. For

Protestants and proto-Protestants, as is seen in Fletcher’s case, English books were a testament to both their communal and private religious identity. Neighbors relied on each other for access to reading material. Listed later, William Bate and his family are found to belong to the same sect as Moone and Fletcher, the natural corollary of that membership being that they “reade English very wel.”36 Similarly, John Pert, the servant of Thomas

Moone, reads well. Not only that, but in the account brought against Pert, reading is identified as the catalyst for the sect’s assembly:

Item Ihon Pert late seruaunt of Thomas Moone is of the same sect and can reade well, and did read in the presence of Willia[m] White and was the first that brought syr Hugh Pie in the company of the lollardes, which assembled

32 Foxe, Acts, p. 208. 33 Foxe, Acts, pp. 500-501. 34 Foxe, Acts, p. 409. 35 Foxe, Acts, p. 409. 36 Foxe, Acts, p. 409. 247

oftentimes together at the house of the said Thomas Mone, and ther conferred vpon their doctrine.37

The case of Pert, who could not only read, but read well, highlights the social consequences of such a sect’s existence. Hierarchies were threatened as servant, master, and “syr Hugh

Pie” communed on equal footing. These mixed gatherings led naturally to a discussion of doctrine, a result feared by the church authorities lest error distort orthodox theology. Such learning was still dangerous nearly a century later. In 1519, Acts records that seven persons were “taken for heresie.”38 Their only recorded crime is that “thei taught in their houses their childre[n[ & family, the Lordes praier, the articles of the christian faith, and the. x. commau[n]dements in English, for the which they were put in prison.”39

Though some, like Bishop Reginald Pecock (c. 1392-1459), argued that vernacular translations might be the key to combating heresies, this was not a popular view among those church officials claiming orthodox authority.40 More, as a one-time champion of these authorities, urged that no one should read books which contained errors or addressed heresies (even his own) lest curiosity tempt the reader astray: “And therfore as I wold aduyse any man neither to rede these heretykes bokes nor myne, but occupy theyr myndes better and standynge fermely by the catholyke faith fo this xv. C. yere, neuer onys muse vppon

37 Foxe, Acts, p. 409. 38 Foxe, Acts, p. 472. 39 Foxe, Acts, p. 472. 40 Foxe agreed with Pecock, arguing, in his account of Pecock (who was himself prosecuted for heresy on account of his controversial views), that if errors were written down and read, readers would be able to discern on their own what was right and what wrong: “For why therrors wer so manifestly declared and tossed in the bokes of the doctors, in þe whyche the reader might quietly wyth him selfe iudge what was confirmable or agreable in eyther part, and what contrary wise,” Acts, p. 418. 248 these newe fangled heresyes.”41 Since More believed that vernacular translations increased the likeliness of errors existing in any given text, he emphasizes in his Confutation of Tyndale’s

Answer that he would rather burn his own works than see them translated:

I say therfore in these dayes in whyche men by theyr owne defaute mysseconstre and take harme of the very scrypture of god, vntyll menne better amende, yf any man wolde now translate Moria into Englyshe, or some workes eyther that I haue my selfe wryten ere this, all be yt there be none harme therein folke yet beynge (as they be) geuen to take harme of that that is good I wolde not onely my derlynges bokes but myne owne also, helpe to burne them both wyth myne owne handes, rather than folke sholde (though thorow theyr own faute) take any harme of them, seynge that I se them lykely in these dayes so to do.42

More’s arguments against Tyndale ultimately rest in distrust: distrust of the untrained reader’s ability to truly understand what he reads or distrust of the radical translator’s ability to accurately convey meaning from one language to another. His distrust extends beyond issues of the written text, however, to encompass knowledge in general. More wants to control lay access to theological secrets. I use the word secret deliberately, since it not only indicates private knowledge, but often specifically knowledge of a divine and religious nature

(especially in the fifteenth century).43 Whereas More argued for a relatively closed system of knowledge, Tyndale and fellow Protestants argued that theology and the scriptures should be accessible to all. Controlling who was able to speak about these topics and in what language was the primary point of contention then.

In A Dialogue Concerning Heresies (1530), the work More composed to combat

Tyndale, More warns against inquiry into the “grete secrete mysteryes of scrypture” or “hygh

41 Thomas More, The Confutation of Tyndale’s Answer, The Complete Works of St. Thomas More, vol. 8, eds. Louis A. Schuster, Richard C. Marius, James P. Lusardi, and Richard J. Schoeck (New Haven: Yale UP, 1973), pp. 38-39. 42 More, Confutation, p. 179. 43 Middle English Dictionary, secret (n.) 249 secrete mysteryes of god.”44 This warning was especially true for the laity. God’s disciples had received “secrete counsayle” from the Holy Ghost in order to compose theological texts.45 The laity had benefited from no such inspiration. More records the complaints of St.

Jerome against curious laity in his own day, urging his contemporary readers to take note:

“And surely the blessyd holy doctour saynt Hierome gretely complayneth and rebuketh that lewde homely maner that ye comon ley people men and women were in his dayes so bolde in the medlynge dysputynge and expownynge of holy scrypture.”46 Tyndale had not heeded this warning, and More anticipates that he will soon find himself overwhelmed:

But yet all be yt that in many thynges a man may peraduenture well and with frute enserche the cause of goddes commaundementys yet may the spyryte of a man that were as spirytuall as Tyndale is or Luther eyther, and take frere Huskyn to them go some tyme to far in the serchyng of the depe secretys of god, and wade so farre therein that he shall fynde these wordes of holy scripture true, He that is the sercher of the maiestye shall be oppressyd of the glorye and he shall fynde the depe secretis of god so depe, that ye secrete botome wyll not be founde oute for hym and specyally in that thyng in which Tyndall and his felowes be as I shall hereafter shew you moste presumptuously besye that is in goddys fynall electis & predistinatys . . . .47

Because he feels so strongly about lay inquiry into the deep secrets of God, More is irritated at Protestant preachers who “preche I wene they wolde thoughe god wold his owne mouth commaunde them the contrary.”48

Among defenders of Catholic orthodoxy, More was not alone in his opinion of the

Reformers and the dangers they were incurring by their curiosity. The resulting persecution of Protestants often sent them into hiding. More is as much disturbed by their secret

44 More, Dialogue, pp. 333-34. 45 More, Dialogue, p. 144. 46 More, Dialogue, p. 334. 47 More, Confutation, pp. 49-50. 48 More, Dialogue, p. 123. 250 gatherings as he is by their open preaching, each scenario encouraging the unmediated dissemination of religious ideas. He expresses concern that men are led away by heretics through either “open sermons or secrete communycacyon.”49 More’s anxiety about the distribution and twisting of Church secrets is transmuted into a concern about his inability to control the very means of distribution. In this way, the concept of secret communication becomes implicated in the communication of secrets. Circulating vernacular texts among secret communities breeds unchecked heresy: “these deuelysshe heresyes so sore set a broche in some vnhappy hertes, that they neuer ceace in all that euer they may to sprede these bokes abrode to suche as kepe them in hukermoker, & secretely poysen them selfe wenynge the bokes very good. . . .”50 Secret communities are symptomatic of the private, individualized nature of the Protestant faith. With institutional mediation deemed unnecessary, each believer is responsible only to himself and the community he chooses.

When More describes Protestant martyrs in his text, he therefore depicts them as contemplative, embedded within a secret network of similarly-minded individuals. In describing the apprehension of Sir Thomas Hytton, mistaken as a clothes-thief, More lays the blame for his arrest at the feet of private heresies, thinking upon which naturally leads to prosecution: “syr Thomas Hytton was walkyng not far of suspycyously in the medytacyon of hys heresyes.”51 Once erroneously apprehended for theft, other secrets are revealed, for which Hytton is brought to examination: “fownde they certayne letters secretely conuayed in hys cote, wryten from euangelycall brethern here, vnto the euangelycall heretykes beyonde

49 More, Dialogue, p. 418. 50 More, Confutation, p. 36. 51 More, Confutation, p. 14. 251 the see.”52 As a result of this unfortunate series of events, Hytton is executed. The type of secrecy that leads to Hytton’s death, and is indicative for More of illicit knowledge, encourages further sin as well. For example, More condemns one Richard Bayfield who not only sells books in secret (thus transmitting vernacular theology), but also secretly keeps two wives. 53

The Protestants’ view of secrecy is not as uncomplicated as More would make it out to be, though. They do not abandon the secrets of the Church entirely, and if they are forced to cloak their own exchanges of knowledge, it is only because of the persecution they face.

In his defense of Protestant martyrs, Foxe essentially provides an answer to More’s objections. He reproduces an early fifteenth-century treatise attributed to John Purvey.54

Arguing for the necessity to translate the scriptures into English, the treatise makes it clear that if the laity congregates in secret or develops heretical beliefs, it is the consequence of persecution, not of the texts:

Antichriste maketh manye mo heretickes, then there should be, for he stoppeth so the knowing of Goddes law, and punisheth so them that he knoweth that haue it, that they dare not commen therof openly to haue true information, & this maketh lay men that desiren and louen to know Gods law to go together in priuity and conceiuen by their own wits many times heresies, the which heresies in short time should be destroyed, if men might haue free commenyng openly. . . .55

The treatise advocates open access to scripture so as to combat heresies. As we have discussed briefly above, this treatment for heresy was not a popular one. Driven into hiding,

52 More, Confutation, p. 14. 53 More, Confutation, p. 17. 54 Scholars now do not think that Purvey actually wrote this treatise, titled On Translating the Bible into English, dated 1401-7; Introduction, “On Translating the Bible into English (Extract),” The Idea of the Vernacular, eds. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Nicholas Watson, Andrew Taylor, and Ruth Evans (University Park: Penn State U., 1999), pp. 146-48, at p. 146. 55 Foxe, Acts, p. 506. 252 the early reformers embraced the mysteries and secrets of God as puzzles they could work out on their own, given vernacular texts. In his version of 1 Corinthians, Tyndale translates both mysterio and profunda (translated in the 1582 Douay-Rheims as mystery and deep things) as secrets:

We speake that which is wisdom amonge them that are perfaicte: not the wisdom of this worlde nether off the ruelars off this worlde (whiche goeth to nought) but we speake the wisdom off god, which is in secrete and lieth hid, which god ordeyned before the worlde unto oure glory: which wisdom none of the ruelars of the worlde knewe. For had they knowen it, they wolde not have crucified the lorde of glory: but as it is written The eye hath not sene, and the eare hath not herde, nether have entred into the herte of man, the thynges which god hath prepared for them that love hym. But God hath opened them unto us by hys sprete. For the sprete searcheth all thynges, yee the bottom of goddes secretes.56

Here, Tyndale inverts the hierarchy of his society, granting wisdom to the common man by means of the secrets of God. In fact, the role of Christians, according to Tyndale’s translation of 1 Corinthians 4.1 is to be the “disposers of the secretes of god.”57

However, despite this impetus to empower the laity, Tyndale also recognizes that some secrets might be better left unexamined. In his prologue to Romans, he outlines the futility of trying to uncover the truth of one’s own predestination:

But here muste a marke be sett vnto those vnquiett busie and hye climyng sprites howe ferre they shall goo which fyrste of all bringe hether there hye reasons and pregnant wittes and beginne fyrst from an hye to sherche the botomlesse secretes of God’s predestinacion whether they be predestinat or not. These must neades other cast themsilves downe hedelonge into desperacion or else committ themselves to fre chauce carelesse.58

56 William Tyndale, trans, The New Testament, ed. W. R. Cooper (London: The British Library, 2000), p. 352. For the Vulgate and Douay-Rheims translations, see Ed. Angela M. Kinney, The Vulgate Bible, vol. VI, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2013), at p. 870-71. 57 Tyndale, trans. NT, p. 354. Again, the translation of the Douay-Rheims is mysteries, pp. 876-77. 58 William Tyndale, A Compendious Introduccion unto the Pistle to the Romayns (Amsterdam: Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, 1975), f. 15v. 253

Tyndale’s description of these inquiring spirits is similar to that of More’s meddlers. The spirit of God alone is able to search to the very bottom of God’s secrets. The Christian should be content with what knowledge God gives him access to, even if he need not be content with what the knowledge the Church gives him access to. In fact, Foxe praises

Tyndale for not having revealed too much too quickly in his printing endeavors:

[he] there beynge not idle but labouryng in setting forth þe plain declaratio[n] and vndersta[n]ding of the scriptures, of the whiche all were not put forth in prynte, as one worke that he made for the declaration (as it was called at that tyme) of the sacrame[n]t of the altar, the whiche he kept by him, for in that he folowed the counsell of saynt Paule, that to suche as be not yet stronge, feede them with mylke, and afterwards as they may bear it with strong meate.59

In Acts, Tyndale similarly praises a friend for discretion—“not to pronounce or define of hid secretes.”60

The Eucharist, a sacrament the Church brooked very little argument about in the late fourteenth-century and after, was a difficult topic to discuss.61 More would no doubt agree that most lay members were not equipped to discuss this sacrament. Even with his misgivings, though, Tyndale had taken a step that More would not approve: he had still translated a text about the sacrament. Tyndale viewed the task of translating the theology of the Eucharist into English as a productive one even if it would not be immediately read. In

Acts, Foxe provides his own view of the Eucharist as well, denying the mysteries of the

Church and transubstantiation, but imbuing it with his own secrets:

for the mistery doth not lie hid in the matter it self, but rather in more secreat notes & markes of thinges, by þe which the bread & the body of Christ, the wine & hys bloud are correspondent, thone vnto thother by a mutuall

59 Foxe, Acts, p. 571. 60 Foxe, Acts, p. 578. 61 Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1991), p. 327. 254

Analogy, the whiche Analogy when as the christian mind doth consyder and way with him self, of necessity he doth therby get a great confirmation and establishynge of their faith together with greate consolatyon and comfort of their conscience, and speciallye vnto suche as be afflycted and troubled in spirite. . . .62

The secrets that Foxe ascribes to the sacrament are ones that he invites his readers to contemplate, and in contemplating, find comfort. Even if hard to understand, the topic is not one that Foxe wishes to completely deny the laity. Still, both Tyndale and Foxe do not wish to entirely do away with secrets; they recognize the difficulty of the theology to which they would provide access.63

More and Tyndale (and the parties they represent) are different, but not as different as polemics would make them appear. In many cases, their debate descends into tossing the same label back and forth at each other. Each, for example, is convinced of the other’s desire to obfuscate the truth. In this case, they are both invested not in keeping secrets but in open, clear access to knowledge, unhindered by lies and deception. Both More and Tyndale use the label juggler in their attempts to discredit the other’s arguments. In Acts, Tyndale is portrayed as so powerfully imbued with God’s blessing and clarity, a “simple, entirely readable man” according to Simpson, that he makes void all the efforts of a magician, a “iuggler,” attempting, as entertainment, to perform Faustus-like feats before the merchants with whom

Tyndale is dining one day:64

Then the iuggler being desired to showe his cunning, vtterid all that he could doo, but all was in vaine. At þe last, with his labour, sweating and toyling, he sawe that nothing would go forward but that all his enchauntementes were

62 Foxe, Acts, p. 417. 63 That said, as Eiléan Chuilleanáin observes, the Reformist stance on secrets and mysteries is that they should be “peripheral” to the religious life, “The Debate Between Thomas More and William Tyndale,” p. 404. 64 James Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 109. 255

voyce, he was compelled openly to confesse that there was some man present at supper whiche disturbed and letted all his doinges.65

David Daniell describes a juggler as “a serious magician, a wizard who can make things appear and disappear.”66 The juggler derives his authority from his ability to make things disappear, to secret them away and make them appear elsewhere. In this anecdote, then, the magician must move away from the deceitfulness and secrecy of his tricks to open confession in the presence of Tyndale. As a symbol of deception and devilish arts, the juggler becomes synonymous with Roman Catholic clerics in texts by or about Tyndale.67 In fact, according to John King, who cites Bale and Foxe, the word “juggler” becomes part of the Protestant anti-clerical rhetoric and appears in Foxe because of Tyndale’s usage.68

In the debate between More and Tyndale, then, the accusation of juggling serves as a major point of contention. Tyndale introduces the term in his Answer to More, using it to indicate the ways in which he feels More and Catholic clerics attempt to hide or confuse scriptural and theological truth. At the beginning, he reveals the “secret panges that pinch the very hertes of them”: “The sekenesse that maketh them so impacyent ys that they haue lost theyr iuglinge termes.”69 These terms include penaunce and confessyon, terms that are not only “iugglynge,” but “fayned.”70 Juggling becomes an action equivalent to hiding away the true meaning of scripture. The light of the Scripture is needed to uncover this deception,

65 Foxe, Acts, p. 576. 66 David Daniell, “Tyndale and Foxe,” John Foxe: An Historical Perspective, ed. David Loades (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999), pp. 15-29, at p. 22. 67 King, “Light of Printing,” p. 59. 68 King, “Light of Printing,” p. 59. 69 William Tyndale, An Answere Vnto Sir Thomas Mores Dialoge, eds. Anne M. O’Donnell and Jared Wicks (Washington, D.C., Catholic U of America P., 2000), p. 21. 70 Tyndale, Answere, pp. 21, 23. 256

“their iuglinge spied.”71 Later, Tyndale directs the accusation of juggling at More: More juggleth with mystical terms, sophistry, and allegories—all techniques with which to cloak the truth.72

More, however, redirects the term juggling back at Tyndale. He asserts that Tyndale himself engages in juggling to distract readers from the real question at hand: “This is a prety poynt of iuglynge by whyche he wolde make the reader loke a syde yt hym selfe myght playe a false caste the whyle and men sholde not se wherin the questyon standeth.”73 It is Tyndale, not he, who hides the truth with wordplay. More defends his own lexical choices as “no iuglynge termys,” emphasizing that “I iugle not.”74 He challenges the reader to examine for himself whether Tyndale or More is the juggler:

But now let vs se whyther of vs two playe the false iugeler I that tell you that euery necessary poynt of bylefe is not wryten in saynt Iohans gospell or Tyndale that wolde make you wene that what so euer ye fynde not wryten there, ye were not bounden to take it for any necessary poynt of fayth.75

The debate is one of Scriptural authority and the nature of religious truth. For answer, More wishes to “leue disputying vppon ye word, and loke vppon the dede,” a solution which he had also recommended to his fictional opponent in the Dialogue: base your judgment on what you see.76 The deed stands as a physical representation of inward conviction, capable of being seen and understood by outside viewers.

The similarities between More’s and Tyndale’s rhetoric leads Simpson to accuse

Early Modern Protestants of promoting a hypocritical theology. In Burning to Read, he champions More over Tyndale, upsetting the narrative of liberal progressivism that scholars

71 Tyndale, Answere, p. 44. 72 Tyndale, Answere, pp. 94, 123, 150, 169. 73 More, Confutation, p. 202. 74 More, Confutation, pp. 206, 312. 75 More, Confutation, p. 312. 76 More, Confutation, p. 312. 257 like David Daniell have generally attributed to the Protestant Reformation: “the reader’s freedom is not among the gains of sixteenth-century evangelical culture.”77 He explains that the conflict between providing open access and maintaining secrets (as seen in the work of both Tyndale and Foxe) arises from an anxiety over authority inherent in the sola scriptura approach to faith. According to Simpson, Protestants touted openness and transparency, but in fact “produc[ed] near total opacity.”78 In an effort to guarantee the correct literal understanding of the Bible, the Protestant community required a mediating and authoritative institution. Having disavowed the Catholic Church, Protestants were forced to envision an invisible, unearthly church, what More labeled a “secret vnknowen chyrche,”79 which engendered anxiety among its would-be members.80 If you could not see the church, how could you guarantee your membership? This, of course, was the anxiety of Calvinism and predestination.

Scholars have discussed the construction of just such an invisible church in Acts.

Thomas Betteridge points out that Foxe designates martyrs’ material sacrifices as evidence of

“their membership of the invisible body of the ‘true’ church.”81 V. Norskov Olsen breaks down Foxe’s definition of these visible and invisible churches, visible designating those with

77 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 3. Simpson disparages Daniell in chapter 1 for not taking into account the complexities and contradictions of Tyndale’s theology and instead only focusing on the achievement of allowing the common man to read (26). Simpson, however, seems to ignore somewhat the efforts of other scholars like Brian Cummings, D.V.N. Bagchi, Eiléan Chuilleanáin, John T. Day, and even Anne Richardson (whom he mocks as a Tyndale-promoter), all of whom (among others) have promoted a much more balanced perspective on the More-Tyndale debate than Simpson will acknowledge. The narrative of liberal progressivism is not so ubiquitous as Simpson would claim. In fact, Daniell portrays his own praise of Tyndale as overdue and as yet unrecognized: “[Tyndale] has been more unfairly neglected” (p.4); David Daniell, William Tyndale: A Biography (New Haven: Yale UP, 2001). 78 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 5. 79 More, Confutation, p. 25. 80 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 107-108. 81 Thomas Betteridge, “Truth and History in Foxe’s Acts and Monuments,” John Foxe and his World, eds. Christopher Highley, John N. King (Aldershot, 2002), pp. 145-59, at pp. 146-47. 258

“outward profession only,” and invisible those “by election inwardly joined to Christ.”82 A natural result of such logic, as Claire Falck points out, is that invisibility was perceived to be the church’s proper condition; since it was invisible, however, the church required some medium of visibility to establish a credibility and foothold in England.83 Discussing the woodcuts in Acts, Falck argues that they are “invisible images,” which she defines as “images that serve as visible markers to alert the viewer to the presence of something beyond apprehension.”84

Simpson’s argument, however, presupposes a sort of disconnect or deliberate hypocrisy on the part of the Protestants: they vocally declare the simplicity and openness of their faith and Scripture while in fact operating on the basis of secret and private affirmations of that faith. I would argue that, in presenting this argument, Simpson is unduly harsh to the reformers. He does not seem to take into account the very real and physical threats facing the Protestant community at the beginning of the Reformation. Craig D’Alton convincingly argues that even More’s underlying goal in writing Dialogue is not to convert readers back to the Church via reasoned argument, but rather to show the necessity for more extreme measures: torture and death.85 Persecution necessitated the development of a theology that praised preaching and open discussion of secrets, praised the act of translation, praised simplicity, and yet avoided condemning those who, under torture and examination, could not uphold their faith in any of these public ways.

82 V. Norskov Olsen, John Foxe and the Elizabethan Church (Berkeley: UCal P., 1973), p. 106. 83 Claire Falck, “ ‘Heavenly Lineaments’ and the Invisible Church in Foxe and Spenser,” SEL 53.1 (2013): pp. 1-29, at p. 2. 84 Falck, “Heavenly Lineaments,” p. 3. 85 Craig W. D’Alton, “Charity or Fire? The Argument of Thomas More’s 1529 Dyaloge,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 33.1 (2002), pp. 51-70, specifically at p. 52. 259

More’s main issue with Tyndale’s argument can be focalized around his own insistence on visual and commonly-agreed signs to validate both Scripture and Church tradition. This is Simpson’s issue as well. More believed in a visible Church that dictated meaning; Tyndale did not. Therefore, More advocated a historical faith, one grounded in the cumulative decisions and consensus of Church clerics, writers, and officials. Tyndale advocated a feeling faith, one grounded in personal conviction from the Holy Spirit regarding

Scriptural truth and membership in the true church.86 Consequently, Tyndale eschews anything that smacks of reliance on outside tradition. He encourages a literal understanding of Scripture that denigrates any of the more complex readings of the Church based on grammatical study. As Simpson has pointed out, there are inherent contradictions in this system. Personal conviction must be validated. As he puts it, “lection presupposes election.”87 Therefore, the concept of a literal and simple understanding becomes tricky.

However, Simpson is not the first to critique the impossibility of an open and literal understanding. Cummings convincingly argues that the problem of how to read was one that preoccupied the sixteenth century at large.88 Calvin also put forward the notion that there was only one true meaning of the Word which was “infinitely translatable.”89 And there were critics other than More. Montaigne, for example, lampooned Martin Luther for undermining trust in language through his insistence on sola scriptura.90 However, the concept of sola scriptura was not one that originated with the reformers. Medieval thinkers, like Ockham, also

86 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 175; Auksi, “Reason and Feeling as Evidence, p. 14; Chuilleanáin, “The Debate Between Thomas More and William Tyndale,” p. 409. 87 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 108. 88 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, p. 30. 89 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, pp. 249-50. 90 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, pp. 26-29. 260 advocated this approach to reading.91 In addition to contextualizing Tyndale’s theologies within a larger picture of medieval and humanist theory, Cummings also points out that

More finds himself in difficulties as well. In lambasting Tyndale’s reliance on the letter, he destroys the very source that he turns to for his own authority: Scripture.92 Much like

Tyndale’s invisible church, More’s unwritten word of God (as found in tradition) is curiously unable to be proved without resort to some sort of visible sign.93

The debate over how to read—whether with feeling or with the weight of history— comes back ultimately to grammar. Jamie Ferguson has skillfully outlined the grammatical foundations of the argument. More, as well as many humanists of his day, were insistent that the meaning of words was based on usage alone.94 They advocated a Thomist conception of species, which mediated between res and signa.95 Consequently, words (signa) might change over time, because it is not the signa that are inherent in the res, but rather the species.96 It follows, then, that More would advocate a historically-contingent reading of Scripture, wherein the

Church’s tradition dictated the meaning of words.97 Tyndale, on the other hand, argued that the definition of words (especially those in Scripture) resided in nothing but themselves: the signa pointed directly to the res.98 As a result, their meaning is “self-evident” and open.99 The

91 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, p. 19. 92 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, p. 46. 93 Jamey Hecht, “Limitations of Textuality in Thomas More’s Confutation of Tyndale’s Answer,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 26.4 (1995), pp. 823-828, at p. 826. 94 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, p. 22; Jamie Ferguson, “Faith in the Language: Biblical Authority and the Meaning of English in More-Tyndale Polemics,” Sixteenth Century Journal 43.4 (2012), pp. 989-1011, at p. 1004. 95 Ferguson, “Faith in the Language,” p. 995. 96 Ferguson, “Faith in the Language,” pp. 996-98. I use here the terms I introduced in the third chapter so as to maintain consistency. Ferguson points out More’s terminology: signs, things, and the imagination of the thing (p. 995). 97 Ferguson, “Faith in the Language,” pp. 996-97. 98 Ferguson, “Faith in the Language,” pp. 990, 999, 1003. 99 Ibid., pp. 1000-1003. 261 difference between More and Tyndale’s perspective is that between “consensual usage” of a word and the “essential denotation” of a word.100

A belief in the essential denotation of a word seems to correspond naturally with the rise of printing. The printed word, with its sense of stability and consistency, elevates its connection to the character mentis, or mind and intention of the author.101 Since the printed book and the written text were such an essential part of Protestant faith—Simpson states that “[e]vangelicals held that matters of belief depend entirely on written documents”102—it is unsurprising that the reformers’ approach to reading should teach them how to read other

Christians as within the faith or not. If correct interpretation ultimately depended on “secret movings,” or private revelations, thereby instituting, as Simpson disparagingly argues, a much less secure sense of belonging for individuals, at the same time it encouraged a much more secure sense of physical well-being. More’s own strawman, the purported visiting teacher with whom he debates in Dialogue, raises this approach to reading people in protest to More’s condemnation of them:

Why shoulde ye wene so quod he or whereby can ye be sure that ye do not nowe mysse conster theyr good mynde? Hard is it oftymes to iudge an other mannes dede that hathe some apparence of euyll bycause the purpose and entent may make it good. And what parell is it then where the ded appereth good there to iudge ye mynde and entent for nought whiche who can se but god? As the scrypture sayth Dominus autem intuetur cor. Onely god beholdeth the harte.103 The heart is a secret known only unto God, inscrutable to other readers. More’s opponent reproves More for attempting to claim knowledge not meant for him, echoing More’s own

100 Ibid., p. 1009. 101 I borrow the term from Cummings, p. 250. 102 Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 182. 103 More, Dialogue, p. 124. 262 reproof of Protestant readers. More, however, refuses to accept this way of reading people, introducing contradiction into his own philosophy:

I iudge not quod I but vpon thinges and well apparent. For I speke but of those whose erronyous oppynyons in theyr prechynge and theyr obstynate pryde in the defence of theyr wordly worshyp well declareth theyr myndes.104

More desires a visible sign of Christian faith, interpretable through the traditions established by the Church. Taking a page from their own reading practices, Protestants interpreted their fellow Christians differently, much like they did their vernacular texts—guided by their own internal convictions and trusting to those convictions to save. No visible sign outside of that was necessary—not even the act of martyrdom. The truth of any one’s member faith rested intrinsically within themselves, even as the res rested within the signa. This truth should be self-evident outside of traditionally constructed methods of testing the faith or, in terms of grammar, species.

II. Visible and Invisible Signs of Faith in Acts and Monuments

Simpson argues that reformers actively sought out persecution and martyrdom as a way of providing a visual sign of their membership within an invisible church.105 Foxe’s Acts and Monuments weakens this claim, witnessing to a much more complicated group identity.

While praising those martyrs who were vocal witnesses to their faith, Foxe also vindicates those who were pressed to recant. In this way, he answers More’s criticism that most of the martyrs praised by reformers actually abjured their faith. 106 In the Dialogue, More speaks

104 More, Dialogue, p. 124. 105 Simpson, Burning to Read, pp. 171-72. 106 Brad Gregory, “Saints and Martyrs in Tyndale and More,” Martyrs and Martyrdom in England, eds. Thomas S. Freeman and Thomas F. Mayer (Woodbridge: Boydell P., 2007), pp. 107-125, at p. 117. 263 disparagingly of Protestant martyrs when contrasted with Catholic saints: “where as of your secrete chyrche I neuer yet founde or herde of any one in all my life but he wolde forswere your fayth to saue his lyfe.”107 Foxe presents a more tolerant picture of these martyrs. For

Foxe and many of the other authors in Acts, the fault lies not with the martyr, but rather with the Church. In recording the abjuration of Jerome of Prague, for example, the authorial gloss indicates that the reader should not judge Jerome harshly for his abjuration. Rather he should remember that “Ierome is made here to say not his owne mynde but what pleased them.”108 The narrative then goes on to depict the same awareness in Jerome’s accusers as in the glosser and his readers: “afterwarde his ennemyes whiche were appointed against hym . .

. vnderstoode and knewe by the wordes and talke of maister Hierome, and by other certayne tokens, that he made the same abiuration and recantation, not of a syncere & pure mynde.”109 Jerome’s open deeds both reject and embrace Protestant ideas in turn. It is his inward conviction that runs true throughout. As I mentioned above, this view of the true

Christian may stem from Protestant reading practices. It is interesting to note, after all, that many times the flesh of martyrs and Christians were conflated with the materiality of texts.

Simpson even points out that the

evangelical martyr becomes, in these texts, the truest witness by becoming the textual witness itself, dying not merely for the Gospel, but dying in some profound sense as the Gospel. Thus in this case the textual witness turns out to be self-consuming. By becoming the textual witness (or martur in its literal, Greek meaning), the evangelical courtier becomes a martyr in the modern sense.110

107 More, Dialogue, p. 201. 108 Foxe, Acts, p. 297. 109 Foxe, Acts, p. 298. 110 Simpson, Burning, p. 155-56. 264

Cumming argues a similar point: books and human bodies become equivalent vessels of heresy in the eyes of the law.111 Later in this chapter, I will discuss the ways in which the materiality of the printed book (especially Acts) was linked with the materiality of its authors.

By refusing to condemn those men and women who abjured their beliefs, Foxe models a universal acceptance of Protestant martyrs despite their actions, negating

Simpson’s claim that the evangelical Protestant culture was inherently paranoid because of its reliance on literalism, causing members to both “affirm” and to “repudiate fellow evangelicals.”112 Some of the depicted martyrs are outspoken, flouting authority and unafraid about their effect on the laity. Others are terrified by the threat of execution. As C.S. Lewis points out, even those martyrs who had suffered without flinching were the subjects of whispered narratives during the time of intense persecution rather than publicly lauded tales:

“For the Marian persecution, [Foxe’s] sources are usually the narratives of eyewitnesses.

Such narratives, whispered in secret during a Terror and emulously proclaimed as soon as the Terror is over, are liable to distortion.”113 Any distortion of the narratives that results as a consequence of this rapidly-changing environment is a side-effect of the witnesses’ trauma, not Foxe’s dishonesty.114 If Lewis is right, then Foxe is presenting as best he might the reality of early Protestant communities. The reality was complicated. Protestants desired open access to scripture and vernacular theology, but also respected those who ultimately were forced to nominally embrace the church’s closed-system policies.

111 Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation, p. 19. 112 Simpson, Burning, p. 143. Simpson refers to only two main examples as evidence for this point: the psalms of Wyatt and the conflict between Tyndale and George Joy. This seems somewhat thin support to go on. 113 C. S. Lewis, English Literature in the Sixteenth Century Excluding Drama (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1954), p. 299. 114 Ibid. 265

The Protestant faith, as Acts presents it, is one that encourages open discussion of theology. This is true as well of the Wycliffite supporters presented as proto-Protestants in the beginning of Acts. Preachers and members of the true church are called to uncover the secretive dealings of the false church and to make available to the laity theological discourse.

Nicholas Hereford, for example, a canon of Leicester in the late fourteenth century, takes on his rightful role once he becomes a doctor of theology: “The which assone as he had taken it vppon him, by and by he stepped forth as it were vpon a stage, to play his parte, and began immediatly to shew forthe and vtter that, which he had longe hidden and dissembled.”115

Hereford reacts against his former clerical identity, showing what even he himself had formerly hidden. John Lambert, speaking at his 1538 examination, also supports easy and open understanding, thereby arguing for the use of English in church:

According to the mind of Saint Paul i. Co. 9. wher he wisheth rather to speak fiue words in the church hartely with vndersta[n]di[n]g wherby other might haue instruction, then ten thousand wordes in a tongue vnknowen, ye to say truth, truth it is in deede þt I shal say: a good thynge the further and the more largely or apertly it is knowen the further the vertue therof spredeth, and roteth in mens hartes and remembrance.116

Clarity and accessibility trump every other consideration when it comes to the presentation of Scriptures and theology. In order to drive this point home—and to advocate the English translation of Scripture—Foxe includes in the 1563 edition of Acts John Purvey’s treatise arguing for Scripture in English.117 Referencing Paul, Purvey states that “if oure gospel be

115 Foxe, Acts, p. 153. 116 Foxe, Acts, p. 616. 117 Foxe, Acts, pp. 504-505. See editorial commentary on p. 504 for further discussion of Purvey’s treatise. 266 hid, it is hid in them that shalbe da[m]pned.”118 Those who hide the truth and gospel, rather than publicly declaring it, will be damned.

Many of the martyrs honored by Foxe seem to live by Purvey’s warning, making open not only the Scripture but their personal beliefs. The examples that follow span two centuries, but they all—despite the influence of different contributors and writers—employ a similar rhetoric, especially making use of the word “openly.” William Thorpe (examined in

1407) desires a larger audience to whom he may proclaim his desire to be a true member of the Church: “I make this protestation before you all foure, that are nowe here present, coueting that all men and women that nowe bee absent, knowe the same.”119 Reginald

Pecock (examined in 1457), a Protestant hero in Acts despite self-identifying as orthodox bishop during his own lifetime, is accused of having “openly preached & taught at Paules crosse in London.”120 Jerome of Prague (d. 1416) writes to his king that he will “declare openly before the whole councell, the puritie & sinceritie of my true faith and mine innocencie, & not secretly in corners before any priuate or particuler persone.”121 Remaining true to his word, Jerome refuses to answer inquiries in prison, desiring an “open audience” because he will not “consent vnto those priuate iudges.”122 For Jerome, his desire to be open serves a two-fold purpose: testimony and protection. Other martyrs seek similar protection in openness. Richard Bayfield (1531) asks that any heresies perceived in books he has transported be announced before an “open audience.”123

118 Foxe, Acts, p. 505. Paul writes this in 2 Corinthians 4:3. 119 Foxe, Acts, p. 199. 120 Foxe, Acts, p. 420. 121 Foxe, Acts, p. 294. 122 Foxe, Acts, p. 298. 123 Foxe, Acts, p. 540. 267

In book 2 of Acts, Foxe dedicates a large portion of the text to accounts of Jan Hus

(1415), the outspoken Bohemian counterpart of John Wyclif. After Hus’s death, the nobles of Moravia, writing to the Council of Constance in protest of Hus’s treatment, follow Hus’s example, “openly professing and protesting both with harte & mouth, that he the saide

Maister Iohn Hus, was a iust good and catholick man.”124 Open protestation equals truth and sincerity. Hus is a man who “did preache by the waye openlye” on his journey to the very place where he would be executed.125 When approached by curates who wished to speak with him privately on the way to Constance, Hus refused: “he aunswered that he loued much rather to pronounce & shewforth his minde & opinion openly before al men.”126 This is the same manner in which Hus withstood a papal bull he regarded as evil: “the said Iohn Hus withstode it openly for so muche as he sawe that it was wicked and nought.”127

The Church’s methods of execution often reflected its concern with Protestant speech. In an account of twenty-four reformers executed in Paris (1534) for “wrytinges and billes” displayed around the city, the narrative includes the case of Henry Poile, who is killed in a way that emphasizes the driving desire to silence him. Since words were the foundation of his crime, it is painfully suitable that Henry is killed by having “his tonge thrust thorowe with a wier, and so made faste vnto his checke, and after burned.”128

Even when executed, however, many martyrs refuse to be silenced though their voices are stolen from them. Jerome of Prague sings until the flames choke him. Even after his ability to communicate audibly is gone, Jerome continues to perform the motions: “Then

124 Foxe, Acts, p. 241. 125 Foxe, Acts, p. 256. 126 Foxe, Acts, p. 248. 127 Foxe, Acts, p. 248. 128 Foxe, Acts, p. 567. 268 his voyce by the vehemencye of the fire was choked and stopped, that it was no longer hard but he moued continually his mouth & lyps, as though he had still prayed or spoken wyth in him self.”129 A similar series of events occurs later in Acts with a different martyr (d. 1525), unnamed this time. The man feels he will have chance to speak in the public forum of his execution: “After he had saide the Lordes prayer, the hangman bid him knele downe, but he refused to so to doo, declaring that he had yet something more to say before the people, thincking þt he should not be denied to speake in that place, as he was before the wicked judges.”130 Shortly, the judge grows impatient, and the executioner cuts off the martyr’s head.

This, however, does not completely halt the motions of speaking: “His tongue moued a longe time afterwarde in his head, by means of the force of the woordes whyche he had before spoken.”131 This example is provided not merely in an attempt to reproduce the physiological marvels at work, but also as a testament to the martyr’s witness. Though inaudible, the tongue repeats what has been spoken before, testifying even in silence.

Despite Acts’s overwhelming testimony to the heroism of these public witnesses, it also records that even outspoken preachers valued more private testimony. Thomas Bilney

(examined in 1527) is reported to preach privately to his brothers and sisters in Christ, before proceeding to preach publicly:

And imediatly departed to Norfolk, and there preached first priuatly in housoldes, to confirme the bretherne & sistern, & also to co[n]firm thankris, who[m]e he co[n]uerted to Christ. Then preached openly in the fieldes, confessing his fact and preaching openly that thing, which before he had abiured, to be a very truth, and bad al men beware by him and neuer to truste to their fleshly frendes in causes of religion.132

129 Foxe, Acts, p. 301. 130 Foxe, Acts, p. 487. 131 Foxe, Acts, p. 487. 132 Foxe, Acts, p. 534. 269

Having abjured himself under trial, Bilney vindicates himself by openly sharing doctrine once he returns to his community. Before preaching in the public space, however, he visits privately with friends and converts, reinstating his identity as a believer. His recantation does not invalidate his faith, and, in the private sphere, he comforts both himself and others concerning doctrine and identity. More feared these secret and close conversations. He accuses heterodox sects of meeting in secret, “in dyuers corners and luskes lanes.”133 In Acts, accusations brought against Lollards or Protestants sound much the same. Bishops complaining to King Henry V in 1413 accuse the heretics of subverting their authority.

Numbered among their faults is that they “holde their assembles in secret place & corners, to wryte books and teache in Medowes, Woodes, & dennes.”134 Later, the clergy bring more of the same complaints to the king, disturbed by Sir John Oldcastle’s resistance. They accuse heretics and Lollards of secret and destructive worship: “the heretickes and lolards of

Wycleffes opinion, wer suffered to preach abrode, so boldly to gether conuenticles vnto them, to kepe scholes in mens houses, to make bokes, compile treatises, and wryte ballets, to teach privately in angles & corners . . . .”135

Foxe’s play Christus Triumpans (1556) also presents the community of Protestants as secretive. The play, not extensively studied, provides an account of typological time in which

Jesus, Eve, and Mary exist on the same stage at the same moment. Christ and Satan are locked in a struggle that barely veils the true conflict about which Foxe is writing: the struggle between the true Protestant church and the false Catholic church. In Act 2, Scene 2,

133 More, Confutation, p. 14. 134 Foxe, Acts, p. 225. 135 Foxe, Acts, p. 327. 270 two high priests discuss how to root out the sect that is preaching in the risen Christ’s name—a sect that is made up of “dregs of humanity: sellers of broken chickpea, customs men, ostlers, cobblers, people like that, vagrants from the wrong side of town.”136 The sect is effectively described as the laity of England. Their usual behavior is to “hold to their ways in secret.”137 It both publicly proclaims the news of the risen Christ and operates in secret. The high priests are eager to suppress both modes of operation, much as we have seen in Acts and More’s texts.

Providing access to doctrine, via schools, sermons, or secret meetings is the primary initiative of these heterodox groups. In opening up theological discourse, however, members of these groups do not claim that each individual’s faith will be marked by equally open signs. Under examination, Jan Hus denies the visibility of faith: “There is no degree of honor or dignitie, neither any humayne election, or any sensible signe, that can make a man a member of the vniuersall churche.”138 Hus, earlier defending the articles of Wyclif, had gone further to argue that visible signs will be a testament to the Antichrist, rather than Christ.

Those who believe in the visible signs instead of the invisible will be readily identified as evil:

“And that the mindes of euell men againste the same, might the soner be knowne, whiche neglecte to folow the inuisible thinges, whiche the church doth promes, whiles they be led with visible signes.”139 True preachers, according to Hus, receive the “invisible sending,” but have no need to confirm that sending by visible signs such as miracles.140 Rather, true

136 John Foxe, Christus Triumphans, Two Latin Comedies by John Foxe the Martyrologist, ed. and trans. John Hazel Smith (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1973), pp. 199-372, at p. 257. 137 Foxe, Christus Triumphans, p. 259. 138 Foxe, Acts, p. 267. 139 Foxe, Acts, p. 168. 140 Foxe, Acts, p. 168. 271

Christians have spiritual eyes equipped to see the invisible. Foxe, in an Easter sermon at

Paul’s Cross, emphasizes the need for spiritual eyes to see what miracles it is that God has worked: “although not yet visibly reueled to our ouward sight, yet are they manifestly apparent to the spirituall eyes of our fayth in the Scriptures and promises of God.”141 Acts thus disagrees with More, who, as discussed earlier, claimed that he would judge orthodoxy and membership in the Church based “not but upon open things and well apparent.”142

Acts encourages its readers to distrust outward signs of faith, regardless of the subject’s purported affiliations. Whereas More advocates closed scriptures and public faith,

Foxe compiles a testament to the reverse—open scriptures and private faith. Confession, where treated positively in Acts, is consequently presented as a secret communication with

God, inaccessible to outside observers. In the account of George Wishart’s examination

(1546), Wishart rejects the mode of auricular confession and exhorts confession that

“signifieth the secreat knowledge of oure sinnes before God.”143 In this refashioning of confession, the secret corrects the open and audible, virtue being inherent in the secrecy.

This corresponds to Wishart’s description of God as “a secrete searcher of mennes hartes.”144 The secret confession is met with the secret searcher. God is often portrayed in

Acts and elsewhere as the god of secrets, prioritizing the internal, personal, and inescapable nature of the Protestant relationship with God. Anne Askew (examined in 1545), for example, commits her case and fate to “almightye God, whyche rightlye iudgeth all

141 John Foxe, “A Sermon of Christ crucified, preached at Paules Crosse the Friday befre Easter, commonly called Goodfryday,” The English Sermons of John Foxe, ed. Warren W. Wooden (Delmar: Scholars’ Facsimiles & Reprints, 1978), f. 26r. 142 More, Dialogue, p. 124. 143 Foxe, Acts, p. 706. 144 Foxe, Acts, p. 706. 272 seacreates.”145 Secrets here, given the context of the trial, seem to indicate the state of the heart—both good and bad.

This perspective on the privacy of faith allows Foxe to claim as martyrs and heroes for the Protestant faith figures that are otherwise recognized as orthodox or who are forced to recant before orthodox authorities. As a prime example, in the 1570 edition of Acts, Foxe confidently identifies Chaucer as a Wycliffite. He claims the medieval author was invested in promoting the truth, but wished to hide that truth from unfriendly eyes: “Althoughe in the same booke (as in all other hee vseth to do) vndershadowes couertly, as vnder a visoure, he suborneth truth, in such sorte, as both priuely she may profite the godly minded, and yet not be espyed of the craftye aduersarie”.146 Foxe is equally invested in reclaiming the slandered names of abjured Protestants. Following a list of “souldyours of Christ” imprisoned and tortured in 1428, Foxe excuses the abjurations they made under pressure:

These fornamed persons and souldyours of Christ being much beaten with the cares and troubles of those dayes allthough they wer constrained to relent and abiure that is, to protest other wise with their tonges then their harts did think partly thorough correction & partly thorough infirmity (being as yet but new trained solidiours in gods fielde) yet for their good will they bare vnto the truth allthough with their tongs they durst not expresse it, we haue thought good that their names shuld not be supressed, aswell for other sundry causes, as especially for this: Either to stop the mouthes of malignaunt aduersaries. . . .147

Foxe provides more extensive accounts of vindicated martyrs as well. In his 1545 examination, Sir William Smith provides a recantation that satisfies his persecutors because

“it bare the name of a recantation.”148 This recantation also satisfies Acts, however, since it

145 Foxe, Acts, p. 731. 146 Foxe, Acts, p. 1004. 147 Foxe, Acts, p. 402. 148 Foxe, Acts, p. 719. 273

“in effect denied nothing at al that had before preched or taught.”149 Two other instances of martyrdom (a man named Cowbridge and a friar named Forest) featuring abjuration or submission to the clerical authorities, occurring back-to-back in the third book of Acts, are especially pertinent to this conversation since they take place late in the reign of King Henry

VIII after he had claimed supremacy over the Church. As such, they testify to the consistency of Foxe’s stance on martyrs’ recantations, even in the case of persecuted

Catholics. Within the context of Henry’s reign, Foxe is more ambivalent in his attitude toward the English Church than he had been when it was under the thumb of Rome. While he perceives some progress, Foxe is still clearly critical of the direction of Henry’s

Reformation and his continuing support of some Catholic ritual. In praising Edward VI in the fourth book, Foxe criticizes Henry150:

Although it cannot be denied, but kinge Henry the noble father of this worthy Prince deserued also prayse & renown for his valiant and vertuous beginninge: Yet if he had proceded so hardeli, according as happely he begonne: and like as he only crakt the Popes crowne, and raysed his name, so if he had clene dispossessed him of al: or as he hadde once got the vicory ouer him, so if he had persued his victory got: And (as it was preached before him at Grenwige) like as he had once vnhorsed the Pope and put him out of the sadle, so if he had also taken awaye his trapers and sturrupes wherby the prelates went aboute to set him on his horse againe.151

The two anecdotes, then, of Cowbridge and Friar Forest, depict uneasiness towards clerics and mendicants still associated with the Catholic Church. However, they also testify to the unreliable witness of outward markers of faith.

149 Foxe, Acts, p. 719. 150 Tom Betteridge, “From Prophetic to Apocalyptic: John Foxe and the Writing of History,” John Foxe and the English Reformation, ed. David Loades (Brookfield: Ashgate, 1997), pp. 210-232, at p. 218. 151 Foxe, Acts, p. 740. 274

Acts implies that it is deception and persecution that make Cowbridge appear to deserve a writ from Cromwell on charges of heresy: “When through their false accusations and articles they had obtayned a wryte of the Lord Chauncellor for the execution of this poore man, vnto whome the Lorde chauncelloure him selfe was somewhat alied.”152

Cromwell is removed from criticism in this narrative both by virtue of having been deceived by the clerics and also by the explicit link Foxe draws between the Chancellor and

Cowbridge as allied in some way. It is the clerics who, having already determined to persecute Cowbridge, push him to heresy:

but alas, it is a sorowfull thinge to see, howe farr these deuines are seperate from the rule of the Apostolike mekenes which after they had this poore man fast entangled in ther prysō of Bocardo wt famine & hūger they brought this poor seruant of Christ vnto that pointe, þt thorough the long consumption and lack of slepe his natural strength beynge consumed, he lost his wittes and reason, wherby (as it is the manner of mad men) he vttered many vnsemely and vndescrete wordes wherupon the deuines spred rumours abroade that ther was an hereticke at Oxenforde which could abide to heare the name of Iesu but not the name of Christ to be named, and therfore that he ought to be burned, and so therupon cōdempned him that done.153

Foxe seems to accept that Cowbridge has indeed spoken heresy, but he does not attribute this to Cowbridge’s true intent. Rather, it is the ill-treatment of the clergyman that has forced an outward show of heresy. The clerics approach Cowbridge after receiving the writ, promising him food and drink if he will speak as they require when he is at the stake.

Cowbridge again is swayed from his true intent by this promised cessation of persecution:

“The Cowbridge beinge as before you haue hard almoste famished, for the desire of meat and sustenance, promised to do all things they would require of him.”154 Thus, the outer sign

152 Foxe, Acts, p. 627. 153 Foxe, Acts, p. 627. 154 Foxe, Acts, p. 627. 275 can be influenced and changed. Cowbridge, however, proves the constancy of the inner conviction, speaking as his heart leads him at the stake rather than the words provided for him by the clergy:

When the day appointed for execution was come, this meke lambe of Christ was brought forth vnto the slaughter with a great bande of armed men and being made fast in the middest of the fier (contrary to their expectation) often times callinge vpon the name of the Lorde Iesus Christ with great mekenes and quietnes he yelded his spirite into the handes of the Lorde.155

Cowbridge still remains in the flock of Christ and calls on Jesus Christ, rejecting the heresy he was forced by hunger to invoke earlier.

In the case of Friar Forest, Foxe approves of the judgment handed down upon the martyr. The friar, as a Catholic, is “vnworthy of place & not to be nombered in this catologe,” and yet Foxe still includes him in his register of martyrs—perhaps again as witness to the testimony of the inner man.156 Friar Forest refuses to acknowledge the king as the supreme head of the church, and is therefore seized and examined, especially since the friar had earlier sworn to accept Henry VIII as such. The friar’s response is that “he toke his oth with his outward man, but his inwarde man neuer consented therunto,” indicating a division between his verbal and outward behavior and his inward conviction.157 Though he initially submits to correction, the friar then refuses to read his abjuration and is killed. At his death, his inward and outward man are aligned.

Foxe portrays the Catholic Church as aware of this Protestant separation between private and public devotion. Catholic authorities are anxious to assure both outward and inward recantation of heretical beliefs. Not only in the case of Jerome of Prague as was

155 Foxe, Acts, p. 627. 156 Foxe, Acts, p. 627. 157 Foxe, Acts, p. 627. 276 discussed above, but in other examinations, the officials in charge are anxious to root out hidden or secret heresies. In the case of William Thorpe, the archbishop asks Thorpe to swear that he will not hold any heretical views in secret: “so that after this time neither priuely nor apertly, thou holde any opinion, whiche I shall after that thou haste sworne, rehearse to thee here.”158 In many ways, asking someone to swear to hold no views in secret or “prively” seems an impossible oath to enforce, but it shows the archbishop’s awareness that one must change both the inner and the outer man. It is an attempt to judge man in the same way Tyndale’s God does. According to Tyndale’s prologue to his translation of

Romans, God “iudgeth after the grounde of the herte ye and the thoughtes and the secret movinges of the mynde.”159

Considered from the angle of the church courts, the division between open confession and secret conviction seems a natural assumption. Why would one not assume a man on trial to do one thing while under examination but another once among friends or when privately contemplating his beliefs? A priest at the examination of Jan Hus expresses distrust of Hus for just such a reason. He cites letters that Hus has written: “he ought by no meanes to be admitted to recantation, for he hath wryten vnto his frendes, that although he doo sweare wyth his tounge, yet he wyl kepe hys minde vnsworne wythout othe: Wherfore he is not to be trusted.”160 The priest is unwilling to allow what he is convinced will be an insincere recantation.

As for Protestants, they question the right of Church courts to even ask for oaths. In his examination, John Lambert condemns the manipulation of defendants through those

158 Foxe, Acts, p. 200. 159 Tyndale, A Compendious Introduccion unto the Pistle to the Romayns, f. 2v. 160 Foxe, Acts, p. 285. 277 oaths: “Ye moreouer suche iudges sometime not knowing by any due proue that such as haue to doo afore them are culpable, will enforce them by an othe, to detecte them selues in openinge before them their hartes.”161 The oath is a violation of the private self, and

Lambert’s response to this is firm: “That is to say, thoughtes be free and nead to paye no toll.”162 Christians had a right to keep their thoughts and faith secret, nor were visible signs necessary to distinguish the faithful from the unfaithful. This justification of incomplete or false admissions is akin to the practice of equivocation, largely discussed in relation to the

Jesuits and their later responses to interrogation.163 Equivocation can be defined as “bending moral norms traditionally perceived as rigid, in the name of a different, and higher, moral principle.”164 Significant to our discussion is that this practice is largely grounded in a “debate over the nature of language.”165 The morality of equivocation is founded upon the idea that language is unstable.166 Lying, according to Augustinian thought, lies between the mind and the tongue, not the speaker and listener.167 In the case of Foxe’s martyrs, then, true conviction might not be readily evident in what one can hear, but rather in the process of belief that led to the statement in the first place. Again, the res of faith was inherent in the true believer, not in any species or idea of faith that More dictated from tradition. The advent of the printed book encouraged readers to understand their faith and the nature of words in this specific Tyndalean way. While still making the tenets of faith open via mass

161 Foxe, Acts, p. 621. 162 Foxe, Acts, p. 621. 163 Stefania Tutino, “Nothing But the Truth? Hermeneutics and Morality in the Doctrines of Equivocation and Mental Reservation in Early Modern Europe,” Renaissance Quarterly 64 (2011), pp. 115-55, at p. 116. 164 Tutino, “Nothing But the Truth,” p. 116. 165 Ibid., p. 117. 166 Ibid., p. 117. 167 Ibid., p. 117. 278 communication, the book encouraged a private definition of one’s personal relationship with

God.

III. Secret Faith and the Printed Book

More and Tyndale set up distinctly different ideas of the church that affected not only its membership, but also established different means of communication as more or less ideal. More, dedicated to tradition over written Scripture, preferred oral delivery. Even in his printed works, then, he reproduces a scenario of dialogue or conversation.168 Tyndale embraced printing and the resulting figure of the individual reader.169 Foxe, working closely with Day, also took full advantage of the printed medium to represent not merely his text, but his version of the Christian faith.

At the beginning of the 1563 edition of Acts, Foxe explains to his readers that his book is carefully thought out, not merely another text to add to the “superfluous plenty.”170

He acknowledges his readers’ fear that his book might contribute to the “insatiable gredines of wryting and printing” in the current age.171 But despite Foxe’s fear of the “secrete and close iudgementes of the Readers,” Acts is, in many ways, a testament to the printed book.172

I argue that it is the ability of the printed book to allow “secrete and close iudgementes” that, in part, convinced Foxe and other early Protestants that it was the perfect means of

168 Chuilleanáin, “The Debate Between Thomas More and William Tyndale,” p. 397. 169 Chuilleanáin, “The Debate Between Thomas More and William Tyndale,” p. 411; Eisenstein comments on the “individualistic” nature of the reading public, The Printing Revolution, p. 105. 170 Foxe, Acts, p. 14. 171 Foxe, Acts, p. 14. 172 Foxe, Acts, p. 14 279 expression for their faith. The printed book is the ultimate realization and reconciliation of what More perceived as the paradox of the Protestant faith.

Foxe’s Acts served as a public model of behavior—a manual on “how to read”173— but also created a private space where the reader could determine the nature of his or her own faith. As such, the book allowed reformers to reconcile their public and private personas. Its very materiality enabled private reflection while at the same time witnessing to the public and communal aspects of this new sect. This section examines the physical presentation of Acts. Additionally, it looks at how Foxe’s awareness of the physicality of his own sources influenced his presentation of them. Acts is a text uniquely concerned with its own medium, for the very reason that Foxe considered the medium in many ways as essential to the Protestant faith as the ideas it conveyed.

The woodcuts in Acts, which are peppered throughout the entire volume and usually depict gruesome executions, also illustrate the way in which speech and silence are often conflated in the text. This conflation reflects Foxe’s emphasis on internal conviction over public demonstration. Even if a martyr is deprived of speech, the woodcuts encourage readers to privately interpret how they themselves would respond in such situations or how they trust the martyr to have responded.

The woodcut accompanying the martyrdom of John Badby (1410), as a representative example, features the martyr in a central position, held in a barrel over a flame. Soldiers, authorities, and officials crowd around him. Badby’s head is tilted to the side, and a banderole streams from his mouth. Here, though the image is silent for the reader,

173 Susan Felch, “Shaping the Reader in the Acts and Monuments,” p. 60. 280

Badby is yet speaking. In the 1563 edition174, the words in the banderole read “Mercy Lord

Iesu Christ, mercy.”175 King explains that when woodcuts contained typeset, they almost always referred to a speech delivered in the text, emphasizing the interplay between silence and speaking that is generated by the interaction between writing and speaking.176 This latter interaction is especially highlighted by the scroll-like nature of the banderole, which appears as paper or parchment. However, typesetting in the banderoles was not always consistent.177

In cases where the banderoles were empty, readers often filled them in with their own choice of words.178 The emptiness of the banderole leaves a silence, and readers seemed to have embraced an image of speaking instead. By contributing speech to the text, however, readers were ultimately reflecting on their own faith and not on that of the martyr, judging others by their own internal convictions.179

Readers of Acts were comfortable, then, with accepting Foxe’s instructions to embrace the martyrs of his text as brothers and sisters, as exemplars. They knew what types of things to write into the banderoles that would craft the silent image of the martyr as a witness. Similarly, on Foxe’s example, they might have learned to embrace the act of reading itself, valuing the effort taken to assure vernacular translations for them. In addition to recording the accusations of owning English books that dominated the heresy trials in 1429,

174 Available through the digital Acts and Monuments Online project. 175 Foxe, Acts, p. 224. This image is accessible through the digital Acts and Monuments Online project. John N. King attributes this variant of the banderole speech to the 1570 edition rather than the 1563 edition; King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 202. 176 King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 197. 177 King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 202; Falck, pp. 10-11. 178 Some examples of additions: “I Suffer for the Truth,” “Pitty, Pitty,” “O you wicked People,” and “Lord rec[e]ave my sole,” King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 202; Falck, p. 11. 179 Falck, p. 11. 281

Foxe provides a list of books prohibited by the bishop Cuthbert Tunstall in 1527.180 The list extends over more than three pages, titles listed in both English and Latin. Many of them, like The Wicked Mammon, occur again and again throughout Acts, found in the possession of martyrs. After the list, Foxe appends the Purvey treatise arguing for scripture in English, emphasizing the central role of the English text in Acts.181 By the connection drawn between the possession of books and persecution, it is made clear that the physical object is almost as necessary to the faith as the ideas contained in it, if only because the medium makes the communication of those ideas possible. Numerous descriptions in Acts of men and women reading in English highlight the presence of the book in lay Christian households. Acts confers upon the idea of the book an inescapably physical reality both because of the heft and size of Acts itself as readers perused these accounts and because of its repeated mention of books and their physical presence in the martyrs’ lives.

The case of Mistress Smith in 1519 shows that reformers were not concerned with merely writing the scriptures on their heart,182 but in keeping physical copies of theological tracts close to hand. These physical manuscripts were kept in private spaces. In the case of

Mistress Smith, once released from imprisonment—most likely on account of her gender, the gentleman tried with her having been burned—she is escorted home, only to be discovered with an incriminating manuscript on her person:

The said Simon Mourto[n] the somner offered him self to go home wt her. Nowe as he was leading her home, he hard ratling of a skrol which was in the sleue of the same arme he lede her by. Then when he harde it rattle he said: Yea? What haue ye here, and so with that he tooke it from her, lokinge therin

180 Foxe, Acts, p. 502. 181 Foxe, Acts, p. 504. 182 See Simpson, Burning to Read, p. 114-15. 282

he espied that it was the Lords praier, þe articles of þe faith & x. co[m]maundeme[n]ts in English.183

The gentlemen burned were executed for requesting the right to possess just such texts in

English. Smith has apparently carried this scroll on her throughout her imprisonment, maintaining this secret devotion to the English texts even while under trial. Once discovered, the scroll leads to her execution as well.

The act of reading is associated with private spaces in other passages of Acts as well.

For instance, under pain of torture from More, James Bainham (1532), will not “shew where his bookes laye.”184 “[R]eading [bokes] secretly in priuy places & suspect company” appears in a list of articles brought against Thomas Garret. 185 Evidently the use of prive here—as elsewhere in Foxe—does not exclude the presence of other people. Thus, a limited public space serves still as a private sphere. Reading books in this context takes on meanings of both private and public significance. Later in Acts, a first-person narration by Anthony

Dalaber about events in 1528 provides more information not only about Garret, but also about Dalaber’s own reading practices.186 In the course of the narrative, Dalaber records his intention to read a “dangerous” book:

And hauing set vp all my thinges handsomely in order the same daye before none, I determined to spende that whole after none, vntil Euensonge time at Frisewide colledge, at my boke in mine owne studye, and so shutte my chamber doore vnto me, and my study dore also, and toke in my hand to read Fra[n]ces Lambert vpon the gospel of Saint Luke, which booke only I had then within there, all my other bookes wrytten on the scripture, of which I had a great nomber, as of Erasmus, of Luther, Oecolampadius &c. I had

183 Foxe, Acts, p. 473. 184 Foxe, Acts, p. 548. 185 Foxe, Acts, p. 533. 186 The editors of TAMO note that Dalaber’s document seems to have been written solely for Foxe’s information. 283

yet lefte in my chamber at Alborne Hall, where I had made a very secreat place to kepe them safe in. . . .187

Not only does Dalaber usually hide his books in a secret place, he also takes deliberate steps to secret himself away when reading, ensuring a private space by closing both his chamber and study door. He reads in a sort of sanctum sanctorum. This serves as a protective measure for Dalaber, but also emphasizes the very private nature of his reading. This applies to important texts outside of scripture and theology as well. In the account of Thomas

Bilney’s examination (1527), when Bilney finally considers abjuration, he requests the written abjuration to read before he submits to it:

When he had red the same secreatlye by him selfe, and was retourned, being demaunded what he would do in the premisses, he answeared he woulde abiure and submitte him selfe, and there openlye red his abiuration, and subscribed it and delyuered it to the bishop, whiche then did absolue him.188

This account portrays reading as best done in a relatively private space so as to allow actual reflection and meditation. It is, in many cases, a secret endeavor. Private reading is also inescapably dependent on the physical book. The book must be hid somewhere or space to read must be found. The materiality of reading is echoed again and again throughout Acts.

This emphasis on physicality extends to the act of writing in general. Acts does not let the reader forget the writer’s dependence on the writing medium—paper—with which the reader also directly interacts. Foxe himself evokes this interaction when he reports his own difficulty in reading one of his sources. Researching in old manuscripts, or monuments,

Foxe finds some of the names of martyrs hard to read due to age: “Whose names, through the antiquitie of monume[n]t were so defaced that we could not atteine to þe perfect

187 Foxe, Acts, p. 661. 188 Foxe, Acts, p. 532. 284 knowledge of them all only thre names partly remained in the worn boke to be red. . . .”189 In other places, the reader notes the dependence on the physicality of the written medium to preserve accounts. Thomas Bilney, writing to Bishop Tunstall, is forced to cut short his thoughts due to lack of paper: “The lacke of paper wil not suffer me to wryte anye more.”190

This letter is the only way in which later readers might, in some sense, commune with this martyr, and even though the paper of the printed Acts is not the same leaf on which the writer penned his thoughts, the reader is engaged in imagining the author writing to them, and when the writer runs out of paper, so too does the text come to an end before the reader’s eyes. In his own work, Foxe emphasizes how the material page determines the content. In a postscript appended to the prayer given after his Good Friday sermon, Foxe addresses papists merely because he has room to do so: “Because here remaineth behind an emptie page of the white paper to be supplied with some writing or othere: I thought no better matter for my purpose, then to write a word or two to you, which holde so deuoutly with the procedings of Rome . . . .”191 Foxe makes what was originally an oral genre into a distinctly written text, bringing to mind the physicality of the book.

The physicality associated with writing reinforces the identity of martyrs with their texts even after death. As Zollinger points out, the text becomes associated with the life and body of the martyr in Acts.192 In Acts, however, it is not merely the content of the text, but the constant reminders of the physical action of writing and speaking, especially in the case

189 Foxe, Acts, p. 401. 190 Foxe, Acts, p. 525. 191 Foxe, “A Sermon of Christ Crucified,” f. 72r. 192 Cynthia W. Zollinger, “ ‘The Booke, the leafe, yea and the very sentence’: Sixteenth Century Literacy in Text and Context,” John Foxe and His World, ed. David Loades (Aldershot, 2002), pp. 102-116, at p. 114. In some cases, the “textual body” is, in fact, privileged “over the physical one”, see Gretchen E. Minton, “ ‘The Same Cause and like Quarell’: Eusebius, John Foxe, and the Evolution of Ecclesiastical History,” Church History 71.4 (2002), pp. 715-742, at p. 729. 285 of autographical sources, that bind the text and body together for the reader, providing access to the physicality of the original writer. Over and over again, Acts emphasizes how closely it reproduces the speech and writings of those men and women in its pages. The beginning of Thorpe’s tale includes the usual indicator that is has been “written by the said

Thorpe, & storied by his pen, at the request of his frendes.”193 Despite the fact that the text is no longer in its manuscript form, Foxe preserves this indication that Thorpe has narrated the account in his own hand. Such words introduce a material authenticity to the narrative and increase the sense of intimacy the reader feels in his or her engagement with this text.

This happens elsewhere in Acts as well. In the account of James Bainham’s examination

(1531), Bainham establishes his belief in the articles of which he is accused “not only by subscibyng his hand to the same, but also by sondrie notable quotacions, sette downe with his owne hande in the margent of the sayde byshoppes register.”194 Such physical evidence of his beliefs overshadows his recantation that follows immediately after. The act of writing carries a permanence with it that cannot be matched by the slipperiness of the oral abjuration that follows. The examination of Anne Askew is introduced in the text with a similar physical emphasis. The reader is urged to consider the account as true by such evidence:

Here next foloweth the same yeare the true examinations of Anne Askew, which here thou shalt haue gentle reder according as she wrote them with her own hande, at the instant desire of certaine faithfull men and women, by the which (if thou make dilligently) the communications bothe of her, and of her examiners thou maist easelly perceiue the tre by the frute and the man by his worke.”195

193 Foxe, Acts, p. 195. 194 Foxe, Acts, p. 550. 195 Foxe, Acts, p. 725. 286

The autographical link between Askew and the text allows the reader to experience the actions of accused and accusers in a very visible and physical way. By means of the attribution to Askew’s original, hand-written manuscript which they should “marke diligently,” the reader is enlisted into the audience of “faithfull men and women” who had initially requested the text. In many places in Acts, letters and accounts written by contributors other than Foxe—sometimes the martyrs themselves—are presented in a different type-font in order to reinforce the sensation that Acts is comprised of many first- hand and near second-hand accounts. The mise-en-page reinforces the sense that the reader is granted physical and unfiltered access to the writing of others.196

Acts seeks to replicate the physical witness of the handwritten manuscript, but the text is also invested in reproducing speech. Claims of careful word-for-word transcription grant an immediacy of orality to the text. Such transcription also transfers the heft and weight of physical writing to the transiency of the spoken word. In the history of Jerome of

Prague, the author promises to set forth the documents of Jerome “word for word.”197

Similarly, the inquest into Richard Hun’s death (1515) is presented “worde for worde.”198

The sentence and process of John Castellane (1525) is “translated woord for woord.”199 The articles brought against John Lambert (1538) are set forth “word for word as it came vnto our handes in wrytten copye to be shewed.” In these cases, Acts is more than one written step removed from the oral examinations and trials or any written answers produced there.

Still, filtered through written records, there yet remains an oral resonance. In some cases, the

196 Edition consulted in the Rare Books and Manuscripts Library, The Ohio State University Libraries, Columbus, OH. 197 Foxe, Acts, p. 294. 198 Foxe, Acts, p. 443. 199 Foxe, Acts, p. 481. 287 type in the book itself supports a reimagining of the spoken text or moment. In the 1563 edition of Acts, when Zisca, the famed general of the Bohemian uprisings, raises his voice to speak to a large crowd, the type-font in the book grows larger accordingly, visually creating the sense of a stentorian voice on the page.200 Thus, in many cases, speaking and writing occupy the same space in Acts—especially in cases where the printer can reproduce the sensation of hearing by the manipulation of type. Zollinger argues that Acts illustrates the

“fluid boundaries between orality and literacy” in late medieval and early modern reformist society. Despite being a printed and written text, then, the physicality of Acts replicates the centrality of orality, capturing not merely the words but the essence of public speaking.

Ultimately, though, such physicality always brings the reader back to the reality of the printed book, and the value of orality becomes subordinate to the value of writing. As such, even though Acts does place value in speeches and the spoken word, it also exposes the distrust that many reformers had for speech, preferring the fixed nature of the written document. Oldcastle (1413), when prompted by the church court to expand on the written articles, is reluctant to do so: “That none otherwise wold he declare hys minde, nor yet answere vnto his articles then was expressly in hys writyng there contained.”201 In the unsafe public space, Oldcastle rests confidence only in the written document he had created in the private space. Writing preserves some of the sanctity of the private space and carries a surety and confidence with it. In the public space, Oldcastle might mis-speak and condemn himself.

In some cases, the Catholic Church is portrayed as hostile to this written culture. Martin

Luther is ordered to “not exhibite thine opinion in wrytinge, but pronounce the same with

200 Edition consulted in the Rare Books and Manuscripts Library, The Ohio State University Libraries, Columbus, OH. 201 Foxe, Acts, p. 317. 288 liuely voyce.”202 When charges are brought against the citizens of Merindol, they demand that the “causes and reasons alleaged by the bishop of Cauallion, should be put in wrytinge.”203 In response, the bishop insists that “nothyng that eyther he sayde or alleaged to bee put in wrytyng.”204 Such a case bears out the implication that writing is associated with honesty and thoughtfulness, as opposed to rash and possibly mistaken speech. Given that this character of writing was embraced by reformers, Acts shows that sometimes courts actually advocated written as opposed to spoken testimony. In these cases, the authorities seem to hope they will catch the accused out if they are forced to consider and contemplate their true convictions. In the case of Thomas Arthur (1527), he is given “time to deliberate til noone, and to bring in his aunswer in wryting,” when he denies that he imputed heresy to

Thomas More.205 Regardless of the context, then, writing is presented as a forthright mode of expression that necessitates honesty in its execution. Foxe’s very title—Acts and

Monuments—testifies to the upright witness of written texts (monuments). The title equates the text with action, and thus draws the reader’s attention back to the act of writing and reminds him or her of the physicality of the volume. The written text is an anchor, more stable and more trustworthy than oral narrative.

It is not surprising, then, that Protestants would choose to refer to their salvation as a process of writing.206 This metaphor does not, however, necessitate the abandoning of the literal and physical text, as Simpson argues Tyndale must do in order to preserve his

202 Foxe, Acts, p. 461. 203 Foxe, Acts, p. 701. 204 Foxe, Acts, p. 701. 205 Foxe, Acts, p. 513. 206 More seems to have preferred oral tradition as a way to counterweight what he observed as the Protestant predilection for print: James Hitchcock, “Thomas More and the Sensus Fidelium,” Theological Studies 56 (1975), pp. 144-154, at p. 148. 289 theology from the bonds of Old Testament law. Simpson’s argument stems from Tyndale’s discussion of 2 Corinthians 3:3 in The Obedience of a Christian Man, a verse which urges

Christians to abandon the letter and embrace the spirit:

For the holy Apostle Paul saith, ye Corinthians are our epistle, which is understood and read of all men, in that ye are known how that ye are the epistle of Christ ministered by us and written: not with ink (as Moses’ law) but with the spirit of the living God: not in tables of stone (as the Ten Commandments) but in the fleshly table of the heart, as who should say, we write not a dead law with ink and in parchment, nor grave that which dammed you in tables of stone: but preach you that which bringeth the spirit of life unto your breasts, which spirit writeth and graveth the law of love in your hearts and giveth you lust to do the will of God. And furthermore, saith he, our ableness cometh of God which hath made us able to minister the New Testament, not of the letter (that is to say not of the law) but of the spirit.207 [Italics indicate Tyndale’s commentary on the Scriptural quotation from 2 Corinthians 3:3.]

Extrapolating from this passage, Simpson posits that Tyndale connects letter not with the representation of law in the New Testament but with the practice of reading literally. In order to avoid being bound to the letter which the New Testament epistles condemn, then, he argues that Tyndale “relocates the text itself to the true text written in the heart.”208

According to Simpson, this is Tyndale’s way of advocating a literal reading while still not transgressing Paul’s commands; even though Tyndale wishes to locate truth in actual words on paper, he must turn to a fleshly (which here equates, strangely enough, to spiritual) text instead.209

However, this line of reasoning does not consider the importance of the printed text to Protestant identity. The reverence towards the physical book might easily produce conceptions of spiritual equivalents, and printing might offer up natural metaphors without

207 William Tyndale, The Obedience of a Christian Man, ed. David Daniell (London: Penguin, 2000), p. 161. Italics mine. This is the same passage Simpson uses to support his own argument. 208 Simpson, Burning, p. 115. 209 Simpson, Burning, pp. 114-115. 290 necessitating a disjunction between the physical and the spiritual. Though he is here discussing the witness that is fleshly (i.e. the Corinthians), Tyndale is not making an argument for an a priori text in the heart. He interprets the word letter in 2 Corinthians as law only, and his argument about the heart follows from there. Tyndale does not reject ink, parchment, and stone, so much as the old law which was formerly written on them (thus his repeated parentheticals emphasizing the interpretation of writing mediums in the verse as law or Ten Commandments). He is careful to indicate that the documents written with ink and the tables of stone are meant to be read as specific instances of law which are now abandoned, the emphasis being on the law not the writing supports. For Tyndale, this passage indicates that men should not write dead laws or engrave laws that damn believers. Rather, he advocates preaching on topics that bring spiritual life. Preaching points outwards to those oral and written texts so prevalent in the culture which he was promoting.

These texts are not meant to be written only on paper, nor these sermons heard only in public. Rather, Tyndale argues that the New Testament should truly impact the heart and promote inner conviction. Written and spoken words engrave themselves on the heart: “For the letter (that is to say the law) killeth: but the spirit giveth life (that is to say the spirit of

God which entereth your hearts when ye believe the glad tidings that are preached you in

Christ) . . . .”210 The words, though, exist first outside of the heart. It is not, as Simpson seems to say, a text that exists a priori in the heart. In this way, the written text and the way in which Protestants used the physical and literal letter, support Tyndale’s purpose, rather than complicate his arguments. In Acts, John Wyclif calls for a similar transfer of words to heart,

210 Tyndale, Obedience, p. 161. 291 declaring that “these thre firste conclusions do euen printe faithe in the hartes of these worldlinges.”211

The written text is therefore not only the actual medium by which Protestants accessed their doctrine, it was also the metaphor for the act of salvation. The way in which the written text works to collapse binaries (like those of orality and literacy) into the same physical space, helps to resolve as well disparate inclinations of Protestant theology.

The printed book intensified both the public and private experience, a contrast and contradiction bound and resolved between the covers of the book. As we have seen in Acts, the printed book, while calling on handwritten accounts and word-for-word transcriptions as authority, was, by nature of being a mass-produced object, one step further away from the writer’s private sphere. In entering the public sphere, though, the book was one step closer to the private sphere of readers, who now found the book to be relatively affordable and convenient (at least in comparison to the past). Cecile M. Jagodzinski argues that the concept of privacy evolved as a result of reading, though she limits her analysis primarily to the seventeenth-century, pinpointing it as a sort of starting point regarding this development of interiority.212 Though I agree with her general conclusions that the act of reading helped to develop privacy and the private space, I would argue that this occurs much earlier than the seventeeth-century and was a development recognized in its own time since it served as a response to the disparate call to both public and private faith demanded by Protestantism.213

David Cressy, for example, notes that “private study” and reading was meant to supplement

211 Foxe, Acts, p. 144. 212 Jagodzinski, Privacy and Print: Reading and Writing in Seventeenth-Century England (UP of Virginia, 1999), pp. 1-3. 213 See Eisenstein, pp. 103-105. 292 and accommodate the public learning that occurred in church via sermons.214 This private study, in and of itself, accompanied as it was by the physicality of the book (with the numerous implications of that physicality outlined above), contained aspects of the public sphere as well.

Reading, though an action intensely personal and private, has public implications in

Foxe’s text. Thomas Bilney, as has been discussed before, is accused, in Acts, of “reading

[books] secretly in priuy places & suspect company, declaringe and teaching heresyes and errours conteyned in them.”215 Bilney is first accused of reading secretly, hiding in “priuy places,” but the rest of the accusation encompasses a public space as well. This secret and private reading takes place in the company of other suspect individuals and involves both teaching and declaration. Reading is inherently suspect as private, but here involves a public space. Falck discusses another instance in Acts which promotes a similar image of reading, but pictorially rather than verbally. In a woodcut that provides a “description of M. Latimer, preaching before K. Edward the 6. in the preaching place at Westmister,” a woman sits at the center of the picture, on the steps leading up to the pulpit where Latimer is preaching.

She is reading a book, and is one of only two distinguishable women in a crowd of men.216

Falck reads this woman as an image of the true church, unnoticed by the crowd (so invisible) but extremely visible in the pictorial arrangement of the woodcut. She is focused on her book and on her “inward thoughts” rather than Latimer’s sermon.217 I would argue that she also represents the private space that reading granted, even in a crowded public space. The

214 David Cressy, Literacy and the Social Order: Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1980), pp. 3-5. 215 Foxe, Acts, p. 533. 216 See editorial notes on Foxe, Acts, p. 1422. 217 Falck, pp. 11-13; Foxe, Acts, p. 1422. 293 woman, by her position, is still publicly testifying and witnessing, but by means of the physicality of the book which can be literally closed against us, she also maintains her privacy. The book, however, centralized as it is in the woman’s hands, presumably testifies to the public sermon of Latimer and to the preaching of the scripture. It represents the public nature of the Protestant faith as well. Another woodcut, accompanying the story of Bilney, also exemplifies the joined public and private nature of the book. Bilney, in anticipation of his martyrdom, is said to have “attempted to proue the fier with his finger nye to the candle.”218 Though this description of Bilney’s actions does not specifically reference any text near to hand while Bilney tests the candle’s flame, the woodcut accompanying the narration includes the image of a book. Bilney peruses the book with one hand, while testing the flame with the other. A man in bed watches Bilney perform these actions though Bilney sits with his back to him. Bilney’s posture thus excludes his viewer, including both the book and the candle in a private space. The man watching, however, cannot be ignored, and his presence opens the scene up to a public space as well. He is watching the testimony that Bilney plays out by his actions, a testimony no doubt grounded in the text to which Bilney points. The act of reading becomes, then, both public and private.

Reading a printed book, with all that it contained and represented (especially in the case of Acts), could never be a solely private experience then, even though the book encouraged a private and inner communication with God. Each domestically-housed edition of Acts was mirrored in the large chained versions found in churches. Printing houses, after all, according to Foxe, were serving the same purpose as pulpits and stages, communicating

218 Foxe, Acts, p. 534. 294 to the masses.219 He also considered the printing press to be similar to the “gift of tongues at

Pentecost”—“mak[ing] the truth readily accessible to all nations.”220 So, the book and the printing press are associated not only with the individual, but also represent mass accessibility to the truth. The printed book, even more than the written text, was the answer to seeming paradoxes within the Protestant faith. Theological discourse could be made widely accessible without compromising each individual reader’s interiority.

As such, printing is lauded by Foxe. In fact, as King notes, Foxe regarded printing as a “necessary precondition for the Reformation,” ordained by God.221 The great emphasis on

Tyndale by Foxe and his printer Day linked “English print culture and Protestantism” even closer.222 The year 1449 is specially honored in Acts, as Foxe describes it “famous and worthye of remembraunce.”223 The reason for this fame is “the maruailous inuention of printing.”224 Foxe extols the virtues of printing, pointing to the evidence of the present age, to show how “ignoraunce is vtterly banyshed” by the invention, and the “poope and

Antichriste there by vtterlye subuerted.”225 Ignorance is no more, on account of the fact that books are now plentiful and “all men” can now “attayne to knowledge or vnderstandyge.”226

Printing is a high-powered weapon for the Protestants. Consequently, Foxe not only praises the invention in its chronological place within Acts, he also refers to its power in the introduction as he addresses persecutors: “And if nothing els wyll deface you, yet printing onely wyl subuert your doinges, do what ye can, which the Lord onely hath set vp for your

219 King, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, p. 70. 220 Felch, “Shaping the Reader,” p. 59. 221 King, “Light of Printing,” p.55. 222 King, “Light of Printing,” p. 53. 223 Foxe, Acts, p. 414. 224 Foxe, Acts, p. 414. 225 Foxe, Acts, p. 414. 226 Foxe, Acts, p. 414. 295 desolation.”227 For Foxe, printing is the answer to persecution and the ultimate representation of his faith. In his play, Christus Triumphans, he even anachronistically places the printing press in the time of Christ’s sacrifice, so the press becomes accountable for first spreading the Gospel. The presses are synonymous with the sect running them:

Archiereus: And what, pray, are these new presses publishing? Nomologus: That they believe in Christ resurrected, that they’ve seen him; they claim they were eyewitnesses.228

For Foxe, printing was inseparable from Protestantism. For Protestants, the printed book was the perfection of the written record, representing disparate influences, both written and spoken, and representative of the two spheres in which they must function at all times, the private and the public. It was a medium of communication that could be physically silent while still speaking. The printed book was more than merely a tool for

Protestants, as it represented the daily struggle of their faith and the resolution of their conflicts. As Foxe indicates in the beginning of Acts, his text speaks on behalf of the martyrs, shaming those who persecute them. Even when they do not speak, the book interprets truly their inherent faith: “But to this none answereth you better then the Martyrs them selues, whiche in this booke doo tel you that in the same which you cal heresy they serue the liuing

God.”229

227 Foxe, Acts, p. 14. 228 Foxe, Christus Triumphans, p. 257. 229 Foxe, Acts, p. 13. 296

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