Of
Mice and Marriage:
Exploring Late Medieval Scotland
Through Two Poems of the Scottish
“Makars”
Gwen Hamilton
The picture on the cover is from the Ormesby Psalter, late
13th/early 14th century English, (BODL., DOUCE 366, f.
131R)
The
Project
Goal 1:
To become familiar with two poems written in the late medieval period by
two Scottish “makars” (poets), “The Taill of the Uponlandis Mous and the Burges Mous” by Robert
Henryson and “The Tretis of the Twa Mariit Wemen and the Wedo” by William
Dunbar.
Goal 2:
To gain insight into Scottish life in the late Medieval period through
the content of the poems.
Goal 3: To become more comfortable and accurate reading
and writing middle Scots.
For background, I read available information
about Henryson and Dunbar.
I began the project with the earlier and
simpler of the two poems: Henryson’s retelling of Aesop’s “Town Mouse and
Country Mouse” fable. It is also the
shorter, at 235 lines.
Both poems are written in middle Scots, which
makes casual reading slow and somewhat difficult for me and which makes it very
easy to miss or misunderstand parts. I
worked with several printed versions of “The Taill”, one of which glosses a few
of the Scottish phrases, one of which has a translation of each verse into
modern English prose on the opposing page, and one which is a loose translation
into modern English, but maintains the style and rhyme-scheme of the original and
uses some Scottish pronunciations and phrases.
In the last-mentioned version, the translation by R.W. Smith is not
exact, but the charm and humour come through in a way the exact translation
cannot provide. This last version I
chose to memorize.
In order to familiarize myself with the
original words and to become more readily comfortable with the style and
spelling, I chose to write the poem out by hand several times, using a writing
style somewhat approximating (in my mind at least) that of late Medieval
private handwriting, using handwriting samples from the period as examples in
developing this.
This process forced me to take my time, to study
the spelling, and to focus on each line and verse. I would attempt to read the verse, and then look
up the meaning of any unknown words, and finally compare my translation to the
professional one. I would then copy the
verse in the original Middle Scots multiple times. For my own pleasure, I made a good copy of
each poem in this hand. In the middle
ages, people did copy poems into Household Books such as the Hanson Manuscript,
which includes several ballads and poems, along with recipes for ink and lists
of tenants.
Now more comfortable with the wording, I was
able to study the content and to read available information about the poem. This process was repeated with Dunbar’s poem,
“The Tretis of the Twa Mariit Wemen and the Wedo”, although this translation
was done with glosses and notes alone.
The ‘Makars’ – Henryson and Dunbar
Very little is known about Robert
Henryson. We know that he died before
1508, because Dunbar wrote a poem by that date, “The Lament of the Makars”,
mourning the loss of so many good poets, including Henryson: “In Dumfermelyne
he hes done roune, With Maister Robert Henrisoun”. Writers such as H.H. Wood in Two Scots Chaucerians believe the
“maister” title to refer to him as the recipient of a degree. He is associated
with Dunferline, as Dunbar says, probably as a schoolmaster, which is supported
by title pages of his manuscripts
and early printed work. (Gopen, 1987) Any other
information is mainly inferred from his work.
Wood suggests that his works indicate a wry humour and a considerable
knowledge of Scottish legal procedure.
Perhaps, as Wood speculates, some lines from The Testament of Cresseid indicate an appreciation of comfort: “I mend the fyre and beikit me about, Then
tuik ane drink my spreitis to comfort, And armit me weill fra the cauld
thairout ...”
(I mend the
fire and make myself snug, Then take a drink to comfort my spirits, and arm
myself well against the cold
outside.)
But this is indeed speculation. Around 1640, Sir Francis Kinaston wrote “a
gossipy note” about Henryson which says he was very old when he died, which
would make a birthdate of 1420-1435 logical and this is accepted by many
writers as probable if not certain.
Unfortunately, Kinaston has difficulty with dates, specifying 1532 as
the date The Testament of Creseid was
written, despite Henryson’s death before 1508, so the information cannot be
assumed to be accurate. (Gopen, 1987) Henryson is also the author of other works
such as Orpheus and Eurydice, Robyne and
Makyne, Ane Prayer for the Pest, and the Morall Fabillis of Esope the Phrygian, of which “The Taill of the
Uponlandis Mous and the Burges Mous” is one of thirteen.
William Dunbar may have been born about 1460
according to internal information in The
Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, but we cannot know for certain. Again from internal evidence in the poems, he
is believed to be of good birth, of better family than Henryson, and to
generally identify with the nobility. He
may well have travelled overseas on business for the King, with evidence from
treasury accounts that he was in England in 1501. Indeed, Scotland’s accounts are major sources
of information about him, as he received a number of pensions and grants from
the King. After the national disaster of
the battle of Flodden Field in 1513, in which the king and many members of the
nobility died, the accounts are interrupted and Dunbar’s name does not appear
again, either because he has died or because more permanent financial
arrangements had been made for him. A
few of his poems involve requests for better funding or complaints that he has
not been fairly treated financially. Some
of his other works are The Thrissil and the
Rois, celebrating the marriage
of his patron James IV to Princess Margaret of England, In Prais of Wemen, and The
Goldyn Targe.
Both Henryson and Dunbar were greatly
influenced by Geoffrey Chaucer, as were other Scottish poets. Dunbar refers to him in The Goldyn Targe as “reverend Chaucere, rose of rethoris all” (revered
Chaucer, rose of all rhetoricians) and “was thou noucht of oure Inglisch all
the lycht, surmounting eviry tong terrestriall” (were you not of our English all
the light, surpassing every terrestrial tongue). Again in the Lament of the Makars, he calls him “The noble Chaucer, makaris
flour” (the noble
Chaucer, flower of poets). Henryson’s The Testament of Cresseid is a
completion of the story in Chaucer’s Troilus
and Cressida and Dunbar’s The Tretis
of the Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo appears to owe much to Chaucer’s Wife of Bath’s Prologue. (Wood, 1967)
Henryson and Dunbar lived in unsettled times
in Scotland. The economy was shifting
from agrarian to mercantile and the middle class was rising and becoming wealthier
and more important. The political
situation was generally unstable. The
nobility fought each other and the king, and the relationship with England was
generally difficult and sometimes broke into open warfare. The church was in conflict with the
government and suffering from internal corruption. Periodic returns of the plague occurred.
There was an oft-quoted saying in
Ecclesiastes, “Woe to thee, O land,
when thy king is a child”, and this was
unfortunately well proven in Scotland. James
I succeeded to the throne of Scotland at a young age, but was almost
immediately captured by the English and held in captivity for many years. He eventually regained his throne after
paying a heavy ransom, with a brief period of stability and freedom from
foreign pressure following, but he was murdered by unhappy nobles in 1437 and
was succeeded by his six-year-old son, James II. This second minority of the period was filled
with strife among the barons, as they fought for control of the regency. As an adult, James II asserted himself and
gained control of the country, but died at 30, leaving yet another minor heir,
James III, only eight years old. James
III died in 1488 during a rebellion led by his son and a number of barons. His heir, Dunbar’s patron, James IV, was able
to stabilize the country to a great degree and was interested in and supportive
of culture. However, James IV died in
the battle of Flodden Field, leaving the throne to his year old son. (Gopen, 1987)
Robert
Henryson’s The Taill of the Uponlandis
Mous
and the Burges Mous
(Appendix I contains
the complete poem, in the original Middle Scots, with a translation.)
This artful
retelling of Aesop’s familiar fable is one of the most lasting and popular of
Henryson’s poems. Tytler says that “our
ancient Scottish bard” need not fear comparison with versions of the story by
Pope and La Fontaine, “...there is a quiet vein of humour, a succession of
natural pictures, both burgh and landward, city and rural; and a felicity in
adapting the sentiments to the little four-footed actors in the drama, which is
peculiarly its own.” (Tytler,
1833) Wood comments that “in the Fables we have
Henryson at his most serene...as a countryman, he knows his animals; as a Scot,
he knows his fellow-men; and as a poet he observes them all with a tolerant
understanding and amusement.” (Wood, 1967)
“The Taill”
is written in Rhyme Royale, which was popularized by Chaucer and called “royal”
because of its use in The Kingis Quair,
traditionally held to have been written by James I of Scotland. This form has stanzas of seven ten-syllable
lines, rhymed ABABBCC. As well as rhyme,
Henryson also makes good use of alliteration, which Parkinson praises: “Alliteration is never far away in Henryson’s
verse...the interplay of the pentameter line and extended alliteration can
generate considerable force...alliteration distinguishes his verse from
Chaucer’s...and becomes key to his own stylistic legacy for subsequent Scots
poets.”
Two aspects
of Henryson’s retelling are very specific to the middle ages: “the relationship
of the rising Third Estate and their peasant origins” (Scott) and the
role of food in this relationship.
For the
peasant class, food was a matter of survival and basic wellbeing. The country had been primarily agrarian and
the majority of Scots were still living in rural situations, where it was an ongoing
battle to produce enough grain to feed the family, have seed for the following
year, and possibly have some to sell.
Birds and other animal scavengers, like the mice in our story, were
competition for this precious food.
Henryson refers to the mice as thieves on several occasions in the poem.
J.P. Pals of
the University of Amsterdam estimates that the daily provisions for a medieval
peasant in a good year were 13 ounces of bread, a quart of beer, an ounce and a
half of cheese, a quarter pound of peas or other legumes, and a little less than
four ounces of mixed meat and fat, which only provides between 2,000 and 2,100
calories to support the heavy physical labour necessary for a medieval farmer. This would mean that even in a year of plenty,
much of the population would be at least mildly hungry. Religious fast days also affected this,
particularly protein intake, and a year of bad harvests could make the
situation desperate. (Rosen, 2014) Medieval fantasies of the “battle between Carnival
and Lent” and the “Land of Cockayne” understandably involved an excess of food
and especially meat.
The neat
arrangement in theory of the Three Estates, those who fight, those who pray,
and those who work, was challenged by the rise of the middle class, which
ranged from very wealthy merchants to successful artisans to farmers with many
acres of land. The Guilds, which
controlled the work of the artisans, gained increasing political power in the
towns.
The Paston
family, believed to have started as small landowners, rose in status and
accumulated wealth through the practise of law and through careful marriages,
their upward path well documented in their letters. By the third generation of Pastons we are
familiar with, they are highly indignant at a daughter of the family’s misalliance
with a mere steward working for the family, causing one brother to say scornfully
“he should never have my good will to make my sister sell candles and mustard
in Framlingham.” (Davis,
1983)
Chaucer makes
humorous references to the airs of three wealthy artisans in the prologue to
the Canterbury Tales: “Their weapons were not cheaply trimmed with brass, But
all with silver; chastely made and well their girdles and pouches too, I
tell. Each man of them appeared a proper
burgess, To sit in guildhall on a high dais.
And each of them, for wisdom he could span, Was fitted to have been an
alderman; For chattels they’d enough,
and too, of rent; To which their goodwives gave a free assent...It’s good to
hear “Madam” before one’s name, and go to church when all the world may see,
Having one’s mantle borne right royally.”
As well as fancy clothing – unsuccessfully
combated by sumptuary laws – wealthy members of the middle class indulged in
impressive meals. Food is a major status
symbol of the period, with elaborate dishes served in large amounts designed to
impress. The menus and recipes in Le Ménagier de Paris give some idea of what sort of meals were
possible for a common, but wealthy household.
The diet described is about
pleasure and status, not basic needs.
Henryson
begins his story by mentioning the source, perhaps more to establish his
academic background than to give credit, since Aesop was commonly taught in
schools and the source would be recognized readily by the educated. (Tytler,
1833)
Esope, myne
author, makis mentioun Aesop,
my authority, makes mention
Of twa myis,
and thay wer sisteris deir, Of
two mice, and they were sisters dear,
Of quham the
eldest duelt in ane borous toun; Of
whom the eldest lived in a Burgh,
The uther
wynnit uponland weill near... The
other in the countryside quite near...
The rural
mouse is described as solitary, moving furtively about in order to steal grain,
and enduring hunger, cold, and great distress in the winter. Her elder sister, on the other hand, is a
Guild Brother and Free Burgess, free from taxes and free to go into any larders
and sample the food. Scott calls the
elder mouse being the Burgess an “artistic flaw” as peasants existed long
before burgesses, but I think Henryson makes the Burgess mouse the senior
because of perceived status rather than such a point of history.
The elder
sister, when ‘full and unfute-sair’ (full and her feet didn’t hurt), thinks of
her sister and wonders about her life in the countryside. Dressed as a pilgrim, barefoot and with staff
in hand, she searches for her through ‘banks, bush and briar’, calling for
her. The younger sister hears her and
recognizes her voice, ‘as kinsmen naturally do’. They have an emotional reunion, both laughing
and crying with joy, and then enter the younger sister’s home. This
is described as roughly made of moss and ferns, tucked under a stone, with a small
doorway. There is no fire or candle “for
such petty thieves do not love light”.
The younger mouse brings out nuts and peas to feed her sister, who
expresses dismay at being offered such plain food, saying, “By my soul, I think
it but a scorn!”
“My fair
sister,” quod scho, “have me excusit; “My
fair sister,” said she, “pray excuse me.
This rude
dyat and I can not accord. This
rude diet does not agree with me.
To tender
meit my stomok is ay usit, My
stomach is only used to tender meat,
For quhy I
fair als weill as ony lord. For
every day I eat as well as any Lord.
Thir
widderit peis and nuttis, or thay be bored, These
withered peas & nuts, ere they be cracked,
Wil breik my
teith and mak my wame ful sklender, Will break my teeth and make my belly
thinner,
Quhilk usit
wes before to meitis tender.” Which
has been used before to tender meat.”
“Weil,
weill, sister,” quod the rurall mous, “Well, well, sister,” said the rural mouse,
“Geve it yow
pleis, sic thing as ye se heir, “If
it please you, such things as you see here,
Baith meit
and dreink, harberie and hous, Both
meat and drink, lodging and house,
Sal be your
awin, will ye remane al yeir. Shall
be your own, though you remain all year.
Ye sall it
have with blyith and mery cheir, You
shall have them with blithe and merry cheer,
And that
suld mak the maissis that are rude, And
that should make the dishes that are coarse,
Amang
freindis, richt tender, sueit, and gude.” Among
friends, right tender, sweet, and good.”
The peasant
diet would indeed have included both legumes such as beans and peas and what
might be described as “found” food, such as grain gleaned from the fields after
harvest, and nuts, berries, and mushrooms from nearby wooded areas. (Cowan, 2011)
For all the Burgess mouse calls her hostess “fair sister”, her lofty
airs and her discourtesy in refusing the food offered certainly compare to her
disadvantage with her sister’s gracious and kindly offer of the best she has
for however long her sister stays. However,
the rural mouse’s references to “for landis have we nane in property” and “a
gentil hert is better recreate (pleased)” may be reminders to her sister that such airs are inappropriate,
indeed vulgar.
The elder
mouse urges her sister to return to the town with her, to see just how
different, how much better, her life could be.
“Lat be this hole and cum unto my place: “Leave this hole and come to my
place;
I sall to
yow schaw, be experience, I
will show you by experience
My Gude Friday
is better nor your Pace; My
Good Friday is better than your Easter feast;
My dische
likingis is worth your haill expence. The licking of my dish is worth your
whole budget.
I have
housis anew of grit defence; I have houses enough that are very safe.
Off cat, na
fall, na trap, I have na dreid.” Of
cat, or snares, or traps I have no fear.”
“I grant,”
quod scho, and on togidder thay yeid. “I
will,” said she; and off they went together.
They head
for the town, with the elder leading, skulking through grass and bush by night,
hiding by day. Once in town, the Burgess
mouse leads her sister to a merchant’s house and its well-stocked larder. Henryson comments that they take up residence
without so much as “God speed” and that they begin to eat without saying grace,
although they do wash. Possibly the
washing is in imitation of courtly manners, as there was no mention of washing
when they were in the rural mouse’s home.
The variety and amount of food is certainly just as the Burgess mouse
has bragged about:
In to a
spence with vittell grit plenty: In to a larder with victuals in
great plenty;
Baith cheis
and butter upon skelfis hie, Both cheese and butter on high
shelves,
And flesche
and fische eneuch, baith fresche and salt, And flesh and fish aplenty, both
fresh and salt,
And sekkis
full off grotis, meill, and malt. And sacks full of groats, meal
and malt.
... ...
Withoutin
grace, thay wesche and went to meit, Without
grace, they washed & went to meat,
With all
courses that cukis culd devyne, With all courses cooks could
devise,
Muttoun and
beif, striking in tailyeis greit, Mutton and beef, cut in great
slices.
A lordis
fair thus couth thay counterfeit... A lord’s fare thus could they
counterfeit...
The Burgess
mouse cannot resist teasing her sister by asking if she sees a difference
between the larder and her “sorry nest”.
The practical rural mouse replies, that yes she does, but wonders how
long it will last. Her elder sister
responds that it will last for “evermore, and longer too”.
To the food
they have already eaten, the Burgess mouse now adds a plate of groats, a dish
of meal, many unleavened cakes, fine wheat bread for a sweet, and then steals a
white candle out of a box to finish off the meal with something special. The quality of the bread is an indicator of
the household’s wealth, as is the availability of candles, which were extremely
expensive. The candles would be kept in
a box to protect them from rodents – not very successfully in this case. The two mice indulge themselves thoroughly
until unexpectedly interrupted.
This maid
thay merie, quhill thay micht na mair, Thus they made merry until they
could eat no more,
And “Haill,
Yule, hail!” cryit upon hie. And “Hail, Yule, Hail,” they
loudly cried.
Yit efter
joy oftymes cummis cair, Yet after joy ofttimes comes
care,
And troubill
efter grit prosperitie. And trouble after great
prosperity.
Thus as thay
sat in all their jolitie, Thus, as they sat in all their
jollity,
The spenser
come with keyis in his hand, The steward came with keys in
his hand,
Oppinnit the
dure and thame at denner fand. Opened the door and them at
dinner found.
Thay taryit
not to wesche, as I suppose, They tarried not to wash, as I
suppose,
Bot on to
ga, that micht formest win. But ran off, each trying to be
the fastest.
The burges
had ane hole, and in scho gois; The Burgess had a hole and in
she goes;
Hir sister
had na hole to hyde hir in. Her sister had no hole to hide
herself in.
To se that
selie mous, it wes grit sin, It was a great shame to see that
simple mouse,
So desolate
and will off ane gude reid; So desolate and without any good
advice;
For verray
dreid scho fell in swoun near deid. For very dread she fell into a
swoon, near dead.
However, the
terrified mouse is saved because the steward simply doesn’t have the time to
chase mice; he is far too busy. He departs
to do his work, leaving the door open behind him. The Burgess mouse scurries out of her hiding
place to help her sister, who is lying flat on the ground, trembling and with
her heart pounding fiercely. The elder
mouse comforts her sister, then persuades her to finish their feast, although
the younger initially protests that she is far too frightened to eat: “I may not eit, sa sair I am agast.” They sit down again, but the meal is once more
interrupted, this time by Gib, or Gilbert, the cat. The Burgess mouse flees back to her hole, but
the rural mouse is caught.
Anyone who
has ever seen a cat play with its prey can well visualize Henryson’s
description of Gib tossing the rural mouse from paw to paw, briefly letting her
escape and then capturing her again, to play some more. Once again the mouse has the good fortune to evade
danger, climbing up the panelling out of reach and clinging there until Gib
gives up and goes away. She has had more
than enough of the “good life” at this point and pauses only to tell her sister
her opinion, concluding with “Almighty God keep me from such a feast!” She gratefully makes her way home, where
Henryson predicts she will live in “quiet and ease, without fear”.
This ends
the fable, but the Moralitas
remains. The four verses giving the
moral of the story have a different format to that of the fable itself, each
containing eight lines. Henryson points
out that no life, of whatever state, is completely free from adversity, but
that this is especially true for those discontented with their place in life,
striving to rise in status and gain more possessions. The second verse of the Moralitas is one of the most frequent quotes from Henryson:
Blissed be
sempill lyfe withoutin dreid, Blessed be the simple life
without dread;
Blissed be
sober feist in quietie. Blessed be the humble feast in
quietness;
Quha hes
aneuch, of na mair hes he neid, Who has enough, needs no more,
Thocht it be
littill into quantatie. Though it be but little in
quantity.
Grit
aboundance and blind prosperitie Great abundance and blind
prosperity
Oftymes makis
ane evill conclusioun. Oftimes make for an evil
conclusion:
The sweetest
lyfe, thairfoir, in this cuntrie, The sweetest life, therefore, in
this country,
Is
sickernes, with small possessioun. Is security with few
possessions.
The poet
continues with more warnings against ambition and greed, finishing the last
verse with the words, “...the highest degree of earthly joy is to have
happiness in heart, with few possessions.”
The poem
provided insight into some attitudes about food and ambition in this period, as
well as a description of the contents of a well-furnished medieval larder.
Interestingly,
the religious references are mostly casual, cultural rather than pious. The Burgess mouse is described as “a poor
pilgrim”, but her goal is not religious.
Neither mouse bothers to say grace, although they stop to wash. The references to Good Friday, Easter, and
Yule really just paint a picture for the medieval audience of the quantity and
quality of food likely to be available.
“God” is used as an exclamation in one case, but may be intended rather
more devoutly in two instances, “...as God willed...” and “...Almighty God keep
me...” The impression is of a society very
strongly influenced by the church in its cultural practices, calendar, and
speech patterns, but not necessarily in every case very devout. However, since the poem is intended to be
light and humorous and is developed from a story by a pagan author, any conclusions
on that subject would be inappropriate.
I thought
the poem very accessible to a modern audience once the language barrier was
overcome. The charm and the humour still
come through, making it thoroughly enjoyable to study.
William
Dunbar’s The Tretis of the
Twa
Mariit Wemen and the Wedo
(Appendix II
contains the complete poem, in the original Middle Scots, with a translation.)
The editors
of the New Penguin Book of Scottish Verse
call Dunbar “the most gifted poetical craftsman Scotland has ever produced: his
range encompasses satire, the courtly love poem, bawdry, the dream allegory, a
‘flyting’..., the superb music of his sacred poems, the trivial complaint...and
the desolate meditation on death.” (Crawford,
2000)
Wood
says, “’The Tretis of the Twa Mariit Wemen and the
Wedo’...is Dunbar’s longest poem, and has been regarded by many critics as his
masterpiece.” (Wood,
1967)
Dunbar wrote
this as an alliterative rather than rhymed poem. “Dunbar has rejected rhyme and stanza form in
favour of the traditional alliterative line, which he uses with incredible
variety and virtuosity.” (Wood, 1967) Old English poetry, such as Beowulf, was
alliterative. In later Middle English –
and Middle Scots – there was a revival of this form. Piers Plowman, which is alliterative, and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, alliterative with some rhyme, are examples of this.
“The Tretis”
was a much more difficult poem to read or study than Henryson’s “The Taill”.
At 530 lines it is more than twice as long and has a more complicated,
sometimes obscure vocabulary, than “The Taill”. The version I was using, from The Trials
and Joys of Marriage, edited by Eve Salisbury, provided glosses for
difficult words, notes for difficult passages, and notes on text that is
disputed. There is disagreement among
the critics on a number of words and passages, partly caused by differences
between manuscript versions.
The poem
begins with a description of the narrator walking alone in a beautiful place on
Midsummer Eve.
Apon the
Midsummer evin, merriest of nichtis, Upon
Midsummer Eve, merriest of nights,
I muvit
furth allane in meid as midnicht wes past,
I walked alone in a meadow
as midnight passed,
Besyd ane gudlie
grein garth, full of gay flouris,
Beside a goodly green
garden, full of bright flowers,
Hegeit of
ane huge hicht with hawthrone treis; Hedged
to a great height with hawthorn trees;
He describes
a scene of dream-like beauty, made more wonderful by the scent of the many
flowers and the sound of birdsong. He
hears loud and haughty speech nearby and hides in order to see who is
speaking.
I saw thre
gay ladies sit in ane grein arbeir, I
saw three gay ladies in a green arbour,
All grathit
into garlandis of fresche gudlie flouris.
All arrayed in garlands of fresh, goodly
flowers.
So glitterit
as the gold wer thair glorius gilt tressis,
As
glittering as gold were their glorious gilt tresses.
... Of
ferliful fyne favour war thair faceis meik, ...Their faces were wondrously fair and
gentle,
All full of
flurist fairheid as flouris in June – As
full of flourishing loveliness as flowers in June –
Quhyt,
seimlie, and soft as the sweit lillies... White, seemly, and soft as the sweet
lilies...
The speakers
are not only very lovely, but richly dressed; their descriptions sound like
those of heroines in a romance. They are
seated at a handsomely decked table, which has precious cups filled with rich wine. Two of the “beautiful creatures” are married
to lords, the third is a widow, “of amorous behaviour”. They continue drinking, speaking more
rapidly and openly.
“Bewrie,”
said the wedo, “ye woddit wemen ying,
Quhat mirth
ye fand in maryage sen ye war menis wyffis
“Tell me,”
said the widow, “you young wedded women,
What mirth
you find in marriage since becoming wives
She asks if
they rue their marriages, not finding it a “blessed band”, and would they
choose better if they could choose again.
One young wife immediately says that she finds the band “bare of bliss
and wretched”. She suggests that birds
have a much better idea, changing their mates each year (on St. Valentine’s
Day) and she wished her country had the same custom, so that one could “embrace
a new lover, energetic and constant, and let their worn-out mates go where they
please.” She describes a fantasy of her
being beautifully dressed, going to “plays, and preachings, and pilgrimages” to
show off her beauty and to attract new lovers, so that she always had a
vigorous man available.
She goes on
to describe her husband as “a slob, a worm, a hairy old rustic, a used up boar
good for nothing but to grunt, a drone, a bag of phlegm, a scabby monster, a
scorpion, a filthy behind”. She is
disgusted when he scratches himself, hates his kisses, and finds his bristly
beard painfully rough on her skin. He is
also impotent – “not worth a bean in bed” – as well as jealous and easily
angered. She continues in this vein for another
30 lines.
Although
impotent, he still attempts to exercise his marital rights, which she only
permits when he bribes her.
For, or he clym on
my corse, that carybald forlane, For
before he climbs on my body, that monster,
I have
conditioun of a curche of kersp allther fynest, I have promise of a kerchief of
finest fabric,
A goun of
engranyt claith, right gaily furrit, Or a gown of scarlet cloth, well
and gaily furred,
A ring with
a ryall stane, or other riche jowell... A ring with a goodly stone or
other rich jewel...
She ends by
saying, “From such a lord God save you, my sweet sisters dear!” The ladies praise her and they all laugh and
continue to drink.
The widow
encourages the other lady to tell them about her marriage. She agrees to do so, but asks first for
assurance they are trustworthy and will keep her secrets. When they agree, she expresses relief that
she can now have the release of talking about the distress that is so great it
is making her ill. Her husband is a
young and attractive man, but his past lechery has made him incapable in bed.
“My husband wes a
hur maister, the hugeast in erd, My
husband was a whoremaster, the greatest on earth,
Tharfor I hait him
with my hert, sa help me our Lord! So
I hate him heartily, so help me our Lord!
... ...
He has bene lychour
so lang quhill lost is his natur, He
has been a lecher so long, his sexual power is lost,
His lume is waxit
larbar and lyis into swonne: His
tool is exhausted and lies in a swoon:
Wes never
sugeorne wer set na one that snaill tyrit, Rest
was never less use for that tired snail,
For efter
seven oulkis rest, it will nought rap anys; For
after seven weeks rest, it will scarce thrust once.
He has bene
waistit apon wemen, or he me wif chesit, He
was wasted upon women ere he chose me as wife,
And in
adultré,
in my tyme, I haif him tane oft; And
I have caught him in adultery often.
In spite of
this, he dresses well, makes flirtatious glances at fair women, and boasts of
sexual prowess. He looks the part of a
lover, but lacks the ability. His wife
comments that ‘he is like a dog that goes to all the bushes and lifts his leg,
but cannot piss’. She feels that at
least a woman married to an old man is not deceived and knows what to
expect. She herself thought she was
getting a jewel, but was given jet, that he shone like gold but was only glass.
She agrees
she also would like to change mates on St. Valentine’s Day, to always have a
lusty mate. At night, she thinks about
her situation mournfully, angry that ‘my wicked kin...cast me away and bound my
bright beauty to an impotent coward.’ All these thoughts make her restless at
night, so that her husband is concerned for her health, asking the reason for
her distress and holding her in his arms: “he tenderly turns toward me his
feeble person and with an exhausted yard takes me in his arms”. She
replies with pretended affection and feigns a faint.
She wishes
that her husband had fallen to the lot of a young maiden who was afraid of
sexual relations, fearing pain, since there was no chance her husband would be
able to cause her to flinch in the least.
For herself, she would like a lover who pleased her. Finishing her story, she was also greatly
praised by the others.
Now the
widow begins her tale, with a pious preamble:
Than said
the Weido, “Iwis ther is no way other; Then said the widow, “Indeed there is no
other way;
Now tydis me
for to talk; my taill it is nixt. Now it is time for me to talk; my tale is
next.
God my
spreit now inspir and my speche quykkin, God my spirit now inspire and my speech
quicken,
And send me
sentence to say, substantious and noble; And
send me wise words to say, weighty and noble;
Sa that my
preching may pers your perverst hertis,
So
that my preaching may pierce your wayward hearts,
And mak yow
mekar to men in maneris and And
make you meeker to men in manners and
conditiounis.
dispositions.
She tells
the two young women that she herself was always a shrew, but far too clever to
show it. Though her thoughts were
stubborn, haughty, bold, and contemptuous, she always appeared sweet, simple,
and saintly, utterly without guile, fooling many who were considered very
crafty. The widow advises the younger
women to counterfeit good manners and amiability, “by your look be innocent,
though you have evil minds”.
The widow
then recounts her history, of which she is obviously proud. She has had two husbands, both of whom loved
her, and both of whom she despised without them realizing it. The first was an elderly, worn out old
man. She would scratch his back, kiss
and fondle him, while making faces and mocking gestures when he could not see
her. He was convinced she loved him and
she was in fact quite happy because she had a young lover to “slake her lust”,
one she could trust to keep their relationship secret. When her husband was angry with her, she
would skilfully coax him into a better mood, appearing meek and loving. She did this so well that he left an
excellent inheritance to her son, who had in fact been conceived after his
supposed father was impotent.
Her second
marriage was to a wealthy merchant, although “we were not equals in kinship nor
blood nor freedom, nor bearing nor fairness of person” – which she reminded him
of frequently. “Though I say it myself,
the difference was great between his bastard blood and my noble birth.” She had him so thoroughly convinced of her
superiority that he became compliant to her every wish, which made her despise
him, although she had liked him before they married. The more he tried to please her, the less she
thought of him, but carefully hid her dislike until he had handed over his
wealth, although she found hiding her feelings more and more difficult. After she had control of his worldly goods,
she became very demanding, setting him unpleasant and degrading tasks. Thanks to the many gifts with which he
attempted to please her, she had a wonderful wardrobe.
He grathit
me in a gay silk and gudly arrayis, He
adorned me in gay silks and goodly clothing,
In gownis of
engranyt claith and gret goldin chenyeis, In
gowns of crimson cloth and great gold chains,
In ringis
ryally set with riche ruby stonis, In
rings royally set with rich ruby stones,
Quhill hely
raise my renoune amang the rude people... Which
highly raised my reputation among common folk.
Having cowed
him and deprived him of his wealth, she found him less and less appealing in
bed, always imagining he was someone else during sexual relations. She dressed her own children beautifully,
like nobility, but dressed the first wife’s children like rustics. She prevented his family from visiting and
discouraged his friends. He has died and
she is dressed in mourning: “I dress as I were sad, but my heart is blithe...my
cloaks are mournful, coloured sable, but my body is beautiful under them”. She keeps up a front of deep sorrow, going to
church with a woeful expression. Her
beautiful psalter is open on her lap, with bright gold letters catching the
eye. She hides her face behind her cloak
so she can privately look about her for attractive men, casting kind glances on
ones she likes. When friends of her late
husband come in, she wets her cheeks with a little sponge full of water and
looks unhappy, so that all commend her for her love and fidelity.
She praises
the craftiness of wise women, who can do whatever pleases them and cover it
with good acting. Young women, however,
may act foolishly if they fall in love with worthless fellows and should learn
better.
Faith has a
fair name, bot falsheid faris bettir: Faith
has a fair name, but falsehood fares better:
Fy one hir
that can nought feyne her fame for to saif! Fie
on any her who cannot deceive to save her fame!
Yit am I
wise in sic werk and wes all my tyme; Yet
I am wise in that way and was always;
Thought I
want wit in warldlynes, I wylis haif in luf, Though
I lack wit in worldly matters, I have wiles in love,
As ony happy
woman has that is of hie blude: As
any happy woman has who has noble blood;
Hutit be the
halok lase a hunder yeir of eild! A
woman who is old and still foolish should be mocked!
She has a
secret lover who comforts her in the night for the day’s cares, but the entire
shire believes her to be a holy woman, compassionate to the poor and taking
pride in going on pilgrimages, although her main reason for both is to win
praise. Her greatest delight is when all
the young men who desire her visit her home, when she can flirt with them and
exchange caresses and heated glances.
“Thar is
no liffand leid so law of degré “There
is no living person so low of status
That sall me
luf unliffit, I am so loik hertit; That
shall love me unloved, I am so warm-hearted.
And gif his
lust be so lent into my lyre quhit, And
if his lust be so fixed on my white face,
That he be
lost or with me lig, his lif sall nocht danger. That
he be lost unless he lies with me, his life shan’t be
... in
danger...
Ladyis leir
thir lessonis and be no lassis fundin: Ladies
learn their lessons and are not ignorant girls.
This is the
legeand of my lif, thought Latyne it be nane.” This
is the story of my saintly life, though not in Latin.”
Her
companions applaud her and say they have learned from her. They spend the rest of the night drinking and
dancing, and then return home at dawn.
The narrator
speaks once more of the beauty of the place and the fresh morning, then slips
away to write their stories. He closes
with these words:
Ye auditoris
most honorable, that eris has gevin You
auditors most honourable, who have given ears
Oneto this
uncouth aventur, quhilk airly me happinnit; To
this strange adventure, happening to me early,
Of thir thre
wantoun wiffis, that I that I haif writtin heir, Of these three wanton wives, that I have written of,
Quhilk wald
ye waill to your wif, gif ye suld wed one? Which
would you have for wife, if you should wed one?
Aside from
the language being more difficult in this poem, the attitudes expressed belong
to a period far distant from our own. My
intent was to learn about those attitudes rather than to judge them from a
modern standpoint.
First of
all, “The Tretis” does not stand alone in extant medieval literature in
content. For example, Chaucer’s Wife of
Bath also advises women to deceive their husbands:
Now herkneth, how I bar me proprely, Now,
listen to how well I bore myself,
Ye
wyse wyves, that can understonde You wise wives that can
understand
Thus shul ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde; Thus should you speak and wrongfully
demand;
For half so boldely can ther no man No man
can half so boldly
Swere and lyen as a womman can... Swear
and lie as a woman can....
A wys wyf, if that she can hir good, A wise
wife, for her own good,
Shal beren him on hond the cow is wood, Will convince him
the cow is wood.
She
also talks about the pleasure she takes in sexual relations and how she used
her “bele chose” to control her five husbands and to enrich herself with their
money.
It
is useful to remember when reading this type of medieval literature that in
that period Galen’s theory of humours, which was accepted as authority, said
that women had colder and wetter humours than males: “females were too cool to
produce semen, resulting in soft, weak bodies, and inferior intellects, with a
fickle character that contrasted with the morally steadfast male.” “The colder, more changeable humours of women
were believed to render them intensely sensual and lustful.” (Gilchrist, 2012)
The
church taught that husband and wife owed each other sexual release, since one
of the goals of marriage was to prevent lustful thoughts and actions outside of
marriage. Given this, the two young
wives had reason to complain that their husbands were not paying their marriage
debt, leaving them sexually unsatisfied.
The
same complaint arises in other works, such as Chaucer’s “The Merchant’s Tale”
about the marriage of January and May. In
the Decameron, a similar story of an elderly husband unable to satisfy his wife
describes the relationship as being against the laws of nature. The first wife in “The Tretis” makes a very
similar remark: “It is against the law
of love, of nature, and of natural law, to force together hearts that strive
against each other.”
Salisbury’s
The Trials and Joys of Marriage includes a poem called “A Talk of Ten
Wives on Their Husband’s Ware”, a simple and rather coarse poem. In it, each wife speaks in an unflattering
manner about the size or endurance of her husband’s “tool”. Although “The Tretis” is also bawdy satire, disparaging
of the desires and fidelity of women, Dunbar expresses very different views about
women in other poems, such as “In Prais of Wemen”, when not writing in this
genre.
In her notes
to “The Tretis”, Salisbury attributes the following opinion about the last line
to Priscilla Bawcutt and Felicity Riddy:
“Quhilk wald ye waill to your wif,
gif ye suld wed one? B&R suggest
that the posing of such a question was ‘both a literary game and a social
pastime’. Formally called a demande d’amour, this marks a satiric
response to the earlier question posed by the widow [to the young wives].” This
would imply a back and forth exchange of opinions, as in flyting (a contest in which witty insults are exchanged), at which
Dunbar excelled.
Here is a small
sample of the many barbs exchanged in The
Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, translation by Kent Leatham:
Dunbar: Kennedy:
Brigand, Irish
bard, vile beggar with your brats, Dread,
dirty-faced dwarf, that you have disobeyed
Cunt-bitten coward, Kennedy, naturally weak, My cousin Quentin
(also my commissar);
Dismal-eyed and anused, as Danes upon the racks, Fantastic fool, trust that
your fears shall invade;
You look like the crows already ate your cheeks; Ignorant elf, ape, owl
most irregular,
Renounce, rebel, your rhymes and sorry shrieks, Scurrilous vulture, and
common sponger;
Mismade monster, mad out of your mind; Poorly-fucked
foundling, that nature made a runt,
Your traitor’s tongue sings with a Highland
screak; Both John of
Ross and you shall squeal and grunt,
A Lowland ass could make a sweeter sound. If I hear aught of you ever
writing more.
Both Dunbar and Kennedy were well
thought of poets at the royal court and their mock battle of words was
considered extremely clever. Put in this
context, the long list of extravagant insults about their husbands from the
three ladies in The Tretis is more
comprehensible.
If this was indeed part of a game,
setting up a playful discussion, would Dunbar’s courtly audience perhaps have
shared some of the ladies’ other views as well as their view about the
foolishness of impotent men trying to keep healthy young women satisfied and
faithful? The merchant class certainly
married into the upper class, but would a group of courtiers have seen the
widow’s snobbish thoughts about her merchant husband as entirely
inappropriate? Dunbar himself makes
remarks about upstarts in other works, so perhaps his sympathies lie more with
the widow than a modern audience would think.
An unstated element of the ladies’
stories that struck me was the essential powerlessness of the three women, given
the widow’s instructions on the importance of deception in succeeding as a wife. Trickery is the weapon of the underdog. This has historically often been used in
humour, going back at least to Roman times.
A play by Plautus, the plot of which is somewhat familiar to modern
audiences through A Funny Thing Happened
on the Way to the Forum, features the slave Pseudolos tricking his master
to help the master’s son rescue his lover.
A Roman pater familias had
life and death control over his household, including his wife, adult children,
and slaves. Trickery is the only option for
resistance and the play shows the underdog on top for once, through his
cleverness.
In some of the notes on “The Tretis”
by Galbi, the question of whether the women had a choice in marrying their
husbands is raised, as marriages were usually arranged, particularly in the
upper classes. In theory at least, willing
consent of both parties was needed to make a marriage valid. However, family pressure could be an issue,
especially since the legal age for marriage for a woman was 12 and for a man 14.
Another problem could be a lack of full
information about the prospective spouse.
In the Paston letters, there is a letter John Paston received sometime before
1498 from a cousin, suggesting that he hurry to find his sister a husband, as she
was very unhappy with her mother: “She hath [since Easter] ...be beaten once in
the week or twice, and sometime twice on a day, and her head broken in two or
three places.” Despite this, the family,
including the prospective bride, made anxious inquiries about the financial
concerns involved in the proposed matches.
The second young wife of “The Tretis” obviously feels that her family
has failed her in arranging her marriage: “my wicked kin that cast me away and
bound my bright beauty to an impotent coward”.
Since her remarks about thinking he was shiny gold and turned out to be
glass imply some participation in the choice, presumably she feels that they
were careless in investigating him or possibly did not see his lecherous past
as a problem. The widow’s second
marriage certainly seems to be her own choice.
Medieval husbands did not have the
power of life and death over their wives that the old Roman patriarchs did, but
they could legally beat them and certainly controlled finances and
property. They were the legal guardians
of any children and could leave control of property and children away from
their wives in wills, although wives were entitled to their dower property. Many wills in fact show great respect for the
wife and often command the son and heir to obey his mother, but that generosity
was in the gift of the husband, not something the wife could insist upon or
take for granted. The audience of “The
Tretis” would have seen this as the natural order of things, but might well
have admired the widow’s cleverness in getting her own way and thought her two husbands deserved their
fate through their own weakness and foolishness. The widow refers to making her second husband
do the tasks of a boy, a woman, and a wife and despises him for accepting that
status. The audience may have seen that
as a justified opinion. They certainly
would not have considered his actions to be appropriate masculine behaviour,
even for a man who was not of gentle birth and who was gaining wealth through
trade.
They may also have seen the young
wives’ rather earthy comments on their husbands as a reasonable vent for their
lack of sexual satisfaction, just as the Boy Bishops and Lords of Misrule provided
occasional release from the usual strict obedience to one’s superiors in a very
hierarchical society.
Did I achieve my goals?
Goal 1 – becoming familiar with the poems: I feel that I gained reasonable familiarity
with the two poems and would be able to describe and discuss them. I also feel that I know Henryson’s poem considerably
better than Dunbar’s. I became quite
comfortable with Henryson’s delightful mice, his light humour, and his
language, and then tackled Dunbar’s satire. It jolted me out of my comfort zone with much
more difficult language – some of which the critics find obscure – and with a
type of humour I found much less understandable and much more difficult to enjoy.
Goal 2 – learning about the period from the
poems: While I enjoyed Henryson’s poem much more
than Dunbar’s, I feel I learned much more about the late medieval period in
Scotland through studying “The Tretis”.
Because the content and the mind set behind the content were more
foreign to me, I needed to spend more time looking at it and thinking about it,
looking into similar works by other authors, and considering how the attitudes
of Dunbar’s period differ from my own.
Goal 3 – improving my reading and writing of
Middle Scots: I thoroughly enjoyed developing a handwriting
style in which to copy these two works.
I do not flatter myself that the result is very period, but the process
provided information about medieval handwriting that I appreciate knowing. The process of copying the poems several times
has improved my knowledge of the vocabulary and spelling of Middle Scots and
improved my ability to read it. I had
read previously about the randomness of medieval spelling, but finding that
Henryson and Dunbar not only spelled some common words quite differently from
each other, but could spell the same word several different ways in the same
work, certainly brought the fact home to me as I copied. I found myself reading aloud, as we believe
medieval readers did.
Working with the translations was interesting. With the earlier poem, there was a
translation available, as well as glosses, but I compared it carefully to the
original, especially as I became more comfortable with the language and
spelling. When I had questions, I used
translation sites on the internet to check some words, such as “skaith” and
“waith” where the meaning of specific words was unclear to me from the provided
translation. I sometimes altered words
or word order to get a version as close as possible to the original as was understandable
to someone speaking modern English. For
instance, “had na laser to byde” was rendered in Gopen’s translation as “had no
time to stop”, but “had no leisure to bide” was closer to the original in
wording and made a better connection for me in going over the line later, while
still conveying the meaning correctly.
Working with “The Tretis”, I did not have an
available translation and needed to work only from the glosses and notes, but
again I went over the material several times to get as close a match as I
thought possible.
I have attached scans of the first pages of
my handwritten copies of both poems. I
very much enjoyed doing the manuscript copies.
I feel that I accomplished what I set out to
do in the project.
Gwen Hamilton (MKA Lynn Johnson)
Bibliography
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Edward J., & Lizanne Henderson, A
History of Everyday Life in Medieval Scotland, 1000 to 1600, Edinburgh
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The Penguin Press, 2000
Davis,
Norman, (introduction, editor) The Paston Letters,
Oxford
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Galbi,
Douglas, Is The Tretis of Twa Mariit Wemen and a Wedo Meninist?,
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Gilchrist,
Roberta, Medieval Life: Archeology
and the Life Course
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Gopen,
George G. (introduction, translation, notes): Henryson, Robert
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