SOURCE: Schirmer, W. F. “Lydgate's Early Works; The Chaucer Tradition and Lydgate's First Epics,” and “Lydgate's Troy Book.” In John Lydgate: A Study in the Culture of the XVth Century, translated by Anne E. Keep, pp. 31-51. Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1961.

[In first essay that follows, Schirmer discusses several of Lydgate's early works, noting the poet's significance within the English language and examining his place in the tradition of Chaucer, courtly love poetry, and the bourgeois public of the fifteenth century. In the second, he closely examines the Troy Book, considering its patronage, style and political intent.]

LYDGATE'S EARLY WORKS; THE CHAUCER TRADITION AND LYDGATE'S FIRST EPICS

During the reign of Henry IV, or by monastic reckoning during the abbotship of William Cratfield, we have [almost] no documents on Lydgate. … In spite of this it must be assumed that during this period the newly-ordained priest came to be known as a poet outside the precincts of his own monastery. The names of those who played a role in public or monastic life are to be found in documents, letters, and chronicles, but there is no mention in these of the poet Lydgate. Thus this important stage in his rise to fame can only be reconstructed tentatively, in particular since the dates of his works cannot be ascertained with any certainty. The Complaint of the Black Knight¹ and The Flour of Curtesye² are thought to have been written in the years 1400-2. These are courtly poems, remote from any contemporary allusion, which conjure up the good old days, executed with the life-affirming artistry of Chaucer and the French poets. That a monk of this period should have made his début with verse in this genre—for after his Aesop and a few lesser attempts attributed to him, the Black Knight is his first major work—necessitates a discussion of the literary situation of the time.

England, where for two and a half centuries French had been the sole colloquial and literary language, lagged far behind other European countries in developing a vernacular. None of the great medieval epics was first related in English. There was no English Quest of the Holy Grail, Tristan, Parzifal, Divine Comedy, or lyrical Troubadour poetry, and consequently there was no cultivated English literary language. When a truly great poet appeared in the person of Geoffrey Chaucer, it was his first task (as it had been Dante's task in Italy at the beginning of the fourteenth century) to create a literary language from one that had hitherto been broken up into a variety of dialects. And since he enjoyed the patronage of the English court, where he read his works, he had to conform to the taste prevalent in that milieu. As has already been mentioned, with Froissart quoted in support, the court of Edward III was entirely dominated by French taste, and Richard II continued this tradition in so far as he patronized English poetic works that followed French taste. Deeds of knightly valour and the worship of woman (minne-dienst), were, according to courtly etiquette, the prescriptive themes in poetry. The desire to do justice to these themes, and in particular to learn a graceful mode of expression suited to the audiences at court, with more refined words adequate to convey deeply-felt emotions in a flowing and lilting metre, impelled Chaucer to translate the Roman de la Rose, and to compose artistic and artificial complaints—that is to say, complaints of courtly love and gallantry modelled upon the writers of the French allegorical school (Machault, Deschamps, Granson, Froissart). Chaucer's achievement in this respect was rightly recognized by the fifteenth century, and there is hardly a single poet in that era who refrains from paying homage to him. ‘I may conclude with ye flower of Poets in our English tung, and the first that euer elumined our language with flowers of rethorick eloquence: I mean famous and worthy Chaucer …’³—these words of Lydgate's are repeated almost literally by three successive generations. Chaucer is the ‘flour of rhetorique’, the ‘first finder of our faire langage’, the ‘noble Rhetor poete of bretaine’. The Scots, too, lauded the artistic mastery which produced a literary language equal in stature to Latin and French. His command of linguistic form in the style of the age earned him admiration: a non-real world of dreams and visions, birds of song, flower-strewn meadows, and fanciful architecture—all coupled with his elegant style, high-soaring thoughts, and strictly restrained expression of feeling. The modern reader, who for the most part forms his judgement from the Canterbury Tales, usually fails to appreciate sufficiently to what extent Chaucer's significance is conditioned by the age in which he lived, just as he also overlooks his cavalier approach to the common man, so remote from the attitude of the bourgeois. The perspective afforded by distance does, however, enable us to appreciate one point: that the world portrayed in ornate courtly poetry was no longer suited to existing reality. As early as 1369 Chaucer had created, in his Boke of the Duchesse, a work of art of enduring validity by his skill in blending the world of convention and artificiality with his own personal experience of life and with true feeling (see, for example, the portrait of the Duchess Blanche). An illustration in MS. no. 61 in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, shows Chaucer reading his works at the court of Richard II. His courtly style of poetry was the only accepted form. John Gower, Chaucer's contemporary and his equal in mastery of language, relates how on one occasion Richard, whilst sailing on the Thames (at that time the most fashionable thoroughfare in London, where the streets were so narrow and badly paved) called him over from his rowing-boat into his royal barge and urged him to write ‘some newe thing’. This was later to become the great collection of tales known as Confession Amantis (1390), which reveals the author not only as a moralist and gifted story-teller, but also as a courtier, bringing to life before us the outlook and taste of refined society—then still the class mainly concerned in promoting literature. We can see how even a man of middle-class origin such as Chaucer, who held office as page, valet, and scutifer at court, was anxious ‘to stonden in his lady grace’, how he accompanied his mistress to Mass, held her stirrup or rode beside her carriage, read or sang to her, or watched her by her needle-work or, if she was away from home, played with her pet dog or song-bird and chatted to her pages until she returned.

This sphere of life and the literature that gave expression to it necessarily appeared worthy of imitation in the eyes of bourgeois poets, and even of clerical ones. At the very time when Lydgate entered the arena of courtly poetry with his Complaint of the Black Knight a number of works similar in character were appearing. There were verse romances such as Ipomedon, The Earl of Toulouse and The Sultan of Babylon, which kept alive in popular form the tradition of wondrous miracles and chivalrous deeds; Sir Thomas Clanvowe, a well-known figure at Henry IV's court, wrote The Cuckoo and the Nightingale, an elegant exposition of the ancient debate on love and wisdom; and Lydgate's contemporary, the poet Thomas (H)occleve (circa 1368-1450) translated Christine de Pisan's Letter of Cupid, a deep-felt defence of women against the attacks of Jean de Meung. Chaucer's death in 1400 naturally caused his courtly poetry to appear transfigured, as it were. Thus Lydgate's Complaint of the Black Knight is an act of homage to Chaucer, yet another perambulation through the gardens of the French allegorical school in which the poet had so often wandered. Both this work and The Flour of Curtesye,⁴ like the majority of his poems, it seems, were written in response to a commission, for the Black Knight's followers implore a princess to receive them with favour, and the Flour of Curtesye is a Valentine such as poets were frequently called upon to compose. These are exercises in the best traditional style, so natural in tone that they were long attributed to Chaucer. It was Lydgate's ambition to strike precisely the right note. Thus The Complaint of the Black Knight resembles The Book of the Duchess in its subject-matter, and in style is reminiscent of the French school that originated with the Roman de la Rose. We find the love lament itself more tedious than its epic setting: there is less to hold our interest in the stiff allegories of Danger, Disdain, Malebouche, and Truth, the catalogue of true lovers, the invectives against the God of Love, and the plea to be granted a hearing, whereas Lydgate's descriptive talent enables him to effect a pleasing treatment of such old requisites as a May morning, birds, a river, and a bowery of flowers; and he concludes with an almost whimsical account of his writing down this tale one evening, pleading with the rising Venus on behalf of the lovelorn knight. The many touches reminiscent of Chaucer may lead us to interpret this in humorous fashion; but the poet himself is in great earnest, concerned to emulate his master's ‘gaye style’ (florid style). In this he succeeds, but unfortunately drives it to excess (the poem comprises 681 lines in ninety-seven Chaucerian stanzas). More felicitous in this respect is The Flour of Curtesye, a eulogy of the most perfect of women, modelled upon Chaucer's praise of Alcestis. In a mere 270 lines (likewise in Chaucerian stanzas, and terminated by a ballad in regular structure) an elegant, or at least pleasing, turn is given to the well-worn themes of the poet taking his morning promenade, abstract praise of his lady, allegories from the Roman de la Rose, and heroic women famous in history and mythology. Originality cannot be expected; for Lydgate and the whole generation of poets that followed in Chaucer's wake the merit of their master's work lay in its style. It is from this proper but one-sided evaluation that all Lydgate's courtly love-poetry must be judged, irrespective of the date when it was written. To some works, such as A Gentlewoman's Lament,⁵ an early date may be ascribed, as they are very pure and impersonal in form, modelled upon the complaints of the French masters, or Chaucer's Anelida and Arcite. Others, on the other hand, may be presumed to date from a later period: for example, the Ballade of Her that hath all Virtues,⁶ written ‘at þe request of a squyer þat serued in loves court’, and the short Complaint for Lack of Mercy.⁷ In this latter poem the style is characteristic of Lydgate in his maturity. The slightly satirical tone adopted in The Servant of Cupid Forsaken⁸ suggests that Lydgate may occasionally have written a poem of this kind of his own free will; but most of them were commissioned—as was the vow of loyalty that occurs in one of the customary New Year poems, A Lover's New Year's Gift.⁹ In all these works there predominate the two kinds of stanza which Lydgate preferred: the seven-line Chaucerian stanza rhymed ababbcc and the octave ballad stanza ababbcbc, usually with five-beat lines, rarely with four—metrical forms which demanded considerable artistry and mastery of language.

Throughout the fifteenth century the old themes continue to enjoy their former popularity: there were courts of love, testaments of love, books and letters of Cupid, houses and courts of wisdom and pleasure, temples of gold and glass, all gradually becoming rigid, mannered, and stilted. Here one has to ask oneself for which type of reader this literature was designed. Chaucer's select audience, with its taste sharpened on French literature, and its delight in allusions, wit, and irony had ceased to exist. The court of the sober-minded Henry IV no longer had the same brilliance as under the romantic Richard II, during whose unhappy reign many of the finest works of Middle English literature were composed. With the fading of semi-French culture the lay poet gave way to the cleric. Henry IV, who was incidentally fond of music, harboured good intentions of continuing the literary traditions of the court. In memory of his father, John of Gaunt, and his mother Blanche, whose praises Chaucer had sung, the king increased the pension granted to Chaucer by the Crown; he allowed Gower to dedicate to him his Confessio Amantis, and invited to his court the French poetess Christine de Pisan. But the restlessness of the age did not leave him the leisure to exercise patronage in systematic fashion. The burghers now also emerged as patrons of literature, and a radical transformation of the reading public was set in motion. One may well ask what relationship existed between the practical-minded urban commercial bourgeois, and the gentry that arose from them, and the courtly style which deliberately avoided all the burning issues of the day. An impression of life as it was lived at this time is provided by the correspondence of three generations of the Paston family,¹⁰ with their constant monetary deals, lawsuits, and servant troubles. Whilst the poets were singing of eternal May and writing tales of chivalry in the traditional style, Lord Moleyns sent a band of armed men 1,000 strong to drive Margaret Paston from her manor house at Gresham, which was the object of a pending lawsuit, and demolish it entirely. Fifteen years later the Duke of Suffolk took similar unlawful action against the Pastons' house at Hellesdon. Whilst the poets continued to sing of love and pay chivalrous honours to the ladies of their choice, Agnes Paston whipped her twenty-year-old daughter until she consented to marry the wealthy fifty-year-old Scrope. One would hardly believe that people living in such conditions could appreciate the dream world portrayed in courtly poetry, were it not for astonishing evidence to this effect: Sir John Paston, a representative of the second generation of the family, who had been raised to the nobility, writes from London, whither his mother and brother had sent him to expedite proceedings concerning the family property, that he had injured his hand in a tournament: ‘My hand was hurte at torney at Eltham upon Wednesday last. I would that you had been there and seen it, for it was the goodliest sight that was sene in Inglande this forty yeares of so fewe men.’ And a list of books in the Paston library includes Lydgate's Siege of Thebes, Seven Sages, La belle dame sans merci, The Temple of Glas, The Green Knight, Ovid's Ars Amandi, and treatises on knighthood, war, and rules of chivalry. It may be supposed that the literary works suited to a world of knights and nobles were retained by the new bourgeoisie not only from a feeling for tradition, but also because they actually read them and held them in high esteem: the dream world made the harsh reality more tolerable. During troubled times of war, pestilence, and social convulsion the yearning for a better life found expression in courtly literature and chivalrous romances, as it did also in the festivals, pageants, and tournaments that were performed by the burghers or for their entertainment. This makes it clear why it was possible for a poet and monk such as Lydgate to choose the theme of the Complaint of the Black Knight, and why its appeal was not limited to the public at court.

From the same period dates The Churl and the Bird,¹¹ a fable that may well be regarded as a parergon, and which carried on the tradition of Chaucer. It was natural that Lydgate should continue along the path he had trodden in his translation of Aesop, but this time he demonstrated his masterly qualities. The fable about the peasant and the bird, borrowed from the French version of Disciplina Clericalis, is related in the lively humorous tone adopted in the French fabliaux—didactic when ridiculing the slow-witted peasant who parts with his securely held possessions in exchange for something indefinite, full of suspense in the cleverly executed dialogue and perfect in the handling of the rhyme royal. This short work of 387 lines contains in the envoy a dedication ‘vn-to my maistir’ Chaucer, and is one of the most popular of Lydgate's minor works.

His poetic talent drove him on to undertake tasks of greater magnitude. As soon as he found a patron, presumably some time between 1400 and 1403, he composed his first oeuvre de longue haleine, destined to remain one of his best-known works: the Temple of Glas.¹² Who commissioned it is not certain; Shirley says it was written ‘à la request d'un amoreux’ to celebrate the union between a knight and his lady. It was probably designed as a festive poem for some wedding celebration. Since the motto of the lady eulogized in the poem is the same as that of the Pastons, de mieulx en mieulx, it is thought that William Paston commissioned it. In 1420 he married Agnes, the daughter of Sir Edmund Bury of Harlingbury Hall, Hertfordshire.¹³ Chronologically this is improbable, but the occasion for which it was written may well have been a wedding feast similar to this given by some country squire. The lower gentry were eager to embellish with all manner of outward show marriages arranged on a highly commercial basis. The love allegory of the Temple of Glas, like Shakespeare's comedies for court circles in a later age, was designed to provide poetic adornment for an event of prosaic character. The work thus belongs to the same genre as The Complaint of the Black Knight and the Flour of Curtesye, and owing to its length (1403 lines) and ambitious scope may be regarded as the greatest of these courtly love-poems. The motifs are all familiar, and one is very often reminded of Chaucer's House of Fame and Parliament of Fowls, which likewise belong to the category of visions. The presentation, too, closely follows old models. In the customary introduction the musing poet is confronted with a dazzlingly bright temple upon a rugged cliff and obtains entrance to it through a hidden portal. The first part contains a catalogue of famous lovers of antiquity, represented pictorially, and a list of their love-laments, culminating in the lyrical complaint of a radiant beauty whose request Venus grants. The second part describes a knight, who stands apart from the crowd and delivers a monologue; it ends with his complaint and Venus counselling him to draw near to his beloved. The third part, which forms the climax, after a short narrative section depicts the knight's lyrical wooing and his lady's response, and the final words addressed to them both by the goddess. In the epilogue the poet awakes and decides to relate his vision in poetic form. The division of the theme into three epic cantos in heroic couplets, each ending with a long lyrical section in Chaucerian stanzas, shows Lydgate's talent for composition and a poetic promise comparable to that of Chaucer in The Book of the Duchess—although the form employed here is different; Lydgate is imitative in his choice of subject-matter and mode of expression and remote from life in his archaic book-knowledge and predilection for rhetoric.

Lydgate's next major work, Resoun and Sensuallyte,¹⁴ written in or about the year 1408, also has a worldly setting. But unlike the Temple of Glas it is not a mosaic of various reminiscences, but, like most of his works from this time onwards, is closely modelled upon a French prototype. Taking the allegorical love romance Les Échecs Amoureux, he expanded the first 5000 lines into 3500 short couplets. The poet finds himself checkmated in a game of chess by his beautiful partner, and anxiously turns to Amor, who instructs him in the arts of love: love and sensuality have been linked by Nature to preserve her work. But Pallas maintains that it would be unworthy of him to waste his life in the service of Venus. There follows a debate on reason and sensuality, that is to say, a discussion on chastity; the ways and means of remedying passionate love are indicated, and alternatives open to the lover once he has been cured, the vita contemplativa and the vita activa, dwelt upon in detail. Already in the original version the beginning of the tale was turned into an instruction in the art of living, and this is emphasized even more strongly in Lydgate's treatment, with the result that the work gives the impression of a moralistic allegory rather than an allegory of love. It is a fragment, evidently composed by the poet for his own delectation (for we do not know of its being commissioned), and discontinued after he had exhausted the material in which he was interested. It shows that Lydgate took no delight in story-telling, but liked to spread knowledge and learning. Of his old joy in narration and description nothing remains but the stereotyped picture of the advent of spring. All the other descriptive passages are crammed with popular philosophy in allegorical form: when Juno is mentioned, a full account is given of Jupiter's revolt against Saturn; Mercury occasions a genealogical digression on all the gods of Olympus; the judgement of Paris is treated in extenso; and the example of Phaeton is coupled with a catalogue of all those characters in antiquity who suffered misfortune through love. He is continually adducing examples from ancient mythology, with moral philosophical interpretation and sermonizing generally appended in the form of allegory. The work is thus less a romance than a treasure-chest of knowledge tricked out with elaborate description and rhetoric. Automatically one is reminded of Lydgate's contemporary John Whethamstede, abbot of the monastery of St Albans not far distant, who in his Granarium and Pabularium compiled a reference work to the treasures of antiquity which the Italian humanists had made familiar.¹⁵ Lydgate provides an original counterpart to this in his combination of fable from the Roman de la Rose and allusions to chess with a dictionary in verse on mythology and the natural sciences. It is not unpleasant to read, and is characteristic of the transition from Middle Ages to Renaissance. We can visualize the author sitting at his desk, thinking that he is extracting the sum of learning from the books of antiquity, but unwittingly allowing the new eagerness for learning to enter into his text.

Lydgate's third major work of this period is his first one on a religious theme, a comprehensive Life of Our Lady, consisting of 6000 lines in Chaucerian stanzas. This poem, written between 1409 and 1411, often strikes us as lacking in taste and excessively lengthy. But it is one of his main works and is an early example of the new style in religious poetry that was to develop later. It was commissioned by Prince Hal, who subsequently reigned as Henry V.¹⁶ This is the beginning of the close relationship eventually established between Lydgate and the Lancastrian dynasty. … Lydgate and his fellow-monks were loyal supporters of Henry IV, in whom they saw an enemy of the Lollards. The king enjoyed popularity by reason of his deeds of chivalry at tournaments and his struggle against the infidels, and he also endeavoured to be a good churchman and a patron of the arts. It may be presumed that, on hearing of the existence of this monk with his poetic talents, he commissioned him through his son to write a vita of the Virgin, as a task befitting his abilities. From 1409 onwards Henry IV was ailing and avoided travelling; he had much on his hands, and may well have commanded the crown prince to represent him on a visit to the monastery. Prince Henry's patronage may at the same time have served as an act of grace towards the monastery, designed to strengthen the ties between it and the Crown. Possibly, however, the prince may have acted on his own initiative, for in later years he again sometimes commissioned Lydgate to write religious poems. His licentious days at the manor of Cheylesmore near Coventry were over, as was his soldiering in the Irish and Welsh campaigns. He too was in his own fashion a lover of the arts. Lydgate did not disappoint his princely patron. Whereas most legends were fairly short tales, in conformity with their prime purpose, Lydgate made his Life of Our Lady a voluminous epic. Only John Capgrave and Henry Bradshaw, of later poets, tried to follow his example, but met with less success.

When the Life of Our Lady was completed is not known—perhaps in 1411. In conformity with the usual practice, the author will have presented his work personally to his august patron. There is no authentic information whether a royal castle or the monastery of Bury was the scene where this solemn ceremony took place. In the illustrations that have been preserved¹⁷ the author is represented kneeling, surrounded by ecclesiastical and secular dignitaries, who remain standing, and offering his book to the prince, shown seated upon a throne. This act symbolized the personal link between author and patron which, in addition to any links of intellectual sympathy that might exist, was founded upon a firm material basis: the author obtained protection and monetary reward from his patron, and in return enhanced the latter's fame and popularity. The prince who was later to reign as King Henry V will have accepted the dedication of Lydgate's work with gratitude, for despite his martial spirit and unimaginative earnestness he had leanings towards the arts; he had enjoyed a scholarly education, had his father's love of music, and was anxious to continue the literary traditions of the House of Lancaster. Thus after Lydgate handed over his Life of Our Lady, mention may have been made in conversation of the possibility of his writing a new work, one that seems to us more in keeping with Henry's inclinations than the life of a saint, and one that faced Lydgate with incomparably more exacting demands: a poetic treatment of the legend of Troy.

LYDGATE'S TROY BOOK

During his brief but illustrious career Henry V, known for his triumphant victories, held ideas of feudal chivalry more appropriate to the high Middle Ages than to the bourgeois fifteenth century, an era of transition leading to the Renaissance. His outlook was, however, in keeping with the Indian summer atmosphere of medieval chivalry that prevailed at the court of the Duke of Burgundy.¹⁸ The pointless wars of conquest in which he expended the strength of his country, the crusade which he regarded as the climax of his life's work, and the duel which he fought at the siege of Melun—all appear as strange anachronisms.

It is in the light of these views that his patronage of the Troy Book¹⁹ must be seen. When the poet received his commission—from the precise astronomical data given in the prologue we even know the day and hour: it was on Monday, 31st October 1412 at 4 p.m.²⁰—he may well have spent many a late autumn day in the monastery library meditating on his task. This well-known theme had been handled by several writers, particularly by Benoît de Sainte-Maure, in his Roman de Troie (1160), and by Guido delle Colonne, in a prose version, Historia Troiana (1287). In addition to these French and Latin versions Prince Henry wished to have one in English; and Lydgate, though less moved by such sentiments of national pride, appreciated the significance of the undertaking. He chose to follow Guido²¹ because he claimed to have given the true story, in contrast to the fables told by Homer, Virgil, and Ovid. For Lydgate was in agreement with his mighty patron that poets should relate ‘nothing but the truth’: they should narrate events as they had really happened, and thus keep alive the fame of the hero. Henry, who was fond of reading tales of this kind contained in ancient books, regarded the deeds of the heroes of Troy as examples of true chivalry and as an encouragement to men to avoid living in idleness. Lydgate had to do justice to this historiographic and pedagogic evaluation of the work. He therefore narrates most diligently, exhausting all the possibilities of his rhetoric, the entire set of Trojan tales, from the expedition of the Argonauts to the final fate of the Greek and Trojan heroes. In so doing he expands his Latin source, which he follows closely, to more than 30,000 lines, arranging them into heroic couplets, probably on the model of the Canterbury Tales. The customary asides in which he apologizes for his modest poetic talents²² are all the more striking because he not only places himself on a lower level than Chaucer, but even the scholarly Guido. It was not until later, he says, that the Muse came to him—and it is characteristic that he should refer to Clio, the Muse of History. He confesses that he also lacks the art of rhetoric. His repeatedly expressed regrets at his rhetorical shortcomings reveal the scope of his poetic ambition and are all the more remarkable since to us his poetry seems excessively rhetorical. Of approximately 800 words borrowed from Romance languages—the ‘aureate terms’ introduced by Lydgate—over 200 are to be found in his Troy Book.

An analysis of one of the passages in which he expands on his source, such as the account of Achilles' body being thrown to the dogs,²³ gives a good idea of the place of rhetoric in Lydgate's method of narration. An accumulation of figures of speech, and particularly of anaphoras, which follow upon one another to the point of invocation, slow down the rhythm of the verse. The polysyllabic Romance words produce the sonorous musical effect to which he aspired. His verbose style is characterized by repetition of the same thought, expressed with variations of language; by expletive phrases, indicative of carelessness (which, following Chaucer, he thought permissible in poetry); and by interpolation into his rhetorical tirades of explanatory historical comment and moral injunctions, which with other digressions repeatedly interrupt the flow of the narrative.

The great collection of tales connected with the siege of Troy was regarded by the author and his contemporaries not merely as a string of episodes but also as a historical work containing all the moral and political lessons which history was expected to teach. Into the leisurely unfolding narrative are woven erudition and worldly wisdom, exhortation, and didactic sermonizing, all of which combine to produce a richly embellished historical structure. Lydgate begins with Jason and the expedition of the Argonauts, tells the story of Hercules and the Golden Fleece, and, as a welcome supplement to this group of tales in which Mars occupies such a prominent place, adds the popular story of Medea's faithful love and the abduction to Greece of Hesione. The death of King Laomedon and the destruction of Old Troy bring the first book to a close. The second tells of Priam and the building of the new city. Hesione is to be fetched back, and when Antenor's endeavour fails, Paris is sent on a campaign of retribution. He returns in triumph with Helen; but the Greeks prepare for war and lead their army before Troy. Books III and IV relate in detail, and therefore somewhat monotonously, the battles fought between the two armies and the individual heroes. In these martial events the love element, which forms such an integral part of the epic proper, makes but a brief appearance, in the story of Troilus and Cressida and in Achilles' passion for Polyxena. In its place we have long speeches by the heroes, in which they discuss the issues of war and peace and the leadership of their armies. After the account of the surrender of the city Book V, the last, tells of the fate of the surviving Greek and Trojan warriors, in particular of Aeneas and Odysseus. An edifying conclusion is contained in the epilogue, which deduces from the tales the vanity of everything terrestrial and solicits divine blessing upon the patron of the work.

The subject-matter commonly treated in epics²⁴ was plentiful enough, and contained sufficient moments of suspense to produce an effect, even in the hands of Lydgate, who could not or would not compete with a born narrator like Gower. Throughout the Middle Ages there existed able story-tellers, and some of their talent was shared by the author of the Troy Book. One need only compare his account with Guido's dry Historia. Dull passages in his source he shortens or passes over entirely; the night spent by Jason in Medea's arms²⁵ he treats with a lighter touch; Hector's lying-in state²⁶ or the story of Pyrrhus²⁷ gain by being shortened, and by the addition of new material. Occasionally he divides up one of Guido's long chapters and sets off the incidents to advantage by adding an introduction of his own.²⁸ Sometimes, as in the case of Odysseus' adventures, Guido's dry enumeration of events is turned by Lydgate into an entertaining account.²⁹ His description is also more vivid when, as for example at the Calchas oracle, he keeps closely to the Latin text.³⁰ It has been suggested that Lydgate inserted technical details about military tactics, weapons, armour, and heraldry in order to please his patron, and this has been held against him. But in fact a description of this kind was of interest to everyone in those days, including the poet himself. The vigorous description of the battle of Tenedoun³¹ does not suffer thereby; and the description of the armour of the Trojans³² arrests our attention, as does also the duel between Pyrrhus and Penthiselea,³³ described in the style of the tournaments held in Lydgate's own day; both are of interest from the standpoint of cultural history.

The tribute paid to his talent for description is merited less by his portrayal of the characters, in which, as is only to be expected, he adheres to the traditional ideals (e.g., in the case of Helen),³⁴ but rather by his portrayal of the festival, in which he surpasses Guido (e.g. reception of Paris and Helen in Troy),³⁵ and the colourful account given of the eight-day festivities with their tournaments, feastings, and dances.³⁶ All this Lydgate had seen with his own eyes, as he has the pomp and splendour of armies drawn up in battle array, with the soldiers' weapons and the gold and silver crests of their helmets gleaming in the sun. He had heard the piercing trumpet-calls and the neighing of the horses,³⁷ whereas Guido has almost nothing to say about the first encounter between Greeks and Trojans. The imaginative scenes, too, gain in colour and vigour in Lydgate's version. The dry statement in the Latin text that the Trojan women watched their heroes leaving is elaborated by such details as, for example, that many of the women turned pale on hearing the rustling of the banners as they were unfurled, or that others hid their faces and dared not look upon the armour gleaming in the sunlight, fearing for their husbands or loved ones.³⁸ Less commendable are the frequency and length of the speeches and counter-speeches of the individual heroes,³⁹ most of them extending to more than 100 lines. Lydgate's tedious prolixity interrupts and impedes the flow of his narrative. The same may be said of the laments for the dead, apart from those in which the fallen heroes are compared in catalogue-like fashion with figures frequently mourned in the past, thus making a claim to humanistic interest.⁴⁰ The lengthy but artistic account of the mourning of Paris,⁴¹ in which lamentation and depiction of the mourners are combined with one of these catalogues, can be regarded as typical of this kind of description, whereas the lament for Agamemnon,⁴² with the omission of passages dealing with the king's murder, serves as an example of the way in which Lydgate sometimes made his own interpolations into the narrative.

Of these interpolations those illustrative of nature have been singled out for praise.⁴³ There are a number of them in the Troy Book, inspired by and modelled upon Chaucer. Their freshness led to their being erroneously evaluated by modern criteria of observation and originality, whereas medieval artists sought to describe an ideal landscape and an ideal season. This accounts for the recurrent appearance of such artificial allegorical figures as Aurora, Titan, Phoebus, and Flora, for the designation of the seasons of the year in astronomical terms, adopted by Chaucer, and also for the constant recurrence of topics such as clear water, birds singing, morning stillness, green meadows, foliage casting shade, gaily-coloured flowers, etc. But Lydgate is genuinely attached to introductions and interpolations which are illustrative of nature, for he inserts them in places where Guido has nothing similar⁴⁴ or where he contents himself with a brief reference;⁴⁵ and he decks out his descriptions with such lively illustrative details that the modern reader gains the impression of something actually perceived at first hand. The lark soaring in jubilation, the glittering of the silver dew, the leaves of small white daisies, flowers red and blue—all these are vividly rendered, although they derive from the common stock of set idioms. The mention of cherries reddening and ripening in June, and ears of corn swelling, dew evaporating with the rising sun, and the first cutting of the hay evoke a picture of Lydgate wandering leisurely in the monastery garden and in the valleys of the Lark and Linnet. He had seen grapes damaged by autumnal frost hanging in the monastery vineyard; and he augmented the traditional nature pictures by drawing upon other images familiar to him, as to seafaring Englishmen generally: the calm sea, the sun setting behind the waves, and autumnal storms.

Other interpolations bear traces of Lydgate's own character. His romantic and chivalrous patron envisaged the Troy Book as a tale of military heroism and adventure that would inspire its readers to emulate such exploits themselves. The author did not share this conception of the work, and remarks that this tale of war, lust, and revenge merely pointed the moral of the transitoriness of life, fading as the flowers of summer.⁴⁶ For it was common practice to regard history as a mirror of the present and a guide to action; and Lydgate made use of every opportunity that presented itself, even at the cost of the narrative, to make the practical moral applications of his story clear to the reader. There are three themes in particular which are repeatedly treated in formal digressions: the theme of transitoriness, which Lydgate sees as a sermonizing monk, coupling it with general moral and religious teachings; the theme of war and discord, which as a pacific-minded poet he holds up for the edification of the rulers and the ruled; and the humanistic theme, which leads him as a scholar, widely read in the works which his library contains, to set down proudly and naïvely his knowledge of history and mythology.

All the digressions gain in significance and gravity as a result of Lydgate's conception of the art of poetry. Art consists solely in mastery of linguistic technique; for this reason the homage repeatedly paid to Chaucer is rendered to him only as an artist in words,⁴⁷ and in his asseverations of modesty he deplores his own lack of rhetoric.⁴⁸ The content of poetry must be truth, and the task of the poet to criticize whatever is false. Accordingly the moralizing and sermonizing digressions are of various kinds: in addition to satire on the inconstancy of women⁴⁹ and praise of womanly virtue⁵⁰ there are shorter passages of worldly wisdom, such as an instruction on navigation by the stars,⁵¹ the advice not to keep on blurting out one's own opinions,⁵² to avoid envy and revenge,⁵³ and not to harbour suspicion of others unjustly.⁵⁴ The fact that this religious counsel is couched in verbose language is understandable in view of Lydgate's profession. Medea's indulgence in the magic arts compels him to point out, taking the events at the Crucifixion as his example, that only God can change the course of nature.⁵⁵ More interesting, since they reveal more of Lydgate's own personality, are the numerous digressions about Fortune.⁵⁶ This conception of fickle Fortune, enthroned upon the wheel of fortune, was popular in the Middle Ages, and in it Lydgate's religious and secular convictions coincided. His invective against the covetousness of the clergy⁵⁷ reflects the anger felt by the monks against the lay priests who had come to terms with the townspeople during the revolt of 1381 and who were later involved in feuds with the monastery. Personal experience may have prompted his sermon against love of gossip among ordinary folk.⁵⁸ The monastery had all manner of conflicts with the population of the surrounding countryside, and the remark that the common people are untrustworthy reveals the way in which the monastery identified itself with those in power.

Lydgate's attitude towards King Henry V, with whom he had become acquainted whilst he was still crown prince, showed for all its respect and humility the warmth, intimacy, and admonitory attitude of a father confessor. In conformity with his distinguished patron he emphasizes the values of a chivalrous life by extolling Hector and Troilus⁵⁹ and condemning Achilles for his lack of knightly virtues.⁶⁰ He censures Pyrrhus because he sacrificed Polyxena at his father's grave, for this was an unchivalrous act;⁶¹ and the treacherous Antenor and Calchas stir him to irate outbursts.⁶² King Henry, whose French conquests Lydgate welcomes, since he is convinced of the legality of Henry's claim to his inheritance,⁶³ ought to unite the two countries by employing the wisdom of true chivalry; then bloodshed will cease and the golden age return.⁶⁴ He calls on God to send the Prince of Peace home safely and to grant him a long reign.⁶⁵ Queen Catherine he urges to mediate between the two countries,⁶⁶ and ensure their prosperity, peace, and tranquility.⁶⁷ Each of these hopes, expressed in the form of homage, is simultaneously both request and admonition.

We have already entered into a discussion of Lydgate's political digressions, which reveal his deeply ingrained love of peace. Although he must needs invoke the protection of Mars in this tale of war,⁶⁸ he places the Muses beside him; and in Book IV—at a time when the Crown Prince had become king and was engaged in his lengthy and sanguinary wars of conquest in France—there follows a whole chapter in which the author levels accusations against Mars:⁶⁹ murder and death are his delight; he is the source of anger and hatred, and to man signifies ruin, treachery, war, and captivity. When it is said of Troy: ‘almost for nouȝt was þis strif be-gonne’,⁷⁰ and the contrast repeatedly pointed between the insignificant causes of the war and its murderous course,⁷¹ we can interpret this as a reference to the war with France, which was continually flaring up anew. It sounds like a warning addressed to Henry V when the irascible Priam is upbraided for failing to consider what will be the effect of his actions, and cautioned not to trust Fortune,⁷² since military success is transient, and one may suddenly find oneself checkmated.⁷³ And he appears to have Catherine in mind when, in the plans for Achilles' wedding to Polyxena, his wife is hailed as the harbinger of peace.⁷⁴ Even in the envoy, which celebrates the radiant triumphant hero, it is pointed out that Henry holds both sword and sceptre in his hands—the sword with which to suppress obstreperous rebels, and the sceptre with which to rule over his poor subjects, who wish to live in peace and tranquillity.⁷⁵ These admonitions addressed to the sovereign are coupled with an earnest entreaty to the barons and great lords of the realm to preserve unity among themselves. For strife and discord are poison, the root of all trouble and disorder in every land.⁷⁶ It is a motto for the times, as well as a timeless one, when Lydgate says, in connexion with the quarrel between the Greek commanders: ‘Lo what meschef lyth in variaunce // Amonge lordis, whan þei nat accorde’.⁷⁷

The view of the outside world which the Trojan tales invited was one fraught with anxiety. But to the scholar these tales also opened up the humanistic world, the peaceful atmosphere of the monastery library. This is shown by the third group of digressions, in which Lydgate vaunts his knowledge of the classics and, in particular, of mythology. As in Resoun and Sensuallyte we hear in the judgement of Paris further details about the attributes of the goddesses and their significance.⁷⁸ The Delphic oracle occasions a long digression on idolatry,⁷⁹ in which all the deities of antiquity are discussed; and in a second and more comprehensive mythological catalogue⁸⁰ Lydgate displays in an admirably concise manner a degree of learning which was remarkable for his time. It is only to be expected that one should find popular historical catalogues, in which, for example, an instructive and entertaining comparison is drawn between Helen's grief for Paris and the sorrows of women in the ancient world,⁸¹ or between the lament for Troilus and famous laments of antiquity.⁸² But it is surprising to find several descriptions of the ancient theatre and of the performance of tragedies.⁸³ The reformulation at this point of the poet's task, to relate the deeds of rulers, their chivalrous exploits, and their ultimate decline and death, through the intervention of Fortune,⁸⁴ foreshadowed Lydgate's main work, The Fall of Princes.

For eight years Lydgate worked on the Troy Book, completing it in the summer or early autumn of 1420. The four oldest manuscripts,⁸⁵ all written in a similar hand, and illuminated by the same English school of miniaturists, probably originated from the scriptorium of the monastery of St Edmunds, which endeavoured to provide a worthy setting for the great epic of its poet. Presumably one of these manuscripts was the copy dedicated and presented to the king.⁸⁶

During the eight years which Lydgate spent working on the Troy Book⁸⁷ much was happening in the history of the monastery and in the world at large. William Cratfield, who had been abbot since 1390, resigned in 1414 (or 1415) on grounds of ill health, and on 13th July 1415 William of Exeter was appointed his successor. During the fourteen years for which he held office an official register was kept,⁸⁸ from which we learn that the abbot, together with Richard Clifford, Bishop of London, and Cardinal Henry Beaufort (at that time still Bishop of Winchester, but who was later to play an important political role), were sent to represent England at the Council of Constance. William of Exeter is known to have been present at the conclave of 1417. Whether this prolonged contact with Continental princes of the Church and humanists was fruitful for him and his monastery from the cultural point of view we do not know; there are no letters similar to those written by Whethamstede to his monastery at St Albans which allow such inferences to be drawn. But the political role played by Abbot William certainly testifies to St Edmunds' increasing importance. It explains why Henry IV's brother, Thomas (de) Beaufort, then Duke of Dorset, came to Bury St Edmunds in person to settle the protracted dispute with the Bishop of Ely about the scope of the monastery's authority.⁸⁹ Although this object was not attained, Thomas Beaufort retained a lifelong attachment to Bury. In 1427 he was buried there (in the Lady Chapel), in accordance with the provisions of his will, in which he commanded that 1,000 masses should be read for the salvation of his soul and the souls of his parents.⁹⁰ A testamentary disposition such as this indicates the close financial and political ties that existed between the monastery and the Crown, and accounts for the fact that Lydgate, as a monastic and court poet, was increasingly called upon to lend support to political and dynastic interests. It was not until the critical times of Henry VI, however, that he was obliged to devote himself fully to this role, for which his pacific temperament made him little suited. So long as Henry V's triumphal march continued, there was no need for propaganda in poetic form; deeds spoke for themselves.

Notes

1. M.P., 382; ed. by E. Krausser, Heidelberg Diss., Halle, 1896 (reprint from Anglia XIX); cf. W. Skeat, Chaucerian Pieces, p. 245, and E. P. Hammond, Chaucer Manual, p. 413. Krausser gives the date as 1398-1412, Schick as 1402-3, and the D.N.B. as 1430.

2. M.P., 410; cf. Skeat, p. 266, and Hammond, p. 424.

3. The Serpent of Division. For the numerous eulogies in Lydgate's poetic works, cf. C. Spurgeon, Five Hundred Years of Chaucer Criticism and Allusion, 3 vols., Cambridge, 1925, I, 14 ff.

4. M.P., 382, 410; cf. p. 31.

5. M.P., 418 (fifty-six lines in seven octets with four-beat lines).

6. M.P., 379 (forty-nine lines in six Chaucerian stanzas and an envoy), written for ‘Sir Othes of Holand’.

7. M.P., 381 (thirty-two lines in four octets).

8. M.P., 427 (seventy-two four-beat lines in nine octets).

9. M.P., 424 (seventy-one seven-beat lines in twenty-three tercets). D

10. The Paston Letters, ed. by J. Gairdner, 4 vols., 1901.

11. M.P., 468; Hammond, p. 102; cf. R. H. Bowers in MLN 49 (1934), pp. 90-4. Bowers publishes a manuscript mentioned neither by MacCracken nor by Hammond: Harley 2407, fol. 76r.-90v. (containing the illuminations of the garden, the peasant and the bird, and seven additional stanzas between stanzas 35 and 36 and another after stanza 40 (mainly dealing with the magic stone)). H. S. Bennett (Chaucer and the 15th Century) dates the fable to 1408.

12. Edited by J. Schick, L., 1891 (EETS, ES. 60) with an authoritative monograph on Lydgate. Bennett dates it to 1410, after Resoun and Sensuallyte and The Churl and the Bird, which he dates to 1408; MacCracken gives the date as 1420 (PMLA 23 [1908], pp. 128 ff.).

13. Cf. MacCracken, op. cit., pp. 128 ff., esp. p. 134; Moore, in ibid., 27, pp. 191 ff. MacCracken proves his thesis by the motto of the Paston family mentioned in l. 530 (of the B text group) and by the relations between the Pastons and the abbey of Bury St Edmunds: the judge William Paston (father of John Paston) was considered a patron of the monastery (‘devotionem quam ergo Deum et nostrum habetis monasterium’) and was a lay brother from 1429 onwards.

14. Edited by E. Sieper in EETS, ES. 84, 89, L., 1901-3, with comprehensive introduction. Cf. also Schick, in Anglia Beibl., VIII, 134 ff. On the literature of chess, cf. A. Schmid, Literatur des Schachspiels, Vienna, 1847, and E. Sieper, Les Échecs amoureux, Weimar, 1898 (Literarhistor. Forschungen ed. Schick u. Waldberg, Heft 9; this has an exact summary of the contents and a comparison with Lydgate's work).

15. Cf. W. F. Schirmer, Der englische Frühhumanismus, Leipzig, 1931, pp. 92 ff.

16. On Henry IV and V, cf. J. H. Wylie, History of England under Henry IV, 4 vols., L., 1884-98; The Reign of Henry V, 3 vols., Cambridge, 1914-29. On the queens of England, cf. A. Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England, Vols. II, III, L., 1877. Other works are: C. L. Kingsford, Henry V, 2nd ed., L., 1923; Sir W. Ramsay, Lancaster and York, Oxford, 1892; C. L. Kingsford, English History in Contemporary Poetry, II: York and Lancaster, 1914.

17. As in MS. Cotton Aug. A IV (B.M.), Bodl. MS. Digby 232 (Bodleian, Oxford), Crawford-Rylands MS. (Manchester), Trin. Coll. MS. O.5.2. (Cambridge), Rawl. C. 446 (Bodleian, Oxford)—all of which contain the Troy Book (cf. p. 50, n. 8).

18. Cf. O. Cartellieri, Am Hof der Herzsoge von Burgund, Basle, 1926, and J. Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages, London, 1924. On 10th January 1429 Duke Philip the Good founded the Order of the Golden Fleece for thirty-one knights of ancient noble families, with the object of reviving the old ideals of chivalry. Cf. Zoller, Der Orden vom goldenen Vlies, Altenburg, 1879; H. Kervyn de Lettenhove, La toison d'or, Brussels, 1907.

19. Edited by H. Bergen, 4 vols., EETS, ES. 97, 103, 106, 126, L., 1906, 1908, 1910, 1935. Cf. W. Grief, Die mittelalterlichen Bearbeitungen der Trojasage, Marburg, 1886, and other works listed by Bergen. Guido's Historia Troiana is given in excerpts in Bergen, Vol. IV. The Roman de Troie of Benoît de Sainte-Maure has been edited by L. Constans, in 6 vols., Paris, 1904-8 (S.A.T.F.).

20. 3rd November, according to Parr's calculation (PMLA 67 [1952], pp. 252 ff.).

21. The versions are compared by H. Koch, John Lydgates Troy Book, Diss., Berlin, 1935.

22. E.g., II, 160.

23. IV, 3204.

24. On Middle English epics on Troy, cf. J. E. Wells, Manual of the Writings in Middle English, New Haven, 1923, pp. 106 ff.

25. I, 2920.

26. III, 5663.

27. V, 2445.

28. IV, 2401.

29. V, 1781.

30. II, 5941.

31. II, 6341.

32. III, 44.

33. IV, 4295.

34. II, 3642.

35. II, 4097.

36. II, 4179.

37. III, 716.

38. III, 516.

39. Jason-Cethes, I, 1409; Priam, II, 1145; II, 1903; Hector, II, 2183; Agamemnon, II, 5239; IV, 153; IV, 3271; Hector-Achilles, II, 3785; Odysseus-Achilles, IV, 1701.

40. Especially in the lament for Troilus, IV, 3003, and for Hector, III, 5422.

41. IV, 3600.

42. V, 1011.

43. Cf. F. Reuss, Das Naturgefühl bei Lydgate, in Archiv 122, pp. 269-300; Moorman, Interpretation of Nature in English Poetry, 1905 (Quellen und Forschungen, Band 95); E. Ballerstedt, Über Chaucers Naturschilderungen, Diss., Göttingen, 1901.

44. I, 1197; I, 623; I, 3431; III, 2745; III, 4449, etc.

45. I, 3093; I, 3907; I, 1248; II, 3319; III, 1; IV, 3363; V, 586.

46. V, 3546. On his favourite theme and image, cf. M.P., 780, 809.

47. II, 4677; III, 550 and 4197; V, 3521.

48. I, 4420; II, 160.

49. E.g., I, 1840, 2100; III, 4265, 4820.

50. E.g., III, 4361.

51. I, 670.

52. IV, 5451.

53. II, 1067.

54. I, 959.

55. I, 1712.

56. II, 1, 4245; III, 1976, 4077; V, 16, 1019.

57. IV, 5833.

58. IV, 4951; III, 5492.

59. IV, 2752.

60. IV, 2673, 2768.

61. IV, 6849.

62. IV, 5201, 5480, 6023.

63. V, 3368.

64. V, 3399.

65. V, 3416, 3457.

66. V, 3426.

67. V, 3435; cf. pp. 133 f.

68. I, 36.

69. IV, 4440.

70. II, 7855.

71. E.g. II, 7851 ff.

72. II, 1796.

73. II, 1894.

74. IV, 2614.

75. Envoy 55; cf. p. 64 f.

76. IV, 4513.

77. III, 2342 f.

78. II, 2488.

79. II, 5480.

80. IV, 6930.

81. IV, 3655.

82. IV, 3003.

83. II, 860; III, 5422.

84. II, 884.

85. C = Cotton, Augustus A IV (B.M.); D2 = Digby 232 (Bodleian, Oxford); Rawl. 1 = Rawlinson C 446 (Bodleian, Oxford)—all dated 1420-35. B = Bristol MS. (City Ref. Lib.), Crawford-Rylands (Rylands Lib., Manchester) dated approx. 1470. Printed by Pynson in 1513 (B.M.).

86. Following Tanner, D 2; it might just as easily have been C, B, or Rawl. 1. The illustrations are similar in all of them, but C is particularly luxurious in its format, with broad margins.

87. Th. Tanner, Bibliotheca Britannico-Hibernica, ed. D. Wilkins, 1748, pp. 489 ff. According to the Registrum of William of Exeter (‘in monasterio vixit A. 1415 ubi electioni Gul. Exestri adfuit’) and Lydgate's own evidence in the Troy Book (V, 3469), he stayed at Bury in 1420.

88. This registrum, mentioned by Tanner, is not mentioned in Arnold, Mem. of St Edm., I, XI.

89. Mem. of St Edm., III, 201 ff. Arnold wrongly states Bedford, but cf. pp. 259-60 (text Beuford, alias Beaforde).

90. Ibid., III, 259 f.