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“Nurtur and good maners makeþ man” : the Burgeis in Late-Medieval Household Miscellany British Library… Harrison, Shona Renay 2014

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“Nurtur and good maners makeþ man”:  The Burgeis in Late-Medieval Household Miscellany British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 by Shona Renay Harrison  B.A., University of Victoria, 1997 M.A., University of Victoria, 2000 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE COLLEGE OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Interdisciplinary Studies) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Okanagan) April 2014 © Shona Harrison, 2014  ii Abstract  While scholarly attention has focused on many individual texts contained in the BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 (Caligula manuscript), little has been done to examine the texts in relation to one another within the varied content of the manuscript.  Yet as the codex circulated as a whole, none of these texts exists in isolation.  An exploration of the sustained themes and implicit ideology running through these texts reveals a rich tapestry of interconnected values and concerns that are specific to its readership.  “‘Nurtur and good maners makeþ man’: The Burgeis in Late-Medieval Household Miscellany BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1” argues that this manuscript is a late-medieval household book and could quite possibly represent a particular familia from the urban burgeis merchant class of late-medieval England.  This study compares a wide range of historical artifacts and documents along with textual evidence in the Caligula manuscript, and discovers in this manuscript a mixed readership that includes young and old, male and female, master, apprentice, and servant.  The study must first disentangle conflicting terminology to establish the Caligula manuscript as a household miscellany.  A further analysis of patterns of inclusion provides a way of understanding the use of the codex within the mercantile household.  This study then explores textual positioning across different themes drawn from the three dominant genres in household manuscripts, namely didactic, religious lyric, and romance.  The Caligula manuscript reveals consistent social messages and thereby potentially discloses an emergent ethos   iii specific to the burgeis, such as neighbourliness, piety, and moderation.  This specificity is particularly visible in this manuscript's unique and, to date, unidentified text Fynd cense.  In opposition to certain values and practices of the aristocracy, such as inherent nobility and excessive consumption, this burgeis ethos, and thus the Cotton Caligula A.ii, could very well inform a new understanding and performance of the doctrine of gentillesse.       iv Table of Contents  Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... ii Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................ iv List of Tables ............................................................................................................................... vii List of Figures ............................................................................................................................ viii Abbreviations .............................................................................................................................. ix Acknowledgments ........................................................................................................................ x Dedication .................................................................................................................................. xiii Chapter One:  Introduction ......................................................................................................... 1 Chapter Two: Mid-15th Century Medieval Household Manuscripts ................................. 12 Composite Manuscripts ..................................................................................................... 15 Monastic Manuscripts ............................................................................................................ 18 Government Manuscripts ...................................................................................................... 20 Educational Manuscripts ....................................................................................................... 21 Domestic Manuscripts ............................................................................................................ 24 Household Manuscripts ..................................................................................................... 25 Contents and Genre ................................................................................................................ 26 Compilation and Production ................................................................................................. 29   v Debating the Classification .................................................................................................... 34 Chapter Three:  Merchants, Household Structure and Configuration ............................... 61 Wealth:  Consumption and Comfort .................................................................................... 65 Guild Membership .................................................................................................................. 74 Civic Participation ................................................................................................................... 84 Performance ............................................................................................................................. 90 Urban Structures ................................................................................................................... 103 Household Composition ...................................................................................................... 115 Chapter Four: Self-Governance in Lydgate’s Fynd cense ................................................... 120 Introduction ........................................................................................................................... 120 The Fynd cense Text ............................................................................................................. 121 History of Stans Puer ad Mensam and A Dietary ............................................................ 124 Conduct and Regulation ...................................................................................................... 128 Moderation of Food .............................................................................................................. 132 Speech ..................................................................................................................................... 137 Reputation .............................................................................................................................. 138 Sexuality ................................................................................................................................. 141 Conclusion .............................................................................................................................. 146 Chapter Five:  Religious Lyrics ............................................................................................... 147 The Nyghtyngale ................................................................................................................... 151   vi Chapter Six:  Romancing the Household: (Con)Textual Relationships ............................ 173 Sir Eglamour of Artois .......................................................................................................... 186 Chapter Seven:  Conclusion ..................................................................................................... 202 Bibliography .............................................................................................................................. 209 Appendices ................................................................................................................................ 252 Appendix A:  Manuscripts in Cotton Caligula A.ii Table ............................................... 252 Appendix B:  Manuscript Provenance ............................................................................... 253 Appendix C:  Diplomatic Transcription of Fynd cense ................................................... 254    vii List of Tables   Table 1:  Contents of BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1……………………………51      viii List of Figures  Figure 1:  BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Signature, f. 3 .............................................. 49	  Figure 2:  The Merchant Adventurers' Hall, York ................................................................. 76 Figure 3:  Great East window. All Saints Church, North Street, York ............................... 91	  Figure 4:  St Anne and the Virgin.  All Saints Church, North Street, York. ....................... 92	  Figure 5:  Corporeal Acts of Mercy.  All Saints Church, North Street, York. .................... 95	  Figure 6:  Visiting those in Prison. All Saints Church, North Street, York ........................ 96 Figure 7:  Feeding the Poor. All Saints Church, North Street, York ................................... 97	  Figure 8:  York, 49-51 Goodramgate, plans of late medieval merchant house. ............... 106	  Figure 9:  The Greyfriars [No 9 Friar Street], Worcester, UK. ............................................ 111	  Figure 10:  Images of Shambles and Little Shambles, York ............................................... 113	  Figure 11:  BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Fynd cense, f. 14r ...................................... 122	  Figure 12:  Close up of scribally inserted title.  BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Fynd cense, f. 14r ................................................................................................................. 123	  Figure 13:  BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Fynd cense, f. 16v ...................................... 144	      ix Abbreviations 	   Bliss:   Sir Launfal c:  century ES:  English Studies es:   extra series EETS:   Early English Text Society Gray:   A Selection of Religious Lyrics, ed. D. Gray (Oxford, 1975). Halliwell:   J. O. Halliwell, “A Selection from the Minor Poems of John Lydgate,” in Percy Society II, 1840. IMEV:   A New Index of Middle English Verse, ed. Julia Boffey and A. S. G. Edwards (British Library, 2005). M:   H. N. MacCracken, Minor Poems of John Lydgate (EETS o.s. 192. London, 1934). MA:   Medium Aevum Manual: A Manual of the Writings in Middle English MES:   Middle English Series MET:   Middle English Texts (Heidelberg) ns:  new series os:  original series RA:   Reliquiae Antiquae, ed. T. Wright and J. O. Halliwell, 2 vols (London, 1841, 1843). RES:  Review of English Studies Brown 14th c:   Religious Lyrics of the 14th Century, ed. Carleton Brown (Oxford, 1924). Brown 15th c:   Religious Lyrics of the 15th Century, ed. Carleton Brown (Oxford, 1939). r:  recto SC:  Summary Catalogue SEL:  South English Legendary SL:   Secular Lyrics of the 14th and 15th Centuries, ed. R. H. Robbins (Oxford, 1952). Spalding:   M.C. Spalding, Middle English Charters of Christ (Bryn Mawr, 1914). STC:  Short-title Catalogue TEAMS:   Middle English Texts Series, The Consortium for the Teaching of the Middle Ages v:  verso       x  Acknowledgments  I gratefully acknowledge the funding sources that made my Ph.D. work possible:  Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) doctoral fellowships; University of York, U.K., and University of British Columbia for various scholarships, fellowships, tuition waivers, and travel grants; and the British Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) grant, secured through U of York, Centre for Medieval Studies, Household Research Group, for a palaeography workshop at Bangor University, Wales.  I am further indebted to the British Library for granting me repeated access to the Caligula manuscript and permission to use the digitized images, and to Reverend Gordon Plum for permission to use his digitized images of the stained glass of All Saints in York, and to the English Heritage and National Trust for the floor plans of late-medieval urban domestic houses and various images.  I am also grateful for the opportunities to present part chapters at various conferences, such as the Gender and Medieval Studies (GMS) Group conference at Goldsmiths College in London, U.K. and the International Congress on Medieval Studies in Kalamazoo; and for the opportunity to organize a panel for the Medieval Romance Society (MRS) at Kalamazoo.  Sincerest gratitude to my children, Mason and Paige, for their patience and acceptance of our homes that often looked like a library filled with stacks of books    xi and papers, and for their reminders to their friends: “shh my mom is working on her doctorate”; to my sister, Terrell, for her ear allowing me to unwind (BT is also thankful!) and her shoulder to lean upon when it felt unbearable; to my dad for planting the seed that I could do and become anything; to my mom for her unwavering faith.  Thanks to my communities on Vancouver Island, in the Okanagan, and across the pond; I remain immensely indebted and grateful for your continued friendship.  Thanks to my soul sisters, Jean and Joan, for holding my hand and my heart; without you two this dissertation might not have been completed. To Marma my soul companion, the furry four-week old kitten I “rescued” while still an undergrad, but in reality it was she who repeatedly rescued me with constant love and companionship; Lucas, my ever beloved, for helping me “see” and remain grounded; and Plato, the best lap dog ever, for endless comfort and snuggles. For this dissertation I would like to thank my supervisory committee Dr. Ruth Frost, Dr. Fransico Peña, and Dr. Sean Lawrence, for their time, interest, and helpful comments.  I would also like to thank the other members of my examining committee Dr. Stephen Reimer and Dr. Jessica Stites Mor, for their time and insightful questions, and Nancy Holmes for chairing.  Thanks too to Dr. Kathryn Kerby-Fulton, my master’s supervisor and friend, for it was her contagious love of medieval literatures and manuscripts that started it all.    xii Thanks to Dr. Nicola McDonald, Dr. Jeremy Goldberg, Professor Felicity Riddy, Dr. Sarah Rees Jones, and Dr. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne at the University of York, U.K. Centre for Medieval Studies, for without their expertise and guidance at the formative and early stages of this project, this Ph.D. would not have been possible.   And finally, my deepest gratitude to Dr. Michael Treschow.  First, for his efforts in getting my Ph.D. and SSHRC transferred from York after a family member’s illness made it untenable to continue in England; for his faith in this project and willingness to step in mid-way through; for his time, expertise, and knowledge; and for his guiding council and generosity.  Despite my many competing demands as a single-parent and full-time lecturer, he encouraged me to press on:  per ardua ad astra.      xiii Dedication   I dedicate this dissertation to my children. Deepest thanks, Mason and Paige for your support, love, and patience as I built foundations for our castle.  May the completion of this dream, inspire you to “live the life you imagine.”      1 Chapter One:  Introduction  Manuscripts have always been an essential resource for scholars of the medieval period, not only for the texts that they transmit, but also for their ability to convey the texture of the times as cultural historical artifacts.  They are valued repositories of texts, each yielding and preserving a unique material context.  Household manuscripts that were commissioned and used within a domestic sphere are rich resources, as the assortment of texts reflects the interests and concerns of the patron and his familia.1  Many individual texts contained in the BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 have been the focus of scholarly attention, and in the absence of a published facsimile, a few have been transcribed and the subject of scholarly editions.2  Yet while this is necessary and engaging scholarship, little has been done to examine the texts in relation to one another within the varied context of the manuscript by exploring their interconnectedness through various genres and themes.  This work is essential for understanding the                                                 1 For definitions of household book see Boffey, “Bodleian Library, MS Arch. Seldon. B.24 and definitions of the ‘household book,’” 125-34; Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 279-315; and Hardman, “A Medieval Library in parvo,” 262-73.  2 As mentioned, there are transcriptions of various texts; see, for instance, McSparran (ed.) Octovian Imperator; Mearns (ed.) The Vision of Tundale; Richardson (ed.) Sir Eglamour of Artois;  and Hanna and Lawton (eds.) The Siege of Jerusalem.  White’s recent unpublished PhD dissertation examines the theme of obedience, centering mostly on romance texts in the Caligula A.ii, part 1, and also provides a semi-diplomatic transcription of the manuscript.  This work, however, misses crucial palaeographic details and subtleties of the Caligula manuscript that lend to a more nuanced reading; see my Chapter Four Fynd cense as an example.       2 codex as a collection of texts that circulated together and were read within the household.  Within their manuscript context, these texts reveal a tapestry of interconnected values and concerns that could be read as specific to the urban burgeis3 of late-medieval England.  In this dissertation “‘Nurtur and good maners makeþ man’:  The Burgeis in Late-Medieval Household Miscellany BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1,” I will discuss a selection of texts from within the three dominant genres included in household manuscripts, namely didactic, lyric, and romance, and thus contained within the Cotton Caligula A.ii.  All texts in this study of the Caligula were specifically selected due to their high rate of inclusion in other identified household manuscripts.  The household manuscripts selected for this study are limited by their historical period, spanning approximately from 1446-1488.  At the same time, their provenance is geographically diverse, ranging from the North, the Midlands, and London, for example, so as to reflect the urban merchant culture of late-medieval England.  They offer, therefore, a representative sample of the most popular works within their respective genres for the corpus of household manuscripts.  Through such patterns of inclusion                                                 3 Recent scholarship often uses the terms “bourgeois” and “burgeis” interchangeably. However, because “bourgeois” is freighted with the baggage of nineteeth-century ideological and political thought, I prefer to use the word “burgeis” to refer to the wealthier segment of the late medieval merchant class, which this study will further define, and to the ethos that emerges along with this class.    3 comes a way of understanding the function of these manuscripts generally within their greater household contexts.  These texts will be read as possibly revealing a particular kind of ideological formation specific to the late-medieval urban household.  Surviving evidence indicates that these books were commissioned primarily by members of the merchant class;4 the types and contents of texts contained therein reiterate consistent social messages, which might reflect and construct a particular bourgeois ideology, one that seems to differentiate itself from lower-class labourers and peasants as well as higher-class aristocrats.5 Didactic texts teach rules for appropriate conduct, such as good table manners and deference toward adults and those of superior social station.  Religious lyrics include an assortment of texts, in verse form, that aid in spiritual observance, with particular emphasis on private piety.  The lyrics are drawn from psalms, confessions, mediations, elegies, and prayers.  Like didactic texts, they also attend to matters of individual                                                 4 This will be discussed in detail in Chapter Three.  5  Conventional classification divides medieval society into “three estates”; the First Estate was the Priesthood, those who pray and provide spiritual protection, the Second Estate was the Knighthood, those who provide physical protection, and the Third Estate was everyone else, those who provide food for all.  Such social hierarchy, however, was destablized following the Black Death, its reoccurring outbreaks, and subsequent plagues, creating the opportunity for movement not only within but between classes.  Thus, concerning the later Middle Ages Dyer expands the three social orders as follows: aristocratic, noble, and landed gentry and greater gentleman; gentry or lower aristocracy, including knights, esquires, lesser gentleman, and merchants; and the third order, or peasantry, comprising landless labourers, journeymen, and craftsmen, upon whose labour the other classes profited (Dyer, Standards of Living, 17-26).    4 behaviour, such as the dispensation of charity and avoidance of gossip.  Romance narratives were not only sources of entertainment; laden with social codes and decorum, they also embody the cultural shifts that came to be consistent with bourgeois practice.    By sifting through existing literary scholarship and surviving historical sources, I have gathered all those surviving composite manuscripts believed to have originally been used in a domestic setting.  While cataloguing manuscripts from this list, I noticed trends in terms of genre as well as the overlap of specific texts contained in the manuscripts forming this corpus.  There are also consistent trends in terms of the palaeographical character of such manuscripts; much scholarship has attempted to discern categories for these, resulting in a number of competing definitions.  In Chapter Two, I untangle these definitions and identify distinct categories, which I later apply to determine my sample.  In addition to producing classifications, I provide a brief summary regarding the provenance and constitution as well as the classification of each manuscript.  Lastly, I provide a rationale for choosing the BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 as the object of extended study.  Chapter Three focuses on the merchant class; I utilize testamentary evidence along with surviving owner signatures to provide evidence of ownership and use of household manuscripts.  Here, I also examine    5 domestic structure, including floor plans of urban open hall houses, and household formation, drawn from existing records, inventories, poll taxes, rolls, and guild ordinances.  Further, existing cultural artifacts, such as a medieval merchant house and the stained glass windows commissioned by the Blackburn family for All Saint’s Church in York, have also been included as they embody values consistent with those present in the Caligula manuscript household manuscript.  Organized by genres—didactic, lyric, then romance—Chapters Four, Five, and Six build upon the first three chapters and provide a close reading of selected high-incidence texts within the larger household manuscript corpus.  This analysis identifies a possible emerging ethos and domestic ideology specific to the merchant class.  The weaving together and analysis of literature of the time with scholarship on household membership and domestic space, social and religious organizations, and historical records enables a unique approach to reading and contextualizing this late-medieval manuscript, BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1.  While each manuscript has its own character and constitution, the manuscripts overlap in genres, themes, and even identical texts.  These manuscripts promote common interests and concerns; thus, as collections, they could quite possibly promote and sustain particular a burgeis ethos and domestic    6 ideologies specific to the late-medieval merchant class.  In addition to their unique characters, such manuscripts can also provide useful knowledge about the tastes and sensibilities of an individual, a group, or even an age, as A. G. Rigg has explained: Manuscripts are often regarded simply as the vehicles for the transmission of literary texts from one age to another, but they may also be considered as documents of literary importance in their own right:  an anthology may be simply a useful collection of texts, or it may be an index of the tastes of the individual who compiled it, and through him even the tastes of a generation.6 Taking up this notion, my thesis will illuminate patterns and ordering clusters within the Caligula manuscript, while simultaneously identifying uniting concerns within the collective group of manuscripts.  Such themes and trends will be scrutinized to reveal the seemingly dichotomous categories of civic and family, public and private, and work and recreation.  Often embedded within texts, such as those found in household manuscripts, are the subtle and insidious workings of power.  Because these manuscripts were part of the inner sanctum of the medieval household that has, for the most part, been under-explored, this research                                                 6 Rigg, A Glastonbury Miscellany, 30.     7 promises a potential for greater understanding, and suggests a similar approach to the larger corpus of manuscripts may be productive.  Building upon earlier scholarship, like that of Phillipa Hardman, Julia Boffey and John Thompson, and Francis McSparren,7 I illustrate the overarching themes and concerns that can be examined not only through specific textual choice—clustering of texts based on theme and genre—but also through instances of scribal intrusion.  The fact that such manuscripts were compiled and constructed for private use in the household yields some insight into the owners and/or compiler’s political views, yet most of these manuscripts reveal, through the choice of texts, the religious and ideological stance of their owners and/or compilers.  As Taylor argues, “by the thirteen century a reader might also have been able to assemble an elegant collection of fashionable and varied material by making a personal selection of pre-copied fasciciles.”8  In such a “private book, the compiler was free to express political sentiments”; in fact, “many of the books held                                                 7 Hardman, “A Medieval Library in parvo,” 262; Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellany,” 294; McSparren, Octovian Imperator, 39.  8 Taylor, “Manual to Miscellany,” 11; for a lucid discussion about trends in the dissemination of vernacular texts to lay people through in-house copying, “just as they turned to household chaplains to compose or translate religious texts, prosperous lay people relied on members of their own household to copy them”(8), through to “professional scriveners” in the “London area, including Westminster, for the court and cathedral” and “commercial book trade that grew in the shadow of the universities,”(9) namely Paris, Oxford, and Cambridge see Taylor’s essay in its entirety.  See too, Ralph Hanna III’s essay “Miscellaneity and Vernacularity:  Conditions of Literary Production in Late Medieval England,” 37-51.     8 overtly political writings, such as Skelton’s anti-Wolsey poems in Harley 2252, or the English patriotic verses of Egerton 1995.”9  However, this is a time when overtly political statements “could earn the author a conviction,” and so many of these compositions hold veiled or opaque political expressions.10   Extending this assertion, along with the opinions of several of his scholarly predecessors, Thompson provides a specific textual example as to where and how such political orientations might be manifest.  For example, after establishing that the O mors text survives in only two manuscripts, the Cotton Caligula A.ii and Harley 116, both found in the British Library, Thompson posits that the Caligula has been altered as it does not preserve the lines referring to Lord Ralph Cromwell, a controversial political leader around the time of this manuscript’s creation.  Thompson argues that this instance of scribal editing may have occurred because the intended reader was not interested in or sympathetic to Cromwell.  The decision to erase all reference to Cromwell from the text might also reflect the political loyalties or opinions held by those for whom the manuscript was produced.11                                                  9 Parker, Commonplace Book, 13.  10 Ibid., 13.  11 Thompson, “Cotton Caligula,” 185-6.      9 Despite the speculative nature of interpretation, this manuscript is a sound example of specific scribal intrusion.   The limitations of this study are contextually bound for two reasons.  First, the assertions drawn from analyses based on an incomplete sample of surviving documents make the findings incomplete.  The sample is drawn from existing manuscripts, and there is no way to ascertain if this sample is reflective of the corpus of manuscripts that no longer survive.12  An inherent problem also surfaces when looking to texts and manuscripts to construct reception and audience, as there is little concrete external evidence with which to corroborate inferences.  Conclusions founded on this type of research are never certain, but can reveal what is most possible and plausible.  The second limitation resides with the manuscripts themselves.  Interpreting and assessing codicological evidence is an integral element in the formation of this thesis.  In order to read a manuscript as a collection, my thesis demands commonality in binding dates (the formal gathering of booklets) for the selected manuscripts.  Drawing an accurate date from the implicit manuscript evidence is a difficult task, and these assertions are often the subject of contentious debate among scholars.  But, if a                                                 12 This suggests that producing facsimiles of and/or digitizing those manuscripts that survive but have not yet been catalogued, perhaps even discovered, is crucially important for future scholarship on the Middle Ages.     10 manuscript is to be considered a medieval cultural artifact, and its texts read in relation to one another, and if compilations themselves are to be interpreted for patterns in literary transmission and cultural concerns, then, to be considered a relevant artifact, the manuscript must have “travelled” as a household book and must have been used within that familial context.   That so much of this thesis depends upon the contextual reading of these texts makes the date of binding an integral consideration.  An example of this limitation can be seen in the scholarship of Cambridge University, Trinity College MS R.3.21.  In her article “Scribes and Booklets of Trinity College, Cambridge, manuscripts R.3.19 and R.3.21,” Lynn Mooney uses codicological evidence (specifically separate booklet circulation and scribal foliation) to argue that R.3.21 was bound “well after their [the booklets’] original copying.”13  Ultimately, she concludes, “the volume was compiled in the sixteenth rather than the fifteenth-century.”14  Although the contents of R.3.21 fit within the other criterion, the fact that these booklets were not bound together to form a single anthology until much later has ultimately led to its exclusion from my thesis.  The manuscripts chosen for this sample have been chosen for their production, provenance, and proliferation.  As a group the manuscripts have been                                                 13 Mooney, “Scribes and Booklets,” 252.  14 Ibid., 254.    11 selected from the mid-fifteenth century, at which time there was a marked increase in production of these kinds of collections.  In terms of production, these manuscripts have defining characteristics in common.  Additionally the texts making up each manuscript must have been bound together and used as a collection, forming a composite book, within this historical period.  Household manuscripts preserve not only texts drawn from specific genres, but also contextualize social, economic, and political realities at the moment of their inscription.  Analysis of their context together with their thematic concerns reveals much about the culture in which it was produced. In this dissertation then, I argue that the late-medieval household manuscript quite possibly reveals the emergent ethos of the burgeis merchant class.     12 Chapter Two: Mid-15th Century Medieval Household Manuscripts  The following chapter explores the corpus of composite manuscripts found in late-medieval England and closes with a study of the British Library manuscript, Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1.  The cultural significance of this manuscript is discernible not only through its varied contents (see Table 1), but by its mode of production and stylized structure.  Manuscripts of similar nature have been identified as late-medieval English household miscellanies; typical examples include the “CUL MS Ff. 2.38, Rate’s collection in Bodleian MS Ashmole 61, and the two ‘Thornton’ manuscripts (Lincoln Cathedral Library, MS 91 and BL Add. MS 31042).”15  In their list of identified miscellanies, Boffey and Thompson also suggest that “perhaps the BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii” (emphasis mine)16 should be included.  This tentative inclusion of the Caligula brings its categorization into question.  This study, then, will establish that the Caligula manuscript should indeed be considered a household manuscript and read through that lens.17                                                   15 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 297.  16 Ibid.  17 Before the household book category, these manuscripts were often referred to as Romance miscellanies (Riddy, Malory, 16-17), as romances are their dominant text.     13 This study will also argue that late-medieval household manuscripts are cultural phenomena that bear witness to a possible emergent ethos of the urban mercantile familia, and that analysis of these manuscripts leads to a better understanding of the social-domestic composition and ideologies of their particular readership.  In order to do so, texts contained in the Caligula manuscript will be read alongside and against one another.  This thematic, intertextual, and ideological exploration will further our understanding of the function of the household manuscript and the interests and thus perhaps the ethos of its mercantile-burgeis audience.  These texts promote a model of domesticity and indicate the presence of the whole familia, which extends beyond the nuclear family to include other members of the household, such as relatives, apprentices, and servants (as will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Three).18  More specifically, the larger reading and listening audience would include household members from infancy (infantia) to childhood (pueritia) through adolescence (adolescentia).19  As demonstrated through the presence of texts aimed specifically at children, as well the excision of age-inappropriate elements in texts throughout the larger manuscript, the Caligula                                                 18 Goldberg, Medieval England, 14.  For an additional lucid and compelling engagement on mixed household dynamics, see Riddy’s “Authority and Intimacy,” 216.   19 Orme, Medieval Children, 7.     14 manuscript is sensitive to a child audience.  My reading, then, diametrically opposes earlier positions held by scholars such as Phillippe Ariès, who argued that “the idea of childhood did not exist” in medieval society.20   While contemporary historians of the Middle Ages have successfully refuted Ariès’s thesis, some children’s literary scholars continue to perpetuate the notion of an absent childhood.  As late as 1996, for instance, an essay entitled “Defining Children’s Literature” argues that because of the high mortality rate and because “poverty and subsistence were the norm (that is until the eighteenth century), childhood as a protected stage was not possible.  In medieval times, there was little concept of childhood.”21   While medievalists seldom subscribe to such a simplistic and extreme position, they have thus far closely circumscribed childhood by viewing children’s relevance to literary production only in terms of didactic and conduct literature, and not within a larger manuscript context.  That a significant number of texts, spanning several genres, in the Caligula manuscript have been consciously altered to be suitable for a child audience is an important and intriguing discovery that                                                 20  Ariès, Centuries of Childhood, 129.  Notable historians who refuted Aries’ stance include John Gardner, John Boswell, Georges Duby, Clarissa Atkinson, Michael Goodich, David Herlihy, and Nicolas Orme.  For a succinct survey of work up to 2002 and an appraisal of Ariès’ fall from scholarly favour see Hanawalt, “Medievalists and the Study of Childhood,”440-60; for more recent criticism disputing Ariès’ view see Kline, “Medieval Children’s Literature,” 1-11; also see Hass and Rosenthal, “Historiographical Reflections,” 13-28; and most recently Gavin, ed. The Child in British Literature.   21 Hunt, “Defining Children’s Literature,” 13.    15 will be explored in the course of this dissertation.  An additional unique feature which positions Caligula A.ii as household reading is the inclusion of the romance Emare; not only is this text unique to this manuscript, but it is one of the few English medieval romances with a female protagonist22 (another being Lai le Freine, an anonymous Middle English romance that survives only in the famous Auchinleck manuscript from the early-fourteenth century).  Similarly, the Caligula manuscript also holds a number of female-centered texts, such as Sussan (=’The Pistill of Susan’) and Sir Eglamour.  The inclusion of texts where child and female agency are portrayed supports the argument that the Caligula is a household manuscript that would have served as suitable material for all household members, and encourages new discussions relating to domesticity and gendered ideologies.  Composite Manuscripts  Those manuscripts that survive from the medieval period bear traces of the social, commercial, and intellectual systems at work in the moments of their production.23  They present a multitude of configurations                                                 22 Riddy, “Middle English Romance:  Family, Marriage, Intimacy,” 244.  23 Nichols and Wenzel, “Introduction” to The Whole Book, 1.     16 on account of the diversity of resources, needs, and uses amongst readers from different occupations, social classes, and levels of education.24     Some manuscripts, such as the famous Ellesmere (Huntington Library MS EL 26 C9), composed entirely of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, are made up of a single text.25  Other manuscripts, such as the Lincoln Cathedral MS 91, called the Lincoln Thornton MS, which primarily contains romances, amass texts from a single genre.  The composite manuscript, in contrast, is made up of an assortment of texts.  The earliest and most prolific example of a composite text where independent books were copied and bound together is, of course, the Bible.  The long history of its development, from the Torah to the Vulgate and on into the many versions of scripture since the Reformation, offers an enduring and influential expression of a composition of texts forming an organic whole.                                                  24 By 1373, the production of books for commerce was regulated in London by the Limners Gild. By the end of the fourteenth century, increasing demand for books, together with cheaper costs of production, made books increasingly more accessible. Parkes notes the value of several books in the fourteenth century, including several volumes of romance in the Duke of Gloucester’s library inventory estimated “at between 6d and a couple of shillings each,” as well as “the stocks of two grocers who became bankrupt in the 1390s.” These included “four books of romance valued at a total of 11s 4d, two books in English valued at 8d, a calendar worth 8d, and a primer worth 16d” (Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, 287).   25  The following description is from Woodward and Stevens’ The New Ellesmere Chaucer Facsimile:  “This manuscript was probably produced soon after 1400. It contains 240 parchment leaves, 232 of which are the text of the Canterbury Tales. The remaining eight leaves were originally blank, lined pages that now contain miscellaneous verses, notes, and scribbles by various persons during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.”  The text of the Ellesmere Chaucer was written by one scribe in an English style cursive script whom Linne Mooney has identified as Adam Pinkhurst (Mooney, “Chaucer’s Scribe,” 97).     17 The very term “Bible” expresses this multiplicity in unity.  It derives from the title given to the Septuagint, which meant “the books” but has come, in effect, to mean “the Book.”  It gathers into a whole many texts of many genres:  family saga, law code, creation myth, epic, wisdom literature, hymn, personal prayer, love song, chronicle, dynastic history, prophesy, and lament.  The New Testament adds gospel, epistle, history, and apocalypse.  These collections evolved over the centuries to become the codified composite canon; thus, the central and most authoritative book of the Middle Ages was itself a most exceedingly diverse composite.  In the late-fourteenth century, John Wyclif’s followers translated the Bible from Latin into English.  While this is often associated with the Lollard movement, the larger social implication was an increase in lay literacy.26   Harvey J. Graff argues that “John Wyclif’s strategy involved translating the Bible from the Latin Vulgate into easy vernacular English and disseminating it to the people.”27   A survey of the composite manuscript corpus from fifteenth-century England yields a diverse range of books, yet these can be understood to form four distinct groups based on patronage; composite manuscripts can be understood as monastic, governmental, educational, or domestic.                                                   26 Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, 277.  27 Graff, Legacies of Literacy, 103.     18 Monastic Manuscripts  Most composite books from this period were made for use in the liturgical life of monasteries.28  Some were used in the celebration of the Mass and others in the requirements of Divine Office.29  Mass was celebrated in all churches and monasteries on a daily basis.  However, on important feast days there could be two or three such celebrations.  Services consisted of a combination of psalms, prayers, readings, antiphons and versicles, and responses.30  The missal, the most important book used for Mass services, typically contained the full range of texts said and sung at Mass.  Newberry Library MS 7, for instance, is a missal containing Eucharistic prayers to be recited by the celebrant, along with the liturgy for other church ceremonies performed by a priest, such as baptism and burial.31  Typical of missals and other liturgical books in general is the inclusion of the ecclesiastical calendar in prefatory position,32 which served                                                 28 For a comprehensive survey and analysis of books used in the liturgy, see Hughes, Medieval Manuscripts for Mass and Office.  29 Clements and Graham, Introduction to Manuscript Studies, 192.  30 Ibid.  31 Ibid., 193.  32 For an account of calendars in liturgical books, see Pickering, The Calendar Pages.     19 as a useful way to determine one’s place in the church year and what commemorations of saints or events in the life of Christ were at hand.33   Divine Office refers to those prayer services rooted in the Benedictine order that became interwoven into the general life of the later medieval church not only among other monastic and mendicant orders, but also in non-monastic churches.  In monasteries, the Office included a total of eight services, punctuating the day from early morning to late evening:  matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, vespers, and compline.  The principal manuscript for the performance of the Office was the breviary, a composite manuscript, an abbreviated liturgical compendium, which contains a complete range of texts, both said and sung, for all hours;34 these texts include psalms, antiphons, hymns, lessons, versicles, and collects, or prayers.  Breviaries that contain the music for sung sections are called noted breviaries.35 An additional type of manuscript known as the manual (or ritual) supplemented the books used for the Mass and Divine Office.  Although the exact contents varied from one manuscript to                                                 33 Shailor, Medieval Book Illustrated, 160.  34 For a full account of monastic celebration of the Office, see the “Introduction” to Volume 6 of Tolhurst, ed., The Monastic Breviary.  35 Clements and Graham, Introduction to Manuscript Studies, 193-194.     20 another,36 the manual was a handbook intended for use by parish priests when performing liturgical rites, containing a variety of texts for baptism, marriage, visiting the sick, extreme unction, and burial.37  Government Manuscripts Similarly, charters had numerous functions, but generally they were documents issued by governmental, civic, or ecclesiastical institutions, attesting to the transfer of property or rights from one individual or group to another.38  Given the value and importance of these documents, they were often subject to forgery. Innovative methods developed to protect against such fraud resulted in distinctive characteristics, such as chancery script and letter form, the latter of which includes named parties; conveyed purpose of the charter, including prohibitions and punishments; the date; a formulaic ending; and the names of those present at the issuing of the grant.  Other marks of authentication, such as subscriptions, signatures, and seals were also commonly used to prevent falsification.  Although seals were originally restricted to popes, emperors, and kings, by the                                                 36 Ibid., 194.  37 Yale University MS 377 is one such fifteenth-century composite manuscript that houses sermons, letters, and tractates, all of which would have been appreciated by its owners, Augustinian canonesses in Cologne (Shailor, Medieval Book, 160).  38 A survey exploring the standardization of use and terms can be found in Boyle’s chapter entitled “Diplomatics,” 82-113.     21 thirteenth century lesser knights also had them, and by the fifteenth century even common people owned and used them.39  Before such government and civic documents were issued to their recipients, they were commonly copied into a register so that the issuing authority could maintain public records.  Notarial signs, which are often elaborate and based on a cross motif incorporating the letters of the scribe’s name, were also used to provide governmental or institutional authority.  Chirographs40 were an additional means to document a formal agreement between two parties. The most important documents that record the history of an institution—charters, papal bulls, letters, wills, and bequests—were often gathered together in codex form; these compilation manuscripts are referred to as “cartularies.”  The organizing principles used to arrange the cartulary (chronology, hierarchy, and topography) reveal something about the institution or person that produced it. 41 Educational Manuscripts An additional group of composite manuscripts are those associated with universities.  Schools in medieval times were chiefly attached to                                                 39 See Harvey and McGinness, British Medieval Seals.  40 A chirograph is a “document consisting of two or more identical copies written on a single sheet of parchment.  The document was divided with either a straight or a jagged cut through the word chirographum, which was written across the sheet, between the two copies.  One copy would be given to each of the parties involved in agreement.  The document could then be verified by bringing the two documents together again” (Clements and Graham, Introduction to Manuscript Studies, 264).  41 Clement, “A Survey of Antique,” 238.      22 religious houses—cathedrals, monasteries, and collegiate churches.  The Latin education offered at these sites to aristocratic and upper gentry boys and male youth often led to ecclesiastical careers, but could also benefit those bound for lives as merchants, administrators, gentlemen, and noblemen.42  This education began with “the child,” as John Wyclif observed around 1378, who “first learn[ed] the alphabet, second to spell, third to read, and fourth to understand.”43 Surviving manuscript evidence for the type of education a child received substantiates Wyclif’s statement.  As Nicholas Orme explains, the alphabet was usually set down for young students in primers in a standardized form:  it began with a cross and was followed by a capital “A” and then the rest of the alphabet; after the Latin characters, there often appeared the customary abbreviations for et and con, three dots, or “titles,” and the words est amen.44  Next, following the alphabet, most primers presented prayers, such as the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, and the Creed, in Latin, and would then continue on with miscellaneous didactic material.45  “Most readers,” notes Orme, “began as Latin scholars, and seem to have read their earliest texts in that                                                 42 Orme, Medieval Children, 240.  43 Wyclif, De Veritate Sacrae Scripturae, I, 44.   44 Rust, “ABC,” 65.  45 Ibid., 65.     23 language.”46  In addition to the existence of primers, notebooks believed to have been used in grammar schools still exist today.  These notebooks chronicle the ABCs and various prayers in Latin, but they also preserve student jottings of rhymes and poems in English.  Soon after learning the alphabet, many children would meet with material in their spoken language, whether French or English.47   As most schools were limited to upper class boys, girls were generally educated at home.48   Nunneries often boarded a small number of girls, those of gentry or merchant status, and these children too were probably taught to read elementary Latin, French, or English.49  Evidence of female education occurring in nunneries in England is primarily supported through the high incidence of largely female- and child-centered texts recovered from those same sites, a pointed example being the famous Vernon manuscript.  Felicity Riddy argues that the “Vernon manuscript seems to provide substantial evidence for the existence of a certain kind of                                                 46 Orme, Medieval Children, 264.  47 Ibid., 264.  48 Clanchy, From Memory, 13.  Also see, Sheingor, “The Wise Mother,” 69-80.  49 Orme, Medieval Children, 240.     24 female readership.”50  Derek Pearsall summarizes this kind of critical scholarship on this manuscript, contending that the Vernon’s emphasis on female characters suggests the intended audience was a group of devout women, either nuns or lay women, and quite likely associated with a nunnery.51  In his seminal work Medieval Households, David Herlihy argues that whether as devouts or as mothers, medieval women were often the primary teachers of children.52   Domestic Manuscripts In his article “Learning to Read:  The Role of Mothers,” M. T. Clanchy argues that mothers were in fact the primary teachers of their daughters.53   Thus, those manuscripts found in the household could reasonably be the means mothers used to teach their children to read.  The household book has been referred to as a “library in parvo,” as it functioned as a multi-type collection reflecting the interests and concerns of the compiler.54  Some of the texts contained within the boards of household                                                 50 Riddy, “Women Talking,” 106.  51 Pearsall, Studies in the Vernon Manuscripts, x.  Both Baugh and Savajaara hold that the manuscript was written in a Cistercian scriptorium, perhaps in North Worcestershire (Guddat-Figge, 277).  52 Herlihy, Medieval Households, 122-3.  53 Clanchy, “Learning to Read,” 33-9.  54 See Hardman, “A Medieval Library in parvo,” 262-73.      25 books were intended overtly for edification, including both spiritual and practical teachings.  The spiritual texts collected were often lyrics, prayers, and accounts of saints’ lives.  Practical advice for edification often took the form of courtesy and didactic texts.  Entertainment found in romance texts, which “formed the staple of the household manuscript,” however, also served a didactic purpose, more subtly.55  While some scholarship has identified these manuscripts as household and some work has been completed in reading these texts, little scholarship has considered the individual texts within their larger manuscript context.    Household Manuscripts As eclectic collections, household manuscripts served their owners by being comprehensive, accessible texts for education, edification, and entertainment.  These manuscripts were written for, and read within, a lay domestic milieu, rather than in a convent, monastery, or church.56  Because the domestic space was the site for day-to-day living, intimacy, social interaction, learning, and work, the domestic milieu (the familia) extended beyond the nuclear family to include other members of the household,                                                 55 See Meale “‘Gode Men/Wiues Maydnes,’” 209-25.  56 For identification of household manuscripts as well as their use within lay domestic sites and practices of lay literacy see Meale, “‘Gode Men/Wiues Maydnes,” 209-25; Parkes, “Literacy of the Laity,” 555-777; Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, 16-23.       26 such as relatives, apprentices, and servants, within the readership, or audience, of these manuscripts.57  Both the choice of text and its placement within the composite manuscript, then, reflect the concerns and domestic values of the owner.  Indeed, the selection of texts contained within the boards of these books suggests they were used for a variety of purposes and quite likely by a variety of persons.  While no two households are ever identical, examining the range of texts reveals a typology (a categorical genre) that is consistent within each of these manuscripts.  As this research will show, household manuscripts often share texts or at the least contain the same types and selections of texts.  In as much as the individual manuscripts vary, then, manuscripts of this nature nevertheless share common thematic concerns and interests. Contents and Genre  There has been a shift in contemporary scholarship such that medieval texts are no longer read in isolation, but through and in relation to their larger manuscript context.58  For many years scholars analysed particular texts and genres of texts, but it is only within the last ten years or                                                 57 Goldberg, Medieval England, 14.  For an additional lucid and compelling engagement on mixed household dynamics, see Riddy’s “Authority and Intimacy,” 216.   58 See, for example, several recent collections of essays such as that edited by Hardman, Medieval and Early Modern Miscellanies and Anthologies; Nichols and Wenzel’s anthology, The Whole Book:  Cultural Perspectives on the Medieval Miscellany; Fein’s Studies in the Harley Manuscript:  The Scribes, Contents, and Social Contexts of British Library MS Harley 2253; as well as Evans’ Rereading Middle English Romance:  Manuscript Layout, Decoration, and the Rhetoric of Composite Structure.      27 so, that the household manuscript has been recognized as an accurate and worthwhile classification.  In 1964, Robbins noted the general character of composite books, observing that “these books have this much in common:  in addition to practical items they generally contain a few romances (for light reading), moral precepts in verse (to help bring up the children), and a few proverbial sayings.”59  More recently in 1994, Carol M. Meale argued that “romances formed a staple ingredient in many late-medieval ‘household’ books, some of which, such as Bodleian Library Ashmole MS 61, may have had a mercantile readership; other collections of this kind are Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales Porkington MS 10 [renamed Brogyntyn ii.1], and Cambridge University Library Ff.2.38.”60   Meale’s use of quotation marks around “household” suggests that household manuscripts were not yet fully recognized as a category within the composite manuscript genre.  Some twenty-years after Robbins’ assertion, Boffey and Thompson confidently assert:  “Household miscellanies“ contain an “extraordinarily diverse collection of moral, medical, scientific and parodic items…  most of which might be found in an educated                                                 59 Robbins, Secular Lyrics, xxii.    60 Meale, “Gode men/Wiues Maydnes,’” 221.     28 laymen’s private library.”61   They further assert, echoing Meale’s earlier reflection, that “romance narratives seem to have remained the staple diet” of composite manuscripts prepared for private homes.62   That romance texts form the dominant element in these household manuscripts suggests that most household books could be detected through collective catalogue works, such as Guddat-Figge’s Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Middle English Romances and J. Burke Severs’ A Manual of the Writings in Middle English 1050-1500:  Romances.63  While these catalogues are potentially useful for identifying household manuscripts, such catalogues come with their own challenges.  Indeed there are manuscripts the contents of which partially correspond to the household book but do not contain romances, such as British Library, Sloane MS 1986.  Moreover, while these catalogues are useful for identifying the presence of romance texts in manuscripts, they do not identify whether these are specific to “household books.” That Guddat-Figge’s catalogue excludes manuscripts that contain romances by Chaucer, Lydgate, and Malory is a                                                 61 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 294.  62 Ibid., 292.  63 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Middle English Romances; and Severs, A Manual of the Writings in Middle English 1050-1500.      29 further hindrance.64  Moreover, Guddat-Figge defines a “type” of manuscript as “determined by the most prominent feature of the manuscript,” which refers either to its form or its contents, for example the commonplace book and the holster book.  As this dissertation will show, the delineation of categories is an important and useful undertaking, although this practice is not without its own inherent challenges.65   Compilation and Production In addition to the content of each manuscript spanning several genres, household composite manuscripts are further identified by specific physical characteristics: compilation and production.  As Pearsall asserts, “[t]he methods of compilers and manuscript editors of all kinds, whether amateur or professional, need to be studied if we are to understand the readership assumed for the literary works contained in their collections.”66   Composite manuscripts were formed by compiling and binding booklets that would have, in the first instance, circulated independently.  According to P. R. Robinson, who in 1972 first applied the term “booklet” to codicological studies, a booklet consists of a single or several quires: its content was complete unto itself (it could function as an independent unit)                                                 64 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 17.  65 Ibid., 18.  66 Pearsall, Studies in the Vernon Manuscript, 1.       30 and was the work of one scribe.67   After a short period of independent circulation, the booklet was bound together with other existing booklets or newly-written quires, thus forming a composite manuscript.68   These once-separate constituents of composite manuscripts are still distinct today, although most of the manuscripts in which they appear have been subject to modern re-binding.  For example, the Caligula manuscript folios 111v – 124r, which contain The Sege of Jerusalem, shows evidence of greater use when compared to other folios within the manuscript; the marked soiling of its outer folios suggests that it survived unbound and was possibly subjected to greasy fingers, smoke, and dust as it was handled and read as an independent unit.  Another discernible feature specific to composite manuscripts is the common presence of extra folios flanking individual texts.  These can be attributed to the common scribal practice of maintaining the flyleaves (blank folios) from when the text first circulated as an independent booklet.  This is clearly visible in Yale University, Beinecke MS 377.  Throughout the manuscript, the outer and inner conjugate leaves of each quire are of                                                 67 See Robinson, A Study of Some Aspects of the Transmission of English Verse, 231-238; “The ‘Booklet’: A Self-Contained Unit in Composite Manuscripts,” 46-69.  68 As cited by Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 18; and more recently, Hanna, “Booklets,” 100-111.     31 parchment but the remainder are of paper.69   Over the years, the manuscript’s owner(s) and reader(s) often used these blank folios as spaces for writing out various items, such as recipes, prayers, and short poems.  Similar examples can be found in the Caligula manuscript, folio 13v where, in a much later hand, four medical recipes have been copied onto this once blank folio, and in NLS MS Advocates 19.3.1, where the once-blank folio 173v contains a Memorandum on Household Expenses and folio 211v contains a Prescription.70   Such additions provide further evidence and examples of household use.  As Boffey and Thompson argue, the advantages of working in booklet form were many; there certainly would have been a number of practical benefits.  For professionally produced composite manuscripts, scribes could work separately but simultaneously on texts that were later to be bound together.  Book owners could then amass texts individually as they were completed—hypothetically the cost could have been piecemeal and therefore more attainable—while also ensuring quicker access to individual texts that otherwise would have been involved in a long                                                 69 Matter, “A Carolingian Schoolbook,” 154.  70 Hardman, The Heege Manuscript, iv.      32 process.71  The life of convenient, accessible booklets could be quite short if they were not handled with care.  As discussed above, their use directly impacted their longevity, and, given the evidence, it is reasonable to assume that many unbound booklets did not survive beyond the late Middle Ages.72  Testamentary evidence supports not only their existence, but also their worth. 73  One can glean the owners’ perceived valuations of these booklets through their presence in medieval wills.74  In such inventories and wills, booklets are commonly referred to as small, unbound “paper books.”75   For example, in his 1408 will Gilemota [Wilmot] Carrek from York bequeathed the following: “to Alice, daughter of William Bows an English paper book of the ‘The Spirit of Guy’ and a French book of ‘Barlaham and Josephath.’”76  Bequests such as these not only provide us with further evidence of individual use, but also indicate                                                 71 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 290, 295.  72 Ibid., 290.  73 Erler, Women, Reading, and Piety, 3.  74 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 290.   75 For an assemblage of medieval wills which mention manuscripts, see Plomer, “Books Mentioned in Wills,” 115.  See also Meale’s “Laywomen and their books,” 130-36.  For patterns of book-giving among nuns and devout gentlewomen in late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, see Riddy’s “Women talking about the things of God,” 104-127.   76 As cited in Goldberg’s Women in England, 287.  Original translated from BIHR, Prob. Reg. 3 f. 585v.  See also Riddy, “Women Talking about the Things of God,” 104-27, 128-58; and Dutton, “Passing the Book,” 41-54.     33 the perceived value of these books as only esteemed items are usually mentioned in wills.77   Other physical attributes can help elucidate the manuscript’s genesis and its level of production.  A prominent feature of distinction is the assessment of the scribal hand.  It is often quite easy to assess hands if they are at either end of the spectrum between amateur or professional; that is if they are either messy, inconsistent hands or a consistent, tidy script.  It is much more difficult to make such distinctions if the hand is somewhere in the middle.  Similarly, a diversity of watermarks within a composite manuscript can indicate not only foliation, but sometimes provenance as well.  Parker, for example, notes the presence of five different watermarks (with variation within the gatherings themselves) to argue that the BL Egerton 1995 is a professional production.  He surmises that given the large stock of paper from which it is composed, the Egerton 1995 was probably made at a stationers or a bookshop.78  Household manuscripts, then, can be read as the articulation of cultural phenomena.  Yet such reading and interpretation is complicated.  In an effort to succinctly describe differences between such composite manuscripts, contemporary scholars have assigned two sub-categories:                                                  77 Goldberg, “The Evidence of Wills,” 181.  78 Parker, Commonplace Book, 19-20.     34 miscellany or anthology on the one hand, and commonplace book on the other.  While these categories are useful and important they are frequently misapplied and are often used interchangeably.79  Debating the Classification  As Cameron Louis has argued, the term commonplace book “has been used with a great lack of inhibition in library catalogues and scholarly articles as a catch-all for any manuscript of a miscellaneous nature.”80  Although there are basic differences that distinguish miscellanies and commonplace books, in contemporary scholarship these distinctions have been entangled in a web of discursive debate and misapplication.81   For example, R. H. Robbins applied the term “commonplace book” to a number of manuscripts, but later Guddat-Figge excludes two of these same manuscripts, namely the Laud Misc. 23 and the Sloan 3215, from this classification in her Catalogue of MSS Containing M.E. Romances.  That these two classifications are often confused and inaccurately assigned is also visible in the assessments of the NLW MS Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10) manuscript; one scholar describes the Brogyntyn ii.1 as a                                                 79 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 279.   80 Louis, Commonplace Book of Robert Reynes of Acle, 100.  81 Note that the anthology classification is not differentiated here; this is due to the continued conflation of miscellany and anthology within scholarship.  Therefore miscellany and anthology both address the same type of manuscript in contrast to the commonplace book.     35 commonplace book, while another refers to it as a miscellany.82   Similarly, BL MS Egerton 1995 has been regarded as a miscellany by most scholars, although one has declared it to be a commonplace book. 83  In its etymology “miscellany” stems from the classical Latin miscellãnea, meaning “a collection of writings” and on through to Middle French miscellanèes.  Miscellany appears to have had been commonly used in England in the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance; for example, according to the OED, miscellany appears in 1571: “The poore mans librarie...  Here are adjoyned... certain... annotations which may properly be called miscellanea.”84   The origin of “anthology” is similar; it stems from the Greek anthologia (anthos meaning “flower”) and logia meaning “collection” (from legein, “gather”). In Greek, the word originally denoted a collection of the “flowers” of verse, i.e. small poems, epigrams written by several authors.85  Like “miscellany,” “anthology” further evolved in the medieval Latin and French lexicon.  Since the origins and continued use of “miscellany and “anthology” overlap, they will be used interchangeably                                                 82 Rigg, A Glastonbury Miscellany, 26; Huws, “MS Porkington 10,” 187.  83 Parker, Commonplace Book, 3; Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 27  84 Oxford English Dictionary, 3rd ed., n. “miscellanea.”   85 Oxford English Dictionary, 3rd ed., n. “anthology.”     36 for this thesis; however, “miscellany” or “anthology” will be differentiated from “commonplace books.”   It is unclear as to where the term “commonplace book” originated and whether it had any currency in everyday usage during the medieval period.  What is known is that the commonplace book is described, from its earliest example in the OED in 1578, as a book to write down commonplace sayings or phrases, meaning that it is a “book of commonplaces” rather than an “ordinary” or “household” book.86  As Guddat-Figge argues, “the term ‘commonplace book’ has long been current in medieval scholarship.”87  In 1908 Roman Dyboski, writing about Richard Hill’s commonplace book (Oxford Balliol College MS 354), gave the first extended definition of the form:   Richard Hill’s manuscript is an interesting specimen of a type very common, when books were dear and scarce, chiefly from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century… [T]he household book called “enchiridium” by the humanists, “silva rerum” in some continental countries, and “commonplace book” in England—into which were entered, firstly poems and songs which struck a man                                                  86 Parkes, “Literacy of the Laity,” 568.  87 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 26; more recently Parker in his The Commonplace Book, 14.     37 as worth transcribing and preserving for family use, and secondly, notes of a most varied character on anything of interest he came across:  encyclopaedic scraps of useful knowledge, tracts, commercial and statistical dates and tables, medical and other receipts, puzzles and tricks for amusement, records of important events, public and private, and the like.88 (emphasis mine) A. G. Rigg’s assessment, for example, pays particular attention to the function of these collections, stressing that they were “intended simply for the interest and amusement of the compiler”; therefore, he excludes devotional collections, “aureate” manuscripts, and collections whose contents were likely to have been planned.89   Parker proposes that what separates a commonplace book from anthologies or miscellanies produced for a larger audience is the discernibly personal selection and combination of texts for the book.  The                                                 88 Dyboski, ed.  Songs, Carols, xvii.  89 Rigg, Glastonbury Miscellany, 24-25, specifically citing those compiled by John Shirley and Robert Thorton, and the Franciscan, John Grimestone.      38 idiosyncratic nature and content of each book is what separates it from more generic miscellaneous volumes.90 The commonplace book is more centered on personal concerns.  Thus, the classification of these manuscripts in consideration of their physical constitution and their contents has been and continues to be the subject of much lively debate.91  Apart from content, Guddat-Figge privileges the physical aspects of the manuscript in determining its classification.  She argues that the “unsymmetrical nature” of the compilations, the “chance character” of entries, and finally the impression of “informality” should be the primary indicators of a commonplace manuscript.92  Commonplace books, she proceeds to specify are “paper manuscripts of no more than medium size” and generally absent of preplanning indicators; that is, pages are “without ruling, margins not marked or written through.  Neither signatures nor                                                 90 Parker, Commonplace Book, 2.   91 Most recently, in 2011, Richard Beadle and Colin Burrow published a collection of essay entitled Manuscript Miscellanies c. 1450-1700 where the various authors continue to wrestle with the very nature of miscellanies—“their nature, raison d’être, and uses, their complilers (both men and women), their compilations procedures, and the political, social and cultural networks in which they were produced” (Beadle and Burrow).  In 2003 Phillipa Hardman edited a similar collection entitled Medieval and Early Modern Miscellanies and Anthologies and in 1996 Stephen Nichols and Siegfried Wenzel put together a collection of critical essays entitled The Whole Book:  Cultural Perspectives on the Medieval Miscllany.    92 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 27.     39 catchwords appear at the beginning or end of quires.”93   Like Dyboski, she further notes “the owner entered his texts, mostly in very informal handwriting, frequently using the pages to the last square inch of margin and corners.”94  It is generally believed that Hill’s commonplace book was filled in chronologically over thirty-some years.95  Building upon the earlier work of Dyboski and Guddat-Figge, Parker argues in his Commonplace Book in Tudor London the mode of production is a distinguishing feature; that is, whether the manuscript was professionally copied or transcribed by the patron is one of the attributes that set apart commonplace books from other types of manuscripts.96   Extending on the work of P. R. Robinson, in his article “Booklets in Medieval Manuscripts,” Ralph Hanna III begins to problematize the past criteria used to distinguish between the subcategories of composite manuscripts.97   He sets out by synthesizing the part of the debate oscillating around the conceptual intent of the manuscript, and more specifically challenging whether booklets had been “conceived and produced as single volumes or merely reflect the eclectic tastes of the                                                 93 Ibid., 26.  94 Ibid.  95 Parker, Commonplace Book, 95.  96 Ibid., 17.     40 owner.”98  Thus, Hanna argues that scholars need to consider the independent circulation of booklets before formal binding.  If they were produced for eventual inclusion in what would become a household book, then pre-planned intent is implied.  That is, one needs to establish whether the booklet was conceived as a basic unit complete unto itself or whether the booklet was conceived to form a unit within the whole codex.  Subsequently, the implication of this distinction would be a determining factor in whether a household manuscript should be considered a miscellany or a commonplace book.  The distinctions, then, between miscellany and commonplace books are in the execution, formality, and contents.  The miscellany is a formal collection of works:  it is written by a scribe, is pre-planned, and maintains visual uniformity, including running titles and catch words.  Commonplace books, in contrast, are often comprised of blank folios bound together and filled in at will.  Typically, commonplace books are the production of the home-owner and are written in his hand.  While the owner may also have transcribed romances and material for edification among other texts, these books often record everyday household concerns, such as household expenses and records of births, deaths, and marriages.                                                   98 Hanna, “Booklets,” 102.    41 Recent scholarship by Meale, Boffey and Thompson, Riddy, Sporran, Hardman, and others has identified the following collections as household manuscripts: The National Library of Wales MS Brogyntyn ii.1; National Library of Scotland, MS Advocates 19.3.1; Cambridge University Library MS Ff. 2.38; Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 61; British Library MS Egerton 1995; and British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii.  In an effort to provide contextualization and further awareness as to the general look of household manuscripts, the following is a brief description of each manuscript identified as a household collection: I.  The National Library of Wales MS Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10) The National Library of Wales MS Brogyntyn ii.1 is similar to other identified household manuscripts.  This volume was originally two separate manuscripts bound together.  Part I ca. 1463 contains scientific material – mostly astronomical – in a popularized form, written in English.  Part II, 1453-1500, contains Sir Gawain and the Carle of Carlisle, along with love poems, religious lyrics, carols, debates, hunting terms, and ten medical recipes.99  Based on linguistic evidence, this manuscript can be located in the West Midlands.100  Kurvinen was the first to identify the nineteen scribes who worked on the manuscript, and Guddat-Figge and other                                                 99 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 73, 77.  100 Ibid., 73.     42 scholars now accept this as fact.101  The implication of this is, of course, that the manuscript was added to many times over the course of the years.  This could be a practical explanation for the Brogyntyn ii.1’s diversity of texts.  Indeed, this manuscript has a larger breadth in terms of the types of works in its contents than other household manuscripts.  Another mark of distinction resides in the fact that it contains only one romance.   Scholars disagree on the classification of this manuscript: Guddat-Figge cites it as a commonplace book, while Huws argues it to be a miscellany.102  Given that it is “ruled, pricked, margins marked” (by Guddat-Figge’s own assessment) and that it contains a few texts in Latin, while uncommon in household manuscripts generally, Latin tags are sometimes used in miscellanies, I align myself with Huws’ assessment and will therefore consider the Brogyntyn ii.1 to be a miscellany, in accordance with the parameters of this study.                                                       101 Kurvinen, “MS Porkington 10,” 348-71; Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 74.  102 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 27, 74; Huws, “MS Porkington 10,” 188.     43 II.  Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, MS Advocates 19.3.1 This is a paper manuscript from the mid- to late-fifteenth century, measuring 8  by 5 ½ inches.  Two main scribes worked on the Advocates 19.3.1.  Heege seems to have been “the main scribe, he frequently names himself as ‘Heege’ (fols. 60v, 67v)”103 while Haughtton appears to have followed, filling in empty spaces where needed.104  Both Turville-Petre and Kurvinen have located the origins of this manuscript in the north Midlands.105  Turville-Petre further argues that Advocates 19.3.1 is associated with the Sherbrooke family of Oxton in Nottinghamshire.106  The Advocates 19.3.1 is, as Philippa Hardman asserts, a small library unto itself.107  Vast in the breadth of its contents, it is still highly symmetrical:  the first half of the manuscript is an anthology of humorous pieces, including a mock sermon in prose, a long burlesque tale of a hunt, an edifying saint’s life in prose, and three romances.  The second half contains Tundale’s vision of Hell, Purgatory And Heave, Lychefelde’s poem of Christ’s words to man, and a portion of Lydgate’s Lyfe of Oure Lady.                                                  103 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 295.  104 Guddat-Figgge, Catalogue, 73.  105 Turville-Petre, “Some Medieval English Manuscripts,” 136;  Kurvinen, “Porkington 10,” 54.  106 Turville-Petre, 137.  107 Hardman, Heege Manuscript, 262.    44 Given its diverse contents and tidy, unified appearance Advocates 19.3.1 is considered to be a miscellany.  III.  Cambridge University Library MS Ff. 2.38 The CUL Ff. 2.38 is a manuscript dating from the late fifteenth century.  Its contents are written entirely in English and consist of romances (The Erle of Tolous, Le Bone Florence of Rome, Guy of Warwick, and Octavian), religious and didactic verse and prose, and a collection of tales called The Seven Sages of Rome.  Of its contents McSparran writes:  “religious material has been combined with items stressing the domestic virtues and practical wisdom, and with popular romances which are pious, lively and full of incidents and marvel.”108  It is a homogeneous collection of two booklets produced by the same scribe.  Its homogeneity is reflected in the uniform layout and presentation of its contents.109  Moreover, the scribe imposed a “standard layout throughout the book which disguises any differences there may have been between the several exemplars he must have obtained to form this compilation.”110 This is a fairly large manuscript measuring 297 by 210 mm and comprising 247 paper leaves foliated by Henry Bradshaw, University                                                 108 McSparran, Octovian, vii.  109 Robinson, Of the Making of Books, xii.  110 Ibid., xiii.     45 Librarian 1867-86.  This is the foliation in current use, which allows for the missing leaves (ff. 1-2, 22-7, 141, 144, and 157-60).111  Given these features, MS Ff. 2.38 is a miscellany.  IV. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 61 The Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 61 is a paper manuscript dated by watermark evidence to c. 1479-1488 and written by a scribe who called himself Rat(h)e.  Throughout its 161 leaves, the MS Ashmole 61’s textual composition is similar to a commonplace book, but it is often regarded as a holster book.  The term “holster book” is representative of specific physical characteristics.112  G. S. Ivy is among the first to use the term “holster book”; he writes, “[t]he book [Cambridge, Trinity College MS 0.9.38] measures approximately 11 by 4 inches [415 x 137 mm.] and is therefore of a suitable shape for carrying in a holster.  We sometimes find account-books of this shape, but ‘literary’ holster-books are rare.”113  The MS Ashmole 61 is indeed this type of holster rarity.   Sewn between its very tall and narrow boards is a diverse assortment of texts:  courtesy texts like Stans Puer ad Mensam, Lyttyl Childrens Book, and the                                                 111 Robinson and Zim, Of the Making of Books, xiii.  112 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 30.  113 Ivy, “The Bibliography of the Manuscript-Book,” 64, as cited by Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 30.     46 satiric Ram’s Horn, religious items such as the Legend of St. Margaret and three romances—the Earl of Tolous, Sir Cleges, and Sir Orfeo.  There is another interesting aspect to these holster books; as Guddat-Figge contends, they are of “special interest because speculations about the spreading and passing-on of romances by the minstrels are connected with it.”114  In fact, not only were they easy to carry, but also they seem to have been particularly suited for oral recitation.115  Therefore, the holster book may have played a crucial role in the transmission and dissemination of literary works.  For the present study, it is regarded as a commonplace book. VI. British Library MS Egerton 1995 The BL MS Egerton 1995 is, according to Parker, a “commonplace book.”116  However, it was almost certainly professionally transcribed, and it seems likely that the book was commissioned with the contents exactly specified.  Some scholars argue, Guddat-Figge being an example, that a commissioned manuscript cannot be classified as a commonplace book.  Based upon its professional appearance and the presence of catchwords (indicating it was preplanned), the MS Egerton 1995, for this dissertation,                                                 114 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 30.  115 Ibid., 33.  116 Parker, Commonplace Book, 17.     47 will therefore be considered a miscellany.  It is a mid-fifteenth century manuscript, measuring 185 mm x 130 mm.117  Its contents are typical of a medieval household manuscript; it includes romance texts (Seven Sages of Rome); historical documents such as A Chronicle of London (Gregory’s Chronicle); a short piece concerning the practice of hunting and a list of hawks, “The Termys of verery and the crafte,” which was followed by “the namys of hawkys”; alongside medical recipes and prognostication from the weather in Latin.  Parker argues that the “compiler of this manuscript shows a great concern with things befitting a nobleman… [He] might not have been a part of the noble class, but his book gives the sense that he would very much like to be and has assembled this book as a sort of manual of social climbing.”118  VII. British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 The last manuscript in the sample is the subject of this dissertation, London British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1. It is a typical example of a late-medieval household miscellany. Cotton Caligula A.ii, ff. iv + 210 + ii was originally two independent manuscripts.  In the first instance it was Cotton Vespasian D. VIII, ca. 1446-60 and Vespasian D. XXI.  These were bound together, sometime before                                                 117 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 26.  118 Ibid., 26.     48 1654, and given the new shelf mark Caligula A.ii.119  For the purposes of this study, only the first part is considered here (the former Vespasian D. VIII).   This is a paper manuscript 143 folios in length, measuring 210 x 140mm.  Remarkably, only one main scribe is believed to have worked on this considerable, yet somewhat spartan, manuscript.  John Thompson’s examination of the watermarked paper stocks has led him to cautiously conclude that the Caligula manuscript is made up of seven fifteenth-century quires:  Quire 1:  ff. x [the now-lost beginning of Susannah] -13; Quire 2:  ff. 14-33; Quire 3: ff. 34-55; Quire 4: ff. 56-81; Quire 5: ff. 82-101; Quire 6:  ff. 102-119; Quire 7: ff. 120-139.120  Linguistically, it is located in the south-east, or south-east Midlands.121  Little else is known about the provenance of this manuscript.  There is an inscription containing a personal name, “donum Jo. Rogers” (f. 3r), but given the high occurrence of this name this information has proven little use (see Figure 1 below).122                                                 119 Thompson, “Cotton Caligula,” 171.   120 Ibid., 173-178.  121 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 169-70.  The modern-day geographical reference would be areas including Bedfordshire, Luton, Milton Keynes and Northamptonshire.  122 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 172.     49 Figure 1: (c) British Library Board BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, f. 3 (reproduction with permission from the British Library).   M. B. Parkes writes of the Caligula manuscript as a “collection of moral and didactic pieces, courtesy poems, and romance, selected and edited… for family reading.”123  More specifically, it contains eight romances, two saints’ lives, several poems by Lydgate, and two texts addressing the moral education of children, namely Urbanitas and Fynd cense.  That it was “produced more carefully than comparable manuscripts” suggests that the Caligula manuscript might have been more of a professional production.124  It is neat, ordered, and organized; for example, almost every new text begins on a new folio with running titles rubricated in Anglicana Formata.   Given these elements, the Caligula manuscript should be regarded as a miscellany.                                                    123 Parkes, “Literacy of the Laity,” 569.  124 Guddat-Figge, Catalogue, 171.     50 To date there is neither a published facsimile nor a critical scholarly edition of the Caligula A.ii manuscript;125 therefore, for each text contained in the Caligula manuscript, where possible, is a corresponding entry in the Table that follows. These entries provide foliation, type/genre of text, index numbering, and selected published edition(s) according to particular manuscript(s) for each text.                                                 125 In December 2012 a PhD dissertation, authored by D. C. White, granted through U of Georgia, includes a diplomatic transcription of the Caligula manuscript, part 1, yet as will be shown in Chapter Four, our transcriptions differ in a number of significant ways.       51 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Title Foliation Type Index Selected Published Editions 1. Sussan (=’The Pistill of Susan’) ff. 3r–5r Biblical Narrative I. IMEV. 3353  I. TEAMS, ed. Peck, (1991). (V). II. Turville-Petre, Thorlac.  RES ns 25 (1974), 1-14. (V).  2.  Sir Eglamour of Artois  Beg. "Jhu. Crist of heven kyng Graunt us all good endyng."   ff. 5v–13r Romance  I. IMEV. 1725 II. Manual 79 I.  EETS 256, ed. Richardson, (1965), 5. (C). II. TEAMS, ed. Hudson, (1996), 115-171. (C).  III. J. O. Halliwell, ed., The Thornton Romances, (1844), 121-76. (Th). IV. John W. Hales and Frederick J. Furnivall, eds., Bishop Percy's Folio MS, (1867–68), 338-89. (Eg) 3.  Four recipes against the cholic and the gravel f. 13v  (inserted later;  rest of page blank)  Recipe   4.  J. Lydgate:  Fynd cense (unique amalgamation of Stans puer and Dietary)  Beg. "My dere son first thyself enabull Wth all thyn hert to vertuys discyplyne." ff. 14r–15v Conduct  I.  IMEV. 2233 II. Manual (vol 6) 1809-1920, 2071-2175. I I. EETS 32, ed. Furnivall, (rep. 2002), 27-33. (L).  II. II. MES, ed. Rickert & Naylor, (2000), 14-16. (trans. L).  III. III.  EETS es 107, and os 192, ed. MacCracken, (1911 and 1934), 739-744.     52  Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 4. continued.   J. Lydgate:  Fynd cense (Dietary)  "For helth of bydy cover for cold Þy heed.” ff. 15v–16v Conduct I.  IMEV. 824 I. EETS 32, ed. Furnivall, (1868, rep. 2002), 54-59. (L & S).  5.  The Chorle (=J. Lydgate’s ‘Churl and Bird’)  Beg. "Problemys of old lyknesse & figures Whyche prevyd ben fructuous of sentense."  ff. 17r–22r Fable I. IMEV. 2784 I. Halliwell, 179-93.  II. EETS os 192 (1934) 468-485. (LSD). 6.  Octovian Imperator (southern)  Beg. "Jhu. that was wth spe ystonge And for us hard and sore y swounge."  ff. 22v–35r Romance I. IMEV. 1774 II.  Manual 81 I. MET 11, ed. McSparran, (1979), 61-108. (C).  7.  T. Chestre:  Sir Launfal  Beg. "Be doughty Artours dawes Yt held Engelond yn good lawes."  ff. 35v–42va Romance I. IMEV. 567 II. Manual 88   I. TEAMS, eds. Laskaya & Salisbury, (2001), 210-262.  (C). II. Bliss, A.J. (1960).  (C).      53 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 8.  Libeaus Desconus  Beg. "Jhu. Cryst our savyour And hys modyr that swete flowr.'' ff. 42vb–57r Romance I. IMEV. 1690 II. Manual 38 I. EETS 261 (1969), 3. (C). II. Hales & Furnivall, II, 415-97. 9. “O mors quam amara est memoria tua” (elegy for the tomb of Lord Cromwell, d. 1454)  Beg. "O deth how bytter is the mynde of the That menere art of mornyng and mone."  ff. 57v–58r Elegy I. IMEV. 2411  I.  Varnhagen, H. Anglia 7 (1884), 85. (C). II Brown, 15th c., 243-45. 10. The ferst yntroyte of sapiens (paraphrase of the ten commandments; four 8-line set) f. 58v Religious lyric I. IMEV.  3345  11.  J. Lydgate:  The Nyghtyngale (stanzas 1-2 wanting): Beg. “Commandyng theym to here wyth tendernesse / Of this your nightingale the gostly sense.”  ff. 59r–64r Religious lyric I. IMEV. 931 II. Manual (6) 127 I.  EETS 80 (1900), 2-15.  (C).    54 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 12. J. Lydgate:  Dues in nomine tuo salvum me fac (=God in thy name make me safe and sounde, written in English) ff. 64v–65r Religious lyric I. IMEV. 951 II. Manual (6) 1827 I.  EETS es 107 (1911), 10-12. (C). 13. J Lydgate:  For pestilence (Companion piece to Dietary #5/treatise of John de Burdeux) ff. 65v–66v Conduct I. Manual (6) 1828  I.   EETS os 192 (1934), 702-707. (LSD). 14. For Þe better abyde (=Counsels of Prudence and Patience)  Beg "I see a ryban ryche and newe/Wyth stones and perles ryally pyght." ff. 67r–67v Religious Lyric I. IMEV. 1355 I.  Brown, 15th c., 283-4; (C). 15. All way fond to say Þe best  Beg. “The grete God full of grace Of whom all goodnesse grew and gan."  f. 68r Religious lyric I. IMEV.  3371 I.  Brown, 14th c., 191-3; (P). 16. Þonke god of all  Beg. "By a way wandryng as y wente /Well sore I sorowed for sykyng sad." f. 68v Religious lyric I. IMEV.  562 I.  Brown, 14th c., 157-60; (A).    55 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 17. Make amendes  Beg. "By a wylde wodes syde As I walked myself alone."  f. 69r Religious lyric I. IMEV.  563 I.  Brown, 14th c., 169-9; (C). 18. Confession of Sins ff. 69v–70r Confession   19. J. Audelay: Orison to Christ of the Wounds (=A Prayer by the Wounds against the Deadly Sins) f. 70v Prayer I. IMEV.  1701, see 292. I.  Brown, 15th c, 95-7. (B). II. EETS 184 (1931), 50-4. (B). 20.  Emare (extant in Caligula)  Beg. "Jhu. that ys kyng in trone, As that shoope bothe sone and mone." Chaucer appears to have been indebted to this romance for his Man of Law's tale. [Ritson's E. M. R. ii.] ff. 71r–76v Romance I. IMEV.  1766 II. Manual 87   I. TEAMS, eds. Laskaya & Salisbury, (2001), 153-201.  (C) II.  EETS es  99, ed. Rickert, (1908, rpt 1958).   III. Six Middle English Romances (ed with intro) ed. Mills (1973), 46-74.    22.  Carta Jhesu Christi (=long charter of Christ, B text)  Beg. "Who so wyll on rede thys boke, And with hys gostlye ye thereon loke."  ff. 77r–79r Charter I. IMEV.  4154 I. Spalding, 46-81. (C+). II.  EETS 117 (1900), 637-57 (H). III. Boffey & Edwards, MA, 72, (2003), 55.    56 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continue 23.  Ipotis  Beg. "He that wyll of wysdome lere, Herkeneth now and ye may here Of a tale of holy wryte."  ff. 79v–83ra Catechism I. IMEV.  220 I.  Horstmann (1881), 341-8. (C). 24.  Þe Stacyonys of Rome  Beg. "He that wyll his sowle leche Lysteneth to me & y woll you teche."  ff. 83rb–86va Penitential Lyric I. IMEV.  1172 I.  EETS 15 (1866), 143-73. (C & L). 25.  Trentale Sancti gregorij  Beg. "A nobull story wryte y fynde A pope he wrote to have yn minde."  ff. 86vb–88ra Trentale I. IMEV.  83 I.  EETS 98 (1892), 260-8. (C). 26. Urbanitas  Beg. "Whoso wyll of nurtur lere Herken to me & ze shall here."  ff. 88rb–88v Conduct I. IMEV.  4153?? Folios correct, but listed as Stans per ad mensam  I. EETS os 32, ed. Furnivall (rep. 2002), 13-15.  (C) II.  Knoop, Jones, and Hamer, The Two Earliest Masonic MSS (Manchester, 1938). 147-51 (odd pp. only). (C). 27.  Prayer of thanksgiving for the Redemption ff. 89ra–89rb Prayer I. IMEV. 256 I.  Varnhagen, Anglia 3 (1880), 543-4. (C).    57 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 28.  Quindecim signa (Fifteen signs before the Day of Judgement)  Beg. "Almygty God that all hath wroght" Heven & helle & erthe of noght." [transl. from Bede?]  ff. 89rb–91rb Religious Lyric I. IMEV.  1823 I.  Varnhagen, Anglia 3 (1880), 544-51. (C). 29.  A song of love to the blessed virgin Mary (=I Will Have No Other Spouse)  Amen for charite: 89. Beg. "Upon a lady my love ys lente With owten change of any chere."  f. 91rb Religious lyric I. IMEV.  3836 I.  Brown, 15th c, 78. (C). 30.  Owayne miles  Beg. "God that ys so full of myght What men dede wronge & made ryght."  ff. 91v–95r Purgatory vision  I. IMEV.  982, see 1767 I. EETS 298 (1991). (C).     58 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 31.  Tundale  Beg. "Jhu. lorde of myztes moste Fadyr & sone, & holy gooste.  [see Addl. 9771 Bibl. Reg. 12 B. XXIV. 5-17 B. XLIII. 4.] [There is a third copy in the Advocate's Library, Edin. Iac. V. 7. 27.]  ff. 95v–107vb Purgatory vision I. IMEV.  1724 I. TEAMS, ed. Foster (2004)  II. Mearns, MET 18 (1985). (C). 32.  Veni coronaberis  Beg. "Surge me sponsa so swete in sygte And se thy sone in sete full shene."  ff. 107vb–108ra Religious lyric I. IMEV.  3225 I. Gray, no. 60. (C). 33.  Myn owene woo  Beg. "I may say & so may mo I wyte my sylfe myn owene woo."  ff. 108rb–108v Moral poem I. IMEV. 1511 I.  RA, I, 197-200. (C). 34.  Cronica (from Brutus to Edward IV), extended to Richard III by 2 later hands [Add. 31042 ff. 50-66.] ff. 109r–110v Chronicle I.  Manual (8) 2702 I. E. Kennedy, “Chronicles and Other Historical Writing” ed. Hartung.  Manual Writing ME Vol. 8 (1989).    59 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 35.  The Sege of Ierusalem (1213 lines, imperfect)  Beg. "In Tyberyus tyme the trewe emperour Syr Sefar hym self sesed in Rome."  ff. 111r–125r Romance I. IMEV. 1583 II. Manual 107 I. EETS os 320, ed Hanna and Lawton (2003). II. Transcript of (C) in Harvard University Library. III. EETS os 188, ed. Kölbing and Day (repr. 1971).  (LD) with variants from all other extant MSS). 36. Cheuelere Assigne (the knight of the swan)  Beg. "All weldynge God whene it is his wylle.  Wele he wereth his werke wt his owne honde."  ff. 125v–129v Romance I. IMEV.  272 II.  Manual 62 I.  Stratton  (Lewiston, 1991). (C). II. ed. French and Hale, 857-73. 37. Isumbras  Beg. "God that made both erthe and hevene And all this worlde in deyes seven."  ff. 130r–134r Romance I. IMEV. 1184 II. Manual 78 I. Six Middle English Romances ed. Mills (1973). (C) II. TEAMS, ed. Hudson, (1996), 14-44. (GC), except (C). supplied lines at folio 91).       60 Table 1: Contents of BL Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 Continued 38.  J. Lydgate:  Quinque wlnera (=Complaint of Christ)  Beg. "Upon the crosse y nayled was for the Suffred deth to pay thy ransome. f. 134v Religious Lyric I. IMEV. 3845 I. EETS es 107 (1911), 252-54. (LD). 39.  Quinque Gaudia (=The Five Joys of Our Lady)  Beg. "Heyl gloryous virgyne, gro&umacron;d of all our grace, Heyl moder of Crist in pure virginite."  f. 135r Religious Lyric I. IMEV. 1046 I. Brown, 15th c, 53-4. (C). 40.  Jerome  Beg. "Seynte Jerome was a full good clerke.  And wyse thorow all thynge."  ff. 135v–137r Saint’s life I. IMEV. 2922 I. EETS 236 (1956), 428-34. (CC) 41. Eustache (imperf.)  Beg. "Seynte Eustache a nobull knygte Of heden lawe he was."  ff. 137v–139v Saint’s life I. IMEV. 2894 I. EETS 87 (1887), 393-402. 42. Elenchus  ff. 140r   (scratched out title)    61 Chapter Three:  Merchants, Household Structure and Configuration  There are few historical periods that evince greater economic turbidity and demographic recession than that of the later Middle Ages.  “In the early fourteenth century climate change, crop failures and famine weakened the population so that the Black Death in 1348–9 and subsequent epidemics of infectious diseases had a dramatic impact on English society,” argues Sarah Rees Jones.126  The consequences of these factors was “a fall in England’s population from a maximum of about six million in c.1300 to as little as 2.5 million by the mid-fifteenth century.  Such shifts in the population resulted in fundamental changes in the distribution of wealth, and the structure of all kinds of markets, and in the forging of new social relationships and ideas.”127  Such instabilities were particularly advantageous for the merchant class.  The merchant class is defined by occupation, a livelihood that largely depended on investments in wholesale trade and commerce.128  “The merchant class was vastly stratified and diverse,” argues Kermode; further “it was socially fluid and probably encompassed a greater range of wealth than any other occupationally defined group.    . . .at the bottom                                                 126 Rees Jones, “City and Country, Wealth and Labour,” 60.  127 Ibid.  128 Ibid., Kermode, Medieval Mercants, 5-6.    62 were men who infrequently engaged in wholesale trade and barely scraped a living.  At the top were men possessed by considerable commercial skill, great wealth and power.”129   For these merchants the most marked traits are rapid accession of wealth, political and social status.130  These successful, self-made merchants, the burgeis, comprised a mobile and fluid class of people who quickly accumulated wealth within a single lifetime.131  Some merchants may have supplemented their income from rental properties,132 their primary source of income, however, was derived from commerce, some of which took place in the frontage of their homes133 while most large incomes were derived from oversees trading.   This is in contrast to the greater gentry and aristocracy whose wealth was inherited and whose income was primarily derived from lands.  The very definition of “gentry” was founded on the notion that to be considered a “gentleman” one’s income, according to sumptuary legislation of 1363, must be from the rental of lands which must be in excesses of £200 or more per year.  Merchants, citizens and burgesses with                                                 129 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 15.  130 Ibid., 4.    131 Ibid.   132 Dyer, Standards of Living, 193; Thrupp, Merchant Class, 119-20.  133 Ibid., 193.     63 goods worth £500,” argues Dyer, “were equivalent to an esquire with a landed income of £100 per annum. . . .  [i]t is worth noting that of a sample of London merchants who died between 1350 and 1497, 14 per cent had an estate worth £1,000 or above, suggesting that they were the equivalents of rich knights and barons with incomes of £200 or more.”134  It is this massing of wealth, particularly through trade and commerce, in part, that marks this group with what Felicity Riddy refers to as “burgeis.”135  The term resonates on several additional levels; as defined in MED, it denotes a “freeman of a town, a citizen with full rights and privileges; [it is] usually used of city merchants and master craftsmen in the guilds,” and therefore of those who are members of a franchise, able to buy and sell retail and train apprentices.136  In addition, burgeis also connotes civic aspirations, as Chaucer, who himself came from a burgeis family, suggests: Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys To sitten in a yeldehalle on a deys.  Everich, for the wisdom that he kan, Was shaply for to been an alderman.                                                  134 Dyer, Standards of Living, 193.  135 Riddy, “‘Burgeis’ Domesticity,” 17.  136 Middle English Dictionary, n. “burgeis.”       64 For catel hadde they ynogh and rente, And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente;137 The “alderman” above bespeaks of the merchant participation in civic duty:  “merchants emerged as the pre-eminent group in civic government, their political ambitions fuelled by commercial success.”138  Holding such civic membership might afford a merchant status equal to that of a gentleman: “the most successful merchants moved amongst the region’s landed gentry,”139 and thus inclusion in the upper ranks of late-medieval society is yet another marker of burgeis.  The merchant, therefore, could claim his place within the guildhall and civic space, and move simultaneously within gentry social circles.  Much contemporary scholarship on medieval merchants has focused on their involvement and influence on urban centres; “historians have sometimes regarded medieval towns as islands of modernity surrounded by a feudal countryside. . .  [that is,] capitalist employers and wage-earners,”140  or that “towns stood in subversive opposition to ‘feudal’ power.”141  Yet this kind of                                                 137 Chaucer, “General Prologue,” lines 369-74.  138 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 38.  139 Ibid., 38.  140 Dyer, Standards of Living, 23.  141 Giles and Dyer, “Introduction:  Town and Country,” 3.     65 binary, oppositional thinking is now under scrutiny; “more recent interpretations stress the integration of the town into an aristocratically dominated society, in which the leading townsmen had much in common with the rural gentry.”142  As noted elsewhere in this dissertation, there was often inter-marriage, life-cycle service (gentry children working as apprentices in merchant homes), and civic involvement between the two groups, the urban burgeis and country gentry.   Wealth:  Consumption and Comfort “Individual merchants had aspirations to pursue and many obligations; they also had more disposable income than most townsfolk to spend on meeting them.  They transformed entrepreneurial success into political power, became social and cultural leaders within their own towns and extended their community of commercial interest into their private and public lives.”143  The top merchants, Kermode argues, “mingled with members of the [greater] gentry and royal household,” and although few established intimate connections, they did confidently claim their place at the apex of urban society.144  Susan Wright’s work from 1983 supports Jenny Kermode’s position; she writes of a “system, which essentially operated collectively through small interlinking groups [that] could                                                 142 Dyer, Standards of Living, 23.  143 Ibid., 21.  144 Ibid., 15.     66 accommodate their major needs. . .   notably the settling of property disputes and disagreements. . .   [and] could so often be satisfactorily contained within the immediate neighbourhood.”145  Similarly, Morgan argues that Thrupp’s study of London merchants, “does much to blur any impression of separate mercantile and ‘gentle’ cultures.”146  Thrupp suggests that this was a society in which an earl’s younger son might be styled a merchant as well as an esquire.  Further, from the 1460s, knighthoods were conferred not infrequently on London aldermen while in office.  Thrupp further argues that “the movement from the merchant class into the landed gentry exceeded the reverse movement.”147  What Thrupp also illustrates is the conflation of titles based not on occupation, but on wealth.  D. M. Palliser echoes Thrupp’s position, arguing that medieval urban society was hierarchic and rank may have been perceived in material rather than occupational terms.148   It is here that Kermode’s recent findings depart from Thrupp.  Kermode argues that although many merchants nurtured an ambition to be landed gentry:  “only a tiny minority accumulated sufficient land to                                                 145 Wright, The Derbyshire Gentry, 58-59.   146 Morgan, “The Individual Style of the English Gentleman,” 23.  147 Thrupp, Merchant Class, 286-287.  148 Palliser, “Urban Society,” 141.     67 contemplate a life dependent on rents.”149  Therefore, she adds, “few merchants adopted the style ‘gentleman’ and when they did so it is difficult to establish if it reflected anything of significance.”150  Kermode further observes that “there were other ways, perhaps more immediately effective than titles, by which merchants established their place in a superior social stratum.”151  Landed gentry status or not, merchants were at the core of urban society, amassing more wealth and prominence than most others.  Their monetary successes became a way of demarcating merchants as a distinct group, and therefore the need to demonstrate success became very much a hallmark of this group.  Burgeis consumption of “material goods was conspicuously greater than that of, for example, their craftsmen neighbours.”152  Kermode comes to the conclusion that “[m]aterial comfort and superior living standards were visible reflections of commercial profit and distinguished wealthy merchants. . .   [who] transformed entrepreneurial success into political power, became social and cultural leaders within their own towns, and extended their community of                                                 149 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 16.  150Ibid., 17.  151 Ibid., 18.  152 Ibid., 19.     68 commercial interest into their private and public lives.”153  As Goldberg illustrates, “[in] Gloucester, two-thirds of the 21 wealthiest taxpayers in 1327 served as bailiff at least once, some several times over.”154  Further, he adds, “[i]t is evident that just as the mercantile elite remained singularly and disproportionately advantaged in respect of holding office, but particularly higher civic office, so certain other groups were conspicuously disadvantaged.  This, then, was the normal pattern in larger towns from the later fourteenth century.”155  The fifteenth century brought a surge of interest in books, which in turn encouraged literacy.156  The importance of books to the medieval merchant class has received a considerable amount of scholarly attention.  Testamentary evidence of book ownership and thereby inferred literacy, at least by some members of the household, has been recovered through analysis of signed manuscripts, household inventories, and wills.157  Some scholars, such as D. S. Brewer, have assessed that “probably more than half                                                 153 Ibid., 21.  154 Goldberg, Medieval Endgland, 38.  155 Ibid., 39.  156 Briggs, “Literacy, Reading, and Writing in the Medieval West,” 401.   157 For an assemblage of medieval wills which mention manuscripts, see Plomer, “Books Mentioned in Wills,” 115.  See Meale’s “Laywomen and their books” for a lucid discussion of female book-ownership and the problematic of using wills as evidence for such ownership, 130-36.  For patterns of book-giving among nuns and devout gentlewomen in late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, see Riddy’s “Women talking.”     69 the population could read, though not necessarily also write, by 1500.”158  Brewer’s stance on reading literacy is supported by G. A. Lester, who estimates that by the second half of the fifteenth century “people of almost all ranks were capable of reading, writing, and enjoying books.”159  Complicating the matter for scholars, the definition of what constitutes litteratus was evolving throughout the Middle Ages; for example, as Alison Truelove points out: “By the end of the fifteenth century, the emphasis had moved away from knowledge of Latin, and individuals were sometimes classed as ‘literate’ simply if they were able to sign their own names.”160  She then cites David Cressy, who, using that as a marker, estimates “at the turn of the sixteenth century 10 per cent of men and 1 per cent of women met this definition of literacy.”161  Clanchy rightly raises concerns about the difficulty in determining accurate rates of literacy, which is due, in part, to differences in medieval assumptions about functional literacy and in modern understandings of the term.162  Truelove writes, “As noted by Trapp, we cannot accurately judge overall levels of literacy from the                                                 158 Brewer, Medieval Literature: Chaucer and the Alliterative Tradition (New Pelican Guide to English Literature), quoted in Clanchy, From Memory, 331.  159 Lester, “Books of a Fifteenth-Century Gentleman,” 216, quoted in Truelove, Literacy, 86.   160 Truelove, “Literacy,” 86; Trapp, “Literacy, Books, and Readers,” 31.  161 Cressy, Literature and Social Order, 176-7, cited in Truelove, “Literacy,” 86.  162 Clanchy, From Memory, 13.     70 limited range of surviving documentation available to us.  Every conclusion must be tentative and take full account of the difficulties inherent in using evidence that may not be wholly representative of the experiences of the diverse range of people. . . .”163  In keeping with this scholarly position, we can cautiously assert, based on existing ordinances such as the Goldsmiths’ of London from mid-fifteenth century which forbade any member to take an apprentice “wtout he canne writte and Rede,” that many individuals were indeed reading.164  A later assessment of literacy was made by Thomas More in 1533, as cited by Schofield; he observed that “people farre more than fowre partes of all the whole divided into tenne coule never reade englische yet.”165  More’s statement clearly illustrates the ongoing concerns with literacy.  Both ownership and audience of late-medieval household manuscripts have been largely “associated with mercantile and gentry                                                 163 Truelove, “Literacy,” 97.   164 Jefferson, Wardens’ Accounts, 24; Thrupp, Merchant Class, 158.  165 More, The Workes of Sir Thomas More, 850, quoted in Schofield, “Measurement of Literacy,” 312.      71 households.”166  While there is overlap in literary tastes between merchants and gentry, there are differences that help us understand a manuscript’s intended readership.  The gentry typically owned and read texts written in Latin, as not only French and English, but Latin “formed an integral part of the education of gentry children and of gentry culture.”167  As Truelove notes, “In matters of worship and in recreational use of literature, there is no doubt that knowledge of Latin and French remained valuable and indeed, for some, necessary.”168  The surviving texts associated with gentlewomen readers “suggest that French texts were virtually as accessible to them as those in the vernacular.  Latin Bibles and service-books, stray examples of other Latin texts, and certain works of information in both English and Latin were also clearly available to some of these readers.”169                                                  166 Goldberg, Medieval England, 268.  Household anthologies from London in the late fifteenth-century that have an identifiable mercantile ownership are:  London, British Library, MS Egerton 1995, owned by a London citizen; BL MS Harley 2252, owned by merchant (book seller) John Colyns; Cambridge Trinity College, MS R.3.21, owned by a mercer, Roger Thorney; Cambridge, Magdalene College, MS Pepys 2006, owned by another London mercer, William Fetypace; and London, Lambeth Place Library, MS 306.    For more on ownership and social context of fifteenth-century household books see, for example, Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, 1-30; Harris, “The Origins and Make-up,” 229-333; Hanna, “Production of MS Ff. 1.6,” 62-7.    167 Radulescu, “Literature,” 101.  168 Truelove, “Literacy,” 86.  169 Meale and Boffey, “Gentlewomen’s Reading,” 540.     72 Texts written for the mercantile class, however, were produced primarily in the vernacular, suggesting that their education was primarily in English.  Thrupp provides an example that illustrates the shift in use of Latin to English in the business world to accommodate those who could both read and write in English, but not in Latin: in 1422, the brewers’ wardens in London began keeping their records in English to make them accessible to its members.170  While teaching Latin was controlled by the church, merchants required “some degree of literacy,”171 and the establishment of private schools was emerging.  One draper in 1458, for example, left a bequest of 3,000 marks for “the foundation of a grammar and writing school in the chapel attached to the Leadenhall market” in Cornhill.172  While this was not implemented, it is clear that the merchant class required and demanded an education, not only in Latin for administrative purposes,173 but, much more commonly, in the working language of English.  While secondary education was often controlled by the church, “in elementary and commercial education,” Thrupp states, “the                                                 170 See Thrupp, The Merchant Class, 158.  171 Ibid., 155.   172 Ibid., 156.  173 Orme, Medieval Children, 242.      73 field was open,”174 and evidence suggests that a large portion of the merchant class was literate in English.  Although our modern understanding of literacy may be different from that of the Middle Ages, and our knowledge of the extent of literacy is imprecise, evidence suggests that literacy among the merchant class was substantial.175  Corresponding to this shift in language use, while the household miscellany read by the burgeis included Latin tags and a text or two in Latin, they were written primarily in English.  Tastes in content also differed between the classes.  Riddy states that the gentry lacked “respect for vernacular romance” and that the romances most often appear in miscellanies.176  Indeed, readers of romances did “not, on the whole, appear to have been people with courtly tastes” and may have had little interest in courtly material.177  The miscellanies also tended to exclude Chaucer.  There was little overlap between Chaucer manuscripts and romance manuscripts as “the two groups seem to have served different readerships.”178  In aligning gentry readers with Chaucer and mercantile                                                 174 Thrupp, Merchant Class, 156.  175 Ibid.  Thrupp notes, for example, that “out of a series of 116 male witnesses who gave evidence in the consistory court. . .  the clerk in charge registered 48, or 40 per cent, as literate.” Two other sets of court records support this estimate of literacy.   176 Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, 14.  177 Ibid.  178 Ibid., 16.     74 reader with romance, a distinction emerges.  This does not mean to say that gentry never read romance texts; we have much testamentary evidence to suggest they did.179  Nor does it indicated that merchants never read Chaucer; they very well could have had a Canterbury Tales manuscript on the shelf next to their household miscellany.  What is marked, however, is the general absence of Chaucer in the composite books.180   Guild Membership An additional marker of the late-medieval merchant class was guild membership.  Guilds played immensely important and diverse roles in late-medieval England.181   Indeed, guilds embraced religious, social, economic, and political functions: “religious” relates to those aspects of guild activity concerned with devotional or pious practices; “social” factors broadly concern the contacts and relationships between individuals or groups of individuals; “economic” aspects cover all areas with a financial or                                                 179 See Meale and Boffey, Gentlewomen’s Reading, 526-540; Radulescu, “Literature,” 100-115; Mills and Rogers, “Manuscripts of Popular Romance,” 49-66; Meale, “Laywomen and their Books,” 141-146.  180 For a catalogue of manuscripts containing works by Chaucer, specifically Canterbury Tales, see Owen’s The Manuscripts of the Canterbury Tales (Cambridge: Brewer, 1991).  Additionally, see TEAMS’ The Chaucerian Apocrypha (http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/forni-chaucerian-apocrypha-introduction).  181 In Hanawalt and McRee, “The Guilds of Homo Prudens,” 163-179, the authors discuss the overlap of social behaviour and guild regulations.  Further, they argue that guilds contribute to the general movement toward a definition of the middle-class of the late fifteenth century.     75 commercial impact; and finally, “political” deals with matters relating to the power of a guild or its members within the local community and its place within the hierarchy of communal institutions.  Overlaps between these areas are fairly obvious.  One can regard the guild feast, for example, as an event of social, political, economic and religious significance.  Indeed, to draw attention to one of these areas alone would certainly be to misconceive it.  An approach which seeks to encompass these different aspects of the guilds should enable a more rounded assessment of their place in late medieval society.182                                                 182 Farnhill, Guilds and the Parish Community, 16.     76   Figure 2: The Merchant Adventurers' Hall, York, is a 14th-century merchant guild hall.  © 2009-2013 Charlotte Brown. While this dissertation focuses on household manuscripts, it is important to note that the virtues and the ethos extolled in guild ordinances and statutes parallel those found in texts contained in household manuscripts; guild membership, therefore, had a direct influence on the multiplicity of sites in which the late-medieval merchant class played out their lives.   An additional by-product of guild membership, and consistent defining feature of the merchant group, is that it can be characterized by a    77 “mutual interdependence, especially amoungst the middling to top-ranking merchants.”183  This mutual network is evidenced in surviving wills; here we see an extensive circle of merchants naming one another to carry out assorted postmortem duties:  business associates were enlisted “to act as guardians to children, advisors to widows, and executors of wills.”184 They were often named as beneficiaries.  Duties such as these illustrate a strong bond within the mercantile associates.  Listing other merchants in one’s will is, of course, a self-conscious act that reflects one’s material and public success and alliances as much as “personal affection.”185  Further testament to the workings of “interdependent networks” is the presence of “inter-marriage” within the merchant group.186  Such marriages would have served to reinforce the cohesion of the merchant group, while also helping to retain and limit the disbursement of wealth.187  Although discrimination tended to curb intermarriage between gentlewomen and merchants, according to Thrupp “it did little,” [to affect] “the marriage of gentlemen with merchants’                                                 183 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 114.  184 Ibid.   185Ibid., 114.  186 Ibid., 115.  187 Ibid.     78 daughters and widows.”188  As Saul pointedly remarks, “the gentlemen were too eager to pocket the fat dowries their wives would bring.”189  In the medieval merchant community, outward appearance and behaviour confirmed personal worth and identity.  As Urbanitas (ff. 88vb-88v) explains to its readers, “In halle, in chamber, ore where thou gon, / Nurtur and good maners makeþ man.”  Fynd cense directly exhorts readers to display that they were of “virtuous disciplyne” (ff. 14r-15v) and to be mindful of their reputation and social standing, indeed to “gete the a good name” (f. 16r). The popularity of conduct literature within manuscripts owned by merchants makes a compelling argument that social behaviour was a collective concern amongst members of this group.  The regulation of behaviour codified throughout this manuscript will be specifically elaborated on in Chapter Four of this dissertation in the course of its close study of Fynd cense.190   While household manuscripts teach appropriate ways of behaving, guilds often relied on ordinances to regulate and ensure appropriate behaviour,                                                 188 Thrupp, Merchant Class, 265.  189 Saul, Scenes from Provincial Life, 181.   190 For household anthologies from London in the late-fifteenth century that have an identifiable mercantile ownership see page 72, note 166.      79 particularly from their members, their “broderhode.”191  In fact, as Kermode illustrates, using evidence from various “guild regulations throughout the country, it is clear that in addition to offering participation in collective prayers and some forms of welfare to the aged and infirm, guilds and fraternities saw themselves as embodying ideal moral standards.”192  As Hanawalt states, “London [officials] continually expressed the value of internal harmony in ordinances, guild regulations, and directives for public behavior.”193  The Mercers’ company gives us the sense of a typical ordinance in this regard.  As Hanawalt reports, the “members agreed that ‘for unity, rest and peace to be had within the fellowship of the Mercery, worship and profit of the same, any variance or discord between members of the fellowship, or between those of the fraternity and strangers or members of another fraternity’ should submit the dispute to the wardens.”194  Similarly, an ordinance for the Company of Writers Guildhall in the City of London dated 1392 acknowledges two successful scriveners, recommending that they be admitted to the level of master for having maintained “good and faithful control of their said art or craft by sparing no one through love or oppressing no one through hate, and by presenting shortcomings                                                 191 Fitzgerald, The Drama of Masculinity, 22.  192 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 136.  193 Hanawalt, ‘Of Good and Ill Repute,’ 37.  194 Ibid.     80 which they found in the said art.”195  This ordinance reiterates not only the importance of having mastery of one’s craft, but also regulates that practice: “that no one may be suffered to keep shop [de tenir shope] of the said craft…  if he be not first examined and found able by those of the same craft…  that everyone who shall act against this ordinance and institution [establisement] shall pay to the Chamber 40d first time, half a mark the second time, and 10s the third time.”196  Failure to meet and comply with expected behaviours and professionalisms resulted in fines, as noted above, but could additionally result in expulsion from the guild and time in prison:   if anyone of the said crafts should rebel against this or be a hindrance so that they are unable to perform their duty in the proper way, and should be convicted of this, he will remain in prison for 10 days and pay 10s. to the commonalty for the contempt. And at the second time he will remain in prison for 20 days and pay 20s. to the commonalty. And at the third occasion he will remain in prison for 30 days and pay 30s. to the commonalty. And at the fourth occasion he will remain in prison for 40 days and pay 40s. to the commonalty.197                                                 195 Steer (ed.), “The Common Paper,” 1-4.  196 Ibid.  197 Ibid. The general articles for all the Mysteries of London, enrolled in the Chamber of the Guildhall, London, book G, folio 135, in the time of Adam de Buri, Mayor, 38 Edward III [1364].     81 The existence of this and many other ordinances of similar nature from a wide variety of guilds suggest that regulating duties relating to the many crafts was an ongoing practice in late-medieval urban centers.   Other ordinances governing members’ conduct, as exemplified by returns from Bishop’s Lynn, suggest that rowdy behaviour was not uncommon.198  For example, in Hull, the Guild of the Virgin Mary expelled members guilty of misdemeanors, including bullying, night walking, lying, behaving as a harlot, being excommunicated, or any other crime injurious to the good name of the guild.199  Guilds, then, functioned not only as a means to oversee concerns regarding materials, quality of production, and exchange of goods, but also to govern behaviour, regulate social norms, and enforce compliance of its members.   Rosser warns, however, against a simplistically misleading reciprocity between the role of the guild and individual behaviour:  to understand an individual’s behavior as a member of an official craft organization, for example, it would be necessary to study not only the origins and internal development of that body, but also a range of other social processes in which he or she might simultaneously be a participant, including patterns of local residence, marital behaviour,                                                 198 Crouch, Piety, Fraternity and Power, 34.  199 McRee, “Charity and Guild Solidarity,” 195-225.     82 political involvement and membership in alternative clubs and societies.  The dynamic interrelationship between these and other activities shaped the experience of work in the medieval town.200  This is an important point as it reiterates the multiplicity of factors influencing not only the experience of work, but also the larger construction of identity in the medieval urban centers.  The wealth of evidence arising from studies show that the social roles of guild culture, regulations and guild structure were not uniform; there was much diversity between guilds, not only in terms of size and wealth, but complexity and orderly bureaucracy.  As the above illustrates, however, there are general shared aspects to late-medieval guild culture.  Similarly, there was a plethora of arenas and opportunities which merchants utilized to promote a specific public identity; through guild membership, a merchant could align himself with the ideals and ideologies of the larger organization.    As powerful as they were, guild or fraternity membership was not the exclusive means by which power and control were exerted.  The circulation of power was much more complex; guild members had alliances, indeed overlapping membership with those individuals in positions of civic authority, as I will discuss shortly, which enabled an even greater level of social compliance.  Male merchants were not the only members of such guilds and fraternities. “A married woman trading apart from her husband,” Kermode notes, “might claim                                                 200 Rosser, “Crafts, Guilds,” 7.    83 the legal independence of a femme sole, and many guilds included women in their regulations.  Women in York could work as barber surgeons, cappers, chapwomen, clothsellers, cooks, freshwater fishers, fishmongers, ironmongers, litsters, parchmentmakers, stringers and vinters amoungst other occupations. . .  [f]rom the evidence of guild regulations, women could still find employment in specialist crafts late in the fifteenth century.”201   Guild membership reached a broad cross-section of individuals, often members of different levels of urban society, and created a diverse community.  Rosser argues that this diversity helped forge liaisons between the “social spheres, which in turn gave rise to fresh perceptions and aspirations.”202  In fact, lay recruits sometimes included the servants of prominent citizens:  for example, “two of the household of William Snawsell, who had been Lord Mayor in 1468, and four from that of William Chymney, who had been chamberlain in 1470 and would be Lord Mayor in 1486.”203  That the servant’s entry fee was met by a single payment implies that Snawsell and Chymney paid for the memberships of their familia.  As Crouch points out: “Whilest this practice might have been regarded simply as a pious act on their part, it probably also had the effect of swelling their respective                                                 201 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 95.  For further detailed discussion on women’s employment in urban centers see Kowaleski, “Women’s Work,” 145-64; see also Kowaleski and Bennett, “Crafts, Gilds,” 474-88.  202 Rosser, “Crafts, Guilds,” 8.  203 Crouch, Piety, Fraternity, and Power, 180.     84 entourages, on gild occasions, to the enhancement of their social and political prestige,”204 and thus practicing the advice aimed at the householder, the paterfamilias to “gete the a good name” (Fynd cense f. 16r).  Civic Participation Recent scholarship has identified a strong correlation between membership of guilds and subsequent appointments to civic office.205  In medieval London civic officials, specifically “city government, the mayor, aldermen, and sheriffs, were drawn from the twelve most prominent guilds, so that there was an interdependency between the guilds and the government.”206  It is important to note, however, that in York such interdependent alliances between merchant guilds and the city’s oligarchic groups did not always translate to easy relationships;  “[s]uperficially, unity prevailed within the oligarchy of each town, since all decisions were made by ‘all the keepers’ or ‘the mayor and his brethren’, but it was fragile and disputes inevitably broke out.”207  For example, as Kermode notes, York was a site of particular discontent and unrest in the late fifteenth-                                                204 Ibid., 181.  205 Carpenter, The Office, 56-61.     206 Hanawalt, ‘Of Good and Ill Repute,’ 47.  207 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 60.       85 century.208  Mayor and council were charged with “accusations [of] venality, financial mismanagement, lax regulation of the markets and inadequate street cleaning” this eventually led to a “retrospective auditing of the accounts.”209  According to Davis in Writing Masculinity, “Nightingale puts forward a powerful case that London’s problems, which came to a head in 1383 mayoral contest, were part of an ongoing struggle for control of the City’s policy relating to the wool staple and foreign trade.”210    In addition to civic participation, merchants asserted monetary success and spiritual integrity through the Corpus Christi pageants.  While conventional scholarship focuses on the biblical and devotional content of the Corpus Christi pageants, new scholarship examines the ways in which these cycle plays engage in civic politics.  In The Drama of Masculinity and Medieval English Guild Culture, for example, Christina Fitzgerald argues that the York and Chester cycles “form a drama of masculinity . . .  concerned with the fantasies and anxieties of being male in the urban, mercantile worlds of their performance.”211  Further, she contends, these pageants are                                                 208 Ibid.   209 Ibid., 60-61.  210 Nightingale, “Capitalists,” 33, quoted in Davis, Writing Masculinity, 43.  211 Fitzgerald, The Drama, 1.     86 not celebrations of guildsmen’s wealth and authority, but rather evidence of the power civic government held over guildsmen, since fines and fees went to fund the civic spectacle of the plays.212   Fitzgerald rightly points out that money collected from fines and fees was used to fund the production and performance of the cycle pageants; however, her deduction that this reinforces civic power over guilds and their members overlooks the fact that “merchants emerged as the pre-eminent group in civic government.”213  As Kermode states, “[m]erchant domination can effectively be measured in terms of the proportion of merchants serving in single offices. . . .  Between 1300 and 1509, 122 men served as mayor [in York] and 79 per cent (ninety-six) were merchants.”214  Distinguishing patterns from the records of Hull is more challenging, as occupation identification is drawn from “a scatter of freeman’s lists”; still, “of the ninety-eight mayors in office between 1332 and 1509, 72 percent (seventy-one) were merchants, and a further dozen of unconfirmed occupations may also have been merchants.”215  Parliamentary service greatly enhanced one’s prestige and provided                                                 212 Ibid., 23-24.  213 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 38.  214 Ibid., 39.  215 Ibid.     87 further opportunity for the intermingling of the burgeis with the gentry.  As Frost notes, “Throughout the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries members were consistently chosen from the very pinnacle of Norwich’s urban elite.  For instance, a majority of the twenty-three men who sat for Norwich between 1422 and 1461 held all three offices of sheriff, alderman and mayor during their careers.  Only three of the MPs occupied none of these important posts, although two out of three were busy lawyers who served at least briefly as recorder of Norwich and had their fingers firmly upon the civic pulse.  Several other MPs also practised as lawyers, but the majority were merchants and mercers.”216  Similarly, the “majority of Hull’s MPs already had or were to hold civic office and were merchants:  52 per cent in the fourteenth century and 75 per cent in the fifteenth.”217  Likewise, “the majority of York’s MPs were drawn from the commercial elite of the city.”218  Sarah Beckwith also argues for the conflation of mercantile and civic elites:  Wealthy householders, through paying money to the city, could literally inscribe their own property into the very inscription of the route of the Corpus Christi pageants, because their houses were part of                                                 216 Frost, “The Urban Elite,” 251.  217 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 51.  218 Ibid., 52.     88 the processional staging of the cycle.  The twenty-five surviving station lists between 1399 and 1569 indicate how this inscription was regularly invoked and exploited by incumbent mayors [usually merchants] and the aldermanic elite of the city.219   Further, “the space itself [was] rented from the city council by the private owners, who [were in turn] making money by renting out seats on scaffolds erected on ‘community ground.’”220  The scaffolding that the householders erected was on city property, and so the public at large should have had access, yet the seat fees set by the private householders excluded all but the wealthy.  The Corpus Christi processions, then, “function as private theaters in that what they display is the illustrious houses that then become the back drop of the theater” to which the city’s wealthy have the privileged view.221   It is reasonable to argue that a number of “different regimes of power—that of the body of the Church, that of the social body of the urban trade guilds, that of the body politic of the king—coalesce in the representation of Christ. . . .  [The] Corpus Christi pageant thus disseminates knowledge about politics and the                                                 219 Beckwith, “Ritual, Theater,” 72.    220 Ibid., 72-73.  221 Ibid., 72.     89 law.”222  Or as Mervyn James contends, “the Corpus Christi dramas constitute a locus of meanings connected with the social body and the inscription of power in the late-medieval urban context.”223  Thus, through their monetary and performative involvements in religious observance and public works, the merchants played an important part in shaping attitudes and in managing, establishing, legalizing, and imposing their own agenda.                                                 222 Evans, “Body Politics,” 126-27.  223 James, “Ritual, Drama,” 3-29, quoted in Evans, “Body Politics,” 113.    90 Performance What further constitutes and distinguishes members of the English urban burgeis, and perhaps one the most important features in this distinction, is the all-important matter of self-assertion.  Becoming gentil, versus being of noble descent, was a conscious performance legitimated by one’s actions.  An example of this type of assertive self-promotion is the medieval parish church. All Saints Church on North Street in York city center is a typical example of the enduring testaments to the prosperous urban merchant class in late-medieval England; it is one of the city’s most famous parish destinations for modern scholars and lovers of stained glass.  With striking regularity, highly successful medieval merchants would display their wealth by commissioning a stained glass window in their community parish.  These commissioned works promoted the family name, and also aligned the merchant family with significant spiritual and moral ideals.  A clear example of this can be seen in two large windows at All Saints Church, North Street, York.     91 In c1410-20 merchant and Lord Mayor Nicholas Blackburn senior commissioned the impressive three-panel window, now commonly referred to The Great East Window or The Blackburn Window.  The Blackburn family are depicted in the lower left picture; they appear kneeling at the bottom—Nicholas (senior) is on the right with his wife Margaret, and Nicholas (junior) on the left with his wife, also Margaret.  In between them, at the center bottom, is a striking representation of The Holy Trinity. The Father is seated on his throne, holding the Son on the cross before him, and the dove of the Spirit is between their two heads.  The main picture, left light, is of Saint John the Baptist. He wears the rough garb of a prophet and points to the lamb prophesied in the scriptures and subject of his  Figure 3: Great East window. Record: CVMA inv. no. 024133.  Reproduced with permission of Rev. Gordon Plumb (photographer) and All Saints Church, North Street, York.      92 proclamation.  This scene depicts the occasion when, according to Saint John’s gospel, he pointed out Jesus and exclaimed: “Behold the Lamb of God.”  Other lights in the window are concerned with the four donors.   As Pedersen describes:  “Nicholas and Margaret junior kneel, looking inwards towards the altar, in the lower north light.  She kneels at a desk draped with an embroidered white cloth and holds in her hand a book inscribed ‘D(omi)ne ne in furore tuo arguas me neq(ue) i(n) ira tua’ (O Lord, rebuke me not in Thine indignation nor in Thy displeasure).”224  Pedersen further notes that “in the south light the older couple also kneel and look inwards.  The inscription on the book of Margaret senior echoes the 51st Psalm: ‘D(omi)ne labia mea aperies et os meu(m)’ (Lord open mine lips, and                                                 224 Pedersen, “Piety and Charity in the Painted Glass,” 34; translation as given in Gee, “The Painted Glass,” 155.  Figure 4: St Anne and the Virgin. Record: CVMA inv. no. 024134 Reproduced with permission of Rev. Gordon Plumb (photographer) and All Saints Church, North Street, York.    93 my mouth [shall announce thy praise].”225 There are also “inscriptions identifying the four donors and requesting for prayers for their souls.”226  In the center light, Saint Anne teaches her daughter, the Virgin Mary, to read—or, perhaps, to pray: the words are the beginning of Psalm 142 (143), ‘Domine exaudi orationem meam auribus percipe obsecrationem meam’ (Hear my prayer O Lord; give ear to my supplication).227   The Blackburn family’s “dedication to female literacy is demonstrated by the centrality of the St Anne and the Virgin image and by the fact that both Blackburn wives are shown with open books.”228  Of the frequent depictions of St Anne and the Virgin, Cullum and Goldberg write that they “show a mother and daughter as if gently embracing, but with an open book at the centre of that embrace. The book, thus, becomes symbolic of the relationship between mother and daughter.  Through the book, the mother provides her daughter with a model of piety and conduct, just as St Anne herself was, by the early fifteenth century. . .  a model of the modern devout mother.”229  The expansion of Anne’s cult among                                                 225 Ibid., 34.  226 Ibid.  227 Ibid.  228 “Where to See Stained Glass,” para. 3.   As cited at:  http://allsaints-northstreet.org.uk/  229 Cullum and Goldberg, “How Margaret Blackburn Taught,” 231; also see Scases, “St Anne,” 81-96.     94 the laity started about 1300; “by 1540 there were at least 40 medieval churches and chapels under her patronage in England.”230  The cult of St Anne appealed to a new urban elite who were attempting a life of piety outside the confines of monasticism.  That group saw their  own ideals reflected in the saint:  an exemplary spouse, mother, and widow; hardworking and pious and yet also married.  This was increasingly important to the pious layman as society turned away from the ideal of monasticism, and many people attempted to live the mixed life of piety in the outside world.231 Imagery, such as that of St Anne depicted in All Saint’s, alongside texts aimed specifically at women and girls, such as How the Good Wife Taught Her Daughter, and texts which figure women in prominent, empowered roles, such as those from the Saint’s Lives genre and biblical narratives (The Pistel of Swete Susan at ff. 3r-5r in the Caligula manuscript), would not only have been useful sources for instruction, but affirmed the unique and necessary role of women in their households and the larger community.  The St Anne window underscores the family’s concern with spiritual teaching and literacy enabled through the reading of books.  The depiction and therefore the linking of saints with the Blackburn family serves to elevate the family, suggesting that they are worthy Christians.                                                  230 Reames, ed. Legends of St Anne, 251-52.    231 Pedersen, “Piety and Charity in the Painted Glass,” 37.    95 These lights, which intermingle the Godly with family and the domestic within the larger window context, conflate the divine and earthly households.  Corporal Acts of Mercy Window It is thought that Blackburn may have given, or erected as a memorial to Nicholas Blackburn senior (father of Nicholas junior), the famous Corporal Acts of Mercy window:  Figure 5: Corporeal Acts of Mercy. Record: CVMA inv. no. 024306 Chancel, North Chapel.  Reproduced with permission of Rev. Gordon Plumb (photographer) and All Saints Church, North Street, York.     96 This beautiful panel is housed in the western window in the chapel, although “formerly [it was] in the westernmost window opening of the north wall.  Six of the seven corporal (bodily) acts of mercy are shown.  These are from top to bottom and left to right: feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, offering hospitality to strangers, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and relieving those in prison.  The final act of burying the dead is omitted.”232  The rich, bearded man, who in every panel is performing the acts of charity, is probably Nicholas Blackburn himself.233                                                    232 As provided on the All Saints’ site:  http://allsaints-northstreet.org.uk/stainedglass.html  233 Ibid.  Figure 6: Visiting prisoners (above). Record: CVMA inv. no. 024311. Window panel 2c.  Reproduced with permission of Rev. Gordon Plumb (photographer) and All Saints Church, North Street, York.     97   Figure 7: Feeding the poor (above). Record: CVMA inv. no. 024310. Window panel 1a.  Reproduced with permission of Rev. Gordon Plumb (photographer) andAll Saints Church, North Street, York.  Acts of mercy such as these are those commanded by Christ in the Gospel of Matthew:  For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?    98 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?  And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.234 Here charitable acts for the poor are aligned as charitable acts for Christ, after which Christ separates the Blessed from the Damned at the Day of Judgment.  Thus, the Corporal Acts of Mercy became associated with the salvation of the soul and were seen as examples to follow in order to secure an afterlife in Heaven rather than Hell.  As would be expected, and will be explored in later chapters, similar advice is frequently espoused in the various texts contained in household manuscripts and guild regulations; as the didactic text Fynd cense in the Caligula manuscript, f. 16v, advocates:   Vysyte þe pore with entyre dylygence On all nedy have compassyon And god schall sende grace and ynfluence Conspicuous and material acts of charity were a hallmark in the ethos of the late-medieval urban merchant class.                                                  234 Bible (KJV), Matthew 25:35–40.     99 As Thomson has argued, “piety and charity in the later medieval period cannot be seen as separate virtues.”235  “Charity,” continues Pedersen, “had a direct and immediate spiritual purpose for both the giver and the recipient, and thus charitable acts, such as alms-giving, or the setting up of hospitals. . .  had an equally significant spiritual dimension.  This was especially important for the rich man.  Since the doctrine of the stewardship of wealth taught that a man’s riches had been granted to him by God, and were not his own to use as he liked, charitable acts and alms-giving were supposed to be part of a rich man’s role in life.”236   This, again, reiterates “an important message in the painted glass for the wealthy merchant parishioners at All Saints.”237  Similarly McIntosh argues, “most of the arguments used in the fifteenth century to encourage almsgiving among people of means emphasized not the needs of the poor but rather the value of charitable acts to the donors in terms of their own salvation.”238  While the stained glass windows in York All Saints are some of the finest examples depicting the ethos practiced by merchants, this church is but one                                                 235 Thomson, “Piety and Charity,” 178–95, as cited in Pedersen, “Piety and Charity in the Painted Glass,” 40.    236 Pedersen, “Piety and Charity in the Painted Glass,” 40.  237 Ibid.  238 McIntosh, “Finding Language for Misconduct,” 108.    100 example of many found across England bearing merchant influence.  In Norwich the church of St Peter Mancroft, for example, there is a stained glass panel of St Elizabeth of Hungary feeding the poor, c. 1450.  This window operates as a “reminder of the obligations of the rich to the poor,” as it “served to stir the consciences of the city’s ruling elite, who worshipped here.”239  The commissioning of public works was consistent form of expression by wealthy merchants.  In about 1470, as Davidson argues, the figure of John Walker, a member of Corpus Christi Guild, was included in the lower left in the central light in the east window of Holy Trinity Goodramgate, the parish church of which he was rector, in the posture of adoration before another figure of the Father (the present head is a replacement) holding the slain Son.  This iconography also appears in the north transept of York Minster, but formerly in the church of St. John Ousebridge.240   Similarly, records indicate stained-glass patronage by wealthy wool merchant William Browne (d. 1489) and his wife Margaret in All Saints Church, Stamford.241   Browne also “founded [an] almshouse. . . to house 10 poor men and two poor women with a Warden and Confrater, both of                                                 239 Frost, “The Urban Elite,” 250.  240 Davidson, Festivals and Plays, 84.  241 Hebgin-Barnes, “The Medieval Stained Glass,” xxxix.     101 whom were to be priests in holy orders.”242  The high incidence of glass commissioned by and depicting merchants provides enduring articulations of their collective concerns; that is, while being enormously successful, piety, devotion to church and community, acts of kindness and mercy towards the disadvantaged, and literacy were also part of the proclaimed ethos of this group.  The windows provide yet another public arena in which merchants from the upper stratum of this class could reiterate these virtues and distinguish themselves from the other parishioners.243   Similarly, in repeated acts of self-promotion, wealthy merchants and the gentry used physical self-segregation from those of lower stations while attending church; they “sat apart. . .  they had their own pews, and by the fifteenth century their own family pews or ‘closetts’ screened off from the body of the church.”244  In this sense, status was performed and consciously reiterated through public acts.245  Parish churches — similar to the Corpus                                                 242 As cited at http://www.stamford.co.uk/tourism/attractions.shtml  243 For evidence of acts of charity, see, for instance, Goldberg, Women in England c. 1275-1525,  51: “The relation of such death-bed piety to life-time practices and priorities is difficult to establish, though certain clues may be derived from a reading of wills of both men and women. Women’s wills reflect a greater interest in practical charity as an extension of their household responsibilities and, by implication, something women may have done whilst living. This is most strikingly demonstrated by the number of bequests of fuel for the poor in winter found in women’s wills, but also by very personal provision for the poor.”   244 Saul, Scenes from Provincial Life, 159.  245 My view of performance is informed by Judith Butler as articulated in her Gender Trouble:  Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York:  Routledge, 1990); she writes:  gender is “a stylized repetition of acts . . .  which are internally discontinuous . . .  [so that] the appearance of    102 Christi pageants —were not only sites to practice devotion, but arenas where upstanding parishioners could perform their wealth and righteous living.  Earlier examples of public performance must be read alongside the surviving evidence demonstrating that by the fourteenth century there was a gradual shift away from the parish church toward private devotion in domestic spaces.  Andrew Taylor explores the use of a “chamber” within households, as space to practice private devotion.246   Webb also argues that bedchambers were the common space used for private prayers.247  “[L]ike nobility, many of the wealthier merchants had their own private chapel at home, richly furnished, with a family chaplain,”248 yet the domestic chapel was by no means an invariable feature of the medieval house and, consequently, has no fixed place in the plan.  [But] it occurs in most of the larger houses.”249  Private domestic chapels suggest not only a certain level of wealth (dependent on the availability of physical space), but also the increase in lay literacy and hence the ownership of books as is                                                                                                                                               substance is precisely that, a constructed identity, a performative accomplishment which the mundane social audience, including the actors themselves, come to believe and to perform in the mode of belief” (179).   246 Taylor, “Into His Secret Chamber,” 46.  247 Webb, “Women and Home:  Domestic Setting of Late Medieval Spirituality,” 343.  248 Thurpp, Merchant Class, 184.  249 Long, “Medieval Domestic Architecture in Berkshire,” 41-42.     103 depicted in the Blackburn stained glass window.  A book was a prized item not only because in and of itself it was a status marker, as only wealthy families could afford a private book, but also because of the ethos it signifies. 250     Urban Structures In the same way that stained glass windows disclose burgeis values, urban-merchant houses serve as a tangible articulation of the merchants’ rise in social prominence and monetary success.  Archaeological examination of still-standing medieval urban-merchant houses coupled with surviving documentary evidence yields a contextualized understanding of the function and use of space in these structures.  The intermingling of domestic and commercial space in the urban-merchant house is unique to this group; “[m]erchants’ houses in Norwich, as in most other English cities,” argues Chris King, “had their domestic, service and commercial spaces arranged around one or more courtyards, behind a street frontage which was often leased out as separate tenements.”251  Likewise Dyer argues, there is plenty of evidence that buying and selling did in fact take place in people’s homes.  While some merchants may have supplemented their income from rental properties,252 their primary source of income was derived from                                                   251 King, “Interpretation of Urban Buildings,” 475.  252 Dyer, Standards of Living, 193; Thrupp, Merchant Class, 119-20.     104 commerce, some of which took place in the frontage of their homes.253  The house, therefore, is a prominent material manifestation of burgeis identity, and likewise it offers a tangible “gap between aristocratic and bourgeois conceptions of the home.”254  The medieval urban-merchant home was a house set at right angles to the street, gable-end on, a shop on the ground floor, living accommodation above and an open hall to the rear.  Whether the shop was effectively an artisan’s workshop or a retail outlet, the requirements were similar; space for work, for storage, and for display. Given the small size of most medieval shops, storage was generally above, in the solar, or below, in a cellar.  The shop itself was for work and display.255   The “timber-framed, right-angle urban hall house was the most obvious visible symptom of the first rise of the bourgeoisie”;256 the houses were “multi-room,” and they “ranged in size from around four to around eight rooms on two or three floors,” and usually included their own “kitchens, parlors, business premises, and privies,” outbuildings, and garden or                                                 253 Ibid., 193.  254 Riddy, “’Burgeis’ Domesticity,” 26.    255 Clark, “The Shop Within?” 64.  256 Rees Jones, “Building Domesticity in the City,” 91.     105 yard.257  The multi-roomed house introduces the notion of privacy into the burgeis home:  this “proliferation of private chambers run[s] parallel to the trends in aristocratic accommodation.”258  The urban-merchant house, then, not only marks the material success of the burgeis, but marries the value of privacy in the home to the burgeis ethos.259  In contrast to rural houses, the urban-merchant house was also “materially more comfortable and socially more complex—a complexity that seems to be reflected in the development of the plan to create increasing numbers of separate rooms.”260  While living in close proximity to neighbours is a characteristic feature of urban domestic living, it is not the defining feature; as Felicity Riddy argues, rather, “the intertwined living of people of different generations who ate, slept, and worked alongside one another in the multi-room houses. . .   is the marked feature of the late-medieval urban scene.”261  As Grenville notes, the merchant and artisan houses are demarcated by the presence of business space.                                                   257 Riddy, “Authority and Intimacy,” 216, 213; also see Grenville, Medieval Housing, esp. 157-93.    258 Dyer, Standards of Living, 204.  259 As Dyer notes, “building costs would be as low as £2 for a one-bay two-story cottage. . .  A two-story craftsman’s house of two or three bays with a tiled roof could be erected for £10 to £15 and the cost of a merchant’s house would amount to between £33 and £66, with a large building of the courtyard type needing expenditure of £90 or above.”  Standards of Living, 205.  260 Grenville, “Urban and Rural Houses,” 117.  261 Riddy, “Authority and Intimacy,” 216.     106 The following floor plan is of a typical medieval merchant with open hall design.  Commercial space (Ground Plan labeled as “A” in Figure 8) is located on the ground level, facing the street.  Private domestic space would have been at the back of the house, behind the shop which leads to the open hall (“C” Ground and First Floor).  Adjoining the open hall would be most like be the solar? or storage? (“B” Ground Floor), and above the shop (First Floor plan, “A”), usually chambers would be found on the First Floor (“B”?).262  Figure 8:  York, 49-51 Goodramgate, late-fifteenth century right-angled hall: plans of typical medieval merchant house.  (Reproduced with Permission of English Heritage-York RCHME Inventory - The Central Area (vol. 5) Licence number 3071).                                                262 In architectural discourse, the use of question marks is common to denote the possible or probable function of space.    107 Most merchant and artisan houses included a shop or store front.  This commercial space was typically entered from the street.263  Rees Jones adds, “since most work was done in workshops within the household, their design provided both working spaces and living spaces, productive spaces and ceremonial spaces which could either be intimate or very public, depending on the ways in which access was controlled, the ways in which they were furnished or simply the ways in which they were used.”264  This suggests that the urban merchant house was not exclusively a female-centred space, as has been previously argued by a number of scholars.265  Merchant houses were not only residential spaces, but also sites of business and manufacture. As Riddy argues, “they were family homes, not in the modern sense, but in the late-medieval sense of being places which accommodated familiae, or households:  parents, children, apprentices and servants, into which journeymen or day-labours came to work,” while the public could browse, and customers could purchase goods.266                                                   263 Clark, “The Shop Within?” 58-59.    264 Rees Jones, “Building Domesticity in the City,” 68-9.  265 Rees Jones, for example, cites Hanawalt, from her chapter “At the Margins of Women’s Space,” found in “Of Good and Ill Repute” as she argues that “space was ‘very gendered’ in the middle ages with respectable female activity being confined to such areas as the home or the cloister” (as cited in Rees Jones’ “Women’s Influence on the Design of Urban Homes,” 190).   For a compelling collection of scholarly essays exploring the history of the gendered private/public, female/male dichotomy see Reverby and Helly’s “Converging on History” in Gendered Domains, 1-26.  266 Riddy, “’Burgeis’ Domesticity,” 17.     108 As the mercantile urban household was a public space, at least to some degree, guilds had a vested interest in ensuring these spaces complied with their ethos and regulations.  The home, and particularly the homeowner, was subject to observation:  “household heads. . .  were required by central government to act as sources of public authority and agents of good order.”267  As Rees Jones notes, ”civic and guild regulations permitted only quiet work (including office work) to be done outside set working hours, for various reasons, including the disturbance caused by heavier and noisier industrial processes.”268  These regulations illustrate the direct influence that civic officials and guilds could exercise over work done in the merchant home; the theme of neighbourliness runs prominently throughout these regulations, suggesting an interest in cultivating a strong civic ethos.  Many lines within conduct and lyric literature found in household manuscripts stress the importance of good relations with neighbours; for example, in the Caligula manuscript the religious lyric “All way fond to say þe best” (f. 68r) strongly advises the reader to control what he speaks and to avoid any “wykked word” that his “neyʒbor”269 might “spyll”: For Cristes love þat bowʒth us dere                                                 267 Riddy, “Authority and Intimacy,” 212.  268 As cited by Rees Jones in “Women’s Influence,” 192, adapted from, Sellers, ed., York Memorandum Book, A/Y, 49, 102, 180-81; and Sharp, ed,. Calendar of Letter Book of the City of London, 199.  269 MED neyʒbor:  (a) One who dwells nearby, a neighbor; a fellow citizen; an inhabitant of a nearby town or country.     109 lett not þy tonge have all his wyll What art þu þe bett or þe neer with wykked word  þy neyʒbor to spyll Ʒyf man or woemon come þe tyll freyneth evell by any gest For Cristes love hold þe styll alwey fonde to sey þe best  Avoiding gossip, and thus discord within the community, was a primary concern for members of the merchant class; thus, readers of the Caligula manuscript were admonished time and again:  “With thy neghbourys leve yn reste and pees…  and get thee a good name” (Fynd cense, f. 16r).  Harmonious living could very much correlate to one’s success in this inter-connected class.   This notion of surveillance is further manifest in domestic architecture;  “[t]he hall was at the heart of the medieval house; this was the main ceremonial space in which guests were received and meals consumed. . .  The householder and his or her family sat at the table at the ‘high end,’ the importance which was sometimes emphasized by a raised dais and moulded beam or a hood to frame those seated there.”270   As                                                 270 Gardiner, “The Buttery and Pantry,” 37.     110 Goldberg and Kowaleski note, the halls of houses were often used for carding and spinning.271  In addition to the social performative aspect of the hall, it could also function as a workspace.  Sarah Rees Jones argues in her compelling article “Women’s Influence on the Design of Urban Homes” that the hall represents “safe” space where occupations such as spinning and brewing might be located, as opposed to heavy metal trades and baking which were normally located in external workshops.272  The open construction of the hall, whether used for social or occupational needs, enabled surveillance of individuals in that space; as Grenville argues, “surveillance would be exercised over the young workforce….  Social space [was] deliberately constructed to create a specific set of social conditions.”273  Grenville’s social conditions refer to the “safety” element that Rees Jones mentions, and both signify the physical and moral safety of the familia—for which the householder is ultimately responsible.  The apprentice and/or servants are assured physical safety, when learning a trade or skill, and moral safety, particular for the young women, when living away from their neo-natal homes.  The domestic architecture of the merchant houses, then, structures a system of                                                 271 Goldberg and Kowaleski, ”Household and Organization of Labour,” 66.  272 Rees Jones, “Women’s Influence,” 192-3.  273 Grenville, “Urban and Rural,” 118.    111 surveillance whereby the observer holds authority over those being observed. Since the householders themselves would also be on display, the house itself authorizes self-regulation. Figure 9: The Greyfriars [No 9 Friar Street], Worcester, UK.  Late-Medieval Merchant’s House.  Permission to reproduce image granted from National Trust.  Adding further support to Grenville and Clark’s theories, one report from the National Trust chronicles the history of use and occupants at 7-9 Friar Street in Worcester, better known today as The Greyfriars.274  This study would have been undertaken by the local archaeological unit; dated 22 May 1954, it states that the house was built c1485 by Thomas Grene and even refers to TG and TGE (Thomas                                                 274 This report from the Greyfriars’ archive, located in the National Monuments Record, was kindly sent by Rachael Trimm (House and Visitor Services Manager, Greyfriars) of the National Trust.       112 Grene and his wife’s initials, Elizabeth) on brackets to the carriage arch.  The house is described as follows:   It seems that initially the house had a rear hall and 2 rear wings containing a heated parlour, kitchen, 6 chambers and a heated ‘little hall’.  A continuous projecting window along the ground-floor façade [sic].   There were originally four first-floor windows, each one lighting a separate room.  On the ground floor there were three rooms on the street front, that to the south with a fireplace, a hall…275 Thomas Grene was an important man, master brewer and High Bailiff of Worcester twice over (1493 and 1497).  He had three children, Richard, Pernell, and Alice.   His will shows that a brewhouse was one of his main assets.  He made provision for masses to be said in the Friary and left “the tenement and brewhouse in St. Martins parish” to Richard or Pernell, his sons.                                                  275  As cited in National Trust Report, 9.     113  Figure 10: Images of Shambles and Little Shambles, York used with permission from Medieval Research Centre, University of Leicester, UK.     114 The images above are of “one of the most famous streets associated with the sale of foodstuffs . . . .  The Shambles (York), formerly Fleshshambles ‘flesh benches’, so-called from the stalls for the sale of meat, set up in open air.”276  Hooks in the overhang (as are visible in the above photo) were commonly used for hanging large pieces of meat.  The overhang (also referred to as the jetty or jettison) is characteristic of most medieval merchant buildings; in fact, Clark argues, a “jetty was a feature of many (possibly most) shops from 1250 onwards.”277  He notes that the jetty appeared to serve three main functions with respect to the shop.  Firstly, the visual impact, particularly at the corner site where a finely carved dragon post would have been an invitation to look at the goods on offer inside the shop.  It also served as some form of protection from the rain, both for any goods on the counter on display, and for pedestrians, who, by sheltering underneath would be attracted to look into the shop while they waited to the rain to stop.  Thirdly, it may have allowed extra space on the upper floor for living or storage on a tight urban site where space was at a premium.278                                                   276 Cameron, English Place Names, 225.  277 Clark, “A Shop Within?” 68.  278 Ibid.     115 A prominent marker of merchant-class status, the jettied house secured and displayed the householder’s presence within urban space. Through this material presence, “[a] merchant’s family and household thus became an integral part of his commercial and political world.”279  Household Composition For the merchants and lesser gentry, the family is generally perceived to be a nuclear unit, composed of the parents and children.  However, with the mixing of classes to create a new mercantile burgeis class also comes a mixing of households, or the familia.  A philological approach is useful in determining the organization and character of late-medieval English household.  Fourteenth- and fifteenth century terms for household come from the Latin familia and hospitium, Anglo-Norman mesnee, and Middle English familie, meine(e), and house(e)hold, which indicates the range of words used to express the concept of household.  As previously noted, live-in apprentices and domestic servants were a regular part of late-fourteenth-century urban mercantile English society.   P. J. P. Goldberg writes of the movement of young people from their nuclear homes into the homes of others, especially merchants for craft and trade training.  This movement into other households became a naturalized demographic occurrence where adolescents “work and live in the households of others prior to getting married – or at least achieving marriageable age – as life-cycle service.  The term ‘life-cycle’                                                 279 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 70.     116 marks this as a particular and specific phase in the life course.”280  As Kermode notes, “[o]f all the households recorded in 1377 [in lay poll tax returns], one third of those in York and one sixth of those in Hull included servants.”281  Servants were more than just teenaged lodgers; they were an integral part of the familia.  As evidence of this, just as the householder would pay for guild membership for his servants, so too were they frequently remembered in merchants’ wills: “Some 15 per cent of Beverley and Hull merchants’ wills mention servants or famuli receiving small gifts of cash or bolsters and bedding, 24 to 46 percent in York, and these make it very clear that servants were regarded as an extension of the household, even after they had left its service.”282  “Servants were sometimes even related to their employers, ” further argues Goldberg; for instance, he notes one will in which “John, one of the York merchant William Scoreburgh’s three servants, for example, was named as a cousin at his master’s death in 1432 and Isabel de Syggeston was described as her master’s niece in his will of 1390.”283  The responsibility of caring for and teaching apprentices usually lasted for “a continuous period of seven years,” whereas responsibility for                                                 280 Goldberg, Medieval England, 22.  281 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 103.  282 Ibid.  283 Goldberg, Medieval England, 22.     117 servants was typically for a one-year period and contractual.284  To aid in the harmonious co-existence between the employer and his apprentices and servants, expectations are set out in the texts contained in household manuscripts, as well as in indentures and guild ordinances.  Life-cycle service fulfilled the needs for both the employer and the apprentice:  “for perspective employers, it offered a comparatively inexpensive and flexible supply of labour.”285  For servants and apprentices, life-cycle service provided training and experience, as well as an opportunity to meet new people (perhaps even a future spouse) and to develop friendships and important alliances for the future.286  As Kate Mertes argues, the household “cannot be dismissed as a mere domestic organisation, nor yet as a simple political tool of the noble classes.  It functioned as an important structure in helping men and women of the later Middle Ages to conceive, comprehend, and carry out their existence.”287 This domestic space is the site not only where children and young apprentices learned the “Pater Noster,” but where they learned social customs and gestures; in other words, it is the site where the shaping of social morals, manners, and values took place.  Teaching and texts                                                 284 Ibid.  285 Ibid.  286 Ibid.  287 Mertes, The English Noble Household, 184.     118 ultimately played a large role in developing a sense of community, intimacy, and hierarchy sufficient to differentiate their experiences from those of peasant and aristocratic class families.288   Book ownership suggests a will for learning and knowledge, both of which appear to have been valued by the merchant class as a whole.  Books provide, in part, the transmission of knowledge, attitudes, and behaviours otherwise inaccessible.  For example, conduct literature, found in all medieval household manuscripts, is specifically concerned with social deportment, providing instruction in manners, decorum, and general morals, particularly those socialized acts traditionally belonging to the aristocracy.  If one is not born into such a lineage, then conduct books can provide the means to learning those behaviours.  Such behaviours would be particularly apt for aspirant merchants who desired upward movement in socioeconomic terms.  These socialized gestures would also be passed on to other members of the household to eventually become habitualized behaviour and thus contribute to the ideologies of domestic space and ethos of the burgeis.  The household miscellany is a representative artifact of a particular family at a distinct time in history.  The household miscellany is unique in that it provides us with a bound collection of texts,                                                 288 See Goldberg, Medieval England, 6-7; Newman, Growing up in the Middle Ages, especially chapter 8 “Training for a Career and Earning a Living:  Peasants, Craftsmen, and Merchants,”169-202; and Shahar, Childhood in the Middle Ages.       119 each of which is imbued with ideological cultural expression, that a family had commissioned and used.289                                                   289 See Julia Boffey’s essay “Bodleian Library, MS Arch. Seldon. B.24 and definitions of the ‘household book,’” 125-134, for a compelling discussion of how a scribe may have worked closely with a family to select and alter texts for their household manuscript.      120 Chapter Four: Self-Governance in Lydgate’s Fynd cense   Introduction Fynd cense is a unique amalgamation of two otherwise distinct instructional poems by John Lydgate found in British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1.  This conflated text is reflective of the diversity of audience members who would have utilized it as an independent text or in conjunction with other texts in its larger manuscript context.  The new narrative of Fynd cense (as compared with the separate texts from which it derives) follows a linear progression from youth to old age that frames and contextualizes the practical advice it offers the variety of readers found in the late medieval urban household.  Although many divergent concerns are intermittently broached in Fynd cense, several dominant themes are discernible.  This chapter aims to evaluate the thematic concerns in order to explore the various ways these might have been interpreted and utilized by different readers.  In particular, Fynd cense will be examined as a potential means to construct a burgeis identity and thus produce and reinforce a cohesive household ideology.  The prominent themes are self-regulation of conduct, of consumption, and of reputation.  Before embarking on this thematic analysis, space will be devoted to discussing the physical presentation of Fynd cense in the Caligula manuscript and its historical origins.       121 The Fynd cense Text  Fynd cense occupies folios 14r–16v of the manuscript.  It is significant that this text is actually a unique conflated version of two independent texts, namely John Lydgate’s Stans Puer ad Mensam (NIMEV 2233) and Dietary (NIMEV 824).290 Stans Puer opens on folio 14r and continues on to folio 15v.  Although the last line of the standard text ends three-quarters of the way down the page, Dietary follows on immediately.  There is no title indicating what would be the start of Dietary, and, aside from the reference to Lydgate and common closing of Stans Puer, “Go lytel bylle” (f. 15v), there is no textual or visual indication that these were normally two separate texts.  The stanzas continue to be grouped in lines of eight; every stanza, to the left of the first line, bears the same “paragraphus”; and the rhyme scheme is consistent throughout the entire piece.291  Typically, texts in the Caligula manuscript end with the word “explicit” and the next text begins immediately.  True to this pattern, there is indeed a title at the top of this conflated text; it is written in a later hand, perhaps sixteenth century, and close examination of the manuscript reveals that the second half of the title reads “Fynd cense” (f. 14r).292                                                   290 Boffey and Edwards, A New Index of Middle English Verse [NIMEV], 149, 57; such conflation of two texts into one occurs at one other place in this manuscript: ff. 89r-91v conflates To the Creator [IMEV 256] with Fifteen Signs [IMEV 1823].   291 For a study of visual markers and punctuation, see Parkes, Pause and Effect, 43, 305.  “Paragraphus” is a term to describe the scribal sign used to mark the beginning of a paragraph or section.  For more scholarship on scribal marks, see Robinson and Zim (eds.), Of the Making of Books.  292 I am indebted to Chris Webb at the Borthwick Institute of Historical Research (York, U. K.), Dr. Michael Treschow, and Dr. Stephen Reimer for their assistance with the initial transcription from    122 Figure 11: (c) British Library Board BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Fynd cense, f. 14r (reproduction with permission from the British Library).                                                                                                                                                            microfilm and the librarians in the Manuscript’s Reading Room at the British Library for their examinations of the manuscript which corroborated this reading of the title and probable dating of the hand.    123  Figure 12: Close up of scribally inserted title.  The first three letters are indecipherable; the remaining letters suggest the reading fynd cense. (c) British Library Board BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Fynd cense, f. 14r (reproduction with permission from the British Library).  Therefore, I will use Fynd cense when referring to the conflated single-text version of Stans Puer and Dietary as it is found in the Caligula manuscript.  It should be noted that while this title appears at the top of the first folio of this text, it does not appear on any of the subsequent pages; this is noteworthy as running titles, especially on the verso-side of folios of continuing texts, are common in this manuscript.  The absence of eight stanzas from the standard version of Dietary should also be noted.293  It is also striking that on folio 16v of the Caligula manuscript, there is a stanza copied at the outside margin of the page (see Figure 13).  It seems probable that this stanza was initially to be included in the Fynd cense text but due to scribal error had to be copied at the margin, complete with inclusion marks.                                                   293 For examples of a standard version, see BL Lansdowne 699 or Cambridge, Jesus College 56.     124 Given the evidence presented above, it seems reasonable to argue that this was a deliberate textual arrangement.  The implication of this conflation is that medieval readers of this manuscript would have read this as a single text.  Through this deliberate textual arrangement Fynd cense comes to reflect the diversity of the household members who would have had access to the Caligula manuscript; it reflects concerns and experiences of readers at varying stages of their lives.  On another level, this restructuring enables the poem to function thematically as a progressional piece.294  The start of Fynd cense is primarily concerned with children’s behaviour, and although periodically it continues to offer some advice to children, as the poem progresses the focus shifts to adults, and the advice becomes more relevant for them on topics such as diet, conduct, and household management.295  Thus through the physical structuring of the poem and the contextualization of advice within different stages of the addressee’s life, Fynd cense can be read as a textualization of a late-medieval household. History of Stans Puer ad Mensam and A Dietary Any attempt to determine the readership can be helped by an understanding of the original intended audience for the text.  In this sense texts differ widely from one another.  Stans Puer ad Mensam originates from a                                                 294 Schemes of relating the life-span of a person to patterns (seasons, hours of the day) are common in literature; see Burrow, The Ages of Man for an exploration of the different schemes.    295 This shift, indeed the advancement, of the addressee’s age resonates with another of Lydgate’s work, the Nyghtyngale (also in Caligula A.ii, found at folio 59r-64r).  Much like the linear life-course progression in Fynd cense, the Nyghtyngale relates stages of aging to the canonical hours.      125 thirteenth-century Latin poem about table manners for boys who were being brought up as pages in noble households.  This poem is also found in Latin manuscripts that have clear associations with grammar schools.296  Latin versions of the poem are attributed to Robert Grosseteste, the famous scholar and Bishop of Lincoln (died 1253), who took in boys from aristocratic homes and trained them in his own household.297   Originally, the intended audience would have been young boys, members of an aristocratic household, and indeed passages from Stans Puer clearly locate it in that aristocratic household context.298  It encourages boys to adopt gestures of deference toward social superiors; these gestures were tailored to the social roles household servants were expected to perform.299  In the fifteenth century the poem was translated into Middle English verse by at least three different authors, one being John Lydgate.  As a consequence of this translation, the poem enjoyed a transmission and reception beyond the aristocratic household or the grammar school.                                                  296 Orme, Table Manners for Children, 19.  297 Ibid., 20.  298 Ibid.  299 Dunlop, Late-medieval Interlude, 39.     126 In contrast, it is thought that Lydgate wrote his Dietary around 1430.300  The standard text, as it appears in most manuscripts, is considerably longer than the version found in the Caligula manuscript.  As mentioned above, it is conflated with the traditional Stans Puer text, yet this version of Dietary omits eight stanzas from the standard text.  The missing stanzas do not cover new topics, but rather provide greater detail about various issues in Dietary, such as moderation — “A litill sopeer at morwe makith men liht” (Dietary l. 60) — and practical advice for “abydyng his sesoun” (Dietary l. 92).301   The high number of surviving copies of both Stans Puer and Dietary attests to their popularity in the later Middle Ages.  Stans Puer survives in twenty-four manuscripts.  Even more remarkably, Dietary survives in fifty-seven manuscripts, a number exceeded only by The Canterbury Tales and The Prick of Conscience.302  Of the twenty-four manuscripts containing Stans Puer, fourteen also contain Dietary.303  Typically both circulated in mixed-text collections.  Manuscripts containing both of these texts are as follows:   1. Bethesda, MD, National Library of Medicine 4,  2. Cambridge, Jesus College 56,  3. Leiden, UL, Vossius Germ. Gall Q.,                                                  300 Orme, Table Manners, 20.  301 MacCracken (ed.), “Minor Poems of John Lydgate,” 703-07.  302 Robbins and Cutler, Supplement to the Index in Medieval English Verse [IMEV/S], 95-6.  303 Boffey and Edwards, A New Index of Middle English Verse [NIMEV], 57, 149.     127  4. London, BL Cotton CC A.ii,   5. London, BL Harley 2251,   6. London, BL Harley 4011,   7. London, Lambeth Palace 853,   8.  London, BL Landsdowne 699,   9. London, BL Stowe 982,   10. Oxford, Bodleian Library Laud misc. 683,  11. Oxford, Bodleian Library Bodley 48,   12. Oxford, Bodleian Library Bodley 686,   13. Oxford, Bodleian Library Rawlinson C. 48,   14. Oxford, Bodleian Library Rawlinson C. 86.   Closer examination of the fourteen surviving manuscripts containing both Lydgate’s Stans Puer ad Mensam and Dietary reveals that the version found in the Caligula manuscript is a unique conflation.  The texts often circulated independently of each other, even though they may have been in close proximity within the same manuscript.304  In six of the fourteen manuscripts, Stans Puer and Dietary occur in separate sections of the manuscripts; in BL Harley 2251, for example, they are located 144 folios apart.  In three of the eight manuscripts remaining, Dietary precedes Stans Puer (which is striking, as this is the exact opposite ordering to that found in the Caligula manuscript).   Of the five manuscripts which contain both texts with Stans Puer immediately preceding Dietary, one is the Caligula manuscript; two appear to have fragmentary versions of Dietary, Laud. Misc. 48 and Landsdowne 699; and in one, Stowe 982,                                                 304 The standard text is from MS Bodleian Laud. Misc. 683 ff. 62-65 and edited by MacCracken Minor Poems of Lydgate, 739-44.  Aside from variant spellings and several instances of pronoun usage, Caligula A.ii’s Stans Puer ad Mensam is a complete, line for line text of Laud. Misc. 683; both consist of 14 stanzas including the “Lenvoye” which indicates that “Yif ouht be mys, – in word, sillable, or dede, – Put al diffaute vpon Iohn Lydgate” (ll. 89-99).     128 Dietary occurs in the middle of the Stans Puer text.  Only Bodley 686 could possibly contain a conflated version as found in the Caligula manuscript, although this would appear unlikely.  The Index lists Stans Puer and Dietary as two separate texts contained in Bodley 686, and it is also one folio longer than the Caligula manuscript text.  The Cotton Caligula A.ii manuscript therefore contains a unique conflation of Stans Puer and Dietary. As addressed, this physical restructuring and subsequent reader inclusivity is reflective of the household context in which the manuscript was used. Conduct and Regulation The manuscript context of the Caligula is further reiterated through connotations of home and family; more specifically, qualities associated with the burgeis home such as warmth and comfort, “fyre at morwe and toward bed at eve” (f. 16r), sustenance and food, “temperat dyet” of “holsam wyne, feede þe on lyht brede” (f. 15v), caring for the body, “pare clene þy naylys, thyne handys wasch also” (f. 15v) and “be clenly clad” (f. 15r), to ensuring adequate rest, by being “glad toward bedde“ (f. 15v), to contentedness and acceptance, to “be sympyll of chere” (f. 14r) and “never gruchyng,” (f. 16r) all work to promote a collective experience and the ideological identity of the household.  Fynd cense contextualizes burgeis values within the discourse of everyday experience.305                                                  305 For discussion of the “bourgeois ethos” see Riddy, “Mother Knows Best,” 67.      129 Home is the site of security and comfort, but it is also the primary site for socialization.  Fynd cense is predominantly concerned with the internal realm of the household where relationships are negotiated and managed.  It is fitting, then, that much of the social context of Fynd cense is set at meal time: “be that thow dyne or suppe” (f. 15r).  The poem is punctuated, at times rather abruptly, with advice on food and table manners.  These seemingly disparate, even textually interruptive yet consistent, articulations about eating and manners symbolically represent the repetition and consistency of daily meals.  Fynd cense demonstrates the social importance of the household meal for gathering together and celebrating the comfort, security, and status brought about by the shared work of the household members, and for demonstrating the householder’s monetary success, perhaps through mercantile endeavours, as well as the maistresse’s effective running of the household.   The household meal functioned as a daily ritual, a regular occasion for all household members to participate in a communal experience.  Fynd cense is as relevant for the child needing lessons in appropriate behaviour at the dinner table, or the apprentice adjusting to a new living situation, as it is for the female head of the household considering what to prepare and serve to her dinner guests.306  The occasion of the household meal, then, was a means for building a collective consciousness, both within the household and the community at large.                                                  306 See Goldberg’s Medieval England, 107, where he discusses women as household managers.      130 As Jonathan Nicholls argues:  “For each unit of the community, whether familial or institutional, the main meal has a centralising function and can act as a cohesive force.  In bringing the community members together for the needs of bodily nutrition, more needs are being satisfied than merely partaking in the provided food.”307  The communal meal is a site where socialization occurs and, moreover, is displayed.   As Fynd cense articulates acceptable codes of behaviour, it not only advocates expected table manners—“Pyke nat þy nose” (f. 14r), “Thy teth also ne pyke not with þy knyf” (f. 14v), “With ful mouth speke nat” (f. 14v), “kepe feet and fyngerys and handys styll yn pees” (f. 14r)—but also through this discourse encodes social hierarchies within this later medieval household and indeed society at large, for the young child is also advised on how to interact with persons of higher status:   Who so speke to þe yn eny maner place Lumnysschely cast not þy heed adown But with sad cher loke hym in þe face With dyssolute lauʒtherys do noon offence Be þy soverayn308 whyle he ys yn presence. (f. 14r)                                                 307 Nicholls, Matter of Courtesy, 18.  308 MED soverain: (a) One who is superior to or has power over another; an immediate master, a lord; also fig.; pl. masters; also, one's betters; ben ~ over, to be lord over (sb., oneself).    131 To ensure compliancy, the narrator also addresses the parents or those adults responsible for the discipline of children.  In fact, the narrator encourages adults not to heed a child’s wilful ways:   In chyldryn werre now myrthe now debate In her quarell ys no gret vyolence
 Now pleye now wepyng feelde yn on estate The þer pleyntys geve no greet credence A rodde performyth all þer yn solence (f. 15v) Adults hearing this would understand that their children’s misbehaviour requires physical correction.309  In this sense Fynd cense instructs not only the children on how to act, but the parents on how to discipline as well.  The intergenerational audience, then, is overtly instructed on how to conduct itself.   In as much as manners are the performative expression of the internalized ethos of burgeis identity, so too is the conscious regulation of consumption. As a medium teaching “vertuys dyscyplyne” (f. 14r), Fynd cense imparts various codes for disciplining and regulating the body’s gestures, postures, and acts of consumption.  These learned behaviours are part of the social drama encoding a particular type of burgeis identity.  The Fynd cense text assumes that it is possible                                                 309  For uses of physical punishment in education see Bagley, “Grammar as Teacher,” 19-20, 23-34; and also Orme, From Childhood to Chivalry, 34-35.     132 to control outward gestures and in doing so create a new social identity.  This text, then, attends to the performative aspects of social status.  Indeed, individuals were to be of “vertuys dyscyplyne” (f. 14r).310  Good manners are one way of associating oneself with “wysdom” and “vertu”(f. 14r).311  Ultimately, all readers and especially those “young chyldryn þat ye schall se or rede” (f. 15v) of Fynd cense were expected to become self-regulating, or self-policing, for the internalization of self-governance rules or codes perpetuates adult aspirations to better one’s self, to attain a higher social standing, to “gete the a good name” (f. 16r) and eventually to secure an eternal place in heaven.312  Fynd cense exemplifies desirable behaviours for a variety of individuals at different stages of life.   Moderation of Food Many lines in the latter half of Fynd cense are concerned with “helth of bydy” (f. 15v).  Indeed, several lines are dedicated to aiding the reader in making wise choices for healthy living:  “Ete no rawe mete” (F. 15v) and “hede foot and stomak preserve fro cold” (f. 16v).  While in the past some scholars have judged this type of advice to be of little value, and perhaps even so rudimentary that it                                                 310 For an informative study on the socialization of aristocratic females see Phillips, Medieval Maidens, 61-97.   311 Dunlop makes a similar point in her book, Late-Medieval Interlude, 39.  312 See Foster’s article, “Paternal Wisdom,” for an exploration of the overlapping themes found in Fynd cense and Urbanitas, another courtesy text found in the Caligula (ff. 88-88v).      133 would only have been addressed to children,313 I argue that this can be interpreted not so much for the obvious practical advice it offers, but for the embedded message of self-responsibility; indeed, observable outer gestures, such as polite decorum and nutritious consumption, “are indicative of inner virtue.”314  Through direct address to the reader, Fynd cense casts accountability upon each individual.   While the consumption of food in the medieval burgeis household was, of course, essential for survival, consumption was socially mediated through cost and availability.  A lot of space in Fynd cense is dedicated to addressing specific types of foods and their quality.  Fynd cense’s advice to “fede þe on lyʒth brede” (f. 15v), “Kepe clene þy lyppys fro fat of flesche or fysch” (f. 15v) “Droppe not þy breste with sause ne with potage” (f. 15r), “Drynke good holsam wyne” (f. 15v), and “Yn ale ner wyne with hande leve no fatnesse” (f. 14v) supports the point that quality was important, but that food stuffs can also be read as reflecting social status.  “Historians of food have demonstrated that diet in medieval Europe was socially stratified” and that “food consumption was coded for status.”315  In his study on the consumption of foodstuffs, Woolgar notes that “there was little                                                 313 For example see Pearsall’s Lydgate, 220 and Robbins, Secular Lyrics, 252.  314 Nicholls, Matter of Courtesy, 1.    315 Sponsler, “Eating Lessons,” 13; for a recent overview of food see Adamson (ed), Food in the Middle Ages; also, Carlin and Rosenthal (eds.), Food and Eating; Mennell, All Manners.     134 difference between households in the range of spices used, but there was a good deal of difference in terms of quantity and frequency of use.”316  For example, whereas the noble household of “Humphrey Stafford, in 1452-3, consumed 245 lb. of sugar and Anne Stafford [household], at the start of 1466, acquired 84 lb.,” this was, Woolgar states, but “a fraction of the consumption in the largest noble households.”317  While fruit and nut consumption of the wealthy included imports, such as “almonds, figs, raisins and currents,”318 the lesser landowners were more likely to depend on their own manorial gardens and orchards, and, as Anne Stafford at Writtle did in 1465, to purchase “soft fruit locally.”319  Yet, “[s]pices were one of the defining characteristics of upper-class diet.”320  As witnessed in a mid-fourteenth century confession:  “When Henry of Grosmont. . .   confessed to gluttony, he had in mind not just rich meats, but ones that were made as delicious as man could, with good spices and the most piquant sauces. . . .  ”321  Quantities of spices were used not only in food, but also for washing bedding and clothing.                                                  316 Woolgar, The Great Household, 129.  317 Ibid.  318 Ibid., 130.  319 Ibid., 131.  320 Ibid.  321 Ibid., 129.     135 Sylvia Thrupp notes that inventories from London merchant households comprise “stocks of red wine, bacon, salt fish, and sides of beef in cellars and larders.”322  Fancy breads, cheese, and fruits were for lighter meals.  “Beer and ale were probably the staple drinks in the wealthier households and were much used in miscellaneous entertaining,” while “wine and lengthy dinners were the accepted standard for entertaining important guests.”323  Preference for certain food and drink, for example, “wheaten bread over barley bread, the high consumption of fish and meat – mostly from young animals and hence tender cuts – and the use of wine in addition to the ubiquitous ale” can be read as a marker of burgeis status.324  The wheaten bread that Goldberg refers to is further explored by D. J. Stone who argues “wheat was considered the premier bread grain, producing the whitest and lightest loaf.”325  Food stuffs, therefore, demarcate burgeis households over those of lesser status.   In addition to the quality of food stuffs, the amount of food and drink consumed was also subject to regulation.  Many lines remind the reader to consume only “moderat foode” (f. 16v), implying that not only was there enough food to satisfy all, but there was a comparative abundance of food in the                                                 322 Thrupp, Merchant Class, 151.  323 Ibid.  324 Goldberg, Medieval England, 105-06.  325 Stone, “Consumption of Field Crops,” 13.      136 household.  Because of this surplus, the reader needed to be advised not to overindulge.  Advice to moderate one’s appetite, such as “and with an appetyte ryþs from þi mete also” (f. 15v), “Be twene mele drynk not for no forward delyte” (f. 16v), and “Of gredy handys þe stomak hath grette peyne” (f. 16v), teach the household members to self-regulate their appetites and consumption.   Self-regulation and its manifestations are prominent burgeis values in Fynd cense.  These values demarcate this class from the overindulgence and conspicuous display often associated with members of aristocratic status.326  As Mertes points out, “[b]y the fifteenth century descriptions of the aristocracy were more likely to stress the spontaneously extravagant and liberal character of nobility. . . .  conspicuous consumption was not simply a matter of what nobles did, but of what they were.”327  To invert this notion of consumption, however, is to consider how the material body actually comes to bear the imprint of these forces and how this imprint extends to the spiritual and ethical well-being of the person; that is, the consumption of food, the restrictions, excess, process and digestion, nutritional “holsom” value, and flavour all have an impact not only on the physical, but also on the spiritual self.  The reciprocal relationship between body and food can be seen as morally and spiritually significant as individuals come to “embody” that which they                                                 326 See Woolgar, The Great Household, 111-135.  327  Mertes, “Aristocracy,” 51.    137 consume.  Just as consumption reflects corporeality in these texts, so the physical reflects the spiritual self.  Yet another means of reflecting the interior self, as the Caligula manuscript reveals, is through speech.   Speech In addition to advice for attending to self-regulation through proper manners and consumption, another prominent anxiety in the Caligula manuscript is the control of speech.  The reader is repeatedly instructed to monitor his or her language, and personal articulations are to be thoughtful and controlled.  In Fynd cense, for example, readers are advised that “whane thou spekist be not reklees” and to “speke no rebandye” (f. 14v).  Similarly, they are exhorted to be “Cloos of tonge of word noʒth dysseyvabyll” (f. 16r).  Elsewhere in this text, advice to “Be noʒth to copyous also of langage” and when listening to a reply “Interrupte not wher so þu wende / A mannys tale tyll he have made amende” (f. 15r) warns the reader to attend to what is being said as much as to how one is saying it.   Fynd cense is dedicated to expressing the anxiety that misspoken words can bring about.  For example, the cautionary advice “To every tale sone ʒyf no credence” and “Have yn hate mowthys þat ben doubyll” (f. 16r) expresses an anxiety about speech.  This anxiety appears not only in conduct works, but also in religious lyrics found in the Caligula manuscript.  In fact, one line from Fynd cense “To sey þe best set alwey þi plesaunce” (f. 16r) closely resembles the title of such a lyric found at f. 68r, “All way fond to say þe best”.  The lyric is wholly dedicated to personal    138 utterances.  The following is a sample of its rhetoric:  “Speke noon evil in no place / bote welde þy tonge and kepe þy frend / And lete no wykked word out passe” (f. 68r).  As Fynd cense illustrates, speech is a potent medium that manifests and sustains social hierarchical relationships.  And if it has the potential to build and sustain power structures, it also has the potential to disrupt them.   Reputation In the medieval social community, outward appearance and behaviour serve to confirm personal worth and identity.  Lines such as “There for y conceyll pursue al thy lyve / To leve yn pees and gete the a good name” (f.  16r) exhort the reader to be mindful of reputation and social standing.  The popularity of conduct literature within manuscripts owned by merchants makes a compelling argument that social behaviour was a collective concern amongst members of this group.328  In fact, as Kermode illustrates, “[f]rom the evidence of guild regulations throughout the country, it is clear that in addition to offering participation in collective prayers and some forms of welfare to the aged and infirm, guilds and fraternities saw themselves as embodying ideal moral standards.”329  In London, for example, in 1476, the Mercer’s Company decreed “that every person be of courteous demeaning. . . .  of language as well in buying as in selling and also in proffering their wares for to sell,                                                 328 See page 72, note 166 for household anthologies from London in the late-fifteenth century that have an identifiable mercantile ownership.   329 Kermode, Medieval Merchants, 136.     139 and for any nasty or simple word be put forth and spoken, which should cause any rancor of debate by any means.”330  I would argue the guild hall also provided a venue for the diversity of its members to perform their particular social status.   Various socio-economic markers, an example being table manners, would differentiate individuals and indeed households from others.  The guild hall would also have functioned as a site of socialization, consolidating and ensuring an expected standard of behaviour and decorum, all the while providing a venue for their display.  While guilds were one means to ensure that respectful and appropriate behaviour was maintained, this behaviour was learned from such overtly didactical texts as Fynd cense, and also religious lyrics and romances as will discussed in detail in the coming chapters, all of which articulate desirable and expected behaviours.  The desired projection of a harmonious and respectable merchant community is further evident in advice to the readers of Fynd cense, who are cautioned, as mentioned above, to “voyde all dronkew lyerys and lechoures / Of all vnthryfty exile the maystresse / That ys to sayn dys pleyers hasardours” (f. 16v, copied in margin).  Contemporary civic records suggest that dicing and drinking were ongoing problems.  For example, there are three indentures enrolled in the York Memorandum Book B/Y, dated 01 August 1371, 04 October                                                 330 Rappaport, “Social Structure and Mobility”, 113, as cited in Hanawalt, ‘Of Good and Ill Repute,’ 47.      140 1372 and 21 November 1510.331  Each prohibits apprentices from playing at dice. 332  The first two also prohibit frequenting the tavern or brothel and playing at chess, whereas the third in addition prohibits chess and other illicit games.333  As Hanna notes, fifteenth-century taverns were imagined as sites of overindulgence and lack of control in both behaviour and in speech.334   This type of advice against keeping “certain company” surfaces time and again in Fynd cense, where the reader is warned to avoid socializing with dice players and gamblers.  These passages clearly demarcate a socio-spiritual distinction between two groups: the well-behaved, orderly, self-governed and the unruly, spiritually and fleshly ungoverned, and perhaps ungovernable.  Readers of Fynd cense are governed by the articulated moral and spiritual advice of the narrator.  The task of didactic literature like this was to illustrate what kind of woman women should emulate and also determine what kind of woman men should find desirable.                                                  331 The York Memorandum Book:  B/Y ed,.  J. W. Percy, Surtees Society 189 (1969), 4-5, 247; the first of these indentures is also found in the York Memorandum Book A/Y, ed. M Sellers, 2 vols, Surtees Society 120 and 125 (1911 and 1914), 1: 54-5.    332 Live-in domestic servants and apprentices were a regular part of late-fourteenth century urban English society.  As Kermode notes, “[o]f all the households recorded in 1377 [in lay poll tax returns], one third of those in York and one sixth of those in Hull included servants” Medieval Merchants 103; Smith, “Geographical Diversity,” 16-59.     333 Humphrey, “Dynamics of Urban Festival Culture,” 134.  334 Hanna, “Pilate’s Voice/Shirley’s Case,” 798-99.  For further discussion of late-medieval condemnations of alehouses and drunkenness, see Owst, Literature and Pulpit, 423-49.     141 Fynd cense, then, educated both men and women, boys and girls, forming “their expectations.”335   Sexuality In the entire Fynd cense text, one hundred and seventy lines, women are directly referred to only three times.  The first time occurs at folio 15v, where the reader is warned “With wommen agyth fleschly have not to do.”336  The obvious addressee of this advice would have been a male, perhaps the apprentice thinking about the company of women or the male head of the household who frequents the local tavern.  But what this line is implying is that the “women agyth” are a threat, suspected of corruption and contamination (f. 15v).  As Heywood argues, “In general, aging female characters are denigrated, their authority undermined, and they are perceived as disgusting or threatening figures. . . .  old women portrayed in late medieval works are frequently associated with the sexual body.  One of the misogynist stereotypes of the ‘vieille’                                                 335 Hallissy, Clean Maids, 19.  336 In this line, “fleschly” can be read as either an adjective or an adverb. The adjectival reading is the most apt here as it fits within the medieval trope of the appetive, lustful, and carnal woman.  It does not refer to old women in general, but to lascivious old women—the kind of women who run taverns.  Further, the “vieille” is not necessarily an object of desire herself, but a bawd, procurer, pander, who has some sort of investment in the sensual/sexual. According to the MED, fleshly is defined as follows:  flshl (ch, -l k (adj.) Also flæshlic, vleshlich, vless-, fleishl . (a) Belonging to man's physical nature; dominated by physical needs or desires, originating in the bodily appetites, carnal; (c) sexual, carnal; filth, defilement of the flesh, sexual intercourse; ~ generacioun, ~ physical procreation; ~ lust (desir, love), sexual desire or passion, love between man and woman; ~ sin, fornication, adultery, etc.; ~ temptacioun (fonding), temptation to sexual sin.  fl shl (che (adv.) (c) sexually, carnally; filen ~, to defile (a woman); haven ado (to don) ~ with (mid), knouen ~, to have sexual intercourse with, have carnal knowledge of; lien ~ bi (to), to lie with.     142 is that she is lascivious and over-sexed, her speech infused with fleshly rhetoric and lustful intent.”337  If men were advised to avoid “women aged,” then implicitly they were available and “common”; this also implies that there were alternatives.  In her book Common Women, Ruth Karras writes, “‘common woman’ meant a woman available to all men. . .  a whore was someone who did [make her sexuality public], either by explicitly putting it on the market, or by being available to the public in general, or by making a public scandal of herself.”338  That in this Fynd cense passage she is referred to only in a dismissive fashion relegates the aged woman to a place of social marginality.  This marginalization is reflected in her textual exclusion and isolation.  The “women agyth” line is located beside other lines that address excessive “appetite” and not falling asleep with too much “drynk” (f. 15v).  Inasmuch as this stanza addresses the kind of women men should avoid—appetitive and carnal—it also reinforces the kind of woman that women should avoid becoming.  The second and third instance of women’s representation occurs later in the poem: Suffre no surfatys in hous at nyght Be war of reresopers and of gret excesse Of noddyng hedys and of candellyght                                                 337 Heywood, “Old Women, Aging Bodies, and Female,” vi.    338 Karras, Common Women, 138.    143 Of sleuth on morn and sloverynge ydelnesse Whych of all vyses ys Chef porteres Voyde all dronkew lyerys and lechoures  (dronklew[e] [M]) Of all unthryfty exyle the maystresse That ys to sayn dys pleyers hasardours (f. 16v, copied in margin)339 Here idleness is allegorized as a porteress, as a female deviant of the night associated with “all vnthryft,” “all vyses,” and “surfatys,” with “noddyng hedys” in “candellyght” (f. 16v).  By association, “all unthrifty. . .  maystress[es],” not only in taverns, where women “had a very bad reputation,”340 but in all burgeis households, are vilified.  The repudiation of such women is, as it happens, literally reflected here in a moment of scribal oversight, wherein the above stanza was excluded and later reinserted by squeezing it into the margin, a fortuitous metaphor perhaps of marginalization (see Figure 13 below):                                                  340 Hanawalt, ‘Of Good and Ill Repute,’ 105.    144 Figure 13:  (c) British Library Board BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, Fynd cense, f. 16v (reproduction with permission from the British Library).  Fynd cense teaches that disciplining the body, controlling its appetites, lusts, and postures will bring eternal salvation, while succumbing to its natural wills and unruly state will bring damnation.  Paradoxically, then, the body is both the vehicle for redemption and for damnation of the soul.  The material body thus reflects both spiritual wellness and social status.  When she has transgressed the    145 norms and rules of self-governance, an unruly woman refusing such governance remains outside the bounds of social control and is consequently a threat to good social order and governance.  Learning the negative values embodied by “women agyth,” the male reader becomes responsible for avoiding their company (f. 16v), while the female reader learns a powerful lesson on moral conduct.  The inclusion of what not to be and how not to behave brings with it a certain validation that such behaviour is prevalent and may actually reinforce and perpetuate behaviours already adopted.  That men are to avoid having sex with certain types of women suggests that they have a propensity to do just that.  Further, there is also a palpable opposition between youth and age, unruly and governed:  “Be well avysed namely yn tendyr age, / To drynke be mesur both wyne and ale / Be noʒth copious also of langage” (f. 15r).  As argued above, these lines imply that young people in particular, those of “tendyr age,” are more likely to drink excessive amounts of alcohol and violate codes of speech.  And perhaps this type of indirect validation of this kind of behaviour provides partial explanation for the marked increase, as Marjorie McIntosh has noted, in frequency of court cases concerning conduct in ale houses, taverns, and inns during the fifteenth century.341                                                  341 McIntosh, Controlling Misbehaviour, 77-78.     146 Conclusion In sum, the Fynd cense text found in the Caligula manuscript follows the progression of the life course from child, to youth, to adult, and finally to old age.  The range in the age of its audience is outlined in the following passage:  “In youthe be lusty be sad whan þu art old, / No worly joye lastyth but a whyle” (f. 16v).  This passage reveals the life span of the text’s readers, and also warns the quick passage of youth, eliding youth with vitality and old age with physical impermanence and ultimate impending death.  This text offers advice on how to live successfully in the world, but also promises that by being “gentil” and “curteys” (f. 14v), minding the body and tending to the soul as prescribed will bring the ultimate reward in heaven as “charyte to þe soule ys dewe” (f. 16v).  By conforming to described modes of behaviour through conduct and regulation, by developing good manners and moderate consumptions, medieval conduct literature taught that “Well þys to knowe and rede / And heven to have for or mede” (Urbantatis, f. 88vb).342  Examination of Fynd cense reveals it to be an instrument of burgeis social tutelage.  Ultimately, modes of expression and consumption were subjected to social constraints because of their inherently transgressive potential.  These anxieties are prominent in Fynd cense, and indeed many of the texts contained in this household manuscript, and in this sense the medieval household is disciplined by the text.                                                  342 Urbanitas is also in the Caligula manuscript at ff. 88rb-88v.     147 Chapter Five:  Religious Lyrics   The religious lyrics contained in the Caligula manuscript not only share merchant class ethos articulated in texts from other genres also contained in the manuscript, but are also synonymous with public modes of identity formation, such as those expressed in stained glass windows of parish churches.  Thirteen of the thirty-eight texts343 contained in British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1 are categorized as religious lyrics.344  Religious lyrics, therefore, are a prominent genre in this manuscript, comprising fully one-third of its contents.  Analysis of these texts reflects their concern with cultivating and tending to a sincere spiritual relationship as well as promoting the ideological identity of the burgeis household.  As a collection, the Caligula manuscript reflects not only concern with public behaviour and household management, but it embodies the cultural shift towards private piety.  This chapter, then, focuses on texts in the Caligula A.ii that are explicitly marked as religious lyrics.345                                                  343 The Digital Index of Middle English Verse lists 37 texts contained in BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii; the difference is a result of the DIME missing Cronica (ff. 109r-110v [Manual (8) 2702]) and For Pestilence (ff. 65v-66v  [Wells, 3rd Supp., chap. X, no. 430]) from its contents list, as well as the Fynd cense text being listed as two independent texts, namely Stans Puer ad Mensum (ff. 14r-15v) and the Dietary (15v-16v).   344 As identified in Brown and Robbin’s (eds.) The Index of Middle English Verse.  Although beyond the scope of this dissertation, it is noteworthy that this manuscript also contains two Saint’s Lives, (St. Jerome ff. 135v-137r and St. Eustache ff. 137r-139v).  345 To John Burrow, the term lyric usually means “no more than a short poem” (Medieval Writers, 65).     148 The growth of lay domestic devotion has been connected to the growth of towns and middle-class society in the late Middle Ages.  As Rees Jones and Riddy explain, “it has become relatively commonplace to characterize the proliferation of religious goods and services as a symbol of the growing prosperity, literacy and assertiveness of the mercantile classes.”346  The significant presence of religious lyrics in commissioned household manuscripts is another means for the burgeis to disseminate the values and beliefs inherent to them, while the practice of these devotions in domestic space simultaneously marks them as a distinct group.   The material recipient of religious lyrics, and thus household manuscripts, is, as discussed in previous chapters, the urban merchants in late-medieval England, who typically lived in two-storey, multi-room timber framed houses.  Thus, as Rees Jones and Riddy argue, “aspirational piety” maps  spiritual exclusiveness onto other kinds of exclusiveness, and specifically onto the divide that become increasingly visible from the late fourteen century marking off those elite groups in towns who lived in comfortable, multi-room houses—the kinds of people who, increasingly, had parlours, private kitchens, and latrine, and even chapels.  They were able to withdraw into the privacy of their homes and to separate themselves from the cottagers whose lives spilled                                                 346 Rees Jones and Riddy, “The Bolton Hours,” 235.      149 out on the public streets, who cooked their food in communal ovens, used communal privies, and prayed in church.347   Accordingly, household books enabled private internalized devotions and as such were an important means by which the burgeis set themselves apart from the poverty of the labourers and the excesses of the aristocracy in late medieval England. This movement toward domestic devotion, however, resulted in criticism being levelled at the urban elites for their lavish homes and excessive consumption of luxury and religious items.  Their focus on attaining worldly possessions was a distraction that effaced true spiritual conviction, or at least it appeared that way to those outside the mercantile class.  As discussed in early chapters, the very possession of books was a marker of material wealth and status, partly because of their cost and partly because of the assumption of literacy they implied.348  In his widely read Mirror of the Blessed Life of Jesus Christ, Nicolas Love quotes St Gregory:  “In also moche as a man hath delite here bynethe in erthely thinges in so moche he is departed fro the loue aboue of                                                 347 Rees Jones and Riddy, “The Bolton Hours,” 238.  See too Chris King’s article “The Interpretation of Urban Buildings:  Power, Memory and Appropriation in Norwich Merchants’ Houses, c. 1400– 1660,” 471-488. 348 See, for example, Bell, “The Price of Books in Medieval England,” 312-32; and Gillespie and Wakelin, Production of Books.     150 heuenly thinges.”349  Similarly, preachers, alarmed by the worldliness and excessive materialism of much lay religion and the domestic lifestyles on which it seemed to depend, condemned the excessive consumption of the urban elite.350  There is a contradictory interdependence regarding the love of material prestige and the love of spiritual values within the merchant class.  Noting worldly interests and corruption of the urban elite was certainly not new; Chaucer, for example, uses the Wife of Bath to satirize the spectacle of excessive consumption and consumerism of the merchant class; the image of Alisoun with her “hipes large,” “shoes ful moyste and newe,” and very fine “coverchiefs” that “weyeden ten pound / That on a Sonday weren upon hir heed” conjures a mocking image of a wealthy, over-indulgent woman (GP 472, 457, 453-455).  Chaucer’s criticism extends further than merely noting the material success Alisoun so proudly displays, but also the performative quality of her devotion:  “That to the offrynge bifore hire sholde goon;  / And if ther dide, certeyn so wrooth was she / That she was out of alle charitee” (GP 450-452).  This depiction of Alisoun reveals and mocks the desire to construct a public self that is not only monetarily successful, but one that is perceived as pious and devout.  The assertive public self-fashioning demonstrated through Chaucer’s Alisoun, a successful clothier, is inherent in the ethos of the merchant class as a                                                 349 Sargent, ed., Nicholas Love’s Mirror, 54.  350 Rees Jones and Riddy, “The Bolton Hours,” 235.     151 whole in late-medieval England.  Social success and spiritual virtue were essential elements in what constituted respectability for the urban burgeis.  The household manuscript, then, functions to imbricate the social sphere of the town with the intimate sphere of the home.351  With the shift towards private devotion, the Caligula and other late-medieval household manuscripts respond and attend to the desire for devotional texts that were suitable for use in a domestic space.  This does not suggest that those with domestic chapels and access to religious routines would cease to go to attend Mass altogether; rather, it seems likely that they would hear Mass at home, in addition to attendance at Church.352  Religious lyrics offer a practical piety that supports internalized, affective devotion, giving the reader specific advice about self-regulation leading to spiritual salvation.  Personal restraint and devout practices express an honourable sense of self-hood.   The Nyghtyngale For example, in the religious lyric The Nyghtyngale (ff. 59r-64r),353 the reader is urgently encouraged to “saue thy soule” (f. 60v) through reflection and                                                 351 Rees Jones and Riddy, “The Bolton Hours,” 232.  352 See Pantin, “Instructions for a Devout and Literate Layman,” 399-410.   353 The Cotton Caligula A.ii version of this text begins at the third stanza, line 15, and thus omits the specific address to the Duchess of Buckingham and the author’s request that she read the story of the Nyghtyngale to the members of her following as found in Oxford, MS Corpus Christi College 203 and oxford, MS Bodleian lat. Misc c. 66 manuscripts. This absence of personal reference is consistent within the Caligula manuscript as another text, O mors, quam amara est emeoria tua (the Mirror of Morality), which is an elegy found at folios 57v-58r, also leaves out mention of Lord Cromwell and his wife that is    152 contemplation on the passion of Christ and subsequent repentance for all sins the listener might have incurred.354  The narrator figuratively hears her insistence through the song of the nightingale; he imagines she “calde and sayde a wake and ryse for shame / Out of thy slombre bed of sloth and sleep / Remembring the vpon this lusty seson’” (f. 59v).  The nightingale is the reformed messenger warning the narrator to amend his ways.  As the poem progresses, it moves through the Canonical hours as a means to measure the actual passing of time, and readers learn that as each hour closes, the nightingale’s death draws closer.355  She harkens to the narrator that she welcomes death:  “Ocy Ocy o deth well-come to me” as “For all my myrthes ande my melodye / As nature wilt about none shall y dye / My curios note ne shall nought me a vayle / But mortall deth me sharply woll a saile” (f. 60r, 59v).  The nightingale thus functions as an allegory of                                                                                                                                                         found in the BL Harley 116, ff. 152v-152r. To the best of my knowledge these two manuscripts are the only two to contain this elegy. Thus the absence or exclusion of personal address to the aristocracy from these two texts in the Caligula manuscript lends a clue as to the intended audience for this manuscript. One can deduce that the readership or audience of the Caligula would not have been those who identified with the Duchess and her couriers or Lord Cromwell and his followers, and that, aside from the universal message of salvation in the Nyghtyngale, Caligula’s audience members would probably not have shared the Duchess or Duke’s concerns.    355 The Canonical Hours and their referent hours are as follows: matins  1st hour  before daybreak prime  2nd hour 6 AM terce  3rd hour 9 AM sext   4th hour  midday (noon) none  5th hour  3 PM vespers (evensong) 6th hour  6 PM compline  7th hour  before retiring for the night          153 the Christian soul; her message is that she will only suffer a physical death while her soul, because she is repentant, will live on for eternity.   Lydgate’s choice of a nightingale to communicate this message of salvation is an interesting one.  The nightingale has played important and diverse roles in European literature, and “[r]eferences to it are found all along the way from Homer to T.S. Eliot.”356  The most important Latin source of its depiction was in Ovid, who “was read and imitated by many later poets, including Chrétien de Troyes, Chaucer, Gower,” and, of course, Lydgate.357  Medieval readers and audiences would almost certainly associate the nightingale with tales of overt sexuality and lust.  Two medieval manuscripts, Oxford’s MS Corpus Christi College 203 and the Bodlein Lat. Misc c. 66, use (share) the opening lines of Caligula’s version of Lydgate’s Nyghtyngale.  This repeated opening expresses the association of lust with the nightingale, for courtiers of the Duchess of Boyknham were “Desyrous for to here the amerouse sentensce / Of the nyghtyngale” (f. 59r).  The message is that if such a lustful being can seek forgiveness for sinful ways to gain eternal life, then so too is it possible for other sinners to repent and have eternal life.  Throughout The Nyghtyngale, what nobles and mercantile household members alike hear is a lyric of spiritual teaching.  The Nyghtyngale is the messenger “Commandyng theym to here wyth tendernesse” (f. 59r), in hopes that her                                                 356 Chandler, “The Nightingale in Greek and Latin Poetry,” 79; for a detailed tracing of the nightingale’s historic roles see Chandler’s informative article.  357 Ibid., 78.     154 audience will internalize her message and live righteously:  “With loue bulawsle ys hapr hit will deface / And fleschly lust out of theyre hertis chace?” (f. 59r).  In other words, the nightingale is encouraging righteous living. Following on the nightingale’s wisdom, the narrator further reminds the reader that “non other richesse safe only lyberte / With358 which god hat endowed the richy / Ande byddeth the frely shese to lyve or dye / Fro one of tho ne shall thou not deseuer, / in joie or wo to live and dye for ever” (f. 61r).  One’s actions will determine one’s fate.  In the face of death, worldly success and “richesse” are not taken into account; rather, wholesome and spiritual are the markers of success.  A universal personal accountability is the very essence of this lyric, and this accountability extends especially to those who are “entryng the oure of tierce,” like the servants and aspirant apprentices in the household who would be inspired by “A myghty prynce [Duke of Warwyk], lusty, younge, and fierse” (f. 63r) as well as those who are “exalted hye” (f. 63r) on earth, perhaps the successful burgeis:   Ye mighty prynces and lords of a-state In honoure here that are exalted hye Beth ware and wake, deth knokkethg at yor yate And well come in be sure that ye shall dye Call to yor mynde for speciall remedie Oure lordes passion his peyne and pacience                                                 358 Wh scribal error starts line.    155 As medycyne chefe and shelde of all defence (f. 63r) In this way, the lyric addresses all individuals regardless of their stage or station in life; death brings about equality for all individuals, and thus all must do penance for sins.  Every household member, young or old, apprentice or master, servant or maistresse, needed to ensure that they were prepared for the sudden “deth knokk” and subsequent judgement.  This lyric suggests the way to prepare for this is to “Call to… mynde… /Our lords passion… peyne & pacience.”  In essence, meditation on Christ’s suffering was a hallmark of private devotion.  It is important to note the leveling of such meditation, in its appeal to individuals of all social standings.  The merchant class participation in such a humbling devotion in effect enacts a kind of virtuous, self-abasement.  As mentioned above, the poem uses Canonical Hours as a way of indicating the hourly progression of the nightingale’s last day on earth.  This framing is similar to that in Fynde cense in that the advice is contextualized within different stages of the addressee’s life span.  These “hours” function metaphorically in Lydgate’s The Nyghtyngale to indicate specific space and time; for example, the canonical hours pair times in an individual’s life with specific biblical events:  the canonical hour “matin,” for example, is simultaneously “birth,” “dawn,” and “spring,” while also representing the beginning of the world.  “Prime,” then, equals youth, “lusty gaylaunts,” and thus harkens to Solomon’s sayings about the “wanton insolence” of youth (f. 62v).  In charting specific times in one’s life course, and habits associated with age, the text    156 becomes more accessible and applicable to a wider audience.   Such a rendering might too have helped serve as a mnemonic strategy to aid in the teaching and memorization of important biblical events, particularly for young household members.359    The symbolic ordering in The Nightynghale is furthered through its use of images of oppositions.  The nightingale has a reputation of excess, of amorousness and of singing itself to death, yet it is still the messenger of spiritual advice.360  This text contains many instances of symbolic dualisms, such as light versus dark, ascent versus descent, heaven versus hell, good versus evil, spiritual versus physical, temporary versus permanent, etc., and instead of simply interpreting those ideas in constant opposition, we begin to understand that they are inextricably bound together and mutually informative.  That is, one cannot know light until one knows darkness, the beginning until the end.  Similarly, readers were to understood A Doctrine for Pestilence (ff. 65v-66v) as more than a text merely concerned with warding off illness; household members were to recognize the physical impacts as having not only spiritual, but also social implications.   The Nyghtyngale lyric purports that death and judgement are the ultimate equalizer in all lives, including those demarcated by wealth and prestige.  The                                                 359 For a compelling investigation on the cultural meanings and uses of memory, see Carruthers, The Book of Memory.  360 This dualism is much like that of Chaucer’s Wife of Bath and her sermon on the doctrine of gentillesse: “Taak fyr and ber it in þe derkeste hous” (WB Tale, line 1139).    157 Nyghtyngale, thus, has its own way of expressing the doctrine of gentillesse, specifically at folio 59r, stanza 18 in aurora section in the poem, which is often understood as synonymous with the creation of the world, the mighty Lucifer “fell doun for pride to helle,” and “Adam ande also Eue” for “whom that the sotell serpent can deceyue / of pure envye and caused to mischeue,” and consequently “paradise made hym for to voide none,” so too can “worldly pepyll in [their] prosperite” lose their earthly pride and spend an eternity in hell (f. 60v).  Worldly greatness, civic or otherwise, does not negate final judgement.   The Nyghtyngale is also similar to the Fynd cense text in which seemingly simple advice is status marked; for example, readers are advised to “Drynk good wyn and holsom meetis” and to “Ete hem [Poletis and Chekenys] with sauce, and spar nat for dispence / various vynegre, and thynfluence / Of hosom spices” (f. 15v-15r). This is loaded phrasing as only the wealthy could afford good and wholesome meat and spices.  While The Nyghtyngale addresses a range of ages, the wealthy are consistently the presumed audience:  “pepyll in yor prosperity” (f. 60v) know that “Non other richesse safe only liberty” (f. 61r) and “For all thy worldly prde ande veyne desire” the will  “ever in hell be brent with endless fyre” (f. 60v).  Although these texts are rife with indications of a wealthy class of readers, other individuals who might have had access to these texts, but for whom they were not intended, could glean a certain justice in the fact that all individuals, regardless of earthly material success, still face judgement and    158 certain death if living un(w)holey.  Despite disparities in life, all will be subjected to final judgement.  The certainty of judgment and death eternal, then, is an equalizing force which serves to remind the audience of Fynd cense and The Nyghtyngale that the wealthy are not favoured over the poor.  Further, if we look at these three texts in succession or relation to one another, as a medieval reader might have, The Nyghtyngale serves to give the warning, do penance for one’s sins or spend the eternity in the fires of hell: “Sauve þy soule or elles shalt thou smerte / For all thy worldly prde ande veyne desyre / Ande ever in hell be brent with endless fyre” (f. 60v).  It is fitting that the text adjoining The Nyghtyngale is the prayer based on Psalm 53, Deus in Nomine Tuo Saluum me Fac (O God, in Thy name, save me), which offers words for requesting such forgiveness: God in thy name make me safe and sounde And in thi vertu me deme and justifie And as my soule ys seke and rectifie To haue medicine a fore thi dome y crye Wherfore of endeles mercy ax y grace That y deposed be vch day to dye And so to mende whyll y haue tyme and space. (f. 64v)  In this prayer, just as in The Nyghtyngale, the narrator asks “to haue medicine” and acknowledges that “lord thou hast made me fre” (f. 59r).  Again the reader is    159 prompted to ask for forgiveness to ensure eternal freedom, therefore asserting personal responsibility.  Within this household manuscript, the repetition of phrases and the weaving of contrastive metaphors among these texts create a powerful reverberation of the overall message.  While some of the dominant themes in the manuscript are orthodox, in that the texts uphold religious beliefs of the time, these religious lyrics also provide the audience with direct access to God, without the mediation of the Church, thus providing a powerful evocation of a certain selfhood.  In his provocative Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare, (1980), Stephen Greenblatt discusses how the late Middle Ages anticipates the rise of the individual, “the fashioning of human identity as manipulable, artful process.”361  He asserts that “such self-consciousness had been widespread among the elite in the classical world, but Christianity brought a growing suspicion of man’s power to shape identity:  ‘Hands off yourself,’ Augustine declared.  ‘Try to build up yourself and you build a ruin.’”362  “This view,” Greenblatt further states, “was not only one available in succeeding centuries, but it was influential.”363  The pathos of suffering and imitation of Christ practiced in the domestic sphere, alongside advice such as “In halle in chambur or wher þu gon, / Nurtur and good maners makeþ man” (Vrbanitatis ff. 88vb-                                                361 Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning, 1-2.  362 Ibid., 2. quoting Augustine, sermon 169, from Brown, ed. Religion and Society in the Age of Saint Augustine, 30.  363 Ibid.     160 88v) and council to “gete the a good name” (Fynd cense f. 16r) suggests that the late Middle Ages more than anticipates Greenblatt’s “self-fashioning” individual of the sixteenth-century.364  This burgeoning selfhood had been gaining momentum since 1382 when John Wyclif initiated the translation of the Latin Vulgate into the vernacular, Middle English.  His translation brought an accessibility of the Holy Bible to those outside the Church.  As The Nyghtyngale narrator states, “in the byble more pleynly may ye here” the stories and events of past times (f. 62r).  This passage acknowledges, then, that The Nyghtyngale recalls stories from the Bible, but its narrative is told in a more complex, metaphorical manner.  The active movement away from clerical authority towards spiritual accountability, accompanies the movement towards an individuated class of people.  As household manuscripts illustrated, the burgeis were very much concerned with performing their separateness, or monetary success, from the lower classes, alongside their distinctiveness and moderation, from the aristocratic class.  In her essay “Domesticity of Sacred Space,” Jeanne Nuechterlein notes that “[a]s the late medieval laity were increasingly exhorted to focus on their inner spirituality and take responsibility for their own devotions, an increasing proportion of them acquired private devotional objects towards that purpose, including Books of Hours, which by the fifteenth century were widely owned by                                                 364 Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning, 2.     161 urban bourgeoisie as well as the nobility.”365  Further, Bella Millett notes that often scholarship has “argued that the devotions of the Book of Hours passed from monastic hands into those of the secular clergy, and then to the laity.”366  Book of Hours “typically contained a calendar with the saints’ days clearly marked and instruction for calculating when Easter fell.  It also had a collection of hymns, prayers, psalms, and short readings, which were originally set for the monastic community to recite, but which private citizens could also follow.”367  As I have argued above, similar to the Book of Hours, The Nyghtyngale uses the Canonical Hours as a means of structuring and ordering.  An owner of a Book of Hours was expected to recite the series of texts associated with each of the hours at prescribed times corresponding roughly to the canonical hours, the traditional time of the day when the clergy were to pray.  As “[t]he historical events of Christ’s Passion occurred during a single day. . .  the impulse to [align] the main episodes of the Passion to the daily cycle of the canonical hours was a logical one.”368  Margaret de Beauchamp’s Book of Hours uses the canonical hours as the first temporal cycle.  These hours are then overlaid with vignettes of various                                                 365 Nuechterlein, “Domesticity of Sacred Space,” 61.  Also see Webb, “Domestic Space and Devotion,” 27-48.  366 Millett, “Ancrene Wisse and the Book of Hours,” 31.  Renevey and Whitehead, eds., “Introduction,” Writing Religious Women, 11.  367 Welch, “Art and the Household:  The Domestic Setting,” 307.  368 Smith, Art, Identity and Devotion, 58.     162 temporal and liturgical cycles, whether they be the seasons, the days of creation, the ages of the world, or the Canonical Hours.369  These kinds of texts function to consolidate the public and the private spheres—parish church with household chapel, cleric absolution with mediation and direct access to God—thereby marking a possible distinctiveness of the emergent burgeis. Books of hours were adapted as they came to be understood as the “breviary of the laity.”370  Considerable evidence of “lay ownership of Books of Hours” exists particularly “from the early thirteenth century onwards.”371  By the “fifteenth century, the laity had gained access to much of the same kind of contemplative and devotional material that had earlier typified works intended for the recluses of the thirteenth century.”372  In fact, there is much overlapping of texts found in Books of Hours and those found in household manuscripts.  Similar to household manuscripts, Books of Hours are vast in content and form; however, “the primary components of a Book of Hours are as follows:  “the Calendar; the Sequence of the Gospels; the prayers Obsecro te and/or O intemerata; the Hours of the Virgin; the Hours of the Cross; the Hours of the Holy Spirit; the Seven Penitential Psalms; the Litany; the Office of the Dead; and                                                 369 Ibid., 58-59.    370 Millett, “Ancrene Wisse and the Book of Hours,” 26.  371 Ibid., 31.  See also Bell, Medieval Women Book Owners, 742-768.  For a sample of books owned by merchants see Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, 291-294.  372 Newhauser, “Religious Writing,” 40; Deanesly, “Vernacular Books in England,” 352.     163 lastly, the Suffrages of the Saints.”373  Hymns, penitential lyrics, psalms, prayers addressed to particular saints, and confessions are some of the various kinds of religious texts contained within the Caligula manuscript and likewise in other household manuscripts.  There is a clear correspondence of content between these two types of books.   Owning two books certainly conferred greater social standing, but perhaps the justification for the duplication of texts in a household can be better attributed to types of use.   Given the elaborate illumination inherent to most Book of Hours, this manuscript would hardly be practical for teaching children to read.  In her essay “Cultural Networks,” Youngs notes although their content was often identical, “books owned by the gentry were more sparingly illustrated than those acquired by nobles.”374  Providing pastoral care, instruction in religion and governance, was very much part of the householder’s responsibilities; the simple, plain manuscript would be much more for fitting for day-to-day use by all members of the household.  In this way, the religious lyrics could offer access to necessary spiritual texts and lessons, while the lavish book could be used for special occasions or for an aid in affective meditation, given its illustrations.                                                  373 Harthan, The Book of Hours, 15.  374 Deborah Youngs, “Cultural Networks,” 127, as cited by Radulescu, Gentry Culture, 11.  I am not using “gentry” and “merchant” interchangeably.  Much scholarship has shown that these are two different social groups, but as I have discussed in Chapters One and Two these two groups would have moved in the same urban social circles (guild and parish for example), and what is interesting for my concern is that they share interest in the same types of texts.       164 Regardless if a Book of Hours was also present in a late-medieval merchant household, the appropriation and inclusion of religious lyrics in the domestic miscellany offers its readers some means of direct access to God. Given the testamentary and inventory evidence presented, it is reasonable to assert that Books of Hours—and thus religious lyrics such as those found in late-medieval household manuscripts—would have been used as aids in personal devotion in domestic spaces.  The Caligula manuscript contains numerous texts that could serve this exact purpose.  That these lyrics are clustered together provides further evidence of their intended use; for example, at folio 57v, the elegy “O mors quam amara est memoria tua” (O death, how bitter it is to remember you) begins.375  It sets up the reader to be mindful of equality among people, regardless of station, and that each person has free will and the ability to make responsible choices: Popes prelates stande yn perplexyte Crowned conquerens and oþr of a low degree                                                 375 As mentioned in my methodology section, this same lyric is an elegy for the tomb of Lord Ralph Cromwell, d. 1454, yet the Caligula manuscript omits the direct reference to Lord Cromwell.  The Harley manuscript preserves the Lord Cromwell address (lines 49-56): “this worthi lorde of veray polce.”  Thomson writes that Cromwell was well known for his “ostentatious building projects.”  Further, Thompson notes, “in the final stanza both young and old are invited to ‘muse in this mirrour of moralite’ before praying for the souls of the former Lord Treasurer of England and his wife” (185).  Lord Cromwell “died childless in 1456, after a lengthy and at times controversial political career.  He left behind many bitter local and national enemies. . . .  By April 1454, he unambiguously aligned himself to the Yorkist cause.”  The excision of lines 49-56 in the Caligula manuscript might reflect political loyalties (“Looking Behind the Book,” 186).  For further reading on Lord Cromwell, see Oxford Dictionary of National Biography http://www.oxforddnb.com.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/view/article/6767     165 And curyous clerkes forþ with þe they goon376 Þat they ryʒt knyʒtly yn har tyme þou sparest non Marchauntes men of law all under oone Leches labereres fayn wold fro þe fle (f. 57v) Full wyse ys he that kan thenk her upon And for hym self provyde who that he be Be hold thys myrrour with yn thy self and se Thys world ys trnsyryr transcytorie joye þat sone ys gon Whych yn effecte ys but adversyte And of two wayes þu most nedys chefe oon Thenk of fre choyes god hath the yeve a lon With wyt and reson to rule they lyberte Yff thow goo mysse other blame þu non Thy self art cause of thyn ynyquy te [grevith the] (f. 58r) The focus on equality and free will remind readers that they are personally responsible for tending to spiritual matters, that worldly “joye” is fleeting and “transcytorie.“  The metaphorical “myrrour” must be used to see if one is leading                                                 376 In the manuscript this line was skipped in error, and so the scribe copied it at the bottom of page and used a scribal mark ∴ to indicate where the line was supposed to be.  Additionally, for this lyric the first line of every new stanza was denoted with the following mark: ☙  This and similar marks are used in various texts in this manuscript; these marks could have functioned to aid reading, especially when reading aloud.  Similarly, a system of rhyme brackets is employed in a number of texts to emphasize related lines.  Hardman notes the use of rhyme brackets as well in The Heege Manuscript, MS Advocates 19.3.1 (Hardman, “Household Miscellanies,” 31).     166 a “chirible” and godly life.  This call for earnest self-reflection is then followed by The first introit of sapience, a paraphrase of the Ten Commandments, on a single folio at f. 58v.  Repentance of sin is a consistent concern throughout the Caligula manuscript and other household manuscripts; for example, at folio 69r in the Caligula is the lyric “For þi Synnes Amendes make.”377  This functions as an aid in contrition and penance.  The manuscript contains other religious lyrics that are penitential.  Quinque wlnera (Five wounds) is one example of the penitential; it is set off from the larger group of religious lyrics, occurring at folio 134v.  Quinque wlnera parallels texts on the Passion of Christ commonly found in Book of Hours.  This kind of affective worship, meditation on suffering and grace of Christ, is prescribed in The Nyghtyngale piece:   Call to yor mynde for speciall remedie Oure lords passion his payne and pacience As medycyne chefe and shelde of all defence (f. 63r) For those medieval readers who discern repentance as a simple cure-all for unchristian / uncharitable living, the narrator warns that “Deth cometh in hast he will not be for-born… /  For whosoeuer in dedly synne expyreth / Ther is no pardon that may abregge his payne” (f. 61r).  Therefore, “All vise to eschew and                                                 377 This lyric is also housed in the famous Vernon manuscript.  The Vernon is often regarded as “the largest and arguably the most important Middle English anthology” W. Scase (ed.), The Making of the Vernon Manuscript: The Production and Contexts of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Eng. poet. a. 1 (Brepols, 2012).  It is also one of the most lavish anthologies in the medieval period; Ian Doyle asserts its ownership to a small religious house, most likely a nunnery.  See his introduction to The Vernon Manuscript:  A Facsimile of Bodleian Library Oxford MS Eng. poet. a. 1 (Brewer, 1987).    167 vertuosly be-gynne / For whosoeuver in dedly synne expyreth, ther is no pardon” (f. 62r).  Such emotional pathos would certainly have registered with many a household member, especially given the unpredictability of death by “derke mystes” (f. 60r), “plages sore” (f. 62r), “mystys blake and eyr of pestytlence” (f. 16r) as mentioned in Fynd cense, or the ever-present threat of doomsday as chronicled at folio 89r:  Quindecim signa ante diem iudicij (The 15 Signs of Doomsday).  All of the above texts are housed in this domestic anthology.  Further, the specific addresses to those in the tierce of their lives encourages readers to “Bew nothyny prowde thy byrth thus to remembre, / Thou has thy youth dispended folilye” (f. 61r).  Older readers would identify with and perhaps recall their own poor decisions in youth; although their errors in judgement were in the past, they still needed to be contrite and seek forgiveness.  While the text implies that youthful ways can be forgiven, it simultaneously acknowledges and legitimizes the poor behaviour of younger people, thereby reinforcing a tension that resides generally within this new class ideology.  Controlling behaviour was a central concern for those living in medieval times.378  Young gallants were of special concern—with the chivalric resonances in this instance the text is pointed more towards young men—young women reading alongside them would inculcate a tolerance for a young man’s                                                 378 McIntosh, Controlling Misbehavior, 66-67.      168 “waunton weyes” (f. 62v).379  This model of masculinity, which exhorted young men to be bold, zealous, and adventurous, that is, to go off to foreign lands and conquer beasts, is a recurring theme in several of the romance texts also found in the Caligula manuscript, including Sir Eglamour and Sir Isumbras.  In addition, however, the high Middle Ages brought the emergence of contractual rules for apprentices who lived as family members with their masters and mistresses.  In contrast to the romances, indentures spelled out in detail the expected moral, social, and professional conduct of the life of an apprentice, including his sexual activities.380 The canonical hours in The Nyghtyngale represent the progressional stages of life, while simultaneously addressing a multiplicity of readers.  The canonical hours, then, represent the diversity of the readers of this miscellany, Cotton Caligula A.ii, and thus the domestic household more generally.   English pre-modern household formation and demography have been the subject of much scholarship.381  We now understand that young people were often living in the houses of other merchant families to gain an education, apprenticeship training, and social connections.  The household configuration, as                                                 379  MED “waunton” (a) Not properly or sufficiently controlled, ill-governed, unregulated; also, lacking in discipline, inclined to recklessness; also, inappropriate, contrary to the dictates of good manners (b) resistant to control, recalcitrant, refractory; also, given to rebelliousness, wilfulness, insolent behavior, etc.; as noun: one who is incorrigible or ill-behaved.  380 Goldberg and Riddy, eds., Youth in the Middle Ages; Davis, Writing Masculinity, 122.  381 For example, Goldberg, Women, Work, and Life Cycle, 233-43; see also Goldberg, “Marriage, Migration, and Servanthood,” 1-15, esp. chs 4 and 5; McSheffry (ed.), Love and Marriage in Late-Medieval London; Rees Jones, “Household, Work and the Problem of Mobile Labour,” 133-53.      169 discussed in Chapter Two of this thesis, was not only composed of the nuclear family, but extended to apprentices and servants:  “service in husbandry. . .  was not an adult occupation, but. . .  a stage in the progression from child living with parents to married adult.”382  In the later Middle Ages, living as a servant “was an experience shared by many young women and probably most young men before the time of their marriage.”383  In her essay Phillippa Maddern argues that “[t]he ideal household community could include only one married couple, the heads of the family.  All subordinate household members should be celibate.”384  Such standards imply a certain preoccupation with an apprentice’s moral behaviour in the household; this anxiety over behavioural impropriety is depicted in both the Fynd cense and The Nyghtyngale.  Supposed sexual digressions could also involve the housemistress, the daughters, and the female servants living in the household.385  Through aural reading in the households, a habit widely practiced,386 all household members would have been exposed to                                                 382 Maddern, “In myn own house,” 46.   383 McIntosh, Working Women, 46.  Also see, Houlbrooke, The English Family, 66-7.   384 Maddern, “In myn own house,” 45.  385 Laslett, Family Life, 34.  386 For early seminal works on the question of aural reading see Crosby, “Oral Delivery,” 88-110; for comprehensive collection of essays providing an overview of aurality in the Middle Ages see:  Reichl, ed. Medieval Oral Literature; and for critical works pertaining to medieval romances see, again, Reichl, “Orality and Performance,” 132-149, and also Coleman, “Reading Malory,” 48-70.      170 these texts and their ideological messages around respectable Christian behaviour.   Constructions of normalcy and expectations regarding behaviour based on the sexed body are often at the very core of medieval texts contained in household anthologies.  Even without a conscious teaching of social roles and expectations, there is in the aural reading of the household manuscript a tangible articulation of those ideals.  Even when children were not taught in a formal way, they were nevertheless, in the context of the household, immersed in the rhetoric of edification.   Often, this rhetoric involved examples from the lives of saints.  Felicity Riddy has argued that “the literary culture of nuns in the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and that of devout gentlewomen not only overlapped but were more or less indistinguishable.”387  The same books were “read in nunneries and households, around which,” Riddy suggests, “pious women of all estates created a strong feminine sub-culture.”388  The saint’s lives, such as St. Eustache at ff. 137v-139v, functioned as religious narratives, but these “could in some cases be more explicitly didactic and exemplary, providing models of social behaviour” for their readers.389  The saint’s lives written by Lydgate and Capgrave (a prolific                                                 387 Riddy, “Women Talking,” 110.  388 Ibid.   389 St. Eustache is the patron saint of hunting and firefighting, as well as anyone facing adversity,  http://www.learn.columbia.edu/treasuresofheaven/saints/Eustace.php        171 author and Augustinian friar of Lynn), although often “written in religious houses, circulated among the literate laity for whom they explicitly modelled genteel and pious conduct.”390   According to Rees Jones, “[s]ome of the greatest anxieties expressed in both literature and records of the period concerned the challenges to masterliness” at home and in the city.391  As discussed in Chapter Three, the householder’s role was to govern the household, the domus, and be an involved citizen in his political community, the civitas.  This mirrors the teachings of St. Augustine, as he conceptualized the “household as a microcosm of the city.”392  In his The City of God Against the Pagans, Augustine writes:  “domestic peace has reference to civic peace:  that is, the ordered concord of domestic rule and obedience has reference to the ordered concord of civic rule and obedience.”393  The householder should show fair rule and compassion with his familia and with his larger community.  The sense of obligation to exercise justice is clearly articulated in the Confession I crye god mercy an oure lady seynt marye found at f. 69vr,  Also I have not fulfylled þe vij. werkes of mercy noþr bodyly ne gostely/not fedyng the hungry/not vysette hem þat were in                                                 390 Ashley, “Accounts of Lives,” 447-48.  391 Rees Jones, “City and County,” 69.  392 MacDonald, Pauline Churches, 178, as cited in Riddy, “Authority and Intimacy,” 213-14.  393 Augustine, The City of God Against the Pagans.  edited and translated by R. W. Dyson, 945.  Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1996, as cited by Riddy, “Authority and Intimacy,” 214.     172 pryson/noʒth conforted þe seke/not clothed þe naked/nor beryed þe dede as a crysten creature shulde do/  This generic Confession is laden with the pathos evoked by guilt at not meeting the expected behaviours of a “crysten creature.”  The expectations for Werkes of Mercy are, significantly, the very same acts depicted in the Blackburn stained glass windows at All Saints Church (see Chapter Three).  This text from the Caligula household manuscript, just like the Blackburn window, espouses the ethos of burgeis respectability: caring and providing for those not as fortunate as one’s self. Religious lyrics are a prominent genre in late-medieval household miscellanies.  They provided the medieval reader with a rich and key set of texts necessary for learning to live a pious life and reiterated new ethos of the merchant class.  That these were included in household anthologies speaks to the increase in private, domestic devotion.  Private piety, then, is one of the hallmarks of the mercantile burgeis class.  In the same way religious lyrics are valuable for potentially discerning the new burgeis ethos, so too are romances; despite previous academic dismissal, they embed fantastic tales of knightly adventure and abuse, dramatizations of aristocratic family life and loss, all the while asserting values of the burgeis.        173 Chapter Six:  Romancing the Household: (Con)Textual Relationships   Of the forty-one texts contained in BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1, eight are identified as romance, making this an important collection of medieval romances.394  Of these romances, four have features unique to the Caligula manuscript: its version of Sir Launfal survives only in this manuscript, Emaré is a unique copy of the Constance saga, the Isumbras text contains a single stanza found only here, and the southern version of Octovian Imperator is preserved only in the Cotton Caligula A.ii.  While the extensive presence and unique versions of romances in the Caligula manuscript are intriguing, their physical placement in the larger manuscript is also compelling.  As this analysis will establish, the romances contained in the Caligula manuscript are centred on an inter-textual commonality: the narratives are united in their concern with matters of family and domesticity.  Contextually, this is significant to understanding the manuscript as an inter-related collection of texts whose unity reflects the concerns and aspirations of the medieval mercantile class.  Recent scholarship, such as that found in the collection edited by Rhiannon Purdie and Michael Cichonnald entitled Medieval Romance, Medieval                                                 394 It should be noted that in this analysis I have included romance texts subcategorized as Breton Lays. While I acknowledge that much scholarship has striven to distinguish the differences between lays and romances, most scholars concur that the most distinguishing feature is the shortened length of a Lay when compared to a romance text. Because lays follow the general pattern and subject matters indicative of romance texts, they will be included within my analysis.  For an engaging discussion of the commonality of lay and romance texts see Beston’s “How Much Was Known of the Breton Lai in Fourteenth-Century England?”    174 Contexts is attempting to recuperate romance texts from previous dismissive opinions that undermine serious scholarly study of this genre: “from its inception [pre-twentieth-century], scholarship on the Middle English popular romances has been characterised by a thinly—if at all—veiled repugnance to the romances themselves, not only to their poetic form but their subject matter and the medieval audience who is imagined to enjoy them.”395  For example, in 1980 Derek Pearsall stated, it is “difficult to understand why poems that are so bad according to almost every criteria of literary value should have held such a central position in the literary culture of their own period.”396 Yet, in 2011, over thirty years after he penned the above quotation, Pearsall offered “a recantation,” stating he now acknowledges the value and pleasure in reading medieval romance:  “The cumulative effect of the Middle English popular romance is the irresistible bonding of the audience into the story, almost independent of any teller or reciter.  The romances do what they do consummately well.”397  That “romances survive in more than ninety manuscripts, ranging. . .  from about 1330 to the seventeenth century,” and that they “continued to be popular in England for some three hundred years after their first appearance attests to their value to the medieval and early modern                                                 395 McDonald’s Pulp Fictions of Medieval England, 5.  Here McDonald cites Percy, Scott, and Ker, for instance.  See too Purdie and Cichonnald, eds., Medieval Romance, Medieval Contexts.   396 Pearsall, “Understanding Middle English Romance,” 105.  397 Pearsall, “The Pleasure of Popular Romance,” 11, 18.     175 reader.”398  Indeed, past dismissive attitudes to romance texts seem strikingly odd, given their status as medieval England’s most popular secular genre.399  In William Fahrenhback’s recent essay “Rereading Clement in Thomas Chestre’s Octavian and the BL Cotton Caligula A.ii,” he too begins with a survey tracing a long list of negative scholarship of the romances.  In this same article, Fahrenback advocates that the late-medieval manuscript like the Caligula A.ii is especially significant in that it houses eight romance texts and its scribe was deliberate in thematic unity of these romances.400  Numerous scholars have commented on the high occurrence of romance texts within these miscellany manuscripts; specifically, Julia Boffey and John Thompson argue that “romance narratives seem to have remained the staple diet” of the composite manuscript.401  Furthermore, these “romances occur near each other, as though they circulated together in the scribes’ exemplars.”  For example, “[i]n the Lincoln Thornton Manuscript, one booklet (ff. 53-153) contains the Alliterative Morte Arthur, Octavian, Isumbras, Erle of Tolous, Sir Degrevant, and Eglamour of Artois.  A booklet in Cambridge MS Ff. 2.38 (ff. 63-102) contains Erle of                                                 398 White, “BL Cotton Caligula,” 16; see also, Severs, A Manual, 12.  399 McDonald, “Intro,” 1.  400 Fahrenbach, “Rereading Clement,” 91-92.  401 Boffey and Thompson, “Anthologies and Miscellanies,” 292.    176 Tolous, Eglamour, Tryamour, and Octavian.”402  The Caligula manuscript also contains many of these:  in folios 22-56, three romances are clustered together: Octavian Impertor, Launfal, and Libeaus Disconus.  United in physical placement, these three romances are also united thematically.  This cluster of romances is primarily concerned with issues of family.  Specifically, families in Ocatvian and Eglamour “are separated by conflicts among family members,” while Isumbras’ family is “separated by causes which lie outside the family, in spiritual relationships.”403  “Octavian is a family romance; the plot is set in motion by infertility and the desire for an heir,” while “[a]dultery, illegitimacy, and infanticide threaten the family stability. . . .”404  These three narratives focus on family endurance.  It is striking that even the text which opens this manuscript, The Pistil of Swete Susan, although a biblical narrative, is also concerned with familial relationships, particularly female respectability, reputation, and domestic obligations.  Interestingly, Eglamour of Artois, which I will discuss in greater detail in the following pages, although separate from this cluster, is close by, following                                                 402 Hudson, Four Middle English Romances: Sir Isumbras, Octavian, Sir Eglamour of Artois, Sir Tryamour, 3.  403 Hudson, Middle English Romances, 8.  404 Ibid., 47.     177 The Pistil of Swete Susan at folio 5, and it too is concerned with “family and social conflict, codes of conduct, and moral values.”405  The first cluster of romance texts deals with conflicts among family members, and by logical extension one would expect the didactic works to be found close by.  In fact, Lydgate’s Fynd cense, discussed in Chapter Four, immediately precedes this group of romance texts.  Thus, texts providing instruction on how to manage one’s family and household members precede stories of families attempting to live as a cohesive family unit.  These romances, then, can be read as threats of possible outcomes should one fail to heed the appropriate behaviours outlined in the didactical works.   Upon closer examination, the textual variants amongst other versions of the romance further indicate that the compiler of the Caligula was concerned with its audience.  As mentioned previously, Octovian Imperator is part of the first of two clusterings of romance texts in this manuscript. The Southern version included in the Caligula is markedly unique and fits well within the household context.  Although the protagonist “Florent reveals his status and wins his lady in combat,” the Caligula’s Octovian Imperator “battle scenes are not particularly embellished:  only one combat between individuals is described, that of Florent and Arageous, and the sequences of attacks and exchanges of blows are not                                                 405 Ibid., 115.     178 relayed in any detail.”406  This conservative treatment of violence makes sense if the audience or readers were in a domestic setting, indeed if it were a book intended for all members of a household.407  The second clustering of romance texts runs from folio 111r to 134r and is, again, primarily concerned with matters of family.  It contains The Siege of Jerusalem, Chevelere Assigne, and Sir Isumbras.  Isumbras, which is a secularized re-telling of the legend of Saint Eustance, survives in more manuscripts and prints than any other romance.408  Again, the families in the romance texts in this second cluster are separated by “causes which lie outside the family, in spiritual relationships,” whereas the family in the Isumbras romance, “is separated so that Isumbras can atone to God for his sins, specifically excessive pride.”409  Similar to the Octovian romance, Caligula’s Isumbras lacks the heroic or violent amplifications found in other similar manuscripts, such as Lincoln Cathedral MS 91 (also called the Lincoln Thornton MS), National Library of Scotland Advocates MS 19.3.1 (also called the Heege Manuscript), and Bodleian MS Library Ashmole                                                 406 Hudson, Middle English Romances, 50.  407 In addition to the interrelated themes, these three romances were possibly compiled together by virtue of common authorship—Launfal mentions Thomas Chestre explicitly at its closing, at the bottom of the first column of 42r Libeaus, which follows, begins at the top of the second column, and is the only long item in the manuscript to start on a b-column of a folio. In his Re-Reading Middle English Romances, Murray Evans suggests that the sequence of these three romances is inherited from its exemplar, perhaps even from Chestre’s original (71).  408 As mentioned in the religious lyric Chapter Five, the Life of St Eustance is also included in the Caligula manuscript.  409 Hudson, Middle English Romances, 8.    179 61.410  The governing emphasis of Caligula’s Isumbras is on edification, which, as Evans says, is “a characteristic that is well-suited to this manuscript.”411  It is worthwhile to note that much like the Caligula, two of the three above named collections containing Isumbras are also identified as household manuscripts and included in the sample list for this dissertation.  The Siege of Jerusalem is often referred to as an “exemplary” or “homiletic” romance;412 it is a markedly didactic treatment, which blends instructions and edification with entertainment;413 that is, it is a romance that holds membership in two genres—romance and religious lyric; the Siege of Jerusalem therefore combines the heroic with the edifying.  “Chevalere Assigne shares this homiletic [quality; it] is an exemplum of God’s help to the wronged – in this case, a queen and her children under the sway of an evil mother-in-law.”414  That all of these texts are also concerned with the inner workings of the family fits well within the interests and concerns of burgeis readership.  They can be understood as depicting idealized examples of how to conduct one self, emulating chivalrous, courageous, and spiritual faithfulness.                                                  410 In her 1978 Medium Aevum article, Phillipa Hardman was the first to publish on similar edits to the Isumbras romance found in the Heege MS.  Since then, Mary E. Shaner has also noted the revisions to the text; like Hardman she argues it was “edited for the entertainment and instruction of the young.”  See Shaner, “Instruction and Delight,” 5-15.   411 Evans, Rereading Middle English Romance, 71.  412 Mehl, The Middle English Romances, 85. 413 McSparran, Octovian Imperator, 45.   414 Evans, Re-reading Middle English Romance, 70.    180 Moreover, and more specifically in relation to the manuscript context, placing these romances amongst religious works reiterates the idea that the personal is inextricably entwined with the spiritual and that religion should be practical and practiced as a part of the everyday.  That the Caligula, and similar compendia, weaves together the religious and the political indicates that the romances in this manuscript were not only intended for entertainment, but also for edification and guidance.  A similar pattern is visible in Lydgate’s Fynd cense, found at folio 14r.  This is a didactic work in which advice is given on raising well-mannered, physically healthy, spiritually-aware children into moral adults, as explored in Chapter Four.  Further, and consistent with the shift of religious practice into the domestic environment, it is not surprising that the Caligula manuscript houses texts used to aid in spiritual edification and wellbeing, such as “Make amends” and a confession in verse forms, both of which appear on folio 69v, positioned between the two clusters of romance texts.  Placing these highly entertaining romances alongside more serious didactic and biblical works does not negate the messages embedded in the instructional texts, but rather reinforces them through the power of imaginative narrative.  The narratives of romance are amusing and, while they often include a protagonist in need of a moral lashing and a plot stretched beyond reasonable limits (such as children carried off into the woods by animals, dragons in need of slaying, and families overcoming insurmountable odds to reunite), buried within these narratives are subversive and    181 persistent messages critiquing dominant, aristocratic ideology and power structures.  The formulaic plots and stock characters of the romance texts and didactic narratives provided a safe space within which critiques could reside.  That these narratives were perceived as the “principal secular literature of entertainment” further aided in the undetected circulation of their challenges to aristocratic ideals.415  Indeed, the romance and didactic narratives provided the very space, a textual zone between rich and poor, for writers to confirm and critique social and political norms.  They also provided the opportunity for the medieval imagination to flourish and ultimately supersede that which is depicted in these texts.  These texts show that when the protagonist, who has good moral and spiritual worth—or at least the potential for such—endures hardship, whether those trials were instigated within or without the family, eventually, that individual will realize grace and success regardless of noble blood.  The Earl’s fall, literally from the tower and symbolically from virtue or nobility, is a parallel example:   This olde erle Sir prynsamoure Fell down bakward of a towre And brake hys nekke be lyve A messengere come before to tell What kyns aunterus þe Erle be fell Wyth God may no man stryfe All nyʒt þer þey lay (f. 13ra)                                                 415 Pearsall, “Middle English Romance and its Audience,” 42.    182 The ascent of Eglamour and descent of Prisounoer are synonymous with their interiority.  This contestation of values is embodied in the doctrine of gentillesse.  One can read this conflict in a subversive manner, interpreting the binary opposites of bad versus good and dominant versus subordinate as an articulation of noble/mercantile/peasant distinction within the hierarchical system of medieval England.  In other words, the literal battles and conflicts within romance narratives can be read allegorically as an articulation of the class struggle within the everyday medieval world.   Further articulation of such class struggle can be seen in the very form of the romances found in the Caligula.  Romance texts were the choice narrative of medieval England, specifically those written in Rime Royal and five-stress couplets.  This form is typical of Chaucer and the courtly writers.  Most of Cotton Caligula A.ii’s romance texts, however, are written in tail-rhyme (6 and 12 stanza scribe marked), a style that would seem to have been not in much favour with sophisticated and refined audiences.416  It would not seem to be merely                                                 416 See John B. Beston’s article “How Much Was Known of the Breton Lai in Fourteenth-Century England?” where he aligns the couplet lays with a “rather sophisticated audience, familiar with the courtly tradition,” and the tail-rhyme lays with “a somewhat crude but robust audience.”  See also, chapter “Creative Revisions” in Women’s Power in Late Medieval Romance where the intended audience reception of Sir Launfal is discussed.  Amy Vines notes that Thomas Chestre’s version, which is found in the Caligula at ff. 35v-42va, “has endured a good deal of critical censure for what many saw as its preoccupation with rhyme, its substandard revision of an original French tale [Marie de France’s version]” (118).  Vines notes Marie’s audience “has most often been associated with the court of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine,” whereas Chestre’s version is, according to Bliss, “catering to a mixed audience of no more than average intelligence” (119).  As further noted by Vines, Laskaya and Salisbury argue “the fact that Sir Launfal is written in tail-rhyme rather than ostosyllabic couplets, suggests that it is a more popular and less aristocratic poem than the highly crafted Lanfual by Marie de France” (202).  See my footnotes 417-421, for further sources addressing tail-rhyme reception.     183 coincidental then that Chaucer the courtly poet is not included in the boards of this household book.  In fact, as Laura Loomis has noted, Chaucer mercilessly satirizes tail-rhyme romances in his Tale of Sir Thopas.  She further identifies the Auchinleck manuscript, MS Advocates 19.2.1, a household miscellany similar to the Caligula, although excluded from the sample corpus in this dissertation as it was compiled much earlier in the 1330s,417 version of Guy of Warwick as the tail-rhyme romance source for Chaucer’s Tale of Thopas.418  Felicity Riddy has argued that the Cambridge University Library MS Ff. 2.38’s large collections of stories in non-Chaucerian modes are something other than merely a compilation for “well-doing, devout readers of modest intellectual accomplishments,” as some modern scholars have argued; rather, she posits, these “are stories for people who do not care about ‘literary’ fashion, and whose tastes allow them to reject aristocratic forms as much as ape them.”419  Of this household miscellany, which is included in the manuscript sample for this dissertation, Riddy also notes “all these anonymous poems in CUL Ff. 2.38 are, moreover, in tail-rhyme or four stress couplets; there is nothing by Chaucer, Gower or Lydgate and nothing written in the Chaucerian stanza forms—rime royal and five-stress couplets—that writers in                                                 417 In the “Introduction” to the facsimile production of the Auchinleck manuscript, Derek Pearsall argues that “the taste that it [the Auchinleck] appeals to and is designed for is that of the aspirant middle-class citizen, perhaps a wealthy merchant” (viii).  418 Loomis, “The Tale of Sir Thopas,” 111.  419 Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, 16.     184 the fifteenth-century traditionally adopted.”420  Echoing Loomis’ earlier position, Riddy argues:   Chaucer had made it clear in the 1390s that, as far as he was concerned, tail-rhyme was the medium of choice of the unrefined; his mockery of the stanza in “The Tale of Sir Thopas” was a way of coding his own formal inventions, by contrast, as socially prestigious.  His fifteenth-century followers understood this and many of them adopted Chaucerian modes.  We find rime royal used by Osbern Bokenham and John Capgrave for saints’ lives; by John Hardyng for a chronicle; by John Metham for a romance. . . .  421   Thus the concentrated presence of tail-rhyme romances and the marked absence of Chaucer speaks to a certain sensibility and character of household manuscripts.  The Caligula manuscript, and household manuscripts in general, similarly participates in this selective process; some kinds of texts typically associated with aristocratic consumption have been appropriated and then modified to suit this new burgeis class.  Importantly, while these texts embody some aristocratic sensibilities, the desire for elevated social standing, for example, they espouse an ethos associated with the urban burgeis in late-medieval                                                 420 Riddy, “Temporary Virginity,” 200.  421 Ibid.      185 England—namely civic virtue, domesticity, neighbourliness, literacy, piety, charity, and upward social mobility.  The “household book” embodies such oppositions, setting up a tension between old and new values; this is reflected, in part, through the eclectic selection of texts it contains.  As noted in Chapter One, the readership and audience of these household manuscripts, the domestic milieu, the familia, extends beyond the nuclear family to include other members of the household, such as family relatives and servants.  Indeed the vast selection of texts contained within the boards of these household books suggests they were used for a variety of purposes and quite possibly by a variety of persons.  The tension carried in these texts lies in their expression of new urban domestic values and desires while simultaneously carrying some of the values of the aristocratic class.  The burgeis household was the context, then, of both ideological confirmation and contestation.  The Caligula manuscript, through the variety of texts contained within its boards, is a complex articulation of these power struggles.  Given the recurring themes embedded in its romance texts and their placement alongside other texts contained in the manuscript carrying similar themes, it is highly likely that the Caligula served as a book used within a household context.  Both clusters of romance texts center on domestic family issues, and these concerns are reiterated in the other texts in the Caligula manuscript.  I am not suggesting a single homogeneous reading of the romance texts in the Caligula, but rather an extraction of    186 thematic unity from the patterns in textual placement.  While many divergent plots and themes are simultaneously sustained in the Caligula, critical analysis shows an inter-textual commonality in these romances within the larger context of the manuscript itself. Sir Eglamour of Artois Typical of romance texts in household manuscripts, Sir Eglamour of Artois, found in the Caligula manuscript at ff. 5v-13r, expresses attitudes and anxieties consistent with its mercantile burgeis audience.  That the variety of texts contained in these compilation manuscripts is patron specific, the high incidence of romances might suggest not only a familiarity with these stories, but also a reader preference.  Appearing in six surviving manuscripts, Sir Eglamour of Artois seems to have been one of the most popular medieval romances.422  Given its engaged characters and thrilling narrative, it is not difficult to imagine it being used within the household context, shared orally for an evening of entertainment or for private reading on behavioural instruction.   As Harriet Hudson from Four Middle English Romances, aptly summarizes: Eglamour, a knight, falls in love with Cristabel, the only child of his lord,                                                 422 Sir Eglamour appears in British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91, Cambridge University Library MS Ff. 2.38, British Library MS Egerton 2862, Bodleian MS Douce 261, and British Library MS Additional 27879 (called the Percy Folio).  As illustrated previously, that three of these manuscripts containing Eglamour are also included in the sample of household manuscripts, see Chapter Two for complete list and summary of each, further reiterates that the Caligula should also be regarded as a household miscellany.  For a list of selected published editions of Sir Eglamour, see Table 1 of this dissertation.    187 Princeamour, the Earl of Artois. He bemoans his lower rank to the point of lovesickness, but she reciprocates his feelings and he recovers. Princeamour agrees to give Eglamour Cristabel and his earldom if he performs three feats of arms, which it soon becomes clear that he intends the knight to fail. Eglamour completes his first task with ease, capturing a deer from the giant Arrok and slaying him in the process. He returns to Artois with Arrok’s head, and Princeamour immediately sends him to kill a boar that is terrorising Sydon, which he does in a gruelling four-day battle.  He also rescues the people of Sydon from Arrok’s brother, Marras, who raised the boar and is attempting to abduct their princess, Organate.  The grateful King offers Eglamour his crown and his daughter, who gives him a ring and promises to wait fifteen years for him.  Eglamour returns to Artois bearing the giant’s head, to the delight of Cristabel and the anger of Princeamour.  The couple profess their love and spend the night together.  After twenty weeks, Princeamour gives Eglamour his third task: to slay a dragon in Rome.  He succeeds, but is wounded and spends the next year being cared for by Diamontowre, the Emperor’s daughter, in her bedchamber. During this time Cristabel gives birth to a son and her enraged father has them put to sea in a rudderless boat.  As soon as they reach land, the child is carried off by a griffin, but is found by the King of Israel who christens him    188 Degrabel and raises him as his heir.  The distraught Cristabel travels on to Egypt, where she is taken into the court of the king, her uncle.  Eglamour returns to Artois with the dragon’s head and Princeamour, afraid of the knight, retreats into a tower. Eglamour seizes power and departs for the Holy Land, where he lives for fifteen years. Meanwhile, Degrabel has become a noble knight, whose arms show a child carried by a griffin.  The King of Israel suggests that he should marry and they travel to Egypt, where the two Kings arrange a tournament with Cristabel as the prize.  Degrabel is victorious, but after they are married Cristabel sees his arms and realises he is her son.  The unconsummated marriage is dissolved, and the kings agree that her suitors must beat Degrabel in combat. This second tournament is attended by Eglamour, bearing his new arms: a ship, a drowning lady and a child.  He knocks Degrabel down with the flat of his sword and is declared the winner.  Christabel recognises him by his arms, and joyfully introduces Degrabel to his father.  The King of Israel tells how he found the child, and the King of Sydon promises Degrabel Organate.  They all travel to Artois, where Princeamour falls from his tower    189 and dies.  Eglamour and Cristabel are married in the same lavish ceremony as Degrabel and Organate. 423 Sir Eglamour’s themes are consistent with other romances of the time, and its concerns reflect the larger historical context.  This was a time of economic and social instability; there was a “dramatic drop in population from 1348-49 plague and resulting demographic conditions that held the population at a low level until at least the end of the fifteenth century, higher rates of geographic mobility, changes in landholding patterns caused by leasing of the demesnes of most great estates and consolidation of many smallholdings, weakening of constraints imposed by villeinage, and the consequences of increased woolen cloth production.”424  There was, in simple terms, more to share among fewer people; “the substantially lowered population meant a greater amount of land per capita, many peasants had gained greater freedom and mobility, vacant housing abounded, and agricultural wages were high.”425  These factors, coupled with the emergence of capitalism, and the merchant class, further destabilized existing systems of exchange and value.  Thus material indices traditionally used to                                                 423 Hudson, Four Middle English Romances, 115-116; see also Hornstein’s apt summary as quoted in Severs, Manual, 124.  424 McIntosh, “Finding Language for Misconduct,” 110-11.  425 Ibid., 112.     190 measure and assert class were no longer reliable.426  The material indices marked in the household manuscript can be read against the impulse of the times and challenged against feudalistic ideals.  It was a time of stability for economic and social stratification:  older times where one’s actions or deeds determined one’s value, as was seen through chivalry and knighthood.  The text of Sir Eglamour reflects this change, carrying a tension between old and new values.  Sir Eglamour is, on one hand, a testament to older times wherein one’s actions or deeds determined one’s value.  Yet, on the other, the text carries a system of exchange that disturbs feudal conventions, not only driving the plot, but a new set of values, forward.  Sir Eglamour, in particular, reflects aristocratic ideologies; the role and function of family and marriage, social construction of gender, and contestations of value are readily apparent.  Consistently the narrative expresses chivalrous ideals.  For example, one’s value is inherent, but must be realized.  In romance texts, this realization is often symbolized and realized through journeys.  In these, which are sometimes physical,                                                 426 Much like today, clothing was a symbolic medium for performing one’s station in the late Middle Ages.  It was a common moral precept that one should not dress beyond their means; however, given the upset to once rigid pre-plague socioeconomic groupings, certain groups had greater personal wealth and could afford to buy clothing that marked them as very wealthy.  While some sumptuary legislation was already in place, “the first sumptuary law to have survived, dated 1337, was aimed at limiting imports of luxury cloth and furs. . .  for the Royal family, the prelates, earls, barons, knights, ladies and clergy with benefices worth at least 100 pounds sterling a year” (Lachaud, “Dress and Social Status,” Heraldry, Pageantry, 106).  Further regulation flourished in late 14th century England.  These new edicts focused on the regulation of dress articulating post-Plague anxieties about gradation of status and social mobility.  For a useful study on the importance of clothes in medieval culture, see Susan Crane, Performance of Self; Coss et al (eds.), Heraldry, Pageantry and Social Display in Medieval England; Phillips, “Masculinities and the Medieval English Sumptuary Laws”; and Davis, Writing Masculinity.     191 but always spiritual, one’s worth is realized.  However, romances such as Sir Eglamour were at the same time fundamental in asserting new class-and gender-marked ideologies of late-medieval England.  Upon successful completion of the Earl’s tests, Sir Eglamour not only wins the girl, Cristabelle, but is justly rewarded:   Syr Eglamor kneled on hys kne And lord gode ʒelde hyt the ʒe have made hym a manne The kyng sayde I schall hym ʒeve Half my londes whyle I leve My sone as whyte as swanne (f. 13ra) Because of his virtue, good deeds, strength of will, and faith (in God and good faith in the Earl that he would be true to his word), “lord gode…  made hym a manne.”  Eglamour’s good and gentil nature, “whyte as swanne,” is recognized by the King and thus he is moved to “ʒeve / Half my londes.”  Ultimately, this romance reinforces the notion expressed in Urbanitas, as signalled in my title-phrase, “Nurture and manners makeþ man,” that the individual is indeed a self-made man.  From the onset we learn that Eglamour is of lesser status than Cristabelle, daughter of the Earl of Artois.  Nevertheless, he is not some random knight, an outsider, but rather a member of the Earl’s court.  The narrative is set into play through    192 Eglamour’s attempt to gain the Earl’s permission to marry Cristabelle.  This quest for the Earl’s approval must be read against the knowledge that privately Sir Eglamour and Cristabelle have already agreed to marry and have consummated that union, which makes it a valid and binding marriage according to canon law.  Pope Alexander III insisted that neither parental decision nor public ceremony was necessary to make a valid marriage, but rather that marriage was based on mutual consent by the couple.427   Then seyde þat lady whyte as flowr How fares my knyth Sir Eglamor That dowʒty ys ay whare Damesell as ʒe may se Thus am I cast for love of þe In augur and in care The damesell seyd so mote I the And ʒe have any care for me My herte ys wondur sore And I myʒt turne un to lyve  I wolde wedde ʒou to my wyfe Ʒyf þat ʒor wyll hyt wore (f. 6rb)                                                 427 Cartlidge, Medieval Marriage, 17-18.     193 We see here then a valid marriage for readers in late-medieval England, since it “needed nothing else beyond the exchange of consent to be valid: it did not have to take place in a church or even in the presence of a priest.”428  The exchange of present consent between two individuals made the marriage bond:  “I take you X, to be my wedded wife,” and “I take you Y, to be my husband.”  It offered a statement of present and immediate intent, an act of will, a performative utterance; Sir Eglamour’s declaration, “I wolde wedde you to my wife,” followed by their consummation, renders them married.429  As Goldberg argues, “according to canon law, moreover, consent demanded no more than the exchange of words (or if those words indicated only intention to marry, the marriage was held to immediately biding on the consummation of the relationship).”430  Eglamour and Christabelle were indeed married, albeit clandestinely.  This romance, then, presents two conflicting models of marriage:  contractual and companionate, aristocratic and burgeis.  The ideology of marriage in late-medieval England is very much class based; contractual or aristocratic marriage unions were routinely “for political and economic reasons,”431 based on “property transfer and marrying only within their own class (a view of marriage                                                 428 McSheffrey, Love and Marriage, 9.  429 Ibid., 4.   430 Goldberg, Women in England, 10.  431 Rosenthal, “Aristocratic Marriage,” 181.    194 supported by the secular law),”432 whereas marriages founded upon personal choice, on love, are typically associated with the new burgeis class, where individuals are more free to shape their own lives.  As Lee Patterson argues, “By and large, merchants seem to have left the choice of a marriage partner up to their children.”433  Cristabelle’s spousal choice is particularly poignant as she is the sole heiress to Artois.  As a female and in the absence of an heir, the man she marries could potentially rule Artois.  That Cristabelle is able to assert her preference suggests she has agency.  However, the Earl later casts his “Dowʒtyr into þe see schalt thowe / In a schyp alone” (f. 10ra) and then refers to his grandson as “þat bastard” (f. 10ra), foregrounding the liability that Cristabelle and her off-spring represent.  A son born to Cristabelle would mean that he would rule Artois and could possibly usurp Pincesamour, Earl of Artois.  The dominant message in this romance is that love and goodness triumph over social rank and marriage for the sake of inheritance.  The assertion of choosing a mate, the naming of one’s desire in love and marriage, is a marked cultural shift particular to burgeis class of late-medieval England.  This shift can be read, then, as synchronized with the advent of the individual as discussed earlier in this chapter.  As Dyan Elliott notes, “some scholars have argued that the triumph of consensual theory of marriage corresponded with the new-found emphasis on                                                 432 McCarthy, Marriage in Medieval England, 163.  433 Patterson, Chaucer and the Subject of History, 346.     195 the individual.”434  Thus, this romance embeds not only feudal values of courtliness, but a new ideology comprising individualism and upward social mobility, particularly for the young aspirant knight.   The exchange of gifts, Cristabelle “gefe þe two grhondys” (f. 6rb) and “Also a good swerde” (f. 7ra) and later Eglamour gives her “A good ryng I schall gyfe the (f. 9va), solidifies their marriage yet also emphasizes her social status, that she is a “trewe gentyll woman” (f. 7ra), while simultaneously promoting his material ascent.  The romance Sir Eglamour of Artois therefore suggests to a person, particularly to a male of lowly birth, that upward social mobility is possible for those who are worthy.  Similarly, if there is upward movement in the social strata, so too is there downward movement.  Pincesamour’s behaviour becomes increasingly deplorable as the tasks he sets before Eglamour escalate in danger and difficulty.  With Pincesamour’s final and cruelest treachery of casting Cristabelle and her infant son to sea, his fate follows.  The Earl shuts himself in a castle tower, the sly symbol of male prowess and power, imposing his own imprisonment, only to fall out a high window to his death.  As Hudson notes, “the formulas of romance are subversive:  they question the authority of parents and lords while affirming the authority of the individual and love for its own sake.”435  In this romance, order and justice along with the new ethos of love marriage are realized.  Even in the reciprocal relationship of true love, however, Cristabelle wants Eglamour to gain                                                 434 Elliott, “Marriage,” 41.  435 Hudson, “Construction of Class, Family and Gender,” 90.     196 her father’s approval.  The romance thus carries not only the new values of love relationship, but the traditional social structure by which she remains the property of her father.  Sir Eglamour of Artois thus instils an ideological tension within the hierarchy of domestic order.   Although Sir Eglamour is “a knyʒt of lytyll lond” (f. 5vb), he is still “knowen in crisyante” as “on of þe noblest knyʒth” (f. 6ra); in fact, his inherent goodness is consistently remarked upon in this romance.  It is not incidental that this young knight of little land struggles to prove himself and find his place in the world.   Surely this idea would resonate with the male apprentices living household—like the Knight learning his trade aspiring to become a master guildsman like his mentor.  This work ethic is central to the ethos of the new burgeis class and is addressed time and again in didactic works.  In addition, as discussed in Chapter Three, life-cycle service and subsequent guild membership are essential in developing the transmission of paternalistic, and thus gendered, notions of maleness.  That the text following this romance is specifically addressed to young men, “My dere son fyrst þy self enabull
/ Wt all thyn herti to vertuys dyscyplyne” (f. 14r) further strengthens reading this romance as playing a didactic role.  As a knight in service to the Earl, Eglamour demonstrated his mastery of the “vertuys dyscplyne” espoused in the neighbouring didactic text of Fynd cense.   Gentillesse has been defined as four specific virtues:      197 In whome is trauthe, pettee, fredome, and hardynesse, He is a man inheryte to gentylmene. Of thisse virtues four who lakketh three, He aught never gentylmane called to be436 [Any man who possesses integrity, compassion, generosity, and courage carries a title of gentility.  Whoever lacks three of these four virtues ought never to be called a gentleman].  The mark of gentility in the romance is palpable.  The romance of Sir Eglamour underscores the charged economic and social realities of medieval England.  In its twisting plot, Sir Eglamour subtly supports courtly ideological constructs yet at the same time contests them.  Thus, it problematizes conventional indices used to measure and assign social value.  Even though Sir Eglamour is not a wealthy knight, he is rich in virtue and faith.  This tension emphasizing the definition, production, and function of self-worth is present in Sir Eglamour.  Significantly, this romance embeds the idea, unspoken yet strongly suggested in theme, that those of gentle birth are recognizable, even though their circumstances do not reflect it.  For example, despite that Cristabelle is set adrift at sea and her young son is carried off by a griffon, the king of Israel is still able to recognize her goodness, her innate nobleness.  There is here a conflation of external, physical                                                 436 Wright and Halliwell, ed., Reliquiae Anitquae, 252.    198 beauty with interior goodness that applies not only to those born into nobility, like Cristabelle, but to those who earn it, like Sir Eglamour.   Within the romance, the rules for private decorum are portrayed in often a seemingly insignificant fashion, carrying at once both old and new ideologies; for example, when attending to Sir Eglamour’s chamber while he is ill, two ladies accompany Cristabelle.  This chaperonage and such other such measures aimed to ensure the purity of bloodlines.  If one’s value is inextricably bound with birth station, then it logically follows that the relationship between the sexes would be highly regulated.  The importance of purity surfaces time and time again in Sir Eglamour; Cristabelle is consistently referred to as “a whyte flower” – a metaphor that not only upholds her beauty, but bases beauty, in part, on sexual innocence.  The metaphor thus sustains two traditional touchstones marking women’s value, that is, beauty and “purity.”  This limitation on women’s movement also reinforces the misogynistic premise that women are unruly, and overly sexual, in need of surveillance.  The rules pertaining to women’s movement and access to them protect aristocratic lineages, and, in the case of merchant household readership of romances such as this, provide an example of behaviour that “proper” women should emulate.  Sir Eglamour aids in the social liberation of young women by demonstrating new burgeis values, including faithfulness and perseverance, ideal qualities in a potential partner for a socially aspirant young man.  Romances offer a more    199 courtly version of the good advice found in didactic works; that is, by example Cristabelle teaches young women to be patient, virtuous, gentle, wise, respectful, and well-mannered.  Romances provide “instruction in good manners in the sense of sophisticated social behaviour and conversation, even instruction in good rule, and not just piety, household management, financial prudence and so on.”437  Embodying the old, embedding the new, romances also model love relationship, which brings a certain, limited individual liberty to women in the merchant class.  While these new values afforded women personal agency in choosing a marriage partner, restraints on their physical movements were still part of the older system.  The physical movement of women in the aristocracy, in sharp contrast to men, was strikingly static; in his second battle, Sir Eglamour is badly injured and is tended to by the Emperor’s daughter Organate; she is the homebound caretaker of the valiant knight.  Organate’s role is that of nurse, tending to the wounded knight so that he may again go out on his adventures.  Cristabelle is, of course, also homebound and waiting for her knight’s return – she is pregnant from their clandestine meetings.  When the Earl discovers that his daughter has not only betrayed him, but is pregnant, he casts her to sea in a rudderless boat, unprotected from the open seas and gusting winds.  The rudderless boat symbolizes Cristabelle’s lack of agency within her father’s                                                 437 Cooper, “Good Advice,” 104.     200 household.  Indeed until this part in the narrative, Cristabelle’s choices are limited by the whims of her father, the Earl.  Movement for men, in contrast, is a very rich and prominent motif in medieval romances; in Sir Eglamour of Artois, the Knight, although trying to appease the Earl, travels about to unknown lands conquering beasts and slaying dragons. His journeys are self-directed and bring him greater personal agency.  In order to prove Eglamour’s worthiness, the Earl sets three challenges before the Knight.  Although he is sent to prove his worth, the Knight’s travels, in fact, signify male autonomy and power.  “The knight’s horse and his social status,” Riddy argues, “are emblematic of mobility and freedom.  Although he looks archaic, he is in many ways a new man in fourteenth-century England:  an adventure-seeker and risk-taker, a uniquely accessible and adaptable locus of fantasy and desire.  In late-medieval English romances, the knight can be seen as a ‘bourgeois-gentry’ myth of young manhood.”438  The gendered constructions of the ideal male reinforced here are bravery, adventure, strength, obedience, heroism, and faithfulness.  Riddy further asserts that the very “use of the mythical figure of the knight in the domestic context of romance-reading reveals much about the role of young men in the ideology of the family and household” and, in particular, about role of young men; “it endorses the independence of the son on whom the family’s hopes for the future rest, allowing him to be a risk-                                                438 Riddy, ME Romance, 238-9.      201 taker, and yet in the end makes him follow the same course as his father.”439  Once again, the text reveals a resident tension in the conflation of class values.  In the new burgeis ethos, subversive authority topples with the Earl’s fall from the tower, while order and justice along with the new ethos of love and marriage are realized.  Thus, as imaginative bearers of subversive notions, especially when reinforced by messages contained in the didactic texts, the medieval romance has much to teach us regarding the burgeis household.                                                  439 Ibid., 239.    202 Chapter Seven:  Conclusion 	   In the first three chapters of “’Nurtur and good maners makeþ man’: The Burgeis in Late-Medieval Household Miscellany BL MS Cotton Caligula A.ii, part 1,” I discuss the socio-economic, domestic, and political culture of the merchant class in late-medieval England.  These three chapters analyze the complex tapestry of domesticity, community, culture, conduct, self-promotion, and identity that construct a specific readership for household manuscripts, inasmuch as readers can be constructed through text.  Interpreting the household manuscript as an object within the material culture in which it was produced and used requires a contextual examination that of necessity draws from a wide range of sources.  An examination of patterns of textual inclusion and repetition of themes in didactic, lyric, and romantic texts reveals an emergent set of values and beliefs, a new burgeis ideology, marked by an inherent tension from competing systems of values.  This new ideology “making” the burgeis man depends on nurture and manners taught in the mercantile household, which extends beyond the nuclear family to include relatives, apprentices, and servants, male and female, young and old.  Indeed, there is reciprocity between choice of texts chosen by the patron and those same texts serving as social scripts to inculcate their desired identities.  By exploring, refining, building upon, and at times challenging existing    203 scholarship and assumptions, I have provided a more subtle, nuanced picture of the new burgeis household and its manuscript.  Chapter Two establishes that the Caligula manuscript should be considered a household manuscript and read through that lens.  I unravel the tangle of terminology in current use, distinguishing between miscellanies and commonplace books.  I then establish the Caligula manuscript as a miscellany, an analysis of which leads to better understanding the social-domestic composition and emergent ideologies of the mercantile class.  Reading the Caligula reveals the household manuscript served as suitable reading for all household members.  Its themes regarding domesticity and gender are consistent.  Some of the texts contained within its boards were for edification, both spiritual and didactic.  In addition, while the romance texts provided entertainment, their messages are consistent with those of the didactic texts, making these the more subversive means for dissemination of new understanding.  Chapter Three argues that in a society in which an earl’s younger son might be styled a merchant or an esquire, and knighthoods could be conferred on merchants serving as aldermen, the distinctions between classes blurred.  One way for the merchant class to mark itself differently from the aristocratic class was monetary success, transformed into political power; another was membership in guildhalls, whose ordinances and statutes parallel those found in texts contained in household manuscripts.  As my reading of Fynd cense shows,    204 the regulation of appropriate behaviour for the burgeis became codified in the household manuscript.  For a class dependent on interrelationship, social networking, and intermarriages, it became extremely important to be mindful of individual reputations and social standing.  This is where the burgeis ethos parts company with that of the aristocracy, in that civic virtue, domesticity, neighbourliness, piety, charity, self-regulation, and literacy superseded aristocratic values informing such habits as overindulgence and conspicuous display.  For the merchant class, self-assertion, becoming gentil versus being of noble descent, was a conscious performance legitimated by one’s actions.  Chapter Four focuses on Fynd cense, Appendix C includes a diplomatic transcription, and evaluates the thematic concerns of self-regulated conduct, consumption, and reputation in this unique conflation of two independent texts, John Lydgate’s Stans Puer ad Mensam and Dietary.  The implication of this conflation is that medieval readers of this manuscript would have read this as a single text.  Through this deliberate textual arrangement Fynd cense reflects the diversity of the household members who had access to the Caligula manuscript as it reflects concerns and experiences of readers at varying stages of their life course.  Fynd cense is an instrument of social tutelage, contextualizing burgeis values within the discourse of everyday experience, providing instruction on “virtuous discipline” and self-governance for an intergenerational audience,    205 instructing children on how to behave and parents on how to discipline, and thereby encoding a particular type of burgeis identity.  Religious lyrics, a prominent genre in the Caligula manuscript, are concerned with cultivating and tending to a sincere spiritual relationship.  With the shift towards private piety, the Caligula responds to the need for devotional texts suitable for use in the domestic space.  In this regard, the Caligula manuscript offers a practical piety that supports internalized, affective devotion, giving the reader specific advice about self-regulation leading to spiritual salvation.  The Nyghtyngale lyric, for example, teaches a mixed household of young and old, apprentice and master, servant and maystress, the need to ensure they were prepared for the sudden “deth knokk” and subsequent judgement.  The Nyghtyngale encourages righteous living, and a universal personal accountability is the very essence of this lyric.  Functioning as aids in personal devotion, religious lyrics provided a powerful evocation of a certain selfhood.  They reiterated a new ethos, teaching the medieval reader to live a pious life.  That these were included in household anthologies speaks to the value placed upon of private, domestic devotion, marking private piety, as one of the hallmarks of the mercantile burgeis class.  The romances contained in the Caligula manuscript centre, in two clusterings of texts, on an inter-textual commonality: these narratives are united in their concern with matters of family and domesticity.  Notably, scholarly    206 opinion on the value of the romances is slowly changing.  Where scholars once denounced the romances as so much bad poetry, those engaged in contextual work recognize the value of treating the manuscript as a whole, illuminating patterns and ordering clusters, while identifying uniting concerns within the collective group of manuscripts.  The first cluster of romance texts in the Caligula manuscript, which is concerned with conflicts among family members, closely follows Lydgate’s Fynd cense.  Intertextual reading reveals that texts providing instruction on how to manage one’s family and household members accompany stories of families attempting to live as a cohesive family unit.  The romances present threats of possible outcomes should one fail to heed the advice of the didactical works.  The patterning of texts, placing romances amongst religious works, entertainment alongside edification, suggests that personal fulfillment is inextricably entwined with the spiritual and that religion should be practical and practiced as a part of the everyday.  In this section of Chapter Six I explored Sir Eglamour at length; this romance presents two conflicting models of marriage:  patrilineage and companionate, aristocratic and burgeis, embedding—as in the didactic and lyric texts in the Caligula—a tension between older feudal values and the new ideology of the burgeis, based on piety, right conduct, and individualism.  Reading the Caligula as a household manuscript identifies a new readership elicited, in part, through its deliberate textual choice and    207 arrangement.  The physical placement of the manuscript’s texts dramatizes a thematic continuity; the moral and other life lessons espoused in the didactic texts are supported by the more subversively embedded ideas in the romances.  In other words, the romances are accompanied by practical instruction that reinforces ideas embedded in the romances.  Through engaging the imagination, the reader is encouraged to emulate the manuscript’s didactic teachings for living a virtuous life.  Significantly, that texts contained in the Caligula manuscript have been modified, such as the omission of violent battle scenes from romance texts (for the sake, one would suppose, of a young reader) reiterates the recurring value of peaceful and harmonious living.  The religious lyrics in the Caligula manuscript promote peaceful, virtuous living, which is a constant concern, consistently emphasized, with spoken word, to further encourage considerate and respectful relations, not only within the household but with neighbours and the larger community.  The value placed on words is also visible in the romances; for example, the very foundation of Sir Eglamour and Cristabelle’s marriage is words spoken.  The Cotton Caligula A.ii’s many references to caring for those who are poor and destitute underscore the value of righteous living, which is realized and performed through community and civic service.   One expresses an honourable selfhood through self-restraint and devout practice.  It is through generous, merciful acts that the wealthy merchant not only rationalizes and justifies his material successes, but also demarcates himself from the aristocracy.  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Historical Atlas, (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1929) page 84.  http://www.pitt.edu/~medart/image/england/england2/mapsengl/msh1455.jpg    Household MS included in sample and their provenance: 1.  The National Library of Wales MS Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10): West Midlands 2. National Library of Scotland, MS Advocates 19.3.1: North Midlands 3 Cambridge University Library MS Ff. 2.38:  Leicestershire 4. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 61: North-east Midlands 5. British Library MS Egerton 1995: London 6. British Library MS Cotton Caligula A.ii: South-east or South-east Midlands     254 Appendix C:  Diplomatic Transcription of Fynd cense  f. 14r My dere son fyrst þy self enabull With all thyn hert to vertuys dyscyplyne Afore þy soverayn syttyng at the table Dyspose þy þoght aftyr my doctryne To all nortour þy corage to enclyne Fyrst whyle þu spekest be noʒt recheles Kepe feet and fyngerys and handys styll yn pees  Be sympyll of chere cast not þy loke a syde Ne þy heed a boute turnnyng over all A geyn þe post let noʒt þy bak abyde Make noʒt þy myrrour also of the wall Pyke not þy nose and yn specyall Be ryʒt well war and set her yn þy thoght To fore þy souereyn ne creche ne rubbe þe noʒt  Who so speke to þe yn eny maner place Lumnysschely cast not þy heed adown But with sad cher loke hym yn þe face Walke demurly by þe stretys yn þe town And advertyse þe to wysdom and reson With dyssolute lauʒterys do þu non offence     Be þy soverayn whyle he ys yn presence  Pare clene thy naylys thyne handys wasch also To fore mete and when þu doost a ryse Syt yn þat place þu art assygned to Prece not to hye yn no maner wyse     255  f. 14v And tyll þu se a fore þe þy servyce Be not to hasty vp on brede to byte Of gredynesse lest men þe wold a wyte  Grenyng at þe tabyll eschewe Cry not to lowde kepe honestly sylence To enbose þy jowes with brede yt ys noʒth dewe  With full mouth speke noʒth lest þu do offence  Drynk not brydelyd for hast nor neglygence  Kepe clene þy lyppys fro fat of flesch or fysch Wype fayr þy spone leve yt not in þy dysch  Of brede y bete no soppys þat þu make  Loude for to soupe yt ys ageyn gentylnesse  With mouth enbrued thy cuppe thou ne take  Yn ale ner wyne with hande leve no fatnesse  Foule not þy naperye for no rechelesnesse  Never at mete be war be gyne no stryf Thy teth also ne pyke not with þy knyf  Of honest myrth lete be þy dalyaunce  Swere noon othys speke no rebaudye The best morsell haue þys yn remembraunce Hole to þy sylf alwey do noʒth aplye Part with þy felawe for yt ys curtesye Let not þy trenchur with many remysseylys And fro blaknesse alwey kepe þy nayles  Of curtesye yt ys ageyn þe lawe With sown dyshonest for to þe offence Of old surfetys a breyde not þy felowe  Towardes þy soverayn have þy ay þy aduertence     256 f. 15r Play with no knyf take hede to my sentence  At mete and souper kepe þe stylle and softe  Eke to and fro meve not thy fote to ofte  Droppe not þy breste with sause ne with potage  Bryng no knyvys unscouryd to þe table Fyll not þy spoon lest yn þy corage Yt passe be syde whyche were noʒth commendabyll  Be quyk and redy meke and seruysable Well a waytyng to fulfylle a noon What þy souerayn commaundyth þe to doon  And wher so be þu dyne or soupe Of gentynesse take salt with þy knyf And be well ware þu blowe noʒth yn þy cuppe  Reuerence þy felowe be gyn with hym no stryf  To þy power kepe pees all þy lyf Interrupte not wher so þu wende A mannys tale tyll he haue made anende  With þy fyngrys mark not þy tale Be well avysed namely yn tendyr age To drynke be mesure both wyne and ale Be noʒth to copyous also of langage As tyme requyred schewe out thy vysage To glad to sory but kepe þe a twene tweyne For loos or lucre of ony cas sodeyne  Be meke yn mesur not hasty but tretabyll  Over mekyll ys noʒth worth yn no thyng  To chyldryn langyth noʒth to be vengabyll  Sone mouyng and sone for yenyngge [mevyd (M)]    257 f. 15v And as yt ys remembryth be wrytyng  Wrath of chyldryn some ys euer goon  With an appyll partyes ben made at oone  In chyldryn werre now myrthe now debate In her quarell ys no gret vyolence Now pleye now wepyng seelde yn on estate Tho þer pleyntys geve no grette credence A rodde rerformyth all þer yn solence In ther corage no rancoer doth abyde  Who spareth the yerde all vertu set a syde  Go lytyll byll bareyn of langage eloquence  Pray yong chyldryn þat ye schall se or rede Þowʒth þu be compendyus yn sentence Of þy clausys for to take hede Whyche to all vrtuys schall þer youthe lede  Of þe wrytyng þogh þer be no date Ʒyf ouʒth be a mys yn word sylable or dede Put all þe faute vpon John Lydgate  For helth of bydy couer for cold þy heed  Ete no rawe mete take good hede þer to Drynke good holsam wyne fede þe on lyʒth brede And with an appetyte ryys from þy mete also With wommen agyth fleschly have not to do (aged [M]) Vp on þy slep drynk noʒt of the cuppe  Glad toward bed at morn both too And vse never late for to suppe  And yf yt so be þat leches do þe fayle  Than take good hede to vse thyngs þre  Temperat dyet temperat trauayle Not malycyous for non adversyte   258 f. 16r Meke yn troble glad yn pouerte Ryche with lytyll content with suffysauce  Neuer gruchyng mery lyke thy degre Ʒyf fysyk lakke make thys thy gouernance  To euery tale sone ʒyf þu no credence Be not to hasty ner sodenyly vengeable To pouer folk do no vyolence Curteys of langage of fedyng mesurable On sodayn mete noʒth gredy at þe table  (sondry [M]) In fedyng gentyll prudent yn dalyaunce Cloos of tonge of word noʒth dysseyuabyll To sey þe best set alwey þy plesaunce  Haue yn hate mowthys þat ben doubyll  Suffyr at þy tabyll no detraccon
 Haue dyspyt of folk þat be ever yn troubyll  Of fals rownerys and advlacyon Withyn þy court suffre no dyvysyon Withyn thy housald schall cause grette encrece Of all welfare prosperyteys and foyson With thy neghbourys leve yn reste and pees  Be clenly clad aftyr thyne estate Passe noʒth bondys kepe þy promys blyue With in follys be not at the bate  (debate [M]) Fyrst with thy bettere be war for to stryve Ageyn thy felowe no quarell to contryue With thy sugget to stryue hyt wer schame Ther for y conceyll pursue all thy lyue To leue yn pees yn þe and gete the a good name  Fyre at morwe and toward bed at eue Ageyn mystys blake and eyr of pestytlence     259  f. 16v Be tyme at masse þu schall þe better spede  Fyrst at þy rysyng do to god reverence Vysyte þe pore with entyre dylygence On all nedy haue compassyon And god schall sende grace and ynfluence The to encrese and thy possesyon  Suffre no surfatys in hous at nyght Be war of reresopers and of gret excesse  Of noddyng hedys and of candellyght  Of slouth on morn and slomerynge ydelnesse Whych of all vyses ys chef porteres Voyde all dronkew lyerys and lechoures  (dronklew[e] [M]) Of all vnthryfty exyle the maystresse That ys to sayn dys pleyers hasardours**  After mete be war make not lang slepe Hede foot and stomak preserve fro cold Be noʒth to pensyf of thoght take no kepe  After þy rente mayntene thy howsold  Suffre yn tyme yn thy ryʒth be bold  Swere noon othys noman to be gyle In youthe be lusty be sad whan þu art old No worly joye lastyth but a whyle  Dyne not at morewe a fore thyn appetyte Cler eyr and walkyng maketh good dygestyon Be twene mele drynk not for no forward delyte  But thurst or travayle yyf þe occasyon Over salt mete doth grette oppressyon To febyll stomakys whan þey cunne noʒth refrayne  Fro thyngys contrarys to þeyer complexyon Of gredy handys þe stomak hath grette peyne  Thus yn ii thyngys stant all the welthe Of soule and body who so list hem sewe  Moderat food geuyth to man hy helthe  And all surfetys doth from hym remoue And charyte to þe soule ys dewe    260 Thys receyt bowght ys of no potycarye Of maystyr Antonye nor of mayster Hue But to all yndyfferent rychest dyatarye  Explicit  **in margin**   

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