Showing posts with label Medieval (Just About). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Medieval (Just About). Show all posts

Friday, 7 March 2014

A Prayer of Thomas Aquinas in Middle English

This is a translation of a prayer by Thomas Aquinas ('Concede mihi, misericors Deus'), attributed to Mary, daughter of Henry VIII, and said to have been written when she was eleven years old. The text is from British Library, Additional MS. 17012, via this book.

The prayer of Saynt Thomas of Aquyne, translatyd oute of latyn ynto Englyshe, by the moste exselent Prynces, Mary, doughter to the moste hygh and myghty Prynce and Prynces kyng Henry the viii. and Quene Kateryn hys wyfe. In the yere of oure lorde god M.cccccxxvii: And the xi. yere of here age.

O mercyfull God, graunte me to couyt wyth an ardent mynde, those thingys whiche may please the, to serche them wysely, to know them truly, and to fulfyll them perfytely, to the laude and glory of thy name. Order my lyuyng, that I may do that whiche thou requirest of me, and geue me grace that I may know yt and haue wyll and powre to do it, and that I may obtayne those thingis, whiche be moste conuenient for my sowle. Good Lorde, make my way sure and streight to the, that I fayle not betwene prosperite and aduersyte, but that in prosperous thingis I may geue the thankys, and in aduersite be pacient: soo that I be not lyfte wyth the oon, nor oppressid with thother: and that I may reioyse yn nothing but in this whiche movith me to the, nor be sory for nothing but for those whiche drawith me frome the: Desiring to please nobody, nor fering to displese anny besidis the. Lorde, let all worldly thingis be vile to me, for the: and that all thi thingis be dere to me. And thou, good Lorde, moost speciall above them all. Let me be wery withe that Joye whiche is withoute the, and let me desire nothing besidis the. Let the labor delite me whiche is for the, and let all the rest wery me whiche is not in the. Make me to lyfte my harte oftyntymys to the: and when I fall, make me to think and be sory with a stedfast purpose of amendement. My God, make me humble withoute faynyng, mery withoute lyghtnes, Sade withoute mystruste. Sobir withoute dulnes: Fearing withoute dysparacion: Gentill withoute doblenes : Trusting in the withoute presumpcyon: Telling my neybors fawtis withoute mokking: Obedyent withoute arguyng: Pacient withoute grutching: And pure without corrupcion. My most louyng Lorde and God, geue me a waking hart, that no curyous thought withdrawe me frome the. Let it be so strong, that no unworthy affeccion drawe me bakwarde: So stable, that no tribulacion breke it: And so free, that no electyon by vyolence make anny chalenge to it. My Lorde God, graunt me wytt, to know the: Dilygence, to seke the: Wisedome, to finde the: Conuersacion, to please the: Contynuance, to loke for the: and fynally Hope, to enbrace the : by thi penaunce here to be ponysshid, and in oure wey to use thi benefittis by thy grace. And in heuyn, through thi glory, to haue delyte in thy Joies and rewardys. Amen.

[The prayer of Saint Thomas of Aquinas, translated out of Latin into English, by the most excellent Princess Mary, daughter to the most high and mighty Prince and Princess King Henry the Eighth and Queen Katherine his wife, in the year of our Lord God 1527 and the 11th year of her age.

O merciful God, grant me to covet with an ardent mind those things which may please thee, to explore them wisely, to know them truly, and to fulfill them perfectly, to the laud and glory of thy name. Order my life that I may do that which thou requirest of me, and give me grace that I may know it and have will and power to do it, and that I may obtain those things which are best for my soul. Good Lord, make my way sure and straight to thee, that I fail not between prosperity and adversity, but that in prosperous things I may give thee thanks, and in adversity be patient: so that I be not lifted up with the one, nor oppressed with the other: and that I may rejoice in nothing but that which moveth me to thee, nor be sorrowful for anything but that which draweth me from thee: desiring to please nobody, nor fearing to displease any besides thee. Lord, let all worldly things be vile to me, for thee, and all thy things be dear to me; and thou, good Lord, most especially above them all. Let me be weary with that joy which is without thee, and let me desire nothing besides thee. Let the labour delight me which is for thee, and let all the rest weary me which is not in thee. Make me to lift my heart often to thee: and when I fall, make me to think and be sorry with a steadfast purpose of amendment. My God, make me humble without feigning; merry without lightness; serious without lack of faith; sober without dullness; fearful without despair; courteous without duplicity; trusting in thee without presumption; telling my neighbour's faults without mocking; obedient without arguing; patient without grumbling; and pure without corruption. My most loving Lord and God, give me a waking heart, that no curious thought may withdraw me from thee. Let it be so strong, that no unworthy affection may draw me backward; so stable, that no tribulation may break it; and so free, that no choice by violence may make any challenge to it. My Lord God, grant me wit to know thee: diligence to seek thee: wisdom to find thee: conversation, to please thee: perseverance, to look for thee: and finally hope, to embrace thee: by thy penance here to be punished, and in our way to use thy benefits by thy grace. And in heaven, through thy glory, to have delight in thy joys and rewards. Amen.]


Not bad for an eleven-year-old! In Women's Books of Hours in Medieval England, Charity Scott-Stokes notes in reference to this prayer that "There is likely to have been a strong Dominican influence at the court of Henry VIII during the years of his marriage to Mary's devout Spanish mother, Katherine of Aragon. The princess's education may well have been entrusted to a member of the order" - hence, perhaps, this choice of prayer. If it surprises you to find the young daughter of the staunchly Catholic Katherine of Aragon being taught not only to read Latin but to translate it into the vernacular (and very elegantly too) - well, you may have been watching too much television, and imbibed some misleading ideas about illiterate medieval Catholic women. Here's a corrective.

Thomas Aquinas, in a 14th-century English MS (BL Harley 916, f. 1)

Sunday, 25 November 2012

Illuminare, Jerusalem

At this time of year I get lots of hits from people looking for translations of the words of medieval Christmas carols. For some reason, such information is not easy to come by on the internet (and that which is available is not always accurate), so I like to think of it as a public service to post accurate translations here. It makes me very happy that medieval carols form a regular part of the Christmas repertoire, but it's nicer still if people understand what they're singing!

And thus, today's post. Someone was searching here yesterday for the words of 'Illuminare Jerusalem', which I've never posted about, so today I'll correct that; it also happens to be appropriate for the Feast of Christ the King, because as well as being a Nativity (and Epiphany) poem it's also about Christ's kingship of earth and heaven. Christ the King is emphatically not a medieval feast - it's less than a century old - but of course the imagery of Christ as King was very popular in the Middle Ages, as 'Illuminare Jerusalem' perfectly exemplifies.

'Illuminare Jerusalem' is the modern name given to a poem written in the sixteenth century, which was set to music by Judith Weir for the choir of King's College, Cambridge, in 1985:



1. Jerusalem reioss for joy:
Jesus the sterne of most bewte
In thee is rissin, as rychtous roy,
Fro dirknes to illumyne the.
With glorius sound of angell gle
Thy prince is borne in Baithlehem
Quhilk sall thee mak of thraldome fre.
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

2. With angellis licht in legionis
Thow art illumynit all about.
Thre kingis of strenge regionis
To the ar cumin with lusty rout,
All drest with dyamantis but dout,
Reverst with gold in every hem,
Sounding attonis with a schout,
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

3. The regeand tirrant that in the rang,
Herod, is exilit and his ofspring,
The land of Juda that josit wrang;
And rissin is now thy richtouss king.
So he so mychtie is and ding,
Quhen men his gloriuss name dois nem,
Hevin, erd and hell makis inclyning.
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

4. His cumming knew all element -
The air be sterne did him persaife:
The water quhen dry he on it went:
The erd that trymlit all and raife:
The sone quhen he no lichtis gaif:
The croce quhen it wes done contem:
The stanis quhen they in pecis claif:
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

5. The deid him knew that raiss upricht
Quhilk lang tyme had the erd lyne undir:
Crukit and blynd declarit his micht
That helit of thame so mony hundir:
Nature him knew and had grit wundir
Quhen he of wirgyn was born but wem:
Hell, quhen thair yettis wer brokin asundir.
Illumynare, Jerusalem.


A modernised version:

1. Jerusalem, rejoice for joy:
Jesus, the star of greatest beauty
Is risen in thee as righteous king
From darkness to illumine thee.
With glorious sound of angels' glee [rejoicing, or possibly music]
Thy prince is born in Bethlehem
Who shall make thee from slavery free.
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

2. With the light of angels' legions
Thou art illumined all about;
Three kings from far regions
Have come to thee in a lusty rout; [splendid company]
All adorned with diamonds, without a doubt,
And trimmed with gold on every hem,
Crying together with one shout,
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

3. The raging tyrant who reigned over thee
Herod, is exiled with his offspring;
He possessed the land of Judah unjustly,
And risen is now thy rightful king.
Because he is so mighty and worthy,
When his glorious name is spoken
Heaven, earth and hell bow;
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

4. All elements knew his coming:
The air perceived him by a star;
The water when he walked dry-shod upon it;
The earth which trembled and was split open;
The sun when it gave no light;
The cross when it was treated with contempt;
The stones when they were reft in pieces;
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

5. The dead knew him, who were raised upright,
Who for a long time had lain under the earth;
The crippled and blind declared the might
Of him who healed so many hundreds of them.
Nature knew him, and greatly marvelled
When he was born of a virgin without blemish;
Hell [knew him] when their gates were broken asunder.
Illuminare, Jerusalem.

Christ and the New Jerusalem (BL Royal 15 D II, f. 199)

There's something about this poem I really love - it glitters with light and sings with thunderous joy. The phrase 'illuminare, Jerusalem' is from Isaiah 60:1: 'Surge, illuminare, Jerusalem, quia venit lumen tuum, et gloria Domini super te orta est', 'Arise, shine, Jerusalem, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.' The phrase is also used in the refrain of an English carol in BL MS. Egerton 3307, which goes:

Illuminare Jerusalem
The duke appeareth in Bethlehem.


(Isn't it strange that to call Christ a 'duke' sounds a little odd, but 'king' and 'lord' are just fine?)  The first two verses of 'Illuminare Jerusalem' are influenced by that Isaiah passage, which also prophesies that 'the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising': these verses focus on Epiphany imagery, the coming of Christ as the rising of a star, illuminating the darkness of his people, and the homage paid to him by the three kings, 'a lusty rout' adorned with diamonds and gold on every hem!  The third verse contrasts Christ the rightful king with Herod, a type of the tyrant and usurper, and then the poem goes on to describe how all elements in the universe acknowledged (or recognised - knew can be both) Christ's coming: the air knew him by the appearance of the star, the water knew him when he walked upon it, the sun knew him when it was darkened at the Crucifixion, Hell when he broke it open, Nature when he was born in defiance of natural generation... etc.

The poem is anonymous, and is preserved in one manuscript source: the Bannatyne Manuscript (National Library of Scotland, Advocates MS. 1.1.6), a collection of hundreds of poems which was compiled by a young Edinburgh merchant, George Bannatyne (1545-1608). He copied it all out, he tells us in the manuscript, in the last three months of 1568, when Edinburgh was afflicted by plague and no one could go about their usual work ('in tyme of pest/Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest'). Endearingly, he describes the book on the first page as 'Ane most Godlie, mirrie and lustie Rapsodie, maide be sundrie learned Scots poets and written be George Bannatyne in the tyme of hys youth' - at that time he was 23 years old. Unlike many medieval miscellanies, Bannatyne's manuscript organises the poems by subject-matter - religious subjects like the Nativity, moral counsel (of the 'don't trust to riches' variety, or 'preserve your health by eating in moderation' - that kind of thing), social satire, love poems, and fables. That might sound obvious to us, accustomed to modern anthologies, but it's unusual for the time - it suggests young Bannatyne had put quite a bit of thought into organising his collection.

In the manuscript 'Illuminare Jerusalem' follows on directly from William Dunbar's 'Rorate coeli', another Nativity poem which is somewhat along the same lines, but even better - Dunbar is a wonderful poet, and 'Rorate coeli' (which is also not entirely unfit for Advent!) is very much worth reading.  This poem by Dunbar on the Resurrection also appears in the Bannatyne MS., along with many others by him.

Christ and the Magi - note their diamond-studded hems! (BL Egerton 2781, f. 13v)

Tuesday, 23 October 2012

Forget Fortune

[I've had this post sitting in my drafts folder for a few weeks, and hadn't got around to posting it - then, when I remembered that today is the commemoration of Boethius, widely regarded in the Middle Ages as the world's leading expert on Fate and Fortune, I realised this post would be appropriate.  So here it is.]


One of the most common google searches which brings people to this blog is 'medieval wheel of fortune', and they get this post, a fifteenth-century poem in which the lovelorn speaker begs Fortune to turn her famous wheel and let him/her have joy again.  It's a good poem, but the appeal to Fortune is conventional and perhaps a little overly mannered; so I like to believe that it was out of irritation with this poetic conceit that the song in today's post was born.  'Forget about Fortune', says the singer, 'God is on my side!'  It's meant to be a fairly cheerful sentiment, I think, and not as smug as that paraphrase makes it sound.

It's a sixteenth-century song which survives in the same printed book as this more famous one, Wynkyn de Worde's 1530 Twenty Songs (Bassus).  You can see images of the book here, with this song starting on the right-hand page of the third picture, K1 e1 004. I don't know much about medieval music notation, but the bass part looks pretty fun...

The phrase 'Auxilium meum a Domino' means 'my help comes from the Lord' and occurs in a number of contexts, including for instance the second verse of this psalm.


In youth, in age, both in wealth and woe,
Auxilium meum a Domino.

Though poets feign that Fortune by her chance
And her free will doth oppress and advance,
Fortune doth miss her will and liberty.
Then trust to Virtue; let Fortune go!
Auxilium meum a Domino.

Of grace divine, with heavenly assistance,
If Virtue do remain, Virtue alway
When she list, may call Fortune's chance again.
What [care] I then, though Fortune be my foe?
Auxilium meum a Domino.


[Literally:

In youth, in age, in suceess and in sorrow, my help comes from the Lord.

Though poets pretend that Fortune, by her use of chance and at her own will, forces people down and raises them up, Fortune misunderstands the extent of her power and freedom.  So trust to Virtue; forget about Fortune!  My help comes from the Lord.

By the power of divine grace and with heavenly assistance, if Virtue continues to be present, Virtue can always override Fortune's chances when she chooses.  What care I then, though Fortune be my foe?  My help comes from the Lord.]

Friday, 11 May 2012

Pleasure it is

Pleasure it is
To hear, iwis,
The birdes sing.
The deer in the dale,
The sheep in the vale,
The corn springing.
God's purveyance
For sustenance,
It is for man.
Then we always
To Him give praise,
And thank Him then,
And thank Him then.


(N.B.: purveyance means 'provision')

This little sixteenth-century song is by William Cornish (or Cornysshe), Master of the Chapel Royal under Henry VII and Henry VIII. The song was printed in 1530 in Wynkyn de Worde's Twenty Songs (Bassus) (BL K.1.e.1), a book of twenty part-songs. Only one copy survives and you can see images of the whole book here at the 'View music' link - this song is folio 34-5, with a splendid initial 'P'!

The music there is only the bass part (as the name of the book suggests...) so the melody of the song hasn't survived. It has been set to music by modern composers, though - by Benjamin Britten, as 'Spring Carol', number 9 in his Ceremony of Carols (1942):



And by John Ireland in 1938 as 'A Thanksgiving', the first song in his Five XVIth Century Poems (1938):

Saturday, 24 September 2011

The Walls of Walsingham

Today is the feast of Our Lady of Walsingham, a modern feast commemorating a medieval site of pilgrimage. In 1061, on the eve of the Norman Conquest, an Anglo-Norman noblewoman called Richeldis had a vision instructing her to build a replica of the Holy House in Nazareth, at Walsingham in Norfolk. She did so, and the place became a popular site of pilgrimage - though I feel it's necessary to mention what Langland says about it:

Heremytes on an heep with hoked staves,
Wenten to Walsyngham--and hire wenches after:
Grete lobies and longe that lothe were to swynke
Clothed hem in copes to ben knowen from othere,
And shopen hem heremytes hire ese to have.

[A heap of hermits with hooked staffs
Went to Walsingham, and their women with them:
Great lazy louts who were loath to work
Clothed themselves in copes to look different from others
And called themselves hermits so they could do what they liked.]

Not that Walsingham attracted worse pilgrims than anywhere else (think of the pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales!), only that by being a bit closer than Rome or Jerusalem, it may have attracted the lazy as well as the truly devout. Nonetheless, it was the site of an Augustinian priory, which now looks like this:

The ruins of the great medieval abbeys after the Reformation must have been a powerful physical reminder of the world which had been so violently ripped apart - as the Anglo-Saxons wondered at Roman ruins and called them the works of giants, so the people of the 16th century must have been deeply affected by the stone shells of what had once been matchless centres of learning and culture. One anonymous poet wrote thus, touchingly, about the ruins of Walsingham:

In the wrackes of Walsingham
Whom should I chuse
But the Queen of Walsingham
To be guide to my muse?

Then thou Prince of Walsingham
Grant me to frame
Bitter plaintes to rewe they wrong
Bitter wo for my name.

Bitter was it oh to see
The seely sheepe
Murdered by the raveninge wolves
While the sheephards did sleep.

Bitter was it oh to vewe
The sacred vyne
While the gardiners plaied all close
Rooted up by the swine.

Bitter, bitter oh to behould
The grasse to growe
Where the walls of Walsingham
So stately did shewe.

Such were the works of Walsingham
Where she did stand
Such are the wrackes as noe do shewe
Of that holy land.

Levell levell with the ground
The towres doe lye
Which with their golden, gliitering tops
Pearsed once to the sky.

Where weare gates no gates are nowe,
The waies unknowen,
Where the press of peares did pass
While her fame was far blowen.

Oules do scrike where the sweetest himnes
Lately were songe,*
Toades and serpents hold their dennes
Where the palmers did throng.

Weepe, weepe O Walsingham,
Whose dayes are nightes,
Blessings turned to blasphemies,
Holy deeds to dispites.

Sinne is where our Ladie sate,
Heaven turned is to hell,
Sathan sittes where our Lord did swaye,
Walsingham oh farewell.


* cf. Shakespeare: 'Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang'.

(I've written about similar ruins at the abbeys of Crowland, Canterbury, and Ramsey. Perhaps one day I'll post about another great tragedy of the Reformation, the destruction of so many medieval monastic libraries...)