Michael Smith

Dear lover of mediaeval poetry, I thought it would be nice to share with you some of my translation of William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne). This short film gives you a flavour of the warmth and texture of this remarkable fourteenth century poem, telling of the moment when the two lovers William and Melior, having eloped from Rome disguised as bears, are discovered by quarrymen and then rescued by the poem's eppnymous werewolf. The werewolf in this story is a remarkable creation. While mirroring some of the characteristics of Marie de France's Old French romance Bisclavret, he is nonetheless a creature of hope and gentleness whose maltreatment by his stepmother never affects how he feels about other human beings. We see some of this in this reading. One of this romance's other remarkable features is its portrayal of everyday mediaeval folk, and the way it captures their kindness. While we see such folk in the near contemporary Piers Plowman, here, in a story set more in the secular world than that of Pier's land of religious metaphor, they are more endearing and attractive. Watch out in particular for the two charcoal burners - one driven by greed at hoping to win a king's ransom; the other driven by love and letting the eloping couple carry on with their escape. I love this passage! I hope you enjoy the reading - and, if you are one of those who has kindly supported the book, thank you once again for your support. If you know of others who would be interested in bringing this book to life, please do pass on the message. Everyone who supports the book will be a named patron in the back - a modern day equivalent of the romance's original patron Humphrey de Bohun! Thank you once again, Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker PS - if you are reading one of these updates for the first time and have not yet supported the book, please do so here. There are lots of pledge rewards to choose from, including original illustrations from the book as well.

Dear lover of mediaeval poetry,

I thought it would be nice to share with you some of my translation of William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne).

This short film gives you a flavour of the warmth and texture of this remarkable fourteenth century poem, telling of the moment when the two lovers William and Melior, having eloped from Rome disguised as bears, are discovered by quarrymen and then rescued by the poem's eppnymous werewolf.

The werewolf in this story is a remarkable creation. While mirroring some of the characteristics of Marie de France's Old French romance Bisclavret, he is nonetheless a creature of hope and gentleness whose maltreatment by his stepmother never affects how he feels about other human beings. We see some of this in this reading. 

One of this romance's other remarkable features is its portrayal of everyday mediaeval folk, and the way it captures their kindness. While we see such folk in the near contemporary Piers Plowman, here, in a story set more in the secular world than that of Pier's land of religious metaphor, they are more endearing and attractive.

Watch out in particular for the two charcoal burners - one driven by greed at hoping to win a king's ransom; the other driven by love and letting the eloping couple carry on with their escape. I love this passage!

I hope you enjoy the reading - and, if you are one of those who has kindly supported the book, thank you once again for your support. If you know of others who would be interested in bringing this book to life, please do pass on the message.

Everyone who supports the book will be a named patron in the back - a modern day equivalent of the romance's original patron Humphrey de Bohun!

Thank you once again,

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

 

PS - if you are reading one of these updates for the first time and have not yet supported the book, please do so <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>. There are lots of pledge rewards to choose from, including original illustrations from the book as well.

A friendly werewolf arrives in the nick of time

The work of mediaeval scribes was one of quiet concentration and, at times, excruciating pain and toil; their manuscripts often all we have left to tell of the dedicated, yet unsung, lives they lived. In the case of the Middle English William of Palerne (William and the Werewolf) there is only one mansucript to tell such a tale of its creator, contained today within a larger manuscript, King’s College MS 13, comprising two separate manuscripts bound at some point into one. Hand written Like all mediaeval works of this period, it is hand-written and in this case it is written on parchment in a hand which has been dated to the later 14th Century, approximately 1375. Given that we know that its original scribe, also called William, was writing for Humphrey de Bohun at some point before the latter’s death in 1361, this suggests that the surviving work is itself taken from an earlier exemplar, now lost. The life of William Little is known about William himself; whether he was a member of Humphrey’s household writing to please his lord and receiving accommodation and suitable recompense in reward, or whether he was a freelance scribe. It is interesting that the poem mirrors its 13th Century French source, Guillaume de Palerne, in naming its patron and also ascribing a distinct quality to itself by referring to that source. Even in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight we read of matters French as being seen in some way superior, as if lending an authority to the English work. It is intriguing too that Humphrey, who possessed a significant library of expensive literary works, appeared keen for a French romance to be translated into English; his own taste appears to have been for richer works in French or Latin. Yet, as lines 165-8 explain, Humphrey indeed caused the work to be translated into English from French: …for þe hend Erl of Herford, Sir Humfray de Bowne, þe king Edwards newe at Glouseter þat ligges. For he of Frensche þis fayre tale ferst dede translate in ese of Englysch men in Englysch speche And God graunt him his blis þat godly so preyern! Which, translated reads …for the high earl of Hereford, Humphrey de Bohun, Nephew to King Edward who lies at Gloucester. For he first translated this fair tale from French, For the ease of Englishmen, into English speech, And may God grant him bliss whom we so gladly pray for! A uniquely English work William did not simply translate the French, however. He condensed and abridged the poem (from 9,600+ lines to c.6,000) and added distinct changes to it, with flourishes which are unique to the English telling. More, he chose to compile the poem in the alliterative style which was to experience a revival in the fourteenth century and reach a particular apogee with the alliterative Morte Arthure and the masterpieces of the Gawain-poet: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and the dream/vision poem, Pearl. William seems ahead of the curve, for William of Palerne is one of the earlier examples of the canon and, though perhaps not so sophisticated, is nevertheless a work of literary merit, distinctive metrical rhythm and delightful charm. The role of Humphrey de Bohun The sixth Earl of Hereford and a man thought to have been an invalid in later life, Humphrey de Bohun spent most of his later years at Pleshey in Essex. Given his preference for books in languages other than English, the question remains as to why he sought to commission the work and why the alliterative form was chosen. Suggestions vary, although one posits that as a feel-good story of lordly responsibility, the romance was produced to be read to those who lived and worked in Humphrey’s Gloucestershire estates. As an absent landlord living far away, he may have wished to show his concern for his distant feudal lords and tenants; the alliterative style being particularly effective in oral performance. (Above: the arms of Humphrey de Bohun - courtesy Sodacan/Wikipedia) Certainly, William of Palerne (William and the Werewolf) is a work which deals with issues of concern to mediaeval society under strain, especially following the outbreak of the Black Death in c.1348. Lordly responsibility, social stability, the value of social justice and the importance of women are keenly observed. It also contains an unusually progressive interest in the lives of serfs and those who lived outside the threshold of a lordly setting. Scribe William was not writing a work of protest, rather a work of idealism and optimism. This is a work which highlights the need for a balanced and respectful society; it also suggests that Humphrey himself was a man who shared such compassion. In translating an ancient French poem and making it distinctly English, William has also shone a light on the personality of his patron. Humphrey de Bohun, a great lover of books and literature, might also have been a warm-hearted and considerate lord, who cared for his subjects in difficult times. Michael Smith Translator, Printmaker P.S. As I write, my translation of this wonderful romance is 36% funded. Please spread the message about this new translation of William of Palerne. I so much want this translation to shine a light again on this much neglected and important work – a work ignored for hundreds of years. Please tell your friends about it and ask them to support it. Scribe William and Sir Humphrey, I’m sure, would both be honoured that we – together – are keeping their memory alive. Be a patron of the book here. (main image: Miniature of the book’s author, Vincent of Beauvais, within a border containing the arms of Edward IV, to whom this manuscript belonged. Miroir historial, vol. 1 (Vincent of Beauvais, Speculum historiale, trans. into French by Jean de Vignay), Bruges, c. 1478-1480, Royal 14 E. i, vol. 1, f. 3r. In the public domain)

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="432" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Vincent_of_Beauvais_Cropped.jpg?v=1690915290" width="500">


The work of mediaeval scribes was one of quiet concentration and, at times, excruciating pain and toil; their manuscripts often all we have left to tell of the dedicated, yet unsung, lives they lived. In the case of the Middle English William of Palerne (William and the Werewolf) there is only one mansucript to tell such a tale of its creator, contained today within a larger manuscript, King’s College MS 13, comprising two separate manuscripts bound at some point into one.


 Hand written


Like all mediaeval works of this period, it is hand-written and in this case it is written on parchment in a hand which has been dated to the later 14th Century, approximately 1375. Given that we know that its original scribe, also called William, was writing for Humphrey de Bohun at some point before the latter’s death in 1361, this suggests that the surviving work is itself taken from an earlier exemplar, now lost.


 The life of William


Little is known about William himself; whether he was a member of Humphrey’s household writing to please his lord and receiving accommodation and suitable recompense in reward, or whether he was a freelance scribe.

It is interesting that the poem mirrors its 13th Century French source, Guillaume de Palerne, in naming its patron and also ascribing a distinct quality to itself by referring to that source. Even in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight we read of matters French as being seen in some way superior, as if lending an authority to the English work.

It is intriguing too that Humphrey, who possessed a significant library of expensive literary works, appeared keen for a French romance to be translated into English; his own taste appears to have been for richer works in French or Latin. Yet, as lines 165-8 explain, Humphrey indeed caused the work to be translated into English from French:

<blockquote>
…for þe hend Erl of Herford, Sir Humfray de Bowne,

þe king Edwards newe at Glouseter þat ligges.

For he of Frensche þis fayre tale ferst dede translate

in ese of Englysch men in Englysch speche

And God graunt him his blis þat godly so preyern!
</blockquote>

Which, translated reads

<blockquote>
…for the high earl of Hereford, Humphrey de Bohun,

Nephew to King Edward who lies at Gloucester.

For he first translated this fair tale from French,

For the ease of Englishmen, into English speech,

And may God grant him bliss whom we so gladly pray for!
</blockquote>


 A uniquely English work


William did not simply translate the French, however. He condensed and abridged the poem (from 9,600+ lines to c.6,000) and added distinct changes to it, with flourishes which are unique to the English telling. More, he chose to compile the poem in the alliterative style which was to experience a revival in the fourteenth century and reach a particular apogee with the alliterative Morte Arthure and the masterpieces of the Gawain-poet: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and the dream/vision poem, Pearl.

William seems ahead of the curve, for William of Palerne is one of the earlier examples of the canon and, though perhaps not so sophisticated, is nevertheless a work of literary merit, distinctive metrical rhythm and delightful charm.


 The role of Humphrey de Bohun


The sixth Earl of Hereford and a man thought to have been an invalid in later life, Humphrey de Bohun spent most of his later years at Pleshey in Essex. Given his preference for books in languages other than English, the question remains as to why he sought to commission the work and why the alliterative form was chosen. Suggestions vary, although one posits that as a feel-good story of lordly responsibility, the romance was produced to be read to those who lived and worked in Humphrey’s Gloucestershire estates. As an absent landlord living far away, he may have wished to show his concern for his distant feudal lords and tenants; the alliterative style being particularly effective in oral performance.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="350" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Bohun_Shield.png?v=1690915290" width="300">



 (Above: the arms of Humphrey de Bohun - courtesy Sodacan/Wikipedia)


 

Certainly, William of Palerne (William and the Werewolf) is a work which deals with issues of concern to mediaeval society under strain, especially following the outbreak of the Black Death in c.1348. Lordly responsibility, social stability, the value of  social justice and the importance of women are keenly observed. It also contains an unusually progressive interest in the lives of serfs and those who lived outside the threshold of a lordly setting.

Scribe William was not writing a work of protest, rather a work of idealism and optimism. This is a work which highlights the need for a balanced and respectful society; it also suggests that Humphrey himself was a man who shared such compassion. In translating an ancient French poem and making it distinctly English, William has also shone a light on the personality of his patron.

Humphrey de Bohun, a great lover of books and literature, might also have been a warm-hearted and considerate lord, who cared for his subjects in difficult times.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator, Printmaker

P.S. As I write, my translation of this wonderful romance is 36% funded. Please spread the message about this new translation of William of Palerne. I so much want this translation to shine a light again on this much neglected and important work – a work ignored for hundreds of years. Please tell your friends about it and ask them to support it. Scribe William and Sir Humphrey, I’m sure, would both be honoured that we – together – are keeping their memory alive. Be a patron of the book <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>.

 


 (main image: Miniature of the book’s author, Vincent of Beauvais, within a border containing the arms of Edward IV, to whom this manuscript belonged. Miroir historial, vol. 1 (Vincent of Beauvais, Speculum historiale, trans. into French by Jean de Vignay), Bruges, c. 1478-1480, Royal 14 E. i, vol. 1, f. 3r. In the public domain)

A mediaeval scribe and the secrets he reveals

The character of the werewolf in the Middle English poem William of Palerne (the romance of William and the Werewolf) is one which, when we meet it, is not what we were expecting. A benign creature whose mission is to help others combat injustice is in remarkable contrast to the notion of the werewolf in our own minds. Why is he so different? To consider the notion of the werewolf, it is important to consider the position of a wolf itself; a creature on the immediate edge of human society - a “beast made mundane”, whose howling in the woods can still be heard today from many towns and villages in Europe and elsewhere. There is a sense of a society beyond; creatures making themselves heard – dogs, but not quite dogs. Distant animals yet close. Some mediaeval werewolves Werewolves form a significant part of the mediaeval writing, whether in romances or in books of marvels. In mediaeval Ireland, a land populated with wild wolves, we read of the Fianna, bands of semi-independent warriors who became associated with the animal. It is likely that those who lived in the wilds and dressed in wolf skins came to be seen as semi-wolves themselves. Yet transformation is also part of the story. Ireland is also home to the legendary werewolves of Ossory, associated with the stories of Laignech Faelad, who was able to transform himself into a wolf. In her translation of a Breton lay, Marie de France describes Bisclavret, a man who without his clothes is condemned to be a wolf. When Bisclavret’s wife discovers his secret, she arranges for an admiring knight to hide her husband’s clothes. With her husband now forced to live in the wild, the lady is free to marry her new lover. The story is eventually resolved and Bisclavret returns to human form. Sympathy for souls in exile It can be seen from these stories, and many others, that a key theme of the werewolf, or wolf/man, is the notion of exile; a sense of living close to, but beyond the warmth of human civilisation. While some stories promote the violence of werewolves, others (such as Bisclavret and William of Palerne), invite us to feel sympathy for a wronged person. In Bisclavret we are made to reflect on how clothes are key to the hero’s state as a person of the human world. This is developed in William and the Werewolf. The poem, written first in French (as Guillaume de Palerne) in c.1200 and then translated into English in c.1340 (as William of Palerne - or William and the Werewolf), shows equally how a man stripped of his clothes is condemned to live outside society. His return to human form at the end reveals him initially as naked before he is then bathed and ritually enrobed in the garb of knighthood to become wholly a man once more. (above: original linocut of Alphonse as the werewolf - one of the many pledge options available for supporters of the book) Where William and the Werewolf differs from Bisclavret in that a prince is turned into a beast by some form of witchcraft. In the story, prince Alphonse of Spain is magically turned into a werewolf by his jealous stepmother, intent on her own son inheriting the kingdom. Condemned to live in the wild, he goes on to rescue a child prince (William) whose jealous uncle (equally seeking possession of a kingdom) has plotted his death. But like Bisclavret, this werewolf is also a wronged hero. It is an enchanting feature of the poem that the poet keeps us willing for the wrongs of both William and Alphonse to be righted; eventually Alphonse helps William regain his kingdom while William is able to effect Alphonse’s transformation and deliver to him his rightful inheritance. Not stereotypical In William and the Werewolf we meet a werewolf, Alphonse, who is less a frightening terror and more a troubled soul, condemned to live beyond royal society. Apart from his understandable anger and violence towards his stepmother, he ultimately does no harm to her or to others. He, like Robin Hood, is denied his lands and is ultimately returned to them by dint of a king; a king (William) he himself has helped to protect and bring back to his rightful place. In Alphonse, and how he works ceaselessly to assist William in his quest, we see in ourselves that it is not appearances which matter, but what lies within our hearts. Alphonse shows us a way forwards and that right, ultimately, will be done. William and the Werewolf is not a poem about violence and horror, it is a reflection on the good which lies within us all. I am looking forward to bringing this magnificent story to life once again and I thank you for supporting my work Michael Smith PS At time of writing, William and the Werewolf is 15% funded just over a week after its launch, but there is a long way to go. Please do help spread the word about this new translation, illustrated throughout with my own linocuts. If you know of those who would like to support this project, please let them know and ask them to pledge support. PPS - if you're reading this and have not yet pledged to support the book (and have your name in the back), you can do so here

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="414" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Werewolf_of_Ossary.png?v=1690915294" width="500">


The character of the werewolf in the Middle English poem William of Palerne (the romance of William and the Werewolf) is one which, when we meet it, is not what we were expecting. A benign creature whose mission is to help others combat injustice is in remarkable contrast to the notion of the werewolf in our own minds. Why is he so different?

To consider the notion of the werewolf, it is important to consider the position of a wolf itself; a creature on the immediate edge of human society - a “beast made mundane”, whose howling in the woods can still be heard today from many towns and villages in Europe and elsewhere. There is a sense of a society beyond; creatures making themselves heard – dogs, but not quite dogs. Distant animals yet close.


 Some mediaeval werewolves


Werewolves form a significant part of the mediaeval writing, whether in romances or in books of marvels. In mediaeval Ireland, a land populated with wild wolves, we read of the Fianna, bands of semi-independent warriors who became associated with the animal. It is likely that those who lived in the wilds and dressed in wolf skins came to be seen as semi-wolves themselves.

Yet transformation is also part of the story. Ireland is also home to the legendary werewolves of Ossory, associated with the stories of Laignech Faelad, who was able to transform himself into a wolf.

In her translation of a Breton lay, Marie de France describes Bisclavret, a man who without his clothes is condemned to be a wolf. When Bisclavret’s wife discovers his secret, she arranges for an admiring knight to hide her husband’s clothes. With her husband now forced to live in the wild, the lady is free to marry her new lover. The story is eventually resolved and Bisclavret returns to human form.


 Sympathy for souls in exile


It can be seen from these stories, and many others, that a key theme of the werewolf, or wolf/man, is the notion of exile; a sense of living close to, but beyond the warmth of human civilisation. While some stories promote the violence of werewolves, others (such as Bisclavret and William of Palerne), invite us to feel sympathy for a wronged person.

In Bisclavret we are made to reflect on how clothes are key to the hero’s state as a person of the human world. This is developed in William and the Werewolf. The poem, written first in French (as Guillaume de Palerne) in c.1200 and then translated into English in c.1340 (as William of Palerne - or William and the Werewolf), shows equally how a man stripped of his clothes is condemned to live outside society. His return to human form at the end reveals him initially as naked before he is then bathed and ritually enrobed in the garb of knighthood to become wholly a man once more.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="356" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Werewolf_20.jpg?v=1690915294" width="465">



 (above: original linocut of Alphonse as the werewolf - one of the many pledge options available for supporters of the book)


Where William and the Werewolf differs from Bisclavret in that a prince is turned into a beast by some form of witchcraft. In the story, prince Alphonse of Spain is magically turned into a werewolf by his jealous stepmother, intent on her own son inheriting the kingdom. Condemned to live in the wild, he goes on to rescue a child prince (William) whose jealous uncle (equally seeking possession of a kingdom) has plotted his death.

But like Bisclavret, this werewolf is also a wronged hero. It is an enchanting feature of the poem that the poet keeps us willing for the wrongs of both William and Alphonse to be righted; eventually Alphonse helps William regain his kingdom while William is able to effect Alphonse’s transformation and deliver to him his rightful inheritance.  


 Not stereotypical


In William and the Werewolf we meet a werewolf, Alphonse, who is less a frightening terror and more a troubled soul, condemned to live beyond royal society. Apart from his understandable anger and violence towards his stepmother, he ultimately does no harm to her or to others. He, like Robin Hood, is denied his lands and is ultimately returned to them by dint of a king; a king (William) he himself has helped to protect and bring back to his rightful place.

In Alphonse, and how he works ceaselessly to assist William in his quest, we see in ourselves that it is not appearances which matter, but what lies within our hearts. Alphonse shows us a way forwards and that right, ultimately, will be done.

William and the Werewolf is not a poem about violence and horror, it is a reflection on the good which lies within us all. I am looking forward to bringing this magnificent story to life once again and I thank you for supporting my work

 


 Michael Smith


PS At time of writing, William and the Werewolf is 15% funded just over a week after its launch, but there is a long way to go. Please do help spread the word about this new translation, illustrated throughout with my own linocuts. If you know of those who would like to support this project, please let them know and ask them to pledge support.

PPS - if you're reading this and have not yet pledged to support the book (and have your name in the back), you can do so <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="269" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Werewolf_and_Book_Jacket_REDUCED_52f48238-ce08-40b4-afc6-dbfb1e8cf68b.jpg?v=1690915294" width="500">

A mediaeval werewolf with a difference

Mediaeval poets knew how to describe a good battle: lots of charging, slashing, blood and gore. The Alliterative Morte Arthure, King Arthur's Death, is one such example - perhaps taking matters to extremes at times with the nature of knightly injuries inflicted. And yet... how warfare is described may, it seems, depend on your patron. Who was the scribe writing the romance for? In William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne) something strange happens which serves to illustrate this point head on. The battles scenes of the original French tail-rhyme romance of the early thirteenth century are transformed in the English telling. Cue a change from a relative gore fest to a much more 'chivalric', almost gentler, story: more Terence Rattigan's "let right be done" than Lt. Colonel Kilgore's "smell of napalm in the morning". In the French original, Guillaume de Palerne, the poet writes at one point, They draw their swords. Then they strike each other with a single blow, They slice their feet and then their arms, They split their face right through to the brains. Brains, entrails and intestines Are spread over the meadow. Graphic stuff indeed. Cruel deeds and crueller ends. Battle as in reality it no doubt happened. And yet in William and the Werewolf, the French poem's fourteenth century successor in Middle English alliterative metre, the poet chooses to avoid such horrors. In the same scene, in which William fights for the Roman Emperor against the Duke of Saxony, the English poet writes, Then the battle began most boldly indeed; Many stunning strokes were given out sternly, And many a bold noble was brought out of life. The presentation is more "romantic", stating of facts yet distant from the harsh realities of the mediaeval battlefield. This approach occurs repeatedly in the romance. In the French, when William returns from the battlefield, The sword he carries and his arm and body are Totally tinted with the red blood Of those he has mutilated and killed. Whereas in the English, the evidence of warfare is subtly airbrushed by the scribe: Where the press was most perilous, he pricked his horse foremost, And blessed so many with his broadsword about every side That which warrior was so wrought he never rose after. It is clear that battle has taken place but the graphic nature of the French original has been removed. Such technique by the poet occasionally gives rise to the criticism that William and the Werewolf is somehow an ineffective romance, one reduced almost to a stereotype of chivalry. Yet such a criticism ignores the part played in the story by the poet and the patron. Why the gentler chivalry? Whoever the mysterious "William" was who identifies himself as the writer (and some scholars have attempted to link him with William Langland, who is said to have written Piers Plowman), it is clear from his translation that he intends to write a gentler story. The reason for this becomes clear when we learn in the poem that it has been commissioned by Humphrey de Bohun, Sixth Earl of Hereford and Fifth Earl of Essex. Humphrey was an invalid, a man compelled to live in the company of monks at his castle at Pleshey; a gentle soul who never married. I consider that scribe William was deeply sympathetic to whatever ailment was suffered by Humphrey. This story is rich in romance and, while still containing many of the great archetypes of chivalric glory, chooses to sanitise its content to render it acceptable to a man also known for his devout piety. William and the Werewolf is less aggressive war story and more a therapy for a patron in deep suffering. A story for a Fisher King, no less; a romance almost heavenly. Thank you for your support Michael Smith Translator and printmaker PS. I hope you have enjoyed reading this update. My translation of this fabulous romance is currently 43% funded so if you know of anyone who would like to support it (and have their name printed in the back as a patron) please do spread the message among your friends. It can't happen otherwise - and there are some super pledge rewards for patrons too - including special mugs, prints and cards - including one or two UNIQUE ones as well! (Above: The Lovers' Pledge - one of the many pledge options available to patrons of the book) Images used in this update show, variously, detals from the Codex Manesse (top); the Rochefoucald Grail and a detail from Perceval ou Le Conte du Graal, c.1330. Translation of the French from Sconduto: Guillaume de Palerne; English translation of William and the Werewolf taken from my forthcoming book.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Codex_Manesse.jpg?v=1690915298" width="365">


Mediaeval poets knew how to describe a good battle: lots of charging, slashing, blood and gore. The Alliterative Morte Arthure, King Arthur's Death, is one such example - perhaps taking matters to extremes at times with the nature of knightly injuries inflicted. And yet... how warfare is described may, it seems, depend on your patron. Who was the scribe writing the romance for?

In<a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf"> William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne)</a> something strange happens which serves to illustrate this point head on. The battles scenes of the original French tail-rhyme romance of the early thirteenth century are transformed in the English telling. Cue a change from a relative gore fest to a much more 'chivalric', almost gentler, story: more Terence Rattigan's "let right be done" than Lt. Colonel Kilgore's "smell of napalm in the morning".

In the French original, Guillaume de Palerne, the poet writes at one point,

<blockquote>
They draw their swords.

Then they strike each other with a single blow,

They slice their feet and then their arms,

They split their face right through to the brains.

Brains, entrails and intestines 

Are spread over the meadow.
</blockquote>


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="301" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/TheRochefoucauldGrail.jpg?v=1690915298" width="500">


Graphic stuff indeed. Cruel deeds and crueller ends. Battle as in reality it no doubt happened. And yet in <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>, the French poem's fourteenth century successor in Middle English alliterative metre, the poet chooses to avoid such horrors. In the same scene, in which William fights for the Roman Emperor against the Duke of Saxony, the English poet writes,

<blockquote>
Then the battle began  most boldly indeed;

Many stunning strokes were given out sternly,

And many a bold noble was brought out of life.
</blockquote>

The presentation is more "romantic", stating of facts yet distant from the harsh realities of the mediaeval battlefield. This approach occurs repeatedly in the romance. In the French, when William returns from the battlefield,

<blockquote>
The sword he carries and his arm and body are

Totally tinted with the red blood

Of those he has mutilated and killed.
</blockquote>

 Whereas in the English, the evidence of warfare is subtly airbrushed by the scribe:

<blockquote>
Where the press was most perilous, he pricked his horse foremost,

And blessed so many with his broadsword about every side

That which warrior was so  wrought he never rose after.
</blockquote>

It is clear that battle has taken place but the graphic nature of the French original has been removed. Such technique by the poet occasionally gives rise to the criticism that <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a> is somehow an ineffective romance, one reduced almost to a stereotype of chivalry. Yet such a criticism ignores the part played in the story by the poet and the patron.


 Why the gentler chivalry?


Whoever the mysterious "William" was who identifies himself as the writer (and some scholars have attempted to link him with William Langland, who is said to have written Piers Plowman), it is clear from his translation that he intends to write a gentler story. The reason for this becomes clear when we learn in the poem that it has been commissioned by Humphrey de Bohun, Sixth Earl of Hereford and Fifth Earl of Essex.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="229" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Perceval_Grail_castle.jpg?v=1690915298" width="500">


Humphrey was an invalid, a man compelled to live in the company of monks at his castle at Pleshey; a gentle soul who never married. I consider that scribe William was deeply sympathetic to whatever ailment was suffered by Humphrey. This story is rich in romance and, while still containing many of the great archetypes of chivalric glory, chooses to sanitise its content to render it acceptable to a man also known for his devout piety.

<a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf </a>is less aggressive war story and more a therapy for a patron in deep suffering. A story for a Fisher King, no less; a romance almost heavenly.

Thank you for your support

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and printmaker

PS. I hope you have enjoyed reading this update. My translation of this fabulous romance is currently 43% funded so if you know of anyone who would like to support it (and have their name printed in the back as a patron) please do spread the message among your friends. It can't happen otherwise - and there are some super pledge rewards for patrons too - including special mugs, prints and cards - including one or two UNIQUE ones as well!


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="340" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Lovers_Pledge_reduced.jpg?v=1690915298" width="500">



 (Above: The Lovers' Pledge - one of the many pledge options available to patrons of the book)


 


 Images used in this update show, variously, detals from the Codex Manesse (top); the Rochefoucald Grail and a detail from Perceval ou Le Conte du Graal, c.1330. Translation of the French from Sconduto: Guillaume de Palerne; English translation of William and the Werewolf taken from my forthcoming book.

A new kind of chivalry - not Apocalypse Now

As once again government ministers become embroiled in allegations of sleaze embedded in a suffocating cloud of self-entitlement, mendacity and lack of empathy, it’s all too often easy to forget that we’ve been here before - in the end days of Edward III and the years of Richard II. In the days before social media and a notionally free press (and indeed the days before what we claim to call democracy today) challenges to politicians, nobles and kings was a tricky business. But seek and ye shall find; in the fourteenth century, the unknown alliterative poets were busy pointing out the pomposity of the privileged: the overweening pride – the "surquedry" – of those who claimed to rule. Ways of behaviour outlined While William and the Werewolf might on the surface seem a benign story of two lords reclaiming lost lands, below its surface lies a social message notwithstanding: the rich have a duty to be responsible for those less fortunate than themselves. When William regains his lands at the end, the poet tells us, his land is freed of liars and flatterers and he lets none near him as counsellors: Flatereres and fals men from him sone he chased; lieres ne losengeres loved he never none. This, after all, was a fourteenth century poem at a time of Black Death and repeated plagues (pandemics no less) where the vulnerability of the feudal system was laid bare: it relied on those without arrogance, the plowmen of the soil and the sowers of the strips to prop up the state. Sir Degrevant, the (partially) alliterative tail-rhyme romance apparently set in the later middle ages when legal formulae were beginning to overturn the established and complacent order of lords such as the Earl in the poem, we read of the hero Degrevant who lovede well almesdede, Powr men to cloth and fede Wyth menske and manhede. Degrevant is honoured for his humility to others; while hardly a lord driven by social conscience he is, notwithstanding, a man aware of poverty whose fame means he is welcomed wherever he goes. Reflection of message Poems such as Degrevant and William draw from a social context to place their action within a known setting, where audiences could rehearse in their minds the meaning of the words. Others, such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, go deeper: presenting a code of decency and honour which, if conflicted by temptation, must nonetheless rise above it. Reflecting perhaps on the power of Alice Perrers, Joan of Kent or the licentiousness of the courts of Gascony, the Gawain poet rues the power of women, beginning his tirade of course with Eve's impact on Adam “who was once so beguiled”. The responsibility of rulers But if the sexist and misogynist attacks he makes later in the poem stick in the craw of the modern reader, what is equally plain is that men have a responsibility for their own self-discipline when it comes to sexual morality. Knighthood and power is a responsibility; licentiousness is not something to be paraded as acceptable or something which can be ignored. The poet of Winner and Waster is contemptuous of the fourteenth century England which he observes For nowe alle es witt and wyles that we with delyn Wyse wordes and slee and icheon wryeth othere. (Now all is guile and trickery which we endure; crafted and misleading words - and each conceals the other). Little wonder he says at the beginning of the poem that none should ever send his son to London (i.e. to court); such ways of trickery which exist there will in the end bring forth doomsday, he asserts. Love of a king is easily lost Yet the ever-present danger was to accept the ruler, to feel sorry for him, as if all such things were out of his hands and the faults of others. The west country scribe of Mum and the Sothsegger, asserts of Richard II that All myn hoole herte was his while he in helthe regnid Yet still the poet must pen words of advice to a ruler so that surquedry and arrogance do not distract him from the role granted him by God. For this is a world where courtiers cared only for the idle life and where, in the end, the white badge of Richard was abused by his men; costing him any loyalty due to him. It is the duty of the ruler, he counsels, To leve al at likynge and lust of the world, But to laboure on the lawe as lewde men on plowes, The worst of rulers, it seems, is he who thinks to sit above the law while expecting those so lewd as ploughmen to abide by it. As the Gawain-poet reminds the reader, he who seeks the pleasures of flesh and ribaldry of wordplay over the honour and decency of personal probity will, despite his vanity, be unable to hide it from others: For none may hyden his harme but unhap ne may hit, For ther hit onez is tachched, twynne will hit never Man may hide his sin, but unhappen it he can’t; for once it is attached, it will never untwine. Powerful messengers The alliterative poets lamented the failings of their rulers yet their method could not be overly critical for fear of retribution. Perhaps they were the Twitterati of their day, hiding behind anonymity to prick the bubble of those abusing power. Yet who can forget the words attributed to Richard II that “serfs ye are, and serfs ye shall remain” on the death of Wat Tyler (above)? While such contempt of the common man might once have passed muster, today’s political leaders have no such place to hide. As the poet the Parlement of the Thre Ages reminds us when the voice of Old Age warns Youth and Middle Age of their folly: Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas, That alle es vayne and vanytes and vanyte es alle. For-thi amendeds youre mysse whills ye are men here … For in helle es no helpe, I hete yow for sothe. All is vanity, change your ways, for there is no help in hell for people like you, I tell you truly. As the poets might say to our political leaders today: if all you seek is vanity and that duty counts for naught, then surely, in the full richness of time, your own private hell awaits. The poets are watching. And so are we. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker PS. Thank you for supporting my work. Much of what I do is undertaken for the love of the subject and hardly as a route to riches. If you enjoy my updates and the books I have written so far, please do spread the message amongst those of your friends who may be interested. William and the Werewolf is 48% funded as I write - so there is still a away to go but if you know of anyone who might also support it (or if you would like to upgrade your pledge), all help would be most gratefully received. The fourteenth century has so many lessons for today; with luck and a fair wind, we might again see some decency in the land - or at least a sense of honour.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="380" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Richard_II.jpg?v=1690915302" width="279">


As once again government ministers become embroiled in allegations of sleaze embedded in a suffocating cloud of self-entitlement, mendacity and lack of empathy, it’s all too often easy to forget that we’ve been here before - in the end days of Edward III and the years of Richard II.

In the days before social media and a notionally free press (and indeed the days before what we claim to call democracy today) challenges to politicians, nobles and kings was a tricky business. But seek and ye shall find; in the fourteenth century, the unknown alliterative poets were busy pointing out the pomposity of the privileged: the overweening pride – the "surquedry" – of those who claimed to rule.


 Ways of behaviour outlined


While William and the Werewolf might on the surface seem a benign story of two lords reclaiming lost lands, below its surface lies a social message notwithstanding: the rich have a duty to be responsible for those less fortunate than themselves. When William regains his lands at the end, the poet tells us, his land is freed of liars and flatterers and he lets none near him as counsellors:

<blockquote>
Flatereres and fals men from him sone he chased;

lieres ne losengeres loved he never none.
</blockquote>

This, after all, was a fourteenth century poem at a time of Black Death and repeated plagues (pandemics no less) where the vulnerability of the feudal system was laid bare: it relied on those without arrogance, the plowmen of the soil and the sowers of the strips to prop up the state.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="322" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Plough_Riches_Heures_March.jpg?v=1690915301" width="500">


Sir Degrevant, the (partially) alliterative tail-rhyme romance apparently set in the later middle ages when legal formulae were beginning to overturn the established and complacent order of lords such as the Earl in the poem, we read of the hero Degrevant who

<blockquote>
lovede well almesdede,

Powr men to cloth and fede

Wyth menske and manhede.
</blockquote>

Degrevant is honoured for his humility to others; while hardly a lord driven by social conscience he is, notwithstanding, a man aware of poverty whose fame means he is welcomed wherever he goes.


 Reflection of message


Poems such as Degrevant and William draw from a social context to place their action within a known setting, where audiences could rehearse in their minds the meaning of the words.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="344" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/In_the_Green_Chapel_MB.jpg?v=1690915302" width="336">


Others, such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, go deeper: presenting a code of decency and honour which, if conflicted by temptation, must nonetheless rise above it. Reflecting perhaps on the power of Alice Perrers, Joan of Kent or the licentiousness of the courts of Gascony, the Gawain poet rues the power of women, beginning his tirade of course with Eve's impact on Adam “who was once so beguiled”.


 The responsibility of rulers


But if the sexist and misogynist attacks he makes later in the poem stick in the craw of the modern reader, what is equally plain is that men have a responsibility for their own self-discipline when it comes to sexual morality. Knighthood and power is a responsibility; licentiousness is not something to be paraded as acceptable or something which can be ignored.

The poet of Winner and Waster is contemptuous of the fourteenth century England which he observes

<blockquote>
For nowe alle es witt and wyles that we with delyn

Wyse wordes and slee and icheon wryeth othere.
</blockquote>

(Now all is guile and trickery which we endure; crafted and misleading words - and each conceals the other).

Little wonder he says at the beginning of the poem that none should ever send his son to London (i.e. to court); such ways of trickery which exist there will in the end bring forth doomsday, he asserts.


 Love of a king is easily lost


Yet the ever-present danger was to accept the ruler, to feel sorry for him, as if all such things were out of his hands and the faults of others. The west country scribe of Mum and the Sothsegger, asserts of Richard II that

<blockquote>
All myn hoole herte was his while he in helthe regnid
</blockquote>


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Coronation_of_Richard_II.jpg?v=1690915302" width="497">


Yet still the poet must pen words of advice to a ruler so that surquedry and arrogance do not distract him from the role granted him by God. For this is a world where courtiers cared only for the idle life and where, in the end, the white badge of Richard was abused by his men; costing him any loyalty due to him. It is the duty of the ruler, he counsels,

<blockquote>
To leve al at likynge and lust of the world,

But to laboure on the lawe as lewde men on plowes,
</blockquote>

The worst of rulers, it seems, is he who thinks to sit above the law while expecting those so lewd as ploughmen to abide by it. As the Gawain-poet reminds the reader, he who seeks the pleasures of flesh and ribaldry of wordplay over the honour and decency of personal probity will, despite his vanity, be unable to hide it from others:

<blockquote>
For none may hyden his harme but unhap ne may hit,

For ther hit onez is tachched, twynne will hit never
</blockquote>

Man may hide his sin, but unhappen it he can’t; for once it is attached, it will never untwine.


 Powerful messengers


The alliterative poets lamented the failings of their rulers yet their method could not be overly critical for fear of retribution. Perhaps they were the Twitterati of their day, hiding behind anonymity to prick the bubble of those abusing power.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="422" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Serfs_ye_are.jpg?v=1690915302" width="500">


Yet who can forget the words attributed to Richard II that “serfs ye are, and serfs ye shall remain” on the death of Wat Tyler (above)? While such contempt of the common man might once have passed muster, today’s political leaders have no such place to hide.

As the poet the Parlement of the Thre Ages reminds us when the voice of Old Age warns Youth and Middle Age of their folly:

<blockquote>
Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas,

That alle es vayne and vanytes and vanyte es alle.

For-thi amendeds youre mysse whills ye are men here …

For in helle es no helpe, I hete yow for sothe.
</blockquote>

All is vanity, change your ways, for there is no help in hell for people like you, I tell you truly.

As the poets might say to our political leaders today: if all you seek is vanity and that duty counts for naught, then surely, in the full richness of time, your own private hell awaits.

The poets are watching. And so are we.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

 

PS. Thank you for supporting my work. Much of what I do is undertaken for the love of the subject and hardly as a route to riches. If you enjoy my updates and the books I have written so far, please do spread the message amongst those of your friends who may be interested. William and the Werewolf is 48% funded as I write - so there is still a away to go but if you know of anyone who might also support it (or if you would like to upgrade your pledge), all help would be most gratefully received. The fourteenth century has so many lessons for today; with luck and a fair wind, we might again see some decency in the land - or at least a sense of honour.

An end to sleaze, duplicity and lies - voices from the past show us the way

Dear Patron I am writing to thank you for supporting my work; as I write, William and the Werewolf is now 75% funded and hopefully this year will see it reach its financial target and bring this fabulous fourteenth century romance to a whole new audience. It's certainly been a tough year for everyone so I am particularly grateful for your help with this undertaking; with all the work I have been doing in the background, I hope you'll find that the results have been worth waiting for. Many patrons of William have also supported my earlier translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. With the recent cold snap, I was reminded of the wintry scenes within that magnificent romances and have put together a film showing a number of its many superb descriptions of the northern winter landscape of six centuries ago. As you probably know, what we now call Middle English was not a standardised language; it was spoken and written in a number of dialects which, in their written form, are highly distinctive. The dialect of Gawain is described as North Midlands, or North-West Midlands; it has a direct feel to it which enables a graphic and emphatic delivery by the speaker. By contrast, the dialect of William and the Werewolf is thought to be Southern Worcestershire or Warwickshire; its delivery is much softer and its words less direct, giving a real sense of warmth to the audience. If you're not familiar with Middle English, and in particular the poems of the Alliterative Revival of the fourteenth century, the film will show you the source material I work with in my translations. I will put together a special one for William and the Werewolf in the near future. In the meantime, enjoy the film - and enjoy the festive season! Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker

Dear Patron

I am writing to thank you for supporting my work; as I write, William and the Werewolf is now 75% funded and hopefully this year will see it reach its financial target and bring this fabulous fourteenth century romance to a whole new audience.

It's certainly been a tough year for everyone so I am particularly grateful for your help with this undertaking; with all the work I have been doing in the background, I hope you'll find that the results have been worth waiting for.

Many patrons of William have also supported my earlier translation of <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/shop">Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</a>. With the recent cold snap, I was reminded of the wintry scenes within that magnificent romances and have put together a film showing a number of its many superb descriptions of the northern winter landscape of six centuries ago.

As you probably know, what we now call Middle English was not a standardised language; it was spoken and written in a number of dialects which, in their written form, are highly distinctive.

The dialect of Gawain is described as North Midlands, or North-West Midlands; it has a direct feel to it which enables a graphic and emphatic delivery by the speaker. By contrast, the dialect of William and the Werewolf is thought to be Southern Worcestershire or Warwickshire; its delivery is much softer and its words less direct, giving a real sense of warmth to the audience.

If you're not familiar with Middle English, and in particular the poems of the Alliterative Revival of the fourteenth century, the film will show you the source material I work with in my translations. I will put together a special one for William and the Werewolf in the near future. 

In the meantime, enjoy the film - and enjoy the festive season!


 Michael Smith



 Translator and Printmaker

Christmas wishes - and a special Medieval-themed film for you to enjoy

Dear Subscriber, As I write, William and the Werewolf has reached 91% funding! - we're nearly there and it would not have been possible without your help. By my calculation, I estimate that a further 40 or so supporters will be enough to help see the book over the line and ready to go into the next stage - preparing the text and linocut illustrations for manuscript submission. If you know of anyone with an interest in mediaeval Middle English romances who might like to support the book, please can you ask them to do so, if it is of interest to them? To help them, Unbound has created a special "almost there" offer for patrons - and, as with your own pledge, they'll also be recognised in the final book by having their name published in the back as a supporter. By using the code ALMOSTTHERE15 at the check out, any patron can save 15% on pledge options up to £100. If you have already pledged but want to help the book reach its target by upgrading your own pledge (e.g. from hard back to signed hardback) I believe you can also use the code on the upgrade - every little helps to enable William and the Werewolf to become reality. This edition will, I believe, be the only translation into modern English of this wonderful mediaeval romance (some of the orginal manuscript shown above). My work has only been possible with your help, support and encouragement along the way - thank you so much. Kind regards Michael Smith Author, Translator, Printmaker

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="203" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/MS_13_WoP_3.jpg?v=1690915309" width="500">


Dear Subscriber, 

As I write, William and the Werewolf has reached 91% funding! - we're nearly there and it would not have been possible without your help.

By my calculation, I estimate that a further 40 or so supporters will be enough to help see the book over the line and ready to go into the next stage - preparing the text and linocut illustrations for manuscript submission. 

If you know of anyone with an interest in mediaeval Middle English romances who might like to support the book, please can you ask them to do so, if it is of interest to them?

To help them, Unbound has created a special "almost there" offer for patrons - and, as with your own pledge, they'll also be recognised in the final book by having their name published in the back as a supporter. By using the code ALMOSTTHERE15 at the check out, any patron can save 15% on pledge options up to £100.

If you have already pledged but want to help the book reach its target by upgrading your own pledge (e.g. from hard back to signed hardback) I believe you can also use the code on the upgrade - every little helps to enable <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a> to become reality.

This edition will, I believe, be the only translation into modern English of this wonderful mediaeval romance (some of the orginal manuscript shown above). My work has only been possible with your help, support and encouragement along the way - thank you so much.

Kind regards

 


 Michael Smith



 Author, Translator, Printmaker



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Almost_There.jpg?v=1690915309" width="500">



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="325" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Werewolf_Colour__282_29.jpg?v=1690915309" width="500">

Closing in on publication!

A central component of William and the Werewolf (the fourteenth century romance also known as William of Palerne) is the love between William, the poem’s central character, and Melior, the daughter of the Roman Emperor. Yet it is how this love plays out which makes us consider our approach to the notion of “courtly love”. When the emperor first brings William to his palace as a foundling in the forest, little is known about the boy except that he had royal clothes in his possession. He is what the mediaevals called a "fair unknown", a sort of "male Cinderalla". Although we, the audience, know that William is the betrayed son of the King and Queen of Palermo, all the emperor knows is that the boy was first found in the woods by a cowherd; William therefore has no proven royal status. A forbidden relationship Hence, while he places William in the company of his daughter Melior as her page, there is an unspoken convention that, despite the possibility of noble blood, William is socially beneath the princess and therefore not a threat to her higher role as future heir. This is central to the audience’s perception: princesses marry princes; kingdoms and heirs are the gift of royal marriages and connections. Marriage consecrates dynastic longevity. The destructive power of love Yet, nothing stands in the way of love. Love in the very height of its apex – the connection between two souls - can create an intensity so fragile that when it is switched off its very essence of joy can become fierce loathing. The passionate love expressed in William and the Werewolf centres on the urgency and intensity of an emotion so often hovering between the boundaries of exquisite love and the resentful hatred of rejection. At this heightened level of intensity, love becomes dangerous and potentially destructive. Love can be about the ever-present “now” – an almost destructive desire always to be in the present – or an exquisite “then”, the semi-addictive longing for ever more pleasure, a joy without end. Crucial to love’s power is what the Greeks identified as a bittersweet and unachievable desire for something which is missing, a “lack”. The narrative manipulation of love The mediaeval romancers understood the harshness of love’s barbed arrow and how to reveal it in their work, making it effective by portraying two lovers and the ever-moving enemy which hinders their fulfilment. They could explore its substance, play with it in their characters or even hover on the boundaries of perceived legality. In William and the Werewolf, William loves Melior and vice versa; the key hindrance is the difference in their social status and the Emperor’s later desire for his daughter to marry the heir to the Emperor of Greece. When eventually the pair elope, the hindrances become ever more fluid, varied and colourful: pursuing soldiers; the threat of discovery by charcoal burners and quarrymen; crossing the straits of Messina and finally their revelation to the queen of Palermo. This is a love which must find a settled state – with the werewolf as facilitator. Courtly love or lust and sex? Yet despite the “romantic” adventure in which William and Melior are placed - a sense of two imperilled lovers on a desperate journey of escape - this cannot hide a lustful intent. If we probe deeply, we find a narrative current which explores not only love, but also lust and sexuality - albeit cloaked in a desperate world where God is often invoked to save the romance and preserve the lovers. Notwithstanding, the romance challenges our understanding of the notion of love which is somehow “courtly”. In archetypical mediaeval love scenes in the garden, where William pines for Melior – a pining replicated by Melior herself - we are introduced to the bittersweet nature of their love. William, troubled by his anxiety, walks about in distress, And wandered in woe, waking often at night. Such longings of love had so beguiled his heart He knew not the best way to abate his bleak yearning. Indeed, when William learns that Melior may become betrothed to the son of the Greek emperor, he almost dies from his love for her and the fact that his love may become untouchable, unreachable. Similarly, the introduction of the maid Alisaundrine lets us explore Melior’s illness too as the princess speaks her woes to her closest friend, allowing us to understand her feelings in a compelling way. She explains, Often it takes me some ten times each day, And nine times on the night, not less than that; Caused by a throbbing thought which thrills my heart; I would tell you all of my matters if I might, for shame… And it is at this stage in the poem when we read of William’s dream of Melior in which he talks with his love, whose passion – nor ambition - is without any doubt, yet he wakes holding a pillow, imagining he has been holding his lover. As she says to him in the dream, Lovely lord, my sweetheart, clasp me in your arms, And work your will with me or wholly and fast My life is truly lost, I am so lovelorn for you The dream sequence is not naïve; it is intensely sexual. While it may replicate the mediaeval devotional prayers which describe an almost erotic relationship with the body of Christ, there is no doubt that a dream sexual encounter has occurred. We are invited by the poet to understand that a deep sexual longing is to be fulfilled, not hidden away by coded language. Thus it is that the pair eventually elope, helped by Alisaundrine. Here, in Melior’s own chamber (itself a reference to the couple’s sexual expression), the pair are dressed comically in the skins of white bears so they can escape unseen from Rome. The skins metaphorically become a sexual embrace and symbol for their physical togetherness; William and Melior are wrapped in the warmth of their love – skin to skin. A tactile love. A mediaeval voyeurism In the ensuing chase through the countryside, we see William and Melior sleep together in holt and by highway. We are not expected here to assume that the couple are platonically besotted; instead we must see them as sexual partners. The ever-present skins remind us of their flesh; the guarding werewolf, watching yet not watching, adds an additional voyeuristic hue. There remains throughout the chase a highly charged sense of pursuers “catching them at it”. Sex is serious In understanding the sexual power of the poem, we need only look at the emperor and his position in the story. For a dynastic marriage to be successful, his daughter must be virginal; when she escapes with William, the emperor knows that this is no longer the case. More, because the two are in love and have both consented to each other, the emperor also knows that William and Melior are, to all intents and purposes, married. William is now under sentence of death for treachery against the crown. Sex is serious. The great reveal Of course, in the end the “fair unknown” is revealed – as indeed is the parallel “unfair unknown” in the character of the werewolf. Instead of a marriage of un-equals, William is revealed as King of Palermo and the Werewolf is the Prince of Spain. Both marry princesses yet, even here, sex is never far away; when the werewolf becomes Prince Alphonse, he is seen as completely naked by William, Melior and by his own future bride. Sex is manifest. In William and the Werewolf, we are introduced to a world of mediaeval erotica, an adventure in which love challenges its boundaries to try to find its “lack”. Although it can be argued that the poem on one level is a simple romance adventure, it can also be seen as something completely different: an exploration of sexual desire. An antithesis of what we might perceive as the chivalric code of courtly love. In this magnificent poem, behind the chivalric panoply of court and ritual, sex is far from hidden and is never far away. It is there in front of our eyes, seen yet unseen. Sex is the apogee of union: that very something which love always searches for - the very thing that is missing, can never be grasped fully and which, in the end, always leaves us wanting more. Spread the joy of love! I hope you are enjoying these updates. Please spread the word to other potential pledgers to help bring this fascinating mediaeval romance alive once again for a modern audience. We need many more supporters to help make it happen - but it will be worth it. This story is as exquisite as it is fascinating - with lots to explore underneath its surface! I can't wait to share the finished work with you. Thank you! Michael Smith Translator, historian, printmaker

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Christine_de_Pisan.jpg?v=1690915313" width="466">


A central component of William and the Werewolf (the fourteenth century romance also known as William of Palerne) is the love between William, the poem’s central character, and Melior, the daughter of the Roman Emperor. Yet it is how this love plays out which makes us consider our approach to the notion of “courtly love”.

When the emperor first brings William to his palace as a foundling in the forest, little is known about the boy except that he had royal clothes in his possession. He is what the mediaevals called a "fair unknown", a sort of "male Cinderalla". Although we, the audience, know that William is the betrayed son of the King and Queen of Palermo, all the emperor knows is that the boy was first found in the woods by a cowherd; William therefore has no proven royal status.

 


 A forbidden relationship


Hence, while he places William in the company of his daughter Melior as her page, there is an unspoken convention that, despite the possibility of noble blood, William is socially beneath the princess and therefore not a threat to her higher role as future heir. This is central to the audience’s perception: princesses marry princes; kingdoms and heirs are the gift of royal marriages and connections. Marriage consecrates dynastic longevity.

 


 The destructive power of love



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="459" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Lady_1.jpg?v=1690915313" width="500">


Yet, nothing stands in the way of love. Love in the very height of its apex – the connection between two souls - can create an intensity so fragile that when it is switched off its very essence of joy can become fierce loathing. The passionate love expressed in William and the Werewolf centres on the urgency and intensity of an emotion so often hovering between the boundaries of exquisite love and the resentful hatred of rejection.

At this heightened level of intensity, love becomes dangerous and potentially destructive. Love can be about the ever-present “now” – an almost destructive desire always to be in the present – or an exquisite “then”, the semi-addictive longing for ever more pleasure, a joy without end. Crucial to love’s power is what the Greeks identified as a bittersweet and unachievable desire for something which is missing, a “lack”.

 


 The narrative manipulation of love



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="278" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Lovers.jpg?v=1690915313" width="500">


The mediaeval romancers understood the harshness of love’s barbed arrow and how to reveal it in their work, making it effective by portraying two lovers and the ever-moving enemy which hinders their fulfilment. They could explore its substance, play with it in their characters or even hover on the boundaries of perceived legality.

In William and the Werewolf, William loves Melior and vice versa; the key hindrance is the difference in their social status and the Emperor’s later desire for his daughter to marry the heir to the Emperor of Greece.

When eventually the pair elope, the hindrances become ever more fluid, varied and colourful: pursuing soldiers; the threat of discovery by charcoal burners and quarrymen; crossing the straits of Messina and finally their revelation to the queen of Palermo. This is a love which must find a settled state – with the werewolf as facilitator.

 


 Courtly love or lust and sex?


Yet despite the “romantic” adventure in which William and Melior are placed - a sense of two imperilled lovers on a desperate journey of escape - this cannot hide a lustful intent. If we probe deeply, we find a narrative current which explores not only love, but also lust and sexuality - albeit cloaked in a desperate world where God is often invoked to save the romance and preserve the lovers. Notwithstanding, the romance challenges our understanding of the notion of love which is somehow “courtly”.

In archetypical mediaeval love scenes in the garden, where William pines for Melior – a pining replicated by Melior herself - we are introduced to the bittersweet nature of their love. William, troubled by his anxiety, walks about in distress,

<blockquote>
And wandered in woe, waking often at night.

Such longings of love had so beguiled his heart

He knew not the best way to abate his bleak yearning.
</blockquote>

 

Indeed, when William learns that Melior may become betrothed to the son of the Greek emperor, he almost dies from his love for her and the fact that his love may become untouchable, unreachable. Similarly, the introduction of the maid Alisaundrine lets us explore Melior’s illness too as the princess speaks her woes to her closest friend, allowing us to understand her feelings in a compelling way. She explains,

<blockquote>
Often it takes me some ten times each day,

And nine times on the night, not less than that;

Caused by a throbbing thought which thrills my heart;

I would tell you all of my matters if I might, for shame…
</blockquote>

 

And it is at this stage in the poem when we read of William’s dream of Melior in which he talks with his love, whose passion – nor ambition - is without any doubt, yet he wakes holding a pillow, imagining he has been holding his lover. As she says to him in the dream,

<blockquote>
Lovely lord, my sweetheart,  clasp me in your arms,

And work your will with me or wholly and fast

My life is truly lost, I am so lovelorn for you
</blockquote>

The dream sequence is not naïve; it is intensely sexual. While it may replicate the mediaeval devotional prayers which describe an almost erotic relationship with the body of Christ, there is no doubt that a dream sexual encounter has occurred.

We are invited by the poet to understand that a deep sexual longing is to be fulfilled, not hidden away by coded language. Thus it is that the pair eventually elope, helped by Alisaundrine. Here, in Melior’s own chamber (itself a reference to the couple’s sexual expression), the pair are dressed comically in the skins of white bears so they can escape unseen from Rome. The skins metaphorically become a sexual embrace and symbol for their physical togetherness; William and Melior are wrapped in the warmth of their love – skin to skin. A tactile love.

 


 A mediaeval voyeurism



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="350" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Sex_2.jpg?v=1690915313" width="500">


In the ensuing chase through the countryside, we see William and Melior sleep together in holt and by highway. We are not expected here to assume that the couple are platonically besotted; instead we must see them as sexual partners. The ever-present skins remind us of their flesh; the guarding werewolf, watching yet not watching, adds an additional voyeuristic hue. There remains throughout the chase a highly charged sense of pursuers “catching them at it”.

 


 Sex is serious


In understanding the sexual power of the poem, we need only look at the emperor and his position in the story. For a dynastic marriage to be successful, his daughter must be virginal; when she escapes with William, the emperor knows that this is no longer the case.

More, because the two are in love and have both consented to each other, the emperor also knows that William and Melior are, to all intents and purposes, married. William is now under sentence of death for treachery against the crown. Sex is serious.

 


 The great reveal


Of course, in the end the “fair unknown” is revealed – as indeed is the parallel “unfair unknown” in the character of the werewolf. Instead of a marriage of un-equals, William is revealed as King of Palermo and the Werewolf is the Prince of Spain. Both marry princesses yet, even here, sex is never far away; when the werewolf becomes Prince Alphonse, he is seen as completely naked by William, Melior and by his own future bride. Sex is manifest.

In William and the Werewolf, we are introduced to a world of mediaeval erotica, an adventure in which love challenges its boundaries to try to find its “lack”. Although it can be argued that the poem on one level is a simple romance adventure, it can also be seen as something completely different: an exploration of sexual desire. An antithesis of what we might perceive as the chivalric code of courtly love.

In this magnificent poem, behind the chivalric panoply of court and ritual, sex is far from hidden and is never far away. It is there in front of our eyes, seen yet unseen. Sex is the apogee of union: that very something which love always searches for - the very thing that is missing, can never be grasped fully and which, in the end, always leaves us wanting more.

 


 Spread the joy of love!


I hope you are enjoying these updates. Please spread the word to other potential pledgers to help bring this fascinating mediaeval romance alive once again for a modern audience. We need many more supporters to help make it happen - but it will be worth it. This story is as exquisite as it is fascinating - with lots to explore underneath its surface! I can't wait to share the finished work with you.

Thank you!

 


 Michael Smith


Translator, historian, printmaker

Courtly love, sex and desire in William and the Werewolf

Public storytelling, alongside minstrelsy, dancing, jesting and games, formed an important part of entertainment in noble, knightly and/or merchant households in fourteenth century England. Such storytelling included readings from stories such as William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne). Like a number of such works, it takes the form of a long poem, broken down into manageable sections to enable ease of reading, presentation and audience comprehension. What is immediately evident from a reading of the poem is that it incorporates a “voice” in addition to the story itself; the voice of the narrator. This creates an astonishing vitality of presence: the personality of the poet, the notion of the narrator, and a sense its contemporary audience. William and the Werewolf, it seems, is a story for public enjoyment; but how can we be certain? A public voice In addition to character of the narrator, William also includes a variety of tools in its armoury to make it relevant and hold interest for its audience. Poems of this period provide more than just a skin-deep romantic narrative; the stories themselves are rich in contemporary detail, social nuance and subversive commentary. These elements introduce us to the poem as an item of entertainment for a mediaeval household; the equivalent of a TV show or a digital gaming/participation environment. So the role of the poem’s narrator is key to how the story flows and is enjoyed. Through the narrator, William (transcribed from French to Middle English in c.1340-50) is given an accepted contemporary structure within which an adventure takes place. The narrator guides us via an opinion; presents coded messages to the audience and, by the reference to the mundane, usefully helps today’s reader visualise the society within which – and for whom - he was writing. Narrative technique The narrator asserts control from the beginning, often drawing the reader in with a phrase which we might loosely translate as “gather round and listen all”. He places the poem within the context of authority; often referring to its source (“as the book does say”, “as is written in romance”). The narrator draws on this substance to create credibility and to distance him/herself from the message being delivered. In creating this authority, the narrator gives permission to the audience to suspend disbelief and to accept the story, its context and its message. In today’s parlance, we surrender such responsibility to the book jacket, the packaging of a game or the hashtags and brand statements used in social media. We accept the positioning to determine how we wish to understand the content. The narrator also dips in and out of our consciousness during the reading. In William, he often intervenes with phrases such as “I tell you truly” or “let us stop talking about …. And turn again to”. This is important because it reminds the audience that this is a story; the process provides convenient breaks in the narrative; and it allows an opinion to be projected which might be enjoyed within the reading environment. Performance art? By the use of such interjections, the narrator helps us understand the process of how the story was read in the fourteenth century. It does not appear that the poem was intended for private (silent) reading but that it was intended to be read aloud, either within a parlour of a large mediaeval house or possibly for larger entertainment within a hall. One surrounding is intimate and reflective; the other is grander and more public. Depending on where in the house the story was read, the role of the narrator in drawing in the audience and the characters is key to the understanding of the entertainment. In a hall, for example, the reader – taking on the role of the narrator – can engage different members of the household in the general storytelling. In a smaller room, the nuance of the characters and how the work is received is more discreet (perhaps ideal for a more didactic work or the life of a saint). We are given some indication as to the poem’s likely consumption by references in it to its patron, Humphrey de Bohun, a leading aristocratic figure of the fourteenth century and a man known for his library of French and Latin texts. Curiously, as the manuscript to William and the Werewolf states, its scribe (also called William) is undertaking the work for those who “know no French”. Hence, instead of being and English addition to the main part of Humphrey’s collection, the poem – perhaps – was intended to be shared on a wider basis for the enjoyment of those households on his estates. There is a suggestion, based on an interpretation of the dialect of the poem and reference within it to Gloucester, the poem was written for consumption on his lands in Gloucestershire. Where was the book read? In this light, we can see the poem as a poem for communal entertainment provided perhaps by an absentee landlord or by a landlord who travelled among his estates, bringing joy to his fellow lords or to their households. Certainly, it is a feature of William and the Werewolf that good lordship is repeatedly stated as being key to loyalty and the harmonious longevity of feudal lands. Hence, William and the Werewolf was likely to have been read within the confines of a large mediaeval domestic building, such as Barley Hall in York (above), Place House in Hertfordshire, or perhaps a hall of a small fortified manor house such as Stokesay Castle in Shropshire. In such places, the central hall with its high table on the dais and “boards” around the outside for guests, would be a prime entertainment space for William to be performed and enjoyed. How was the story listened to? Many of the Middle English romance poems – William included – give further clues as to how the stories were delivered to their audience. Hand written and (in this case) long, the poem would be difficult to deliver within the space of one sitting. We know from William and the Werewolf (and indeed from poems such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight) that fesitivities in these grand halls could often last for many days and so it may well have been the case that the stories were “serialised”, for want of a better term, in their delivery. In William’s case, this is quite likely, for the poem is clearly broken down into a number of manageable chunks for ease of navigation and, in many cases, providing logical story breaks to enable a reading to end “on a cliff-hanger”. A book for its time William and the Werewolf, the English telling of the French Guillaume de Palerne, is very much a book for its time: strong pace; a sense of social order; intriguing insights into people of all classes in society; and a fundamental joy and happy final resolution. It was a book to be enjoyed within a household setting and quite likely publicly within a communal setting. As well as being a fascinating mediaeval adventure romance, it is also a window on how things were done and lives were lived in England long ago. I will be discussing many of these themes in the historical introduction to the book when it is published, in addition to a full translation of the poem - illustrated throughout -, detailed notes, a glossary and a detailed bibliography for further research. It will be a super insight into the world of courtly reading in the mid fourteenth century. If you know of others who will be interested in this major new telling of this stunning poem, please do spread the word and ask them to support it - it can only happen with your help. Thank you so much for supporting my work which, as I write, has now reached 100 backers! Kind regards Michael Smith Author, translator, printmaker

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Christine_de_Pisan_reading.jpg?v=1690915317" width="465">


Public storytelling, alongside minstrelsy, dancing, jesting and games, formed an important part of entertainment in noble, knightly and/or merchant households in fourteenth century England. Such storytelling included readings from stories such as William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne).

Like a number of such works, it takes the form of a long poem, broken down into manageable sections to enable ease of reading, presentation and audience comprehension.

What is immediately evident from a reading of the poem is that it incorporates a “voice” in addition to the story itself; the voice of the narrator. This creates an astonishing vitality of presence: the personality of the poet, the notion of the narrator, and a sense its contemporary audience. William and the Werewolf, it seems, is a story for public enjoyment; but how can we be certain?


 A public voice


In addition to character of the narrator, William also includes a variety of tools in its armoury to make it relevant and hold interest for its audience. Poems of this period provide more than just a skin-deep romantic narrative; the stories themselves are rich in contemporary detail, social nuance and subversive commentary.

These elements introduce us to the poem as an item of entertainment for a mediaeval household; the equivalent of a TV show or a digital gaming/participation environment. So the role of the poem’s narrator is key to how the story flows and is enjoyed.

Through the narrator, William (transcribed from French to Middle English in c.1340-50) is given an accepted contemporary structure within which an adventure takes place. The narrator guides us via an opinion; presents coded messages to the audience and, by the reference to the mundane, usefully helps today’s reader visualise the society within which – and for whom - he was writing.


 Narrative technique


The narrator asserts control from the beginning, often drawing the reader in with a phrase which we might loosely translate as “gather round and listen all”. He places the poem within the context of authority; often referring to its source (“as the book does say”, “as is written in romance”). The narrator draws on this substance to create credibility and to distance him/herself from the message being delivered.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="301" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Reader_2.jpg?v=1690915317" width="500">


In creating this authority, the narrator gives permission to the audience to suspend disbelief and to accept the story, its context and its message. In today’s parlance, we surrender such responsibility to the book jacket, the packaging of a game or the hashtags and brand statements used in social media. We accept the positioning to determine how we wish to understand the content.

The narrator also dips in and out of our consciousness during the reading. In William, he often intervenes with phrases such as “I tell you truly” or “let us stop talking about …. And turn again to”. This is important because it reminds the audience that this is a story; the process provides convenient breaks in the narrative; and it allows an opinion to be projected which might be enjoyed within the reading environment.


 Performance art?


By the use of such interjections, the narrator helps us understand the process of how the story was read in the fourteenth century. It does not appear that the poem was intended for private (silent) reading but that it was intended to be read aloud, either within a parlour of a large mediaeval house or possibly for larger entertainment within a hall. One surrounding is intimate and reflective; the other is grander and more public.

Depending on where in the house the story was read, the role of the narrator in drawing in the audience and the characters is key to the understanding of the entertainment. In a hall, for example, the reader – taking on the role of the narrator – can engage different members of the household in the general storytelling. In a smaller room, the nuance of the characters and how the work is received is more discreet (perhaps ideal for a more didactic work or the life of a saint).


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Mediaeval_Household_2.jpg?v=1690915317" width="437">


We are given some indication as to the poem’s likely consumption by references in it to its patron, Humphrey de Bohun, a leading aristocratic figure of the fourteenth century and a man known for his library of French and Latin texts. Curiously, as the manuscript to William and the Werewolf states, its scribe (also called William) is undertaking the work for those who “know no French”.

Hence, instead of being and English addition to the main part of Humphrey’s collection, the poem – perhaps – was intended to be shared on a wider basis for the enjoyment of those households on his estates. There is a suggestion, based on an interpretation of the dialect of the poem and reference within it to Gloucester, the poem was written for consumption on his lands in Gloucestershire.


 Where was the book read?


In this light, we can see the poem as a poem for communal entertainment provided perhaps by an absentee landlord or by a landlord who travelled among his estates, bringing joy to his fellow lords or to their households. Certainly, it is a feature of William and the Werewolf that good lordship is repeatedly stated as being key to loyalty and the harmonious longevity of feudal lands.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="292" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Barley_Hall_from_Visit_York.jpg?v=1690915317" width="500">


Hence, William and the Werewolf was likely to have been read within the confines of a large mediaeval domestic building, such as Barley Hall in York (above), Place House in Hertfordshire, or perhaps a hall of a small fortified manor house such as Stokesay Castle in Shropshire.

In such places, the central hall with its high table on the dais and “boards” around the outside for guests, would be a prime entertainment space for William to be performed and enjoyed.


 How was the story listened to?



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="336" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Chaucer_reading_2.jpg?v=1690915317" width="310">


Many of the Middle English romance poems – William included – give further clues as to how the stories were delivered to their audience. Hand written and (in this case) long, the poem would be difficult to deliver within the space of one sitting.

We know from William and the Werewolf (and indeed from poems such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight) that fesitivities in these grand halls could often last for many days and so it may well have been the case that the stories were “serialised”, for want of a better term, in their delivery.

In William’s case, this is quite likely, for the poem is clearly broken down into a number of manageable chunks for ease of navigation and, in many cases, providing logical story breaks to enable a reading to end “on a cliff-hanger”.


 A book for its time


William and the Werewolf, the English telling of the French Guillaume de Palerne, is very much a book for its time: strong pace; a sense of social order; intriguing insights into people of all classes in society; and a fundamental joy and happy final resolution. It was a book to be enjoyed within a household setting and quite likely publicly within a communal setting. As well as being a fascinating mediaeval adventure romance, it is also a window on how things were done and lives were lived in England long ago.

I will be discussing many of these themes in the historical introduction to the book when it is published, in addition to a full translation of the poem - illustrated throughout -, detailed notes, a glossary and a detailed bibliography for further research. It will be a super insight into the world of courtly reading in the mid fourteenth century.

If you know of others who will be interested in this major new telling of this stunning poem, please do spread the word and ask them to support it - it can only happen with your help.

Thank you so much for supporting my work which, as I write, has now reached 100 backers!

Kind regards

 


 Michael Smith


Author, translator, printmaker


 <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf"><img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="232" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/100_pledgers_2.jpg?v=1690915317" width="500"> </a>

Home entertainment and the reading of books in the mediaeval household.

As well as being rich in chivalric exploits and common themes of quest and adventure, mediaeval romances are also defined by their setting; in particular those of castles and countries. Possibly due to its French origins and/or the presence of the Normans in Sicily, the story on which William and the Werewolf is based sets itself in the Italian peninsula, with dynastic links to Spain and to Greece – its setting is the Mediterranean. An exotic place for an English audience of the fourteenth century. While such a setting was entirely logical perhaps for the original poet of the French Guillaume de Palerne, what could it mean for an audience one historian has stated as being based in the Gloucestershire estates of Humphrey de Bohun, patron of the Middle English redaction? What did geography mean in general to such an English audience whose notional knowledge of the world was centred on the ever-flooding Severn and its cathedral centres of Gloucester and Tewkesbury? What imagined worlds lay beyond the seas; what castles and towns lay there? The world according to romance In King Arthur’s Death – the Alliterative Morte Arthure – Arthur travels across the continent of Europe in a sweeping fourteenth century nationalist assertion of English power based on Geoffrey of Monmouth’s notional British hero. Britanny, France, Germany, Italy and faraway lands, possibly drawn from the travels of the putative Sir John Mandeville, all feature in the narrative. In the Anglo-Norman Bevis of Hampton, a popular romance whose appeal stretched into many cultures over the centuries, the eponymous hero is sold to “Saracens” by his wicked mother and spends much of his time in the Middle East while also returning twice to England via adventures in Germany and in Aumberforce, which may replicate the Seville of the original Anglo-Norman story. Richard Coeur de Lion, however, is a much more explicit geographical romance, seemingly intent on asserting an aggressive Englishness and powering its narrative with a monstrous and violent racism as Richard’s crusaders carry all before them across Europe, Cyprus and the Middle East. Imagined worlds of fantasy (Above: the world as they knew it - the Mappa Mundi in Hereford Cathedral) Geography is central to the excitement and positioning of romance in the mind of the audience. The canon of Middle English romance is not a parochial offshoot, the product of an inward-looking insular population. Instead, it inherits French stories and makes them its own; it also creates its own unique characters and narratives which blossom as English in their own right. (Above: Marvels of the East - other worlds imagined in the Bodleian Library, Oxford) Foreign lands, travel, fights with giants or support from the help of friendly werewolves was, I would suggest, as important to effective mediaeval romance as outer space, international espionage or post-war cowboy country is to the success of twentieth century cinema. It is not necessary for an audience to know a place in order to enjoy a story; instead, romances – like film – play on a vague understanding of somewhere different to create individual imaginings in the mind of every reader and listener. Like today, while soldiers, businesspeople and clerics get the chance to travel, many folk left behind instead get to learn of foreign places from others. If, perhaps, to travel was beyond their means, this did not mean their imaginations wished to be starved of the experience. Geography as told through romance was fundamental to mediaeval escapism, irrespective of whether a book was a read in private or performed aloud. Imagined Castles If lands were imagined, then so were the places within them, their towns and homestead. Thus it is that in these romances we read of castles, of towers, of palaces but rarely do we learn of what they actually look like. (Above: Castles in the landscape - two different worlds from the Tres Riches Heured de Duc de Berry) In King Arthur’s Death, Arthur circles the walls of Metz; we also read of fighting in the suburbs and of men being trapped by a drawbridge. When he arrives outside the walls of Rome, we are given no description of the Eternal City. Instead, the emphasis is on the vulnerability of walls and towers – it is their destruction which brings defeat, it matters not what they look like – that is for the mind. Similarly, in Bevis of Hampton, we read of ladies in “a tower” but whether such towers are singular, represent a castle as a whole, or indicate a keep, is unclear. Damascus, in one redaction of the poem, is shown as having twin walls in the manner of Carcassonne or Byzantium but this is all we are told. A comparative rarity is in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Here, we learn of a castle “in the latest style” but, although its imagined beauty is described – including its famous double moats - it relies on an audience understanding of what a castle is in order to be effective. This suggests that Hautdesert may actually represent a castle known to the poet and possibly a specifically-intended (and now unknown) reader. In William and the Werewolf, palaces - strongholds or places – are central to this imagined world. Although castles are given out as rewards by William when he achieves his rightful inheritance, much of the ”castle” action of the poem is set in palaces. William’s final defence of Palermo (the Palerne of the poem) asks of the audience that it imagines that the palace is in fact a richly defended citadel rather than some luxurious dwelling. It seems that castles, like geographical settings, are deliberately evocative – and exotic. They are not unknown to the audience but instead exist as imagined places on the edge of thinking. Audiences expect them to be in romances; it is not necessary to describe them as they are emotional constructs. No-one, after all, asks how it is that Blofeldt came to be sitting in a chair stroking a cat and dreaming of world domination nor how it is that a complete rocket launching site can be built inside an extinct volcano without major contracts being issued for the work from leading multinational corporations. Audience imagination is central - it is the possibility, not the probability, which empowers and liberates the mind. Seriousness in apparent simplicity In reading a mediaeval romance, it is a mistake to imagine that simplistic description of lands, castles and travel in general are in some way a naïve representation of reality; that Middle English romancers were poorer executors of a richer continental repository of stories where continent and countries were somehow more real. It would be foolish also to think that simplisitic or minimalist portrayals are somehow ineffective and poorly-serving canvases to a more elaborate terroir. Instead, these abridged renderings served a much greater purpose. They prompted an audience which expected to be taken on a journey of imaginings – the wealth of which would be made in their own heads rather than be described by the poet. Less is more, we might say; mediaeval English romances demand time to be spent on every word, each one dripping with meaning. A key, indeed, to a world unseen. Michael Smith PS. Thank you for reading this update and for supporting my work. William and the Werewolf is currently 54% funded as I write so there is still much work to be done to bring this magnficent Middle English romance to a new audience with new imaginings. Please can you pass on this update to anyone you know who might like to support the book so that it can become reality? In the meantime, I am currently working on some new pledge options too so watch this space!

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="277" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Tres_Riches_Heures_December_2.jpg?v=1690915321" width="500">


As well as being rich in chivalric exploits and common themes of quest and adventure, mediaeval romances are also defined by their setting; in particular those of castles and countries. Possibly due to its French origins and/or the presence of the Normans in Sicily, the story on which William and the Werewolf is based sets itself in the Italian peninsula, with dynastic links to Spain and to Greece – its setting is the Mediterranean. An exotic place for an English audience of the fourteenth century.

While such a setting was entirely logical perhaps for the original poet of the French Guillaume de Palerne, what could it mean for an audience one historian has stated as being based in the Gloucestershire estates of Humphrey de Bohun, patron of the Middle English redaction?

What did geography mean in general to such an English audience whose notional knowledge of the world was centred on the ever-flooding Severn and its cathedral centres of Gloucester and Tewkesbury? What imagined worlds lay beyond the seas; what castles and towns lay there?


 The world according to romance


In <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/product-page/king-arthur-s-death-signed-copy">King Arthur’s Death</a> – the Alliterative Morte Arthure – Arthur travels across the continent of Europe in a sweeping fourteenth century nationalist assertion of English power based on Geoffrey of Monmouth’s notional British hero. Britanny, France, Germany, Italy and faraway lands, possibly drawn from the travels of the putative Sir John Mandeville, all feature in the narrative.

In the Anglo-Norman Bevis of Hampton, a popular romance whose appeal stretched into many cultures over the centuries, the eponymous hero is sold to “Saracens” by his wicked mother and spends much of his time in the Middle East while also returning twice to England via adventures in Germany and in Aumberforce, which may replicate the Seville of the original Anglo-Norman story.

Richard Coeur de Lion, however, is a much more explicit geographical romance, seemingly intent on asserting an aggressive Englishness and powering its narrative with a monstrous and violent racism as Richard’s crusaders carry all before them across Europe, Cyprus and the Middle East.


 Imagined worlds of fantasy



 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Mappa_Mundi.jpg?v=1690915321" width="430">



 (Above: the world as they knew it - the Mappa Mundi in Hereford Cathedral)


Geography is central to the excitement and positioning of romance in the mind of the audience. The canon of Middle English romance is not a parochial offshoot, the product of an inward-looking insular population. Instead, it inherits French stories and makes them its own; it also creates its own unique characters and narratives which blossom as English in their own right.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="345" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Marvels_of_the_East.jpg?v=1690915321" width="500">



 (Above: Marvels of the East - other worlds imagined in the Bodleian Library, Oxford) 


Foreign lands, travel, fights with giants or support from the help of friendly werewolves was, I would suggest, as important to effective mediaeval romance as outer space, international espionage or post-war cowboy country is to the success of twentieth century cinema.

It is not necessary for an audience to know a place in order to enjoy a story; instead, romances – like film – play on a vague understanding of somewhere different to create individual imaginings in the mind of every reader and listener.

Like today, while soldiers, businesspeople and clerics get the chance to travel, many folk left behind instead get to learn of foreign places from others. If, perhaps, to travel was beyond their means, this did not mean their imaginations wished to be starved of the experience. Geography as told through romance was fundamental to mediaeval escapism, irrespective of whether a book was a read in private or performed aloud.


 Imagined Castles


If lands were imagined, then so were the places within them, their towns and homestead. Thus it is that in these romances we read of castles, of towers, of palaces but rarely do we learn of what they actually look like.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Tres_Riches_Heures_September_2.jpg?v=1690915321" width="438">



 (Above: Castles in the landscape - two different worlds from the Tres Riches Heured de Duc de Berry)


In King Arthur’s Death, Arthur circles the walls of Metz; we also read of fighting in the suburbs and of men being trapped by a drawbridge. When he arrives outside the walls of Rome, we are given no description of the Eternal City. Instead, the emphasis is on the vulnerability of walls and towers – it is their destruction which brings defeat, it matters not what they look like – that is for the mind.

Similarly, in Bevis of Hampton, we read of ladies in “a tower” but whether such towers are singular, represent a castle as a whole, or indicate a keep, is unclear. Damascus, in one redaction of the poem, is shown as having twin walls in the manner of Carcassonne or Byzantium but this is all we are told.

A comparative rarity is in <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/shop">Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</a>. Here, we learn of a castle “in the latest style” but, although its imagined beauty is described – including its famous double moats - it relies on an audience understanding of what a castle is in order to be effective. This suggests that Hautdesert may actually represent a castle known to the poet and possibly a specifically-intended (and now unknown) reader.   


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Tres_Riches_Heures_October_2.jpg?v=1690915321" width="432">


In William and the Werewolf, palaces - strongholds or places – are central to this imagined world. Although castles are given out as rewards by William when he achieves his rightful inheritance, much of the ”castle” action of the poem is set in palaces. William’s final defence of Palermo (the Palerne of the poem) asks of the audience that it imagines that the palace is in fact a richly defended citadel rather than some luxurious dwelling.

It seems that castles, like geographical settings, are deliberately evocative – and exotic. They are not unknown to the audience but instead exist as imagined places on the edge of thinking. Audiences expect them to be in romances; it is not necessary to describe them as they are emotional constructs.

No-one, after all, asks how it is that Blofeldt came to be sitting in a chair stroking a cat and dreaming of world domination nor how it is that a complete rocket launching site can be built inside an extinct volcano without major contracts being issued for the work from leading multinational corporations. Audience imagination is central - it is the possibility, not the probability, which empowers and liberates the mind.


 Seriousness in apparent simplicity


In reading a mediaeval romance, it is a mistake to imagine that simplistic description of lands, castles and travel in general are in some way a naïve representation of reality; that Middle English romancers were poorer executors of a richer continental repository of stories where continent and countries were somehow more real. It would be foolish also to think that simplisitic or minimalist portrayals are somehow ineffective and poorly-serving canvases to a more elaborate terroir.

Instead, these abridged renderings served a much greater purpose. They prompted an audience which expected to be taken on a journey of imaginings – the wealth of which would be made in their own heads rather than be described by the poet.

Less is more, we might say; mediaeval English romances demand time to be spent on every word, each one dripping with meaning. A key, indeed, to a world unseen.

 


 Michael Smith


PS. Thank you for reading this update and for supporting my work. William and the Werewolf is currently 54% funded as I write so there is still much work to be done to bring this magnficent Middle English romance to a new audience with new imaginings. Please can you pass on this update to anyone you know who might like to support the book so that it can become reality? In the meantime, I am currently working on some new pledge options too so watch this space!

Imagined castles and faraway lands in mediaeval romance

If you walk from Liverpool Street Station in London towards St Paul's Cathedral along Old Broad Street you might, in one unthinking moment, blink and miss a curious little alleyway on your right hand side. At the corner where the pedestrian turns into Throgmorton Street is Austin Friars; the unprepossessing entrance to a part of London now long forgotten. Here is a place where centuries ago many of England's rich and famous were interred; the site of a friary which once, within its walled presincts, enclosed a private and secluded area of around 5 acres. (Above: the entrance today to Austin Friars in the City) The Austin Friars The Austin - or Augustinian - Friars were a mendicant order of friars who first appeared in England at Clare, in Suffolk around 1249. Although the Tudor historian John Stow cites the founding of London's Austin Friars as 1253, the first definite mention of them is in 1271. Stow also tells us that the friary was founded by Humphrey de Bohun Second Earl of Hereford and Essex and Constable of England; modern scholars believe the date to have been ca. 1265, when he was the royalist keeper of the City of London. A century later, in 1361, Humphrey the Sixth Earl asked in his will to be interred here; it is this Humphrey, to whom the Middle English William and the Werewolf is decdicated, who is of particular interest to us. His will, dense with bequests for masses to be sung in his memory, shows Humphrey's deep personal piety and a sense of the purer faith to which he felt drawn. (Above: key elements of the friary: the current entrance is shown circled red; original church in green; Cromwell's house in blue; area occupied by Dutch Church shown in yellow) A site of dedication Humphrey, an invalid and unable to have children himself, was desperate to ensure his memory and that of his family was preserved - and that his soul was saved. Hence, he requested masses be sung in his name not only at Austin Friars but also other sites around England. Humphrey's executor, William de Monklane, was himself an Augustinian. He was specifically chosen to ensure not only that the will was carried out but also that it was to be done to the very essence of how Humphrey wished to be remembered. Through these acts, through the de Bohun manuscripts, or through William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne), Humphrey hoped to be remembered long after his death. It is possible the spire of the main church, added in 1362 and noted as a distinctive landmark when later referred to by Stow, was also built with funds received from Humphrey's will. (Above: what is now known as the Dutch Church, itself bombed in the Blitz, is all that remains on the site today) Humphrey was not alone in seeking to be interred at Austin Friars. In the 14th Century, the friary church also saw the burial of many powerful figures including Edward of Angouleme, the son of the Black Prince. A century later, the remains of John de Vere, 12th Earl of Oxford, who suffered a gruesome and emasculating execution following a conviction of high treason, were interred here in 1462. A herald in the early 16th century was to record some 88 notables buried in 77 tombs on the site. (Above: 19th Century sculpture reminding City workers of the former inhabitants) However, the permanence sought by Humphrey and others was not to be; the vain hope that the present would remain the future preserved through eternity by the power of the friars was not to be reality. Less than a century after the death of de Vere, in 1538, the friary was dissolved on the orders of Thomas Cromwell, who also lived here (circled blue in the map above).Over the centuries, the original grounds of the friary were parcelled up and sold off to such an extent that little now remains. From Friary to Dutch Church In July 1550, London's community of "Germans and other strangers" was granted the use of the friary church's nave (circled green in the map) to serve as the "Temple of the Lord Jesus" for "Germans and other strangers", then served briefly as a Catholic chapel for Italians. It later became the first official nonconformist chapel in England, serving a Frisian congregation whose use lead to it being known by its current name the "Dutch Church"; Dutch is still the language of its services. (Above: classic fifties elegance - the Dutch Church rises from the ashes once more) In the years following the Dissolution, the rest of the church became a storehouse, its fine monuments removed and sold and the lead stripped from the roof. In 1600, the choir, tower (the very tower possibly funded by de Bohun) and transepts were demolished and what was left was destroyed by fire in 1862. Reconstructed once more following the fire, the church was again destroyed during the Blitz; that which stands today was erected during the 1950s. The area circled yellow on the map shows the approximate site of the Dutch Church in relation to the original buildings. (Above: fossilised precincts: the entrance to Austin Friars still exits at the same place it did in 1265) Astonishingly, when a Georgian house in Old Broad Street was being demolished in 1929, within its walls was found a bricked-in mediaeval gothic arch. This arch, forming part of an arcade which divided the choir of Austin Friars from the neighbouring parish church of St Peter the Poor, was the last remaining part of the original church that would have been known to Humphrey or his contemporaries. What remains to be seen today, in the wake of centuries of destruction, reveals little of a place once held in high esteem by some of the most powerful families in the land. Yet the winding nature of the "street" of Austin Friars follows precisely the boundary of the old mediaeval cemetery. And thus it is here, in this pedestrianised alleyway in one of the greatest commercial cities in the world, if you close your eyes for a moment you might just hear the songs of the brothers calmly in your ears as they still sing on for Humphrey. Eternal life? Is there life after death? In Humphrey's case, there is nothing now remaining above ground of the friary he once knew and the community here to which he was so dedicated. Fire, greed, bombs and demolition have long since superceded the dreams of the invalid Earl. And yet, through his manuscripts, and through the gentle romance William and the Werewolf, Humphrey de Bohun, Sixth Earl of Hereford and Essex, lives on still in our minds. Six centuries on, there is life after death for the old earl of Pleshey. Michael Smith PS - Keep the memory alive! If you know of a fellow mediaevalist who would like to support my translation of Humphrey de Bohun's great mediaeval romance, William and the Werewolf, please do pass on this update to them. As I write, the book is 55% funded and has still some way to go to achieve full funding so every donation is extremely welcome. Thank you.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Austin_Friars_1.jpg?v=1690915325" width="460">


If you walk from Liverpool Street Station in London towards St Paul's Cathedral along Old Broad Street you might, in one unthinking moment, blink and miss a curious little alleyway on your right hand side. At the corner where the pedestrian turns into Throgmorton Street is Austin Friars; the unprepossessing entrance to a part of London now long forgotten.

Here is a place where centuries ago many of England's rich and famous were interred; the site of a friary which once, within its walled presincts, enclosed a private and secluded area of around 5 acres.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Austin_Friars_Entrance_2.jpg?v=1690915325" width="375">



 (Above: the entrance today to Austin Friars in the City)



 The Austin Friars


The Austin - or Augustinian - Friars were a mendicant order of friars who first appeared in England at Clare, in Suffolk around 1249. Although the Tudor historian John Stow cites the founding of London's Austin Friars as 1253, the first definite mention of them is in 1271.

Stow also tells us that the friary was founded by Humphrey de Bohun Second Earl of Hereford and Essex and Constable of England; modern scholars believe the date to have been ca. 1265, when he was the royalist keeper of the City of London. 

A century later, in 1361, Humphrey the Sixth Earl asked in his will to be interred here; it is this Humphrey, to whom the Middle English <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf </a>is decdicated, who is of particular interest to us.  His will, dense with bequests for masses to be sung in his memory, shows Humphrey's deep personal piety and a sense of the purer faith to which he felt drawn. 


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Austin_Friars_2.jpg?v=1690915325" width="460">



 (Above: key elements of the friary: the current entrance is shown circled red; original church in green; Cromwell's house in blue; area occupied by Dutch Church shown in yellow)



 A site of dedication


Humphrey, an invalid and unable to have children himself, was desperate to ensure his memory and that of his family was preserved - and that his soul was saved. Hence, he requested masses be sung in his name not only at Austin Friars but also other sites around England.

Humphrey's executor, William de Monklane, was himself an Augustinian. He was specifically chosen to ensure not only that the will was carried out but also that it was to be done to the very essence of how Humphrey wished to be remembered.

Through these acts, through the <a href="https://unbound.com/books/werewolf/updates/m-r-james-humphrey-de-bohun-and-william-and-the-werewolf">de Bohun manuscripts</a>, or through <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne)</a>, Humphrey hoped to be remembered long after his death. It is possible the spire of the main church, added in 1362 and noted as a distinctive landmark when later referred to by Stow, was also built with funds received from Humphrey's will.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Austin_Friars_Church_2.jpg?v=1690915325" width="375">



 (Above: what is now known as the Dutch Church, itself bombed in the Blitz, is all that remains on the site today)


Humphrey was not alone in seeking to be interred at Austin Friars. In the 14th Century, the friary church also saw the burial of many powerful figures including Edward of Angouleme, the son of the Black Prince. A century later, the remains of John de Vere, 12th Earl of Oxford, who suffered a gruesome and emasculating execution following a conviction of high treason, were interred here in 1462. A herald in the early 16th century was to record some 88 notables buried in 77 tombs on the site.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Friar_Statue.jpg?v=1690915325" width="375">



 (Above: 19th Century sculpture reminding City workers of the former inhabitants)


However, the permanence sought by Humphrey and others was not to be; the vain hope that the present would remain the future preserved through eternity by the power of the friars was not to be reality.

Less than a century after the death of de Vere, in 1538, the friary was dissolved on the orders of Thomas Cromwell, who also lived here (circled blue in the map above).Over the centuries, the original grounds of the friary were parcelled up and sold off to such an extent that little now remains. 


 From Friary to Dutch Church


In July 1550, London's community of "Germans and other strangers" was granted the use of the friary church's nave (circled green in the map) to serve as the "Temple of the Lord Jesus" for "Germans and other strangers", then served briefly as a Catholic chapel for Italians.

It later became the first official nonconformist chapel in England, serving a Frisian congregation whose use lead to it being known by its current name the "Dutch Church"; Dutch is still the language of its services.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Austin_Friars_Church_4.jpg?v=1690915325" width="375">



 (Above: classic fifties elegance - the Dutch Church rises from the ashes once more)


In the years following the Dissolution, the rest of the church became a storehouse, its fine monuments removed and sold and the lead stripped from the roof. In 1600, the choir, tower (the very tower possibly funded by de Bohun) and transepts were demolished and what was left was destroyed by fire in 1862.

Reconstructed once more following the fire, the church was again destroyed during the Blitz; that which stands today was erected during the 1950s. The area circled yellow on the map shows the approximate site of the Dutch Church in relation to the original buildings.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Austin_Friars_Entrance_1.jpg?v=1690915325" width="375">



 (Above: fossilised precincts: the entrance to Austin Friars still exits at the same place it did in 1265)


Astonishingly, when a Georgian house in Old Broad Street was being demolished in 1929, within its walls was found a bricked-in mediaeval gothic arch. This arch, forming part of an arcade which divided the choir of Austin Friars from the neighbouring parish church of St Peter the Poor, was the last remaining part of the original church that would have been known to Humphrey or his contemporaries.

What remains to be seen today, in the wake of centuries of destruction, reveals little of a place once held in high esteem by some of the most powerful families in the land. Yet the winding nature of the "street" of Austin Friars follows precisely the boundary of the old mediaeval cemetery. And thus it is here, in this pedestrianised alleyway in one of the greatest commercial cities in the world, if you close your eyes for a moment you might just hear the songs of the brothers calmly in your ears as they still sing on for Humphrey.


 Eternal life?


Is there life after death? In Humphrey's case, there is nothing now remaining above ground of the friary he once knew and the community here to which he was so dedicated. Fire, greed, bombs and demolition have long since superceded the dreams of the invalid Earl.

And yet, through his manuscripts, and through the gentle romance <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>, Humphrey de Bohun, Sixth Earl of Hereford and Essex, lives on still in our minds. Six centuries on, there is life after death for the old earl of Pleshey.

 


 Michael Smith


PS - Keep the memory alive! If you know of a fellow mediaevalist who would like to support my translation of Humphrey de Bohun's great mediaeval romance, <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>, please do pass on this update to them. As I write, the book is 55% funded and has still some way to go to achieve full funding so every donation is extremely welcome. Thank you.

Is there really life after death? Austin Friars in London reveals some secrets

Fellow traveller, I have produced a brief film about the beauty of fourteenth century Middle English and why I find it so inspiring; in particular, the notion of making contact with the voices and personalities of the unknown writers themselves. In the film, I introduce you to some familiar proverbs which you might not think were centuries old. I also take you into the world of the narrator of William and the Werewolf and how he draws you into the telling of the story; recreating a world long gone yet fresh as the day it was described. I hope this film gives you a flavour of just why I like to work on these romances - and I hope my work brings you pleasure too. Together we can make this mediaeval romance come alive again for a whole new audience. Your pledge will make it possible. Thank you for your support. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker

Fellow traveller,

I have produced a brief film about the beauty of fourteenth century Middle English and why I find it so inspiring; in particular, the notion of making contact with the voices and personalities of the unknown writers themselves.

In the film, I introduce you to some familiar proverbs which you might not think were centuries old. I also take you into the world of the narrator of William and the Werewolf and how he draws you into the telling of the story; recreating a world long gone yet fresh as the day it was described.

I hope this film gives you a flavour of just why I like to work on these romances - and I hope my work brings you pleasure too. Together we can make this mediaeval romance come alive again for a whole new audience. Your pledge will make it possible.

Thank you for your support.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

Join me on a journey to hear the voice of mediaeval writers and how they inspire me - short film

In the mediaeval period, even though people had little power to be able change anything, this did not mean they had to accept the ways of their rulers come what may. If 'peasants' could revolt - as in 1380s England - others could react in different ways; in particular by the power of the written word. It is for this reason that mediaeval romances must be looked at beyond their surface layers. The importance of decency William and the Werewolf might not look at first glance like a "fiction of audacity", challenging the status quo and demanding better things. However, within its pages lies a pointed critique of English high society and the need for good governance - the importance of a social order and the need for decency in the upholding of its fabric. Central to good governance is the integrity of the leader. In the character of William we have a lord deprived of his lands by the machinations of a wicked uncle; William is only spared when he is rescued from certain death by a friendly Werewolf. The Werewolf himself is not what he seems but is instead another prince, Alphonse, who has equally been deprived of his inheritance by the dark artistry of his wicked stepmother whose powers of magic turned him into what he is. Central to a reading of the poem is to understand that William and Alphonse's condition is seen as a fundamentally corrupt reversal of the universal right of inheritance. We are never left in any doubt throughout the poem that William and Alphonse are decent individuals treated wickedly by those from whom they deserved the greatest loyalty. We see the injustice done to them as damning those who delivered it. We revel when, at the end of the poem, natural justice is restored and decency of leadership reigns once more over William's native Palermo. Good governance lies in the heart In unraveling the injustices done to both William and Alphonse, the reader (the audience indeed) sees that the true way is the just way; we expect a certain way of behaviour - that lords, by nature, must be truthful and just, decent and upright. They are loyal to their subjects and loyal also to their wives. Clearly, this was rarely the case, but the point is that the scribe wants us to think in this way; that we judge leadership by what lies at the heart of the lord (and, as is made clear in the poem, the lady). As the poet tells us towards the end of the romance, Then William at once, as a wise king should, Put peace back in his realm among all his people, And annulled all loathsome laws which had long been used, And gave for good ones to be made, and granted many more, Which were held by his people and proven most profitable, So that never a Christian king captured more affection Than did William for some while, I will tell you truly. Integrity, honesty, decency in leadership lie at the heart of the message of William and the Werewolf. In this day and age, where plainly illegal acts are described as "unwise" rather than unlawful, and where the patently obvious is brazenly described as something which it is not, the poem has a new relevance. William says there cannot be one rule for rulers and another for everyone else. A leader is judged ultimately on their personal integrity, not mendacity. Duplicity is despised and, in particular, what the mediaeval poets called the ultimate sin of surquedry: an overweening arrogance and pride. What we might call a sense of entitlement which betrays all others. Treachery to friend and state, after all, was viewed by no less than Dante himself as being as close to the darkness of Lucifer in the pit of Hell as it was possible to get. A gentler Dante with still a powerful message William is not Dante of course, but it contains a powerful message notwithstanding. Gently, subtly, this magnificent poem, transcribed for an invalid Humphrey de Bohun denied his true place in the world by infirmity, shines a light on the politics of arrogance and treachery. It says in its own mild way to rulers who put themselves before the common good, that they are not wanted here. William and the Werewolf offers sage advice to a corrupt lord blown bigger by his own surquedry and unable to change his ways. To coin a now well-known phrase: It is not fit that you should sit here any longer. You have been sat here for too long for any good you have been doing. In the name of God, go. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker PS. Please can you help spread the word about William and the Werewolf? As I write, the book has over 250 supporters and is 67% funded (so, two thirds the way there) but we need a big push to help it achieve its target. If you know of others with a love for mediaval literature please ask them to be patron if you will. Alternatively, if you'd like to upgrade your pledge level, everything will help see this wonderful romance become reality. As well as translating this poem, I will also be writing a detailed historical introduction with copious notes and a glossary - just like my other two books (Gawain and the Green Knight and King Arthur's Death) - and illustrating it with my linocuts (some of which are available as special pledge rewards if you'd like one). PPS, if you are reading one of these updates for the first time and would like to be a named patron of William and the Werewolf, do pledge here

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="495" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Window_detail_2_St_Peters_MB.jpg?v=1690915329" width="500">


In the mediaeval period, even though people had little power to be able change anything, this did not mean they had to accept the ways of their rulers come what may. If 'peasants' could revolt - as in 1380s England - others could react  in different ways; in particular by the power of the written word. It is for this reason that mediaeval romances must be looked at beyond their surface layers.


 The importance of decency


William and the Werewolf might not look at first glance like a "fiction of audacity", challenging the status quo and demanding better things. However, within its pages lies a pointed critique of English high society and the need for good governance - the importance of a social order and the need for decency in the upholding of its fabric.

Central to good governance is the integrity of the leader. In the character of William we have a lord deprived of his lands by the machinations of a wicked uncle; William is only spared when he is rescued from certain death by a friendly Werewolf. The Werewolf himself is not what he seems but is instead another prince, Alphonse, who has equally been deprived of his inheritance by the dark artistry of his wicked stepmother whose powers of magic turned him into what he is.

Central to a reading of the poem is to understand that William and Alphonse's condition is seen as a fundamentally corrupt reversal of the universal right of inheritance. We are never left in any doubt throughout the poem that William and Alphonse are decent individuals treated wickedly by those from whom they deserved the greatest loyalty.

We see the injustice done to them as damning those who delivered it. We revel when, at the end of the poem, natural justice is restored and decency of leadership reigns once more over William's native Palermo.


 Good governance lies in the heart


In unraveling the injustices done to both William and Alphonse, the reader (the audience indeed) sees that the true way is the just way; we expect a certain way of behaviour - that lords, by nature, must be truthful and just, decent and upright. They are loyal to their subjects and loyal also to their wives. Clearly, this was rarely the case, but the point is that the scribe wants us to think in this way; that we judge leadership by what lies at the heart of the lord (and, as is made clear in the poem, the lady). 

As the poet tells us towards the end of the romance,

<blockquote>
Then William at once, as a wise king should,

Put peace back in his realm among all his people,

And annulled all loathsome laws which had long been used,

And gave for good ones to be made, and granted many more,

Which were held by his people and proven most profitable,

So that never a Christian king captured more affection

Than did William for some while, I will tell you truly.
</blockquote>

Integrity, honesty, decency in leadership lie at the heart of the message of William and the Werewolf. In this day and age, where plainly illegal acts are described as "unwise" rather than unlawful, and where the patently obvious is brazenly described as something which it is not, the poem has a new relevance. William says there cannot be one rule for rulers and another for everyone else.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Window_detail_St_Peters_MB.jpg?v=1690915329" width="483">


A leader is judged ultimately on their personal integrity, not mendacity. Duplicity is despised and, in particular, what the mediaeval poets called the ultimate sin of surquedry: an overweening arrogance and pride. What we might call a sense of entitlement which betrays all others.

Treachery to friend and state, after all, was viewed by no less than Dante himself as being as close to the darkness of Lucifer in the pit of Hell as it was possible to get.


 A gentler Dante with still a powerful message


William is not Dante of course, but it contains a powerful message notwithstanding. Gently, subtly, this magnificent poem, transcribed for an invalid Humphrey de Bohun denied his true place in the world by infirmity, shines a light on the politics of arrogance and treachery. It says in its own mild way to rulers who put themselves before the common good, that they are not wanted here. 

William and the Werewolf offers sage advice to a corrupt lord blown bigger by his own surquedry and unable to change his ways. To coin a now well-known phrase:


 It is not fit that you should sit here any longer. You have been sat here for too long for any good you have been doing. In the name of God, go.


 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

 

PS. Please can you help spread the word about William and the Werewolf? As I write, the book has over 250 supporters and is 67% funded (so, two thirds the way there) but we need a big push to help it achieve its target. If you know of others with a love for mediaval literature please ask them to be patron if you will. Alternatively, if you'd like to upgrade your pledge level, everything will help see this wonderful romance become reality. As well as translating this poem, I will also be writing a detailed historical introduction with copious notes and a glossary - just like my other two books (<a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/sir-gawain">Gawain and the Green Knight</a> and <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/king-arthurs-death">King Arthur's Death</a>) - and illustrating it with my linocuts (some of which are available as special pledge rewards if you'd like one). 

PPS, if you are reading one of these updates for the first time and would like to be a named patron of William and the Werewolf, do pledge <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>

Leaders lacking in integrity are nothing new - but are still beneath contempt

In an earlier update for William and the Werewolf, I discussed different environments for audiences of mediaeval romances. Last week, I managed at the third attempt to visit Longthorpe Tower near Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, a fourteenth century tower erected alongside the family hall by Robert Thorpe, a professional lawyer who, amongst other things, was regularly working on behalf of Peterborough Abbey. Longthorpe tower in many ways represents the apogee of living for a mediaeval professional; an aspirational structure akin almost to a private castle and certainly a status symbol among his peers and, indeed, in the landscape. The tower in itself is unremarkable as far as castles and military structures are concerned but as a domestic structure it is a statement par excellence; in particular when it is considered for its purpose. Adjoining the main residence, the tower was originally entered only via the house (the current first floor entrance is a much later addition) and, on doing so, presented a feast for the eyes of those fortunate enough to be welcomed within it. A vaulted chamber with the luxury of windows, it also featured plastered walls intended from the beginning to be a canvas for a vibrant display of wall paintings. This was a private chamber - a solar - but also a chamber of demonstration: of power, of taste, and as an indication of the educational and professional achievements of Robert Thorpe himself. Warmed by its own fireplace, this chamber would have been aglow with the sort of imagery Robert's peers would have understood and been impressed by. On one wall, we see a dramatic image of the wheel of the five senses in which humanity's crowning glory is shown as "reason" able to bring together the five senses of sight (a boar), touch (a cobweb), smell (a hawk), hearing (a cockerel) and taste (a monkey). As a lawyer, Robert Thorpe himself would have had to apply reason to many of his own decisions based upon the merits of each case he considered. Elsewhere, on the tower's south wall, is a painted evocation of a tapestry, two seated monarchs and two shields (one shown above with the edge of the tapestry below it). Much faded and damaged, these are thought to represent Edward II (possibly Edward III) and Edmund of Woodstock (who died ca.1330). It is likely that Robert himself would have sat below the wall in his own chair, the imagery asserting his own local power and support from those higher in society than himself. Educative messages abound. On the ceiling - a form of musical heaven - we observe numerous musicans including David with his harp, while others play instruments such as the pan pipes and a viol. On another wall, we see the outlines of a (possibly unfinished) "tapestry" which has been interpreted as Aristotle teaching Alexander the Great (shown ins a later manuscript image below). Above this is depicted a scene from the life of St Anthony in which he stands next to an angel showing weaving a basket. Behind him, in an apparently inferior painted hand, are rabbits and birds while above them all was originally a depiction of the seasons, now largely missing apart from the first four months of the year. In my photograph below you can just see (top left) the serf digging the land with his shovel, representing March. Perhaps the most evocative of all the wall paintings are those on the north wall in which Mary is shown with the baby Christ while Joseph sits opposite her (although he is largely erased due to damage in the wall). Above this we are shown the Ages of Man, from youth (left) through to decrepitude (right); the visitor is compelled to reflect upon their own brief presence on earth and the fundamental nature of God's power. This combination of educative, secular and religious themes is an astonishing feast for the eyese but of course would have been more so when originally painted in vibrant colours. Yet not is all instructional; around us we are constantly aware of life in the Fens over 600 years ago. The wildlife of the area is finely celebrated - no doubt to show the abundance of God's bounty - and the eye is particularly drawn to the numerous birds the artist(s) depicted and which in those days would have been an omnipresent sight in these marshy, windswept lands. The signficance of the imagery at Longthorpe cannot be understated. A fundamental blend of the secular and the religious, a celebration of society and of place, they represent an astonishing survival (and one which was only uncovered and assessed properly in the post war years). Little wonder they are seen as the foremost example of mediaeval secular wall paintings in the whole of northern Europe. But to us, as readers of mediaeval romances, they add an extra level to our understanding of the intellectual life of those who lived six centuries ago. These images are not only statements intended to impress but - by dint of them being understood as visual statements - are indicative of commonly-held knowledge rather than random statements of bombastic grandiloquence. It is fascinating to consider that such artistry was not as unusual as this unique survival might suggest. In the mediaeval romance, Sir Degrevant, a chamber of equal magnficence is described in great depth; much of which is similar to that depicted at Longthorpe - especially the apostles and philosophers. In imagining the world of William and the Werewolf, therefore, it is important to see a mediaeval romance as a literary depiction of a world alive with imagery. The mediaeval world, far from being the miserable and misty world of we might imagine from films and documentaries, was - in the mind at least - a vibrant place, alive with mystery, magic and no small amount of wonder. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker PS. NEWS! I have recently released some original illustrations for William and the Werewolf as pledge options for supporters. These include scenes such as the creation of the werewolf, William's life in the forest and the moment in the romance when William and Melior escape Rome disgused as bears. There are five each of these signed, original prints available so if you would like one - perhaps upgrading your pledge to do so - please do so. Every pledge will help make this magical story come alive once more. A story which might once have been heard in a place such as Longthorpe. PPS - I've been told by Unbound that any pledges up to £100 using the code SPOOKY13 will also benefit from a 13% saving if you pledge before midnight on 31st October 2021. So - if you'd like to upgrade your pledge, you can do so AND benefit too. (Above: one of the illustrations for the book now available as a pledge option)

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Longthorpe_Tower.jpg?v=1690915333" width="375">


In an earlier update for William and the Werewolf, I discussed different environments for audiences of mediaeval romances. Last week, I managed at the third attempt to visit Longthorpe Tower near Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, a fourteenth century tower erected alongside the family hall by Robert Thorpe, a professional lawyer who, amongst other things, was regularly working on behalf of Peterborough Abbey.

Longthorpe tower in many ways represents the apogee of living for a mediaeval professional; an aspirational structure akin almost to a private castle and certainly a status symbol among his peers and, indeed, in the landscape. The tower in itself is unremarkable as far as castles and military structures are concerned but as a domestic structure it is a statement par excellence; in particular when it is considered for its purpose. 

Adjoining the main residence, the tower was originally entered only via the house (the current first floor entrance is a much later addition) and, on doing so, presented a feast for the eyes of those fortunate enough to be welcomed within it. A vaulted chamber with the luxury of windows, it also featured plastered walls intended from the beginning to be a canvas for a vibrant display of wall paintings.

This was a private chamber - a solar - but also a chamber of demonstration: of power, of taste, and as an indication of the educational and professional achievements of Robert Thorpe himself. Warmed by its own fireplace, this chamber would have been aglow with the sort of imagery Robert's peers would have understood and been impressed by.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Wheel_of_Life_MB.jpg?v=1690915333" width="500">


On one wall, we see a dramatic image of the wheel of the five senses in which humanity's crowning glory is shown as "reason" able to bring together the five senses of sight (a boar), touch (a cobweb), smell (a hawk), hearing (a cockerel) and taste (a monkey). As a lawyer, Robert Thorpe himself would have had to apply reason to many of his own decisions based upon the merits of each case he considered.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Edward_shield.jpg?v=1690915333" width="375">


Elsewhere, on the tower's south wall, is a painted evocation of a tapestry, two seated monarchs and two shields (one shown above with the edge of the tapestry below it). Much faded and damaged, these are thought to represent Edward II (possibly Edward III) and Edmund of Woodstock (who died ca.1330). It is likely that Robert himself would have sat below the wall in his own chair, the imagery asserting his own local power and support from those higher in society than himself.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="496" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/David_Harp_MB.jpg?v=1690915333" width="500">


Educative messages abound. On the ceiling - a form of musical heaven - we observe numerous musicans including David with his harp, while others play instruments such as the pan pipes and a viol. On another wall, we see the outlines of a (possibly unfinished) "tapestry" which has been interpreted as Aristotle teaching Alexander the Great (shown ins a later manuscript image below).


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="443" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Aristotle_and_Alexander.jpg?v=1690915333" width="464">


Above this is depicted a scene from the life of St Anthony in which he stands next to an angel showing weaving a basket. Behind him, in an apparently inferior painted hand, are rabbits and birds while above them all was originally a depiction of the seasons, now largely missing apart from the first four months of the year. In my photograph below you can just see (top left) the serf digging the land with his shovel, representing March.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="375" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/St_Anthony_scene.jpg?v=1690915333" width="500">


Perhaps the most evocative of all the wall paintings are those on the north wall in which Mary is shown with the baby Christ while Joseph sits opposite her (although he is largely erased due to damage in the wall). Above this we are shown the Ages of Man, from youth (left) through to decrepitude (right); the visitor is compelled to reflect upon their own brief presence on earth and the fundamental nature of God's power.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="375" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Ages_of_Man_MB.jpg?v=1690915333" width="500">


This combination of educative, secular and religious themes is an astonishing feast for the eyese but of course would have been more so when originally painted in vibrant colours. Yet not is all instructional; around us we are constantly aware of life in the Fens over 600 years ago. The wildlife of the area is finely celebrated - no doubt to show the abundance of God's bounty - and the eye is particularly drawn to the numerous birds the artist(s) depicted and which in those days would have been an omnipresent sight in these marshy, windswept lands.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="375" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Birds_Red_MB.jpg?v=1690915333" width="500">


The signficance of the imagery at Longthorpe cannot be understated. A fundamental blend of the secular and the religious, a celebration of society and of place, they represent an astonishing survival (and one which was only uncovered and assessed properly in the post war years). Little wonder they are seen as the foremost example of mediaeval secular wall paintings in the whole of northern Europe.

But to us, as readers of mediaeval romances, they add an extra level to our understanding of the intellectual life of those who lived six centuries ago. These images are not only statements intended to impress but - by dint of them being understood as visual statements - are indicative of commonly-held knowledge rather than random statements of bombastic grandiloquence. 

It is fascinating to consider that such artistry was not as unusual as this unique survival might suggest. In the mediaeval romance, Sir Degrevant, a chamber of equal magnficence is described in great depth; much of which is similar to that depicted at Longthorpe - especially the apostles and philosophers.

In imagining the world of William and the Werewolf, therefore, it is important to see a mediaeval romance as a literary depiction of a world alive with imagery. The mediaeval world, far from being the miserable and misty world of we might imagine from films and documentaries, was - in the mind at least - a vibrant place, alive with mystery, magic and no small amount of wonder.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

 

PS. NEWS! I have recently released some original illustrations for William and the Werewolf as pledge options for supporters. These include scenes such as the creation of the werewolf, William's life in the forest and the moment in the romance when William and Melior escape Rome disgused as bears. There are five each of these signed, original prints available so if you would like one - perhaps upgrading your pledge to do so - please do so. Every pledge will help make this magical story come alive once more. A story which might once have been heard in a place such as Longthorpe. 

PPS - I've been told by Unbound that any pledges up to £100 using the code SPOOKY13 will also benefit from a 13% saving if you pledge before midnight on 31st October 2021. So - if you'd like to upgrade your pledge, you can do so AND benefit too.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Forester_with_Dog.jpg?v=1690915333" width="500" height="495">


(Above: one of the illustrations for the book now available as a pledge option)

Longthorpe Tower and how mediaeval audiences saw their world

In 1936, M R James and E G Millar published The De Bohun Manuscripts: a Group of Five Manuscripts Executed in England about 1370 for Members of the De Bohun Family through the Roxburghe Club. Describing together a group of manuscripts of major importance, it revealed the De Bohuns (prounounced de Boon) as patrons of works of the highest order. Outside the collections of royal circles, these manuscripts represent an apogee of style and execution of supreme skill and craftsmanship, the output of a dedicated group of scribes and limners (illuminators) working for a family with a strong literary conviction. While more De Bohun manuscripts have been attributed to the collection since, James and Millar’s work of 1936 shone a light on the literary tastes of English aristocracy outside the royal household. Objets d'art Exquisitely written and lavishly illuminated, the manuscripts reflect not just the taste of their patrons but also the nature of aristocratic society. Books were there to be enjoyed visually, to be read, to be shown to others, and also – by dint of their very quality – to be substantial financial assets. In the case of the De Bohun family, it seems that the beginnings of the surviving manuscripts rests with Humphrey de Bohun, Sixth Earl of Hereford and Essex (c.1309-61). The bulk of the work was undertaken in the second half of the fourteenth century until the seventh earl died without male heir in 1373 and the earldoms eventually reverted to the Crown . Family dedication We are fortunate to know a great deal of the de Bohun literary legacy. The inventory of goods and chattels seized at the de Bohun seat at Pleshey in 1397 included a substantial number of books including religious volumes, bibles, historical, scientific and hagiographical texts, as well as “various romances and narratives” such as the popular Bevis of Hampton. While some of these works were new, it seems many had been at Pleshey for some years; this was the legacy not just of personal interest but the result of a longer term familial dedication to the notion and importance of the written word. But this was not the mere manifestation of a magpie-like obsession with the beautiful. The de Bohuns, it seems, not only acquired books but also oversaw their production. This was not an industrial process of course but one of craft, bringing together scribes and limners at Pleshey to create distinctive works of exquisite beauty. Such a development certainly helps explain the scribal and illustrative contiguity of the major manuscripts in the collection. An example of quality One such is the Egerton Psalter (Egerton MS 3277), which James’ co-author Millar (assistant keeper of manuscripts at the British Museum) revealed to James as he lay dying and with their de Bohun book already on the presses. Of breath-taking quality of execution, Egerton represents an apogee of style designed to please and to assert taste. Dated by the British Library as the second half of the 14th Century, with elements dating it to before 1389, it represents the physical embodiment of culture, an expression of patronage and a statement to the family’s lordly peers. So it is that in this light we must view the creation of William and the Werewolf, William of Palerne, a translation commissioned by the Sixth Earl of the French romance, Guillaume de Palerne. We are told by its scribe, also called William, that is was þe hende Erl of Hereford, Humfray de Boune; þe gode King Edwardes dauʒter was his dere moder; he let make þis mater in þis maner speche For hem þat knowe no Frensche, ne never underston. (The noble Earl of Hereford, Humphrey de Bohun; whose mother was the daughter of good King Edward; he enabled this matter to be told in this manner for those who neither know nor understand French). William and the Werewolf, as a popular romance, fits at the other end of the scale for the de Bohun manuscripts. This is a work to be shared, enjoyed and most likely read aloud – either in a small group or possibly in a regional lordly setting. Intended, it seems, as an altruistic gift to Humphrey's distant estates, the work nonetheless reflects the broad taste of the de Bohun family; an interest in the popular as well as the divine. In some ways it sits like James’ ghost stories against his own work as a renowned mediaeval scholar. A remarkable parallel through the centuries; a passion for beauty and a passion for storytelling. Michael Smith Translator and printmaker PS. If you are reading this and you have not yet supported William and the Werewolf, you can do so here. If you are interested in MR James, a book of his letters is currently being assembled for publication by Dr Jane Mainley-Piddock. With a foreword by Mark Gatiss, Casting the Runes – the Letters of MR James is also being published by Unbound. You can find out more about it, and support it too, here. And remember, every supporter has their name published in the back - mine's already in there! Images of MS 3277 via British Library; image of MR James via Wikipedia commons. The Roxburghe Club book on the manuscripts was published privately by the Club in 1936. It is described by the Club as: The Bohun Manuscripts, described by Montague Rhodes James, with an Introductory Note on the group on MSS. by Eric George Miller With 68 Plates in facsimile from the 5 MSS. described.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="315" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Egerton.jpg?v=1690915337" width="500">


In 1936, M R James and E G Millar published The De Bohun Manuscripts: a Group of Five Manuscripts Executed in England about 1370 for Members of the De Bohun Family through the Roxburghe Club. Describing together a group of manuscripts of major importance, it revealed the De Bohuns (prounounced de Boon) as patrons of works of the highest order.

Outside the collections of royal circles, these manuscripts represent an apogee of style and execution of supreme skill and craftsmanship, the output of a dedicated group of scribes and limners (illuminators) working for a family with a strong literary conviction. While more De Bohun manuscripts have been attributed to the collection since, James and Millar’s work of 1936 shone a light on the literary tastes of English aristocracy outside the royal household.


 Objets d'art


Exquisitely written and lavishly illuminated, the manuscripts reflect not just the taste of their patrons but also the nature of aristocratic society. Books were there to be enjoyed visually, to be read, to be shown to others, and also – by dint of their very quality – to be substantial financial assets.

In the case of the De Bohun family, it seems that the beginnings of the surviving manuscripts rests with Humphrey de Bohun, Sixth Earl of Hereford and Essex (c.1309-61).  The bulk of the work was undertaken in the second half of the fourteenth century until the seventh earl died without male heir in 1373 and the earldoms eventually reverted to the Crown .


 Family dedication


We are fortunate to know a great deal of the de Bohun literary legacy. The inventory of goods and chattels seized at the de Bohun seat at Pleshey in 1397 included a substantial number of books including religious volumes, bibles, historical, scientific and hagiographical texts, as well as “various romances and narratives” such as the popular Bevis of Hampton. While some of these works were new, it seems many had been at Pleshey for some years; this was the legacy not just of personal interest but the result of a longer term familial dedication to the notion and importance of the written word.

But this was not the mere manifestation of a magpie-like obsession with the beautiful. The de Bohuns, it seems, not only acquired books but also oversaw their production. This was not an industrial process of course but one of craft, bringing together scribes and limners  at Pleshey to create distinctive works of exquisite beauty. Such a development certainly helps explain the scribal and illustrative contiguity of the major manuscripts in the collection.


 An example of quality


One such is the Egerton Psalter (<a href="http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Egerton_MS_3277">Egerton MS 3277</a>), which James’ co-author Millar (assistant keeper of manuscripts at the British Museum) revealed to James as he lay dying and with their de Bohun book already on the presses. Of breath-taking quality of execution, Egerton represents an apogee of style designed to please and to assert taste. Dated by the British Library as the second half of the 14th Century, with elements dating it to before 1389, it represents the physical embodiment of culture, an expression of patronage and a statement to the family’s lordly peers.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Egerton_2.png?v=1690915337" width="468">


So it is that in this light we must view the creation of William and the Werewolf, William of Palerne, a translation commissioned by the Sixth Earl of the French romance, Guillaume de Palerne. We are told by its scribe, also called William, that is was

<blockquote>
þe hende Erl of Hereford, Humfray de Boune;

þe gode King Edwardes dauʒter was his dere moder;

he let make þis mater in þis maner speche

For hem þat knowe no Frensche, ne never underston.
</blockquote>


 (The noble Earl of Hereford, Humphrey de Bohun; whose mother was the daughter of good King Edward; he enabled this matter to be told in this manner for those who neither know nor understand French).


William and the Werewolf, as a popular romance, fits at the other end of the scale for the de Bohun manuscripts. This is a work to be shared, enjoyed and most likely read aloud – either in a small group or possibly in a regional lordly setting. Intended, it seems, as an altruistic gift to Humphrey's distant estates, the work nonetheless reflects the broad taste of the de Bohun family; an interest in the popular as well as the divine.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/MRJames1900.jpg?v=1690915337" width="431">


In some ways it sits like James’ ghost stories against his own work as a renowned mediaeval scholar. A remarkable parallel through the centuries; a passion for beauty and a passion for storytelling.

 


 Michael Smith



 Translator and printmaker


 

PS. If you are reading this and you have not yet supported William and the Werewolf, you can do so <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>.  If you are interested in MR James, a book of his letters is currently being assembled for publication by Dr Jane Mainley-Piddock. With a foreword by Mark Gatiss, Casting the Runes – the Letters of MR James is also being published by Unbound. You can find out more about it, and support it too, <a href="https://unbound.com/books/casting-the-runes/">here</a>. And remember, every supporter has their name published in the back - mine's already in there!

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="207" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Piddock_MR_James_small_3e50c515-2dd6-49fe-9c4c-a1a2b7e702dc.jpg?v=1690915337" width="207"> <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="229" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Book_Jacket_William_and_the_Werewolf_reduced_2.jpg?v=1690915337" width="280">

 


 Images of MS 3277 via British Library; image of MR James via Wikipedia commons.



 The Roxburghe Club book on the manuscripts was published privately by the Club in 1936. It is described by the Club as: The Bohun Manuscripts, described by Montague Rhodes James, with an Introductory Note on the group on MSS. by Eric George Miller With 68 Plates in facsimile from the 5 MSS. described.

M R James, Humphrey de Bohun and William and the Werewolf

In my last update, I discussed the passion of the two lovers in William and the Werewolf, that between the Sicilian prince William and the Roman princess, Melior. In this update, I want to reflect on the significance of this for the story and how the poet frames the romance so it is rich in tension for its contemporary audience. Central to the tension is William’s perceived unroyal status (unknown to the characters that is) and Melior’s father wishes to marry Melior to the heir to the Greek empire. Melior is an eminent match for any rich prince; William – the “fair unknown” – has unproven heritage. Purposes of marriage in feudal society Mediaeval landed society, with power allocated by kings (feudal obligation) and legitimised by the church, was fundamentally centred on land and inheritance. Marriage was key to the sustaining of the power base. As Georges Duby explained in his masterful The Knight, the Lady and the Priest (1981), patriarchy was fundamental to marriage in early mediaeval society. Linked to this were three key precepts – that marriage was based on “monogamy, exogamy, and the repression of pleasure”. (Above: a mediaeval marriage in Bologna c.1350) If the male line was key, a male heir was crucial. Monogamy ensured a fixed outcome of uncontested descent where the oldest child inherited the lands of the father and could further expand his lands by marrying a wealthy heiress. The outcome of marriage was social aggrandisement. Further, by marrying an heiress from elsewhere, exogamy ensured not only a stronger biological line but also enabled territorial expansion because it required a partner from outside the realm. An inherent (though clearly not ordained) corollary to this is the well-known trait of monarchs to sleep with whoever they wished, so in the minds of the church, a perfect partner should be sufficient to divert the “wandering eye”. A marriage ideal meets reality A successful marriage should therefore be one of perfect union: pleasure within marriage, loyalty to one’s spouse, aggrandisement for the future. Yet this was a fragile notion, as history continues to tell us. For example, following the death of his only legitimate son in the White Ship disaster of 1120, Henry I had no male heir, despite having many illegitimate sons. His nominated choice of successor – his daughter Matilda – was not unanimously supported, leading to a period known as the Anarchy (1135-1153). This was only resolved by the birth of two sons to Matilda with Henry II succeeding to the throne in 1154. Above: the White Ship Disaster and its implications ( British Library, Royal MS 20 A.ii, fol. 6v.) Henry VIII of course is the prime example of the desperation of a king in search of a male heir; the Habsburg monarchy the exemplar of a dynasty where a denial of exogamy led to well-known in-breeding. Marriage rules and dramatic tension in William and the Werewolf So it is in such a setting of inheritance and power that William finds himself when he learns of Melior’s arranged marriage to the heir to Greece. He is not royal, he has no known lands; the audience knows that the conceit of the romance is that it will be impossible for him to marry Melior unless something happens. When he learns of the proposed marriage, William, blinded by love and constrained by the social order, cannot see a way forward; for him, the world has conspired against him. He enters a dark realm; pricked by the darts of love into near insanity, and even thinks Melior has turned against him: “Faithfully without falsehood, you have failed me now, And have turned your intentions towards another! You have wrought me great wrong, great sin well and truly, To do me such distress that I die for your sake. But lovely beloved, our Lord wishes it That your worthy will was to come to me now; And you have lengthened my life and lessened my misery Through the solace of seeing you, my dear sweetheart!" Of course, the audience knows William’s true royal heritage even if - as yet – neither he nor Melior knows of his royal birth. We know the characters have a legitimacy in the contemporary social framework of the poem, but they themselves are unaware of it. The poet exploits this, creating a world of unimaginable tension for his mediaeval audience: the two lovers must be separated unless something dramatic happens. But happen it does – because the emperor has tried to arrange this marriage without thinking that his daughter has a will of her own! In denying one of the three fundamentals of a successful dynastic marriage, and ignoring his own daughter’s wishes, he has destroyed in one swoop his own ambitions and, critically for his own reputation, those of the Greek emperor: And when Melior had heard all wholly his will, She sickened for sorrow, and wept well and sorely, And so lovingly said, “Beloved, truly believe this, All mortal men upon earth should not save my life If you were to wend from this world, and I not follow you! I have no knowledge of this, loved one, believe me truly, For though my foolish father might affirm agreements, Why suppose that I would now perform his will? No, by God who gave me the Ghost and my soul, His travails are for naught no matter the outcome! For there is no mortal man that shall ever have me But you, love and loved one, believe me most truly; In faith, they will have to fast fell me and swiftly, Or bury me deep down alive, or draw or hang me!” Of course, the romance finds resolution in the end but key to its success is its contemporary setting and its audacious and subversive subtext that women have the right to choose as much as men. It is folly to assert dynastic aggrandisement on the shoulders of men alone; marriage is a two-way business. To understand the power at the heart of the plot, we return to Georges Duby. The central tension of the romance rests on the couple’s self-evident monogamy, exogamy and crucially, the essential pleasure of a relationship which any other marriage would deny. The poet’s masterful control of the tripartite elements of Duby’s definition is what makes William and the Werewolf - William of Palerne – such a majestic achievement. Thank you for supporting my work and please do spread the message to help this new translation be published. In the meantime, here's wishing you and your family a very happy Christmas and that the coming year is a better one for all of us. Michael Smith PS - with lockdown denying many of us the opportunity of seeing family and friends for Christmas this year, I put together a brief film of the feasting at Camelot which takes place towards the beginning of my recent translation of King Arthur's Death (the Alliterative Morte Arthure). I hope you enjoy it - and don't forget to pack the Rennies! - More here Main image: Marriage of Bohemond I and Constance - Chronique d'Ernoul et de Bernard le Trésorier (late 15th C), f.170 - BL Royal MS 15 E I

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="358" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Marriage_2.jpg?v=1690915341" width="500">


In my last update, I discussed the passion of the two lovers in William and the Werewolf, that between the Sicilian prince William and the Roman princess, Melior. In this update, I want to reflect on the significance of this for the story and how the poet frames the romance so it is rich in tension for its contemporary audience.

Central to the tension is William’s perceived unroyal status (unknown to the characters that is) and Melior’s father wishes to marry Melior to the heir to the Greek empire. Melior is an eminent match for any rich prince; William – the “fair unknown” – has unproven heritage.


 Purposes of marriage in feudal society


Mediaeval landed society, with power allocated by kings (feudal obligation) and legitimised by the church, was fundamentally centred on land and inheritance. Marriage was key to the sustaining of the power base.

As Georges Duby explained in his masterful The Knight, the Lady and the Priest (1981), patriarchy was fundamental to marriage in early mediaeval society. Linked to this were three key precepts – that marriage was based on “monogamy, exogamy, and the repression of pleasure”.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="387" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Bologna_marriage.jpg?v=1690915341" width="405">



 (Above: a mediaeval marriage in Bologna c.1350)


If the male line was key, a male heir was crucial. Monogamy ensured a fixed outcome of uncontested descent where the oldest child inherited the lands of the father and could further expand his lands by marrying a wealthy heiress. The outcome of marriage was social aggrandisement.

Further, by marrying an heiress from elsewhere, exogamy ensured not only a stronger biological line but also enabled territorial expansion because it required a partner from outside the realm. An inherent (though clearly not ordained) corollary to this is the well-known trait of monarchs to sleep with whoever they wished, so in the minds of the church, a perfect partner should be sufficient to divert the “wandering eye”.


 A marriage ideal meets reality


A successful marriage should therefore be one of perfect union: pleasure within marriage, loyalty to one’s spouse, aggrandisement for the future.

Yet this was a fragile notion, as history continues to tell us. For example, following the death of his only legitimate son in the White Ship disaster of 1120, Henry I had no male heir, despite having many illegitimate sons. His nominated choice of successor – his daughter Matilda – was not unanimously supported, leading to a period known as the Anarchy (1135-1153). This was only resolved by the birth of two sons to Matilda with Henry II succeeding to the throne in 1154.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/White_Ship_Disaster.jpg?v=1690915341" width="318">



 Above: the White Ship Disaster and its implications ( British Library, Royal MS 20 A.ii, fol. 6v.)


Henry VIII of course is the prime example of the desperation of a king in search of a male heir; the Habsburg monarchy the exemplar of a dynasty where a denial of exogamy led to well-known in-breeding.


 Marriage rules and dramatic tension in William and the Werewolf


So it is in such a setting of inheritance and power that William finds himself when he learns of Melior’s arranged marriage to the heir to Greece. He is not royal, he has no known lands; the audience knows that the conceit of the romance is that it will be impossible for him to marry Melior unless something happens.

When he learns of the proposed marriage, William, blinded by love and constrained by the social order, cannot see a way forward; for him, the world has conspired against him. He enters a dark realm; pricked by the darts of love into near insanity, and even thinks Melior has turned against him:

<blockquote>
“Faithfully without falsehood,   you have failed me now,

And have turned your intentions   towards another!

You have wrought me great wrong,    great sin well and truly,

To do me such distress   that I die for your sake.

But lovely beloved,   our Lord wishes it

That your worthy will   was to come to me now;

And you have lengthened my life   and lessened my misery

Through the solace of seeing you,    my dear sweetheart!"
</blockquote>

Of course, the audience knows William’s true royal heritage even if  - as yet – neither he nor Melior knows of his royal birth. We know the characters have a legitimacy in the contemporary social framework of the poem, but they themselves are unaware of it. The poet exploits this, creating a world of unimaginable tension for his mediaeval audience: the two lovers must be separated unless something dramatic happens.

But happen it does – because the emperor has tried to arrange this marriage without thinking that his daughter has a will of her own! In denying one of the three fundamentals of a successful dynastic marriage, and ignoring his own daughter’s wishes, he has destroyed in one swoop his own ambitions and, critically for his own reputation, those of the Greek emperor:

<blockquote>
And when Melior had heard   all wholly his will,

She sickened for sorrow,   and wept well and sorely,

And so lovingly said,   “Beloved, truly believe this,

All mortal men upon earth   should not save my life

If you were to wend from this world,   and I not follow you!

I have no knowledge of this, loved one,   believe me truly,

For though my foolish father   might affirm agreements,

Why suppose that I would   now perform his will?

No, by God who gave me   the Ghost and my soul,  

His travails are for naught   no matter the outcome!

For there is no mortal man   that shall ever have me

But you, love and loved one,   believe me most truly;

In faith, they will have to    fast fell me and swiftly,

Or bury me deep down alive,   or draw or hang me!” 
</blockquote>

Of course, the romance finds resolution in the end but key to its success is its contemporary setting and its audacious and subversive subtext that women have the right to choose as much as men. It is folly to assert dynastic aggrandisement on the shoulders of men alone; marriage is a two-way business.

To understand the power at the heart of the plot, we return to Georges Duby. The central tension of the romance rests on the couple’s self-evident monogamy, exogamy and crucially, the essential pleasure of a relationship which any other marriage would deny.

The poet’s masterful control of the tripartite elements of Duby’s definition is what makes William and the Werewolf - William of Palerne – such a majestic achievement.

Thank you for supporting my work and please do spread the message to help this new translation be published. In the meantime, here's wishing you and your family a very happy Christmas and that the coming year is a better one for all of us.

 


 Michael Smith


PS - with lockdown denying many of us the opportunity of seeing family and friends for Christmas this year, I put together a brief film of the feasting at Camelot which takes place towards the beginning of my recent translation of King Arthur's Death (the Alliterative Morte Arthure). I hope you enjoy it - and don't forget to pack the Rennies! - More <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BZFQ45h3hw">here</a> 

 


 Main image:  Marriage of Bohemond I and Constance - Chronique d'Ernoul et de Bernard le Trésorier (late 15th C), f.170 - BL Royal MS 15 E I

Mediaeval marriage vows and dramatic tension in William and the Werewolf

Although the figure of the “damsel in distress” is a frequent stereotype in medieval romance, to say such characters are typical is very far from the truth. Across the spectrum of Middle English romance, female characters are as fully-rounded as their male counterparts and often wield huge power in challenging the pomposity of them. Beautiful Guinevere? Guinevere is perhaps the most famous of Arthurian women but how do we see her? If we read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, she is seen as an exemplar of beauty – but is she? She is certainly the person against whom Gawain compares Lady Bertilak, but what is noticeable is that the Lady is more beautiful than the Queen. Not only this, but the Lady possesses a power of inordinate sophistication and articulacy which is more than a match for Gawain’s “luf-talking”. Gawain appears to show Guinevere as placid, strangely weak and contemptible but below this appears a deeper distrust of her and her character. Guinevere seems to hover at the beginning and the end as a somewhat vain figure, the personification of the surquedry and vanity of Arthur’s own court. It is not clear from the poem whether Guinevere is known already by the audience as an adulteress or the lover of Lancelot although she is seen as someone fit to die by Morgan le Fay, the old woman of Hautdesert. Nonetheless, she is seen as corrosive: because Morgan hates her, she sends the Green Knight to terrify the court and potentially bring about its end if Arthur, not Gawain, were to take up the knight's beheading challenge. The verdict of the poets Indeed, a number of the English medieval romance poets do not seem to like Guinevere, even if she is seen as beautiful and elegant with her enchanting grey eyes. In the near contemporary Awntyrs Off Arthure (the Adventures of Arthur), she becomes an ambiguous figure whose beauty and grace is contrasted by the unique revelation by the ghost of her mother that she is the child of adultery. In this romance, Guinevere’s mother, a monstrous death-blackened corpse/ghost who has emerged from purgatory in the middle of a lake, persuades Guinevere to pray for her and to give alms to the poor in order to save her soul. This part of the romance is also an exemplum, where the ghost tells her daughter of the need for probity and charity in life if Guinevere is not to end up like her mother. But if the ghost seeks an end to its own misery, it also has a message for Guinevere suggesting - unlike the tangential references in the Green Knight story - that the queen's vanity is well known by the audience.Guinevere is revealed by the poet to be flawed - and with a hidden, darker past. It is a curious feature of the Awntyrs that it also has content and style which either draws from or influences the Alliterative Morte Arthure (King Arthur’s Death). In that poem, too, Guinevere is a target for contempt; swooning when Arthur leaves her to fight the Romans, she later commits adultery herself with Mordred and uniquely (in the canon) has children by him.Guinevere appears both corrupt and corruptible. The “loathly lady” The poets seem to want to contrast outer beauty with inner goodness, or with depth of thinking. The notion of the “loathly lady” is a frequent motif in these romances; as with the ghost and the Gawain-poet’s Morgan, the seemingly monstrous Dame Ragnelle in the East Midlands’ stanzaic Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle is a hugely ambiguous figure. Yet, when Gawain agrees to marry her, she is subsequently revealed as a woman of great wisdom and beauty. The women, it seems, set their own agenda because they can – and are - empowered to do so by their scribes. This emerges most dramatically in the alliterative Sir Degrevant, of which two examples survive. In this romance, Melidor, the daughter of a dinosaur Earl, tests and eventually accepts Degrevant as her husband – a man shown to have, in particular, commercial skills fit for the modern age. On her side is her mother, who belittles the old Earl for sticking to the old ways; eventually Degrevant and Melidor emerge as a partnership of equals. Melior the prototype? It is in this light that we must see the character of Melior (not Melidor!) in William and the Werewolf. She is almost prototypical in that we see her inner thoughts as a love-struck teenager yet we also see her as possessing what academics call “agency” as she elopes with her young lover William. While she may have the desires of a Guinevere character, she is able eventually to control them and bring about greatness. Repeatedly, she is seen as the brain behind William’s exploits as she often rescues him from his own masculinity; in a similar vein, her maid Alexandrine has the ability to foresee problems before they occur, mixing magic potions and out-thinking men before problems arise. If Melior is a “damsel”, she has a mind of her own and is not subject to the brutality of men like one of the "abandoned lady" characters in the romances of Chretien de Troyes. Throughout the romance she espouses sound thinking; in the end she is loved by her husband but also by her realm. She is, as Beyoncé might describe her, an independent woman – an inspiration for those who followed in the poems of the Alliterative Revival of the fourteenth century. English women in these romances really do have minds of their own; they are no mere trinketry to grace the arms of knights. In such a light Guinevere, like Arthur, is a figurehead of a dying age, unable to hold back the forces of change nor to disguise their own errors through some form of divine right. The damsels in distress it seems are those who - like their men - perpetuate the past. Michael Smith Author, Translator and Printmaker PS as I write, William and the Werewolf is 87% funded - we’re nearly there! Please spread the message of this marvellous alliterative romance to your friends and ask them to support the book. Don’t forget too that you can also upgrade your pledge to help the book be fully funded (unsigned to signed; signed to “Lover’s Pledge” and many more - including orginal prints and the original linocut book jacket artwork [one only!]). Thank you so much for supporting this book on its journey; it would not have been possible without you. All images used in this update are available via the public domain. They are (from the top) Hiltbolt von Schwangau, Master of the Codex Manesse Dance with Musicians, Taccuino Sanitatis, Casanatense, (Lombardy 1390s) Master of the Vienna Roman de la Rose, c. 1430 Detail from Allegory of Good Government by Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, 1338-40 Heinrich von Stretlingen, Master of the Codex Manesse fol.70v

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="337" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Women_5b.jpg?v=1690915345" width="500">


Although the figure of the “damsel in distress” is a frequent stereotype in medieval romance, to say such characters are typical is very far from the truth. Across the spectrum of Middle English romance, female characters are as fully-rounded as their male counterparts and often wield huge power in challenging the pomposity of them.


 Beautiful Guinevere?


Guinevere is perhaps the most famous of Arthurian women but how do we see her? If we read <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/sir-gawain-and-the-green-knight">Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</a>, she is seen as an exemplar of beauty – but is she? She is certainly the person against whom Gawain compares Lady Bertilak, but what is noticeable is that the Lady is more beautiful than the Queen. Not only this, but the Lady possesses a power of inordinate sophistication and articulacy which is more than a match for Gawain’s “luf-talking”.

Gawain appears to show Guinevere as placid, strangely weak and contemptible but below this appears a deeper distrust of her and her character. Guinevere seems to hover at the beginning and the end as a somewhat vain figure, the personification of the surquedry and vanity of Arthur’s own court.

It is not clear from the poem whether Guinevere is known already by the audience as an adulteress or the lover of Lancelot although she is seen as someone fit to die by Morgan le Fay, the old woman of Hautdesert. Nonetheless, she is seen as corrosive: because Morgan hates her, she sends the Green Knight to terrify the court and potentially bring about its end if Arthur, not Gawain, were to take up the knight's beheading challenge.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="432" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Women_2.jpg?v=1690915345" width="500">



 The verdict of the poets


Indeed, a number of the English medieval romance poets do not seem to like Guinevere, even if she is seen as beautiful and elegant with her enchanting grey eyes. In the near contemporary Awntyrs Off Arthure (the Adventures of Arthur), she becomes an ambiguous figure whose beauty and grace is contrasted by the unique revelation by the ghost of her mother that she is the child of adultery.

In this romance, Guinevere’s mother, a monstrous death-blackened corpse/ghost who has emerged from purgatory in the middle of a lake, persuades Guinevere to pray for her and to give alms to the poor in order to save her soul. This part of the romance is also an exemplum, where the ghost tells her daughter of the need for probity and charity in life if Guinevere is not to end up like her mother.

But if the ghost seeks an end to its own misery, it also has a message for Guinevere suggesting - unlike the tangential references in the Green Knight story - that the queen's vanity is well known by the audience.Guinevere is revealed by the poet to be flawed - and with a hidden, darker past.

It is a curious feature of the Awntyrs that it also has content and style which either draws from or influences the<a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/king-arthurs-death-new-book"> Alliterative Morte Arthure (King Arthur’s Death).</a> In that poem, too, Guinevere is a target for contempt; swooning when Arthur leaves her to fight the Romans, she later commits adultery herself with Mordred and uniquely (in the canon) has children by him.Guinevere appears both corrupt and corruptible.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Women_1.jpg?v=1690915345" width="463">



 The “loathly lady”


The poets seem to want to contrast outer beauty with inner goodness, or with depth of thinking. The notion of the “loathly lady” is a frequent motif in these romances; as with the ghost and the Gawain-poet’s Morgan, the seemingly monstrous Dame Ragnelle in the East Midlands’ stanzaic Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle is a hugely ambiguous figure. Yet, when Gawain agrees to marry her, she is subsequently revealed as a woman of great wisdom and beauty. The women, it seems, set their own agenda because they can – and are - empowered to do so by their scribes.

This emerges most dramatically in the alliterative Sir Degrevant, of which two examples survive. In this romance, Melidor, the daughter of a dinosaur Earl, tests and eventually accepts Degrevant as her husband – a man shown to have, in particular, commercial skills fit for the modern age. On her side is her mother, who belittles the old Earl for sticking to the old ways; eventually Degrevant and Melidor emerge as a partnership of equals.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="339" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Women_3.jpg?v=1690915345" width="500">



 Melior the prototype?


It is in this light that we must see the character of Melior (not Melidor!) in <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>. She is almost prototypical in that we see her inner thoughts as a love-struck teenager yet we also see her as possessing what academics call “agency” as she elopes with her young lover William.

While she may have the desires of a Guinevere character, she is able eventually to control them and bring about greatness. Repeatedly, she is seen as the brain behind William’s exploits as she often rescues him from his own masculinity; in a similar vein, her maid Alexandrine has the ability to foresee problems before they occur, mixing magic potions and out-thinking men before problems arise.

If Melior is a “damsel”, she has a mind of her own and is not subject to the brutality of men like one of the "abandoned lady" characters in the romances of Chretien de Troyes. Throughout the romance she espouses sound thinking; in the end she is loved by her husband but also by her realm.

She is, as Beyoncé might describe her, an independent woman – an inspiration for those who followed in the poems of the Alliterative Revival of the fourteenth century. English women in these romances really do have minds of their own; they are no mere trinketry to grace the arms of knights.

In such a light Guinevere, like Arthur, is a figurehead of a dying age, unable to hold back the forces of change nor to disguise their own errors through some form of divine right. The damsels in distress it seems are those who - like their men - perpetuate the past. 

 


 Michael Smith



 Author, Translator and Printmaker


PS as I write, <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a> is 87% funded - we’re nearly there! Please spread the message of this marvellous alliterative romance to your friends and ask them to support the book. Don’t forget too that you can also upgrade your pledge to help the book be fully funded (unsigned to signed; signed to “Lover’s Pledge” and many more - including orginal prints and the original linocut book jacket artwork [one only!]).

Thank you so much for supporting this book on its journey; it would not have been possible without you.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_Women_4.jpg?v=1690915345" width="376">


 

All images used in this update are available via the public domain. They are (from the top)

<ul>
	<li>Hiltbolt von Schwangau, Master of the Codex Manesse</li>
	<li>Dance with Musicians, Taccuino Sanitatis, Casanatense, (Lombardy 1390s)</li>
	<li>Master of the Vienna Roman de la Rose, c. 1430</li>
	<li>Detail from Allegory of Good Government by Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, 1338-40</li>
	<li>Heinrich von Stretlingen, Master of the Codex Manesse fol.70v</li>
</ul>

Should have put a ring on it - the power of women in medieval Middle English romance

The recent death of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the proclamation of Charles III as her successor highlighted that to become monarch is accidental but to act as monarch requires dedication to service. The pronouncements made by both Elizabeth (during her lifetime) and Charles have never ignored these key facts; they are fundamental to their position and rest in the distant past when monarchs, ultimately, were rulers by the Grace of God. Reflective works for arrogant rulers Yet rulers in the past could have their heads turned by narcissism, greed and cruelty. Many Middle English poems and romances acted as specula principum – mirrors for princes. They reflect on the need for good governance and good government. They are highly relevant today. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight addresses key issues of vanity and overweening pride (what it calls surquedry). King Arthur’s Death reveals the consequence of sacrificing everything and losing it all for the sake of dogma. In other texts, such as Mum and Soothsegger, we meet shadowy Bristolians and others during the dark and uncertain times surrounding the end of the reign of Richard II and the beginning of the reign of Henry IV. In Sir Degrevant we see the old order being challenged by a new class of commercial landowning knights keen to exploit to their advantage new laws. Compassion and good governance In William and the Werewolf (c. 1350), we meet a gentler narrative but one which nonetheless speaks the same language. It talks of the need for good rulers and calls for them to watch over the needs of all their people. The romance, translated from Old French into Middle English apparently for the enjoyment of the distant estate workers of a disabled Humphrey de Bohun, is like a voice calling from the wilderness of an England in transition. Its language may be gentle but its message is profound: the right to lordly power depends on those who sit below. It is crucial for lords and ladies to listen to their advisers and make fairer, workable decisions for those less fortunate than themselves. Governmental legitimacy and the importance of compassion The romance's rich array of characters from all levels of society remind us that good governance is about helping the people who make the land, not the people who own the land. It is about caring for all those who make society, who make it what it is and enable it to function. Its message of legitimacy is more than just about lords holding power but about power being used with compassion. In the shadow of the funeral of Queen Elizabeth, the land is once again in the grip of sinister unseen forces keen to exploit power to extend their wealth while casting many into hardship disguised by vacuous words. Advice is once again ignored as dogma pushes on. Words are now spoken with no hint of compassion or empathy but are read out as if by autocue. Today's faceless and faithless rulers should reflect upon the spirit of duty their position demands, and discover a spiritual compass to enable a fairer, better and more just society than one fit for exploitation. They should read William and the Werewolf and learn to rule with honesty and not hide behind false lies. Please help this book become reality to enable its message of compassion to be heard again. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker PS - if you have not yet done so and would like to be a named patron of my new translation of William and the Werewolf, with your name published in the back, please do so here.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="468" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Medieval_king_and_monks.jpg?v=1690915349" width="500">


The recent death of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the proclamation of Charles III as her successor highlighted that to become monarch is accidental but to act as monarch requires dedication to service.

The pronouncements made by both Elizabeth (during her lifetime) and Charles have never ignored these key facts; they are fundamental to their position and rest in the distant past when monarchs, ultimately, were rulers by the Grace of God.


 Reflective works for arrogant rulers


Yet rulers in the past could have their heads turned by narcissism, greed and cruelty. Many Middle English poems and romances acted as specula principum – mirrors for princes. They reflect on the need for good governance and good government. They are highly relevant today.

<a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/sir-gawain-and-the-green-knight">Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</a> addresses key issues of vanity and overweening pride (what it calls surquedry). <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/king-arthurs-death-new-book">King Arthur’s Death</a> reveals the consequence of sacrificing everything and losing it all for the sake of dogma.

In other texts, such as Mum and Soothsegger, we meet shadowy Bristolians and others during the dark and uncertain times surrounding the end of the reign of Richard II and the beginning of the reign of Henry IV. In Sir Degrevant we see the old order being challenged by a new class of commercial landowning knights keen to exploit to their advantage new laws.


 Compassion and good governance


In <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a> (c. 1350), we meet a gentler narrative but one which nonetheless speaks the same language. It talks of the need for good rulers and calls for them to watch over the needs of all their people.

The romance, translated from Old French into Middle English apparently for the enjoyment of the distant estate workers of a disabled Humphrey de Bohun, is like a voice calling from the wilderness of an England in transition.

Its language may be gentle but its message is profound: the right to lordly power depends on those who sit below. It is crucial for lords and ladies to listen to their advisers and make fairer, workable decisions for those less fortunate than themselves. 


 Governmental legitimacy and the importance of compassion


The romance's rich array of characters from all levels of society remind us that good governance is about helping the people who make the land, not the people who own the land. It is about caring for all those who make society, who make it what it is and enable it to function. 

Its message of legitimacy is more than just about lords holding power but about power being used with compassion.

In the shadow of the funeral of Queen Elizabeth, the land is once again in the grip of sinister unseen forces keen to exploit power to extend their wealth while casting many into hardship disguised by vacuous words. Advice is once again ignored as dogma pushes on. Words are now spoken with no hint of compassion or empathy but are read out as if by autocue.

Today's faceless and faithless rulers should reflect upon the spirit of duty their position demands, and discover a spiritual compass to enable a fairer, better and more just society than one fit for exploitation. They should read <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a> and learn to rule with honesty and not hide behind false lies.

Please help this book become reality to enable its message of compassion to be heard again.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

 

PS - if you have not yet done so and would like to be a named patron of my new translation of William and the Werewolf, with your name published in the back, please do so <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>.

The duties of good governance for those who wield the power - a lesson from mediaeval days

In the words of Leah Haught of the Camelot Project, the "Fair Unknown" is a “universally popular folk motif with strong Arthurian connections in which a young man of questionable lineage becomes an integral part of society. Initially appearing in court without an established identity, the Fair Unknown nevertheless boldly demands to be knighted.” Classic examples in the Arthurian canon are Chretien’s Perceval and the Middle English romance Libeaus Desconus, sometimes attributed to Thomas Chestre. Stolen from his parents In William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne), the reader already knows the identity of the Fair Unknown – William - because at the beginning he is taken from the King and Queen of Palerne (Palermo) by the werewolf. The audience is aware that the werewolf is in fact friendly because had he not been there, the King’s brother, keen to inherit the kingdom, would have had the boy killed. Once the werewolf is sure that William is safe, he hides him in a den and brings food for him. While the werewolf is foraging one day, William – still in his princely clothes - becomes fascinated by the beauty of the flowers and birds around him and emerges from his hideway. It is at this point that he is discovered by a cowherd and his dog in a passage of touching charm and originality. I read from this passage in the attached film. Found by a friendly cowherd The cowherd takes in the boy and, with his wife, bring up William in the forest where he clearly exhibits lordly characteristics in his generosity and demeanour. At this point, however, he is simply an unknown to the rustic couple who, childless, bring him up as their own son. It is only when the emperor of Rome comes across William while lost out hunting that the boy becomes a true “fair unknown”. The emperor, hearing of William’s early clothing and strange story and observing his behaviour and beauty, becomes convinced of William’s apparent lordly status. He convinces the cowherd that William needs to be brought up in surroundings more suited to someone so lordly. Taken back to Rome, William is placed with the emperor’s only daughter Melior and so the main part of the story begins. An amusing transition Haught tells us that the “Fair Unknown” “tends to be markedly — albeit amusingly — uninhibited because of his isolated upbringing, and frequently knows little of his own paternity. Although he is quickly knighted, the Fair Unknown must prove his worth through an extended series of adventures before finally cementing his position within society through continued proof of his prowess and, ultimately, through marriage and the acquisition of property.” As we will see in later updates, much of what William does at the Roman court fills this description perfectly. Yet, there are significant twists, not least of which is William’s burgeoning romance with Melior which drives the narrative onwards as the identity of the “fair unknown” – a man who has forgotten his early boyhood – is gradually revealed through the help of the ever-present werewolf. A hearwarming message However, a more fundamental narrative sits always below the surface of this romance which gives it its real charm: William never forgets the cowherd and his wife. Held clasped within the heart of this magnificent romance is its profound understanding for those less fortunate than ourselves. In its time, a time beset by plague, William and the Werewolf offered a hopeful vision for humanity beyond the pain and trials of the hardest of days. With your help, William and the Werewolf can be told again to a world which needs its positive message once again. Please share this wonderful alliterative romance so it can reach full funding. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker

In the words of Leah Haught of the Camelot Project, the "Fair Unknown" is a “universally popular folk motif with strong Arthurian connections in which a young man of questionable lineage becomes an integral part of society. Initially appearing in court without an established identity, the Fair Unknown nevertheless boldly demands to be knighted.” Classic examples in the Arthurian canon are Chretien’s Perceval and the Middle English romance Libeaus Desconus, sometimes attributed to Thomas Chestre.


 Stolen from his parents


In William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne), the reader already knows the identity of the Fair Unknown – William - because at the beginning he is taken from the King and Queen of Palerne (Palermo) by the werewolf. The audience is aware that the werewolf is in fact friendly because had he not been there, the King’s brother, keen to inherit the kingdom, would have had the boy killed.

Once the werewolf is sure that William is safe, he hides him in a den and brings food for him. While the werewolf is foraging one day, William – still in his princely clothes - becomes fascinated by the beauty of the flowers and birds around him and emerges from his hideway. It is at this point that he is discovered by a cowherd and his dog in a passage of touching charm and originality. I read from this passage in the attached film.


 Found by a friendly cowherd


The cowherd takes in the boy and, with his wife, bring up William in the forest where he clearly exhibits lordly characteristics in his generosity and demeanour. At this point, however, he is simply an unknown to the rustic couple who, childless, bring him up as their own son.

It is only when the emperor of Rome comes across William while lost out hunting that the boy becomes a true “fair unknown”. The emperor, hearing of William’s early clothing and strange story and observing his behaviour and beauty, becomes convinced of William’s apparent lordly status. He convinces the cowherd that William needs to be brought up in surroundings more suited to someone so lordly. Taken back to Rome, William is placed with the emperor’s only daughter Melior and so the main part of the story begins.


 An amusing transition


Haught tells us that the “Fair Unknown” “tends to be markedly — albeit amusingly — uninhibited because of his isolated upbringing, and frequently knows little of his own paternity. Although he is quickly knighted, the Fair Unknown must prove his worth through an extended series of adventures before finally cementing his position within society through continued proof of his prowess and, ultimately, through marriage and the acquisition of property.”

As we will see in later updates, much of what William does at the Roman court fills this description perfectly. Yet, there are significant twists, not least of which is William’s burgeoning romance with Melior which drives the narrative onwards as the identity of the “fair unknown” – a man who has forgotten his early boyhood – is gradually revealed through the help of the ever-present werewolf.


 A hearwarming message


However, a more fundamental narrative sits always below the surface of this romance which gives it its real charm: William never forgets the cowherd and his wife. Held clasped within the heart of this magnificent romance is its profound understanding for those less fortunate than ourselves.

In its time, a time beset by plague, William and the Werewolf offered a hopeful vision for humanity beyond the pain and trials of the hardest of days.

With your help, William and the Werewolf can be told again to a world which needs its positive message once again. Please share this wonderful alliterative romance so it can reach full funding.

 


 Michael Smith



 Translator and Printmaker

The folk motif of the Fair Unknown in William of Palerne

A theme of several mediaeval romances is that of exile; typically a young knight is disinherited from his lands by a wicked relative and, over several episodes, recovers them. Yet, as we know from our own times, exile is more than just a literary theme; it is a state to which many are condemned by the violence and insensitivity of others. A state of loss. In William and the Werewolf, the hero is exiled less by deed than by chance: as a boy about to be killed by agents of an uncle intent on stealing his lands, he is rescued by a benign werewolf. This werewolf, himself a prince made exile by the magic of his wicked stepmother, sees a soul similar to himself and decides to act out of the goodness of his heart. Life as an 'other' In so doing he is emblematic of the suffering of all exiles; he is ostracised by appearance and must work to overcome prejudice and ignorance to assert himself in strange lands. He is an “other”, shunned by society as strange and dangerous – a threat. He is chased and hunted, attacked and, even at the end of the story when all will be revealed, still vilified by members of the court. But appearance and “otherness” should not deny humanity. The werewolf, after all, is responsible for ensuring the young child William is found and looked after by a friendly cowherd. Later, when William is taken from the cowherd by the emperor of Rome as a “fair unknown”, we are aware that the werewolf is never far away. Dressed in a different skin When William as a now-respected knight and courtier elopes with Melior, the only child of the emperor of Rome, he is once again exiled from a community of friends as the court hunts the couple down. Dressed in the skins of bears (above), hunted through woodland and field, the couple nonetheless have a friend; the werewolf is shadowing their every move. Slowly, they come to realise that the werewolf’s deeds show that he is the same as they. Double exiles (William from Palermo and Melior from Rome) and on the run, they see him not as a threat but, beneath his animal exterior, a force for good – a soul like themselves, yet judged by his appearance and seen as an outcast. Of course, the werewolf ultimately helps William retrieve his lands. When William regains his ducal crown, he is in a position to marry Melior; at the same time he has the power and legitimacy to uncover and repair the damage done to the werewolf. The wicked stepmother is brought to court and compelled to reverse her magic. The werewolf, now prince Alphonse, recovers his rightful inheritance too. Words from yesterday as powerful today Of course, life is never as simple as this but mediaeval stories of exile still speak to us today. We can shun those we see as “others” and send them thousands of miles away for the sake of headlines, political gain and some odious sense of nationalism. Or we can see each and every werewolf – every ‘other’ – as a soul lost from their land, their culture, their hopes and their future. William and the Werewolf is a story for today. It shows what it is like to be within the skin of another. It demands that the wicked rhetoric of prejudice be cast away in favour of the common good. Above all, it is a story of good government, fairness, integrity and justice. It tells a story of a belief in the humanity of the world. Where the skin one is wrapped in is suddenly invisible and we see the truth of self where ‘others’ are like us. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker PS. You are reading this as a supporter of William and the Werewolf. The book is currently 71% funded but still has some way to go to make its message heard. Please can you help spread the word by asking your friends to support the book? They can do so here. Every patron will have their name in the back as a supporter. Better still, in bringing this story of exile to a new audience, every patron is helping reverse the grotesque language of prejudice which seems so much to be on the rise once more in the world. Illustration: the illustration above will appear in the book and is also available as a pledge option if you were thinking of upgrading your pledge - or pledging for an additional copy!. Check the pledge rewards for all pledge options.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="411" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Escaping_Bears.jpg?v=1690915352" width="500">


A theme of several mediaeval romances is that of exile; typically a young knight is disinherited from his lands by a wicked relative and, over several episodes, recovers them. Yet, as we know from our own times, exile is more than just a literary theme; it is a state to which many are condemned by the violence and insensitivity of others. A state of loss.

In <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>, the hero is exiled less by deed than by chance: as a boy about to be killed by agents of an uncle intent on stealing his lands, he is rescued by a benign werewolf. This werewolf, himself a prince made exile by the magic of his wicked stepmother, sees a soul similar to himself and decides to act out of the goodness of his heart.


 Life as an 'other'


In so doing he is emblematic of the suffering of all exiles; he is ostracised by appearance and must work to overcome prejudice and ignorance to assert himself in strange lands. He is an “other”, shunned by society as strange and dangerous – a threat. He is chased and hunted, attacked and, even at the end of the story when all will be revealed, still vilified by members of the court.

But appearance and “otherness” should not deny humanity. The werewolf, after all, is responsible for ensuring the young child William is found and looked after by a friendly cowherd. Later, when William is taken from the cowherd by the emperor of Rome as a “fair unknown”, we are aware that the werewolf is never far away.


 Dressed in a different skin


When William as a now-respected knight and courtier elopes with Melior, the only child of the emperor of Rome, he is once again exiled from a community of friends as the court hunts the couple down. Dressed in the skins of bears (above), hunted through woodland and field, the couple nonetheless have a friend; the werewolf is shadowing their every move.

Slowly, they come to realise that the werewolf’s deeds show that he is the same as they. Double exiles (William from Palermo and Melior from Rome) and on the run, they see him not as a threat but, beneath his animal exterior, a force for good – a soul like themselves, yet judged by his appearance and seen as an outcast.

Of course, the werewolf ultimately helps William retrieve his lands. When William regains his ducal crown, he is in a position to marry Melior; at the same time he has the power and legitimacy to uncover and repair the damage done to the werewolf. The wicked stepmother is brought to court and compelled to reverse her magic. The werewolf, now prince Alphonse, recovers his rightful inheritance too.


 Words from yesterday as powerful today


Of course, life is never as simple as this but mediaeval stories of exile still speak to us today. We can shun those we see as “others” and send them thousands of miles away for the sake of headlines, political gain and some odious sense of nationalism. Or we can see each and every werewolf – every ‘other’ – as a soul lost from their land, their culture, their hopes and their future. 

<a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a> is a story for today. It shows what it is like to be within the skin of another. It demands that the wicked rhetoric of prejudice be cast away in favour of the common good. Above all, it is a story of good government, fairness, integrity and justice.

It tells a story of a belief in the humanity of the world. Where the skin one is wrapped in is suddenly invisible and we see the truth of self where ‘others’ are like us.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

 

PS. You are reading this as a supporter of William and the Werewolf. The book is currently 71% funded but still has some way to go to make its message heard. Please can you help spread the word by asking your friends to support the book? They can do so <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">here</a>. Every patron will have their name in the back as a supporter. Better still, in bringing this story of exile to a new audience, every patron is helping reverse the grotesque language of prejudice which seems so much to be on the rise once more in the world.

 


 Illustration: the illustration above will appear in the book and is also available as a pledge option if you were thinking of upgrading your pledge - or pledging for an additional copy!. Check the pledge rewards for all pledge options.


 


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="269" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Werewolf_and_Book_Jacket.jpg?v=1690915352" width="500">

What does is feel like to be an exile from your land?

The simplest words often convey the most complex meaning. This is certainly the case in place-names where settlements with the shortest names are often the most ancient in origin, a testament to when the land was new in the experience of those who lived within it. The brevity of their names – Ware, Lymm, Wath – conveying a presence in the landscape larger than their current sense might now suggest. In one word, enormous meaning is conveyed; so it is with the notion of “home”, a simple word derived from the Germanic and Old English hām. What makes a home? A dictionary would suggest that “home” might be the dwelling one lives in, usually with one’s family. Yet the word is bigger; it is a rich context of people and place, of shared history together, a place in the past as well as a place for the present. It may have geographical resonance or even a peculiar light. Later, someone’s home, when conveyed to memory and then eventually passed on to descendants via language or writing, ceases then to exist as originally defined. Now “home” becomes “home as imagined” rather than “home as is” – the prince’s home in the mind of his friends is different to the home which exists in his own mind. A prince's home in a romance, then, is far, far away than that experienced by the prince himself (or even concocted by his poet-scribe): it is an imagined concept enriched by the mind of the recipient. Hence, “home” is a richer word than its simplicity implies, with different meanings and contexts to different people. The importance of home in mediaeval romance In William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne), “home” is the essence of the hero’s condition. “Home” for William is Palermo; “home” for the werewolf (prince Alphonse) is Spain - both represent an essence of stable lordship, inherited by right. William is exiled from his home by the actions of his wicked uncle wanting Palermo for himself – threatened with death, he is stolen away by the kindly werewolf never, it seems, to return. The werewolf himself is equally an exile: prince and heir rendered wolf by a jealous stepmother, intent on her own son inheriting her husband’s kingdom rather than the king's firstborn. For a mediaeval audience, the nature of each hero’s home would have been profound – a rich context of certainty, love and friendship in lands well-known and deeply loved, even if in the subconscious. As a consequence, the relevance of exile from it would have had huge narrative and emotional power for the audience. In being taken from his home by the werewolf, over land and over sea, William is depicted as suffering immeasurable loss; a life of certainty and inheritance plunged into jeopardy. Equally, Alphonse, transformed into a werewolf is rendered worse: even if he were to return home, his lupine form –unable even to speak – makes him incapable of achieving an end to his exile. Uncertainty and the need for clarity If life itself was uncertain, as the Black Death of the 1340s and beyond was to prove for the audiences of William and the Werewolf, society itself was reliant on fundamentals. Monarch and church acted as sea anchors, holding together the fabric and structure of society tossed mercilessly by uncertain and capricious waves. Home was also a crucial element in the intellectual make up of the romance’s frail patron, Humphrey de Bohun. Compelled by illness to surrender his role as Constable of England and settling at Pleshey, even here the Black Death not only threatened his community but also those he relied upon to preserve his memory – the scribes and limners responsible for some of the greatest mediaeval books every produced: the de Bohun Manuscripts. It is thus that the power of William for his contemporary audience is that of a soul cast adrift from the certainty of his homeland; the audience is attracted to his story, wanting his exile to be resolved and his home to become his once again. A place where the hero can be himself, where happiness returns and where society is ordered. Not so simple At the end of the romance, some critics have suggested that the poet labours far too much in describing in detail how each character is “resolved”; that this is unnecessary once William and Alphonse themselves are returned to their rightful positions. But this criticism is too simplistic, too much based on modern perceptions of how stories should be resolved. If heroes are returned from exile, so it is that the other characters’ own homes are resolved; even the wicked stepmother has her chance at redemption. Order, a sense of social and environmental contentment, is critical to resolution: the multi-layered fabric of a society at peace is what makes a home. Home, after all, is where the heart is. We ask ourselves now: what, therefore, is heart? Michael Smith, Translator and Printmaker PS. As I write this update, Christmas gets nearer and the thoughts of home and family are often uppermost in our minds. May I take this opportunity to wish a very Happy Christmas and a peaceful New Year to each and everyone of you who has supported my work. If you are looking for Christmas gifts for loved ones, please take a look at my website, where you can buy signed and dedicated copies of all my books (and even purchase greetings cards and original prints too). For full details, please visit www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/shop.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="387" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Bologna_marriage_7c7aba70-9721-4dc6-978b-51c184c4750d.jpg?v=1690915356" width="405">


The simplest words often convey the most complex meaning. This is certainly the case in place-names where settlements with the shortest names are often the most ancient in origin, a testament to when the land was new in the experience of those who lived within it. The brevity of their names – Ware, Lymm, Wath – conveying a presence in the landscape larger than their current sense might now suggest. In one word, enormous meaning is conveyed; so it is with the notion of “home”, a simple word derived from the Germanic and Old English hām.


 What makes a home?


A dictionary would suggest that “home” might be the dwelling one lives in, usually with one’s family. Yet the word is bigger; it is a rich context of people and place, of shared history together, a place in the past as well as a place for the present. It may have geographical resonance or even a peculiar light.

Later, someone’s home, when conveyed to memory and then eventually passed on to descendants via language or writing, ceases then to exist as originally defined. Now “home” becomes “home as imagined” rather than “home as is” – the prince’s home in the mind of his friends is different to the home which exists in his own mind.

A prince's home in a romance, then, is far, far away than that experienced by the prince himself (or even concocted by his poet-scribe): it is an imagined concept enriched by the mind of the recipient. Hence, “home” is a richer word than its simplicity implies, with different meanings and contexts to different people.


 The importance of home in mediaeval romance


In <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf (William of Palerne)</a>, “home” is the essence of the hero’s condition. “Home” for William is Palermo; “home” for the werewolf (prince Alphonse) is Spain - both represent an essence of stable lordship, inherited by right.

William is exiled from his home by the actions of his wicked uncle wanting Palermo for himself – threatened with death, he is stolen away by the kindly werewolf never, it seems, to return. The werewolf himself is equally an exile: prince and heir rendered wolf by a jealous stepmother, intent on her own son inheriting her husband’s kingdom rather than the king's firstborn. 

For a mediaeval audience, the nature of each hero’s home would have been profound – a rich context of certainty, love and friendship in lands well-known and deeply loved, even if in the subconscious. As a consequence, the relevance of exile from it would have had huge narrative and emotional power for the audience.

In being taken from his home by the werewolf, over land and over sea, William is depicted as suffering immeasurable loss; a life of certainty and inheritance plunged into jeopardy. Equally, Alphonse, transformed into a werewolf is rendered worse: even if he were to return home, his lupine form –unable even to speak – makes him incapable of achieving an end to his exile.


 Uncertainty and the need for clarity


If life itself was uncertain, as the Black Death of the 1340s and beyond was to prove for the audiences of <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>, society itself was reliant on fundamentals. Monarch and church acted as sea anchors, holding together the fabric and structure of society tossed mercilessly by uncertain and capricious waves.

Home was also a crucial element in the intellectual make up of the romance’s frail patron, Humphrey de Bohun. Compelled by illness to surrender his role as Constable of England and settling at Pleshey, even here the Black Death not only threatened his community but also those he relied upon to preserve his memory – the scribes and limners responsible for some of the greatest mediaeval books every produced: the <a href="https://unbound.com/books/werewolf/updates/m-r-james-humphrey-de-bohun-and-william-and-the-werewolf">de Bohun Manuscripts</a>.

It is thus that the power of William for his contemporary audience is that of a soul cast adrift from the certainty of his homeland; the audience is attracted to his story, wanting his exile to be resolved and his home to become his once again. A place where the hero can be himself, where happiness returns and where society is ordered.


 Not so simple


At the end of the romance, some critics have suggested that the poet labours far too much in describing in detail how each character is “resolved”; that this is unnecessary once William and Alphonse themselves are returned to their rightful positions.

But this criticism is too simplistic, too much based on modern perceptions of how stories should be resolved. If heroes are returned from exile, so it is that the other characters’ own homes are resolved; even the wicked stepmother has her chance at redemption. Order, a sense of social and environmental contentment, is critical to resolution: the multi-layered fabric of a society at peace is what makes a home.

Home, after all, is where the heart is. We ask ourselves now: what, therefore, is heart?

 


 Michael Smith,



 Translator and Printmaker


 

PS. As I write this update, Christmas gets nearer and the thoughts of home and family are often uppermost in our minds. May I take this opportunity to wish a very Happy Christmas and a peaceful New Year to each and everyone of you who has supported my work. If you are looking for Christmas gifts for loved ones, please take a look at my website, where you can buy signed and dedicated copies of all my books (and even purchase greetings cards and original prints too). For full details, please visit <a href="http://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/shop">www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/shop.</a>

What makes a happy home - mediaeval style

As you know, over the weekend my translation of William and the Werewolf hit 100% funding and will now definitely be published! This could not have happened withoout your help and generosity; in writing this brief update I wanted to thank you for your support for the book and to tell you what will happen next. Firstly, I will be completing the outstanding linocut illustrations I have been preparing for the book, some of which have been made available for pledge options during the fundraising process. This work will include scenes from the romance in addition to the last few illuminated letters whiich, as in my translations of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and the alliterative King Arthur's Death (the Alliterative Morte Arthure), replicate those used by mediaeval scribes to create breaks in their texts. As with the Morte Arthure, these will be based on those in the Macclesfield Psalter of the 1330s. Secondly, the main translation is complete; I am now working through this to verify it once more against the extant Middle English text to be sure of textual accuracy. A small section of the original poem was lost in the mists of time so, for this part, I am reverting to the Old French and will be translating from that to fill the lacunae. Once complete, I will then write the introduction to the poem. As with my other works, the introduction will explain the context of the romance, its source, patronage and history - as well as the story of the survival of the manuscript itself. William and the Werewolf is particularly interesting in this regard, shedding light on the part played by Humphrey de Bohun in the creation of books in mediaeval England. Publishing Timetable - I am hoping to supply all these elements to Unbound by the end of July. Once they have the material, they will be able to advise on the design and production schedule and I will be able to share that with you in more detail when I know more. Your part in creating a real first edition! Once again, I would like to thank you for supporting my work. In doing so, you have helped support what I believe is the first ever published English translation of this major Middle English poem; in effect you have contributed to the creation of what is truly a "first edition" - and your name will be in the back of it! If you know of others who would like to share this joy and support the book, please do pass on this update to them and encourage them to be part of this unique story. I think its going to be a super book and I am indebted to you for all your support along the way. Kind regards Michael Smith Author, Translator, Printmaker PS. Don't forget, if you'd like to own one of the original illustrations from the book, you can upgrade your pledge at any time to secure one for yourself, hand printed by me in my print workshop!

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="495" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Forester_with_Dog_bcb8233f-19eb-4638-9a0a-2dd44ace3c48.jpg?v=1690915360" width="500">


As you know, over the weekend my translation of <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf </a>hit 100% funding and will now definitely be published! This could not have happened withoout your help and generosity; in writing this brief update I wanted to thank you for your support for the book and to tell you what will happen next. 

Firstly, I will be completing the outstanding linocut illustrations I have been preparing for the book, some of which have been made available for pledge options during the fundraising process.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/IMG_9503_8a1b56c2-9700-4dbe-818d-eeb531ddb4c0.jpg?v=1690915360" width="500">


This work will include scenes from the romance in addition to the last few illuminated letters whiich, as in my translations of <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/sir-gawain-and-the-green-knight">Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</a> and the alliterative <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/king-arthurs-death-new-book">King Arthur's Death</a> (the Alliterative Morte Arthure), replicate those used by mediaeval scribes to create breaks in their texts. As with the Morte Arthure, these will be based on those in the Macclesfield Psalter of the 1330s.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="236" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Three_Book_Jacket_bfcbc5b6-427f-452c-8d23-5b88025964b1.jpg?v=1690915359" width="472">


Secondly, the main translation is complete; I am now working through this to verify it once more against the extant Middle English text to be sure of textual accuracy. A small section of the original poem was lost in the mists of time so, for this part, I am reverting to the Old French and will be translating from that to fill the lacunae.

Once complete, I will then write the introduction to the poem. As with my other works, the introduction will explain the context of the romance, its source, patronage and history - as well as the story of the survival of the manuscript itself. William and the Werewolf is particularly interesting in this regard, shedding light on the part played by Humphrey de Bohun in the creation of books in mediaeval England.

Publishing Timetable - I am hoping to supply all these elements to Unbound by the end of July. Once they have the material, they will be able to advise on the design and production schedule and I will be able to share that with you in more detail when I know more. 


 Your part in creating a real first edition!


Once again, I would like to thank you for supporting my work. In doing so, you have helped support what I believe is the first ever published English translation of this major Middle English poem; in effect you have contributed to the creation of what is truly a "first edition" - and your name will be in the back of it!  

If you know of others who would like to share this joy and support the book, please do pass on this update to them and encourage them to be part of this unique story. I think its going to be a super book and I am indebted to you for all your support along the way. 

Kind regards

 


 Michael Smith



 Author, Translator, Printmaker


PS. Don't forget, if you'd like to own one of the original illustrations from the book, you can upgrade your pledge at any time to secure one for yourself, hand printed by me in my print workshop!


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="269" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Werewolf_and_Book_Jacket_REDUCED_2f83f05d-0b8c-4526-b212-e171e3f7b8e7.jpg?v=1690915360" width="500">

William and the Werewolf is fully funded!

Dear subscriber – as the fundraising continues for William and the Werewolf, I thought I’d update you with work behind the scenes: the not inconsiderable task of illustrating the book! I estimate I’ll need to produce around 40 linocut illustrations to give balance to the translation; reflecting its “feel good” theme, I’ve chosen a gentler illustrative style than with King Arthur; more akin to my Gawain translation. Printing decisions The photos give you a flavour of this style - and what you can look forward to when the book arrives. The narrative is engaging – the mediaeval scribe, also called William, chose to remove considerable violence from the French source – so I’ve decided to produce images in tune with his ambition. (above: William's Dream - inked up plate in the foreground) I am working through the narrative sequentially, so my early prints are from the beginning of the romance: William’s discovery by the cowherd; his life in the forest; the creation of the werewolf; William’s dream of Melior; William proving himself as a knight; the lovers’ escape dressed as bears. (Above:output with bananas - a chaotic artistic composition for the new book!) Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have seen some of these images before although I am showing more here. I hope you like what you see – as with my other translations, this will be another ‘illuminated manuscript for the modern age’ and will, as with the others, also feature decorated/historiated capitals at the beginning of each section. Printing method (Above: the Slama Press - top left - weighs around 5lb but glides across the paper) In recent years, I’ve suffered with the effects of frozen shoulders so, when printing test prints from home, I am now using something called a Slama Press, which is made in the Czech Republic. It takes the form of a large metal plate containing about 60 ball bearings which is rolled across the paper once it is lain on the inked up linocut plate. It is much easier for me to use at home than a nipping press; however, the final prints will all be run off a Victorian Albion Press as normal, hopefully that of Sue Jones at Stoneman Press. Thank you once again for supporting my book. Please do spread the message and help make William and the Werewolf a reality. Kind regards Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/IMG_9506_c5cc1b41-a55a-46af-bd64-d266ddd5c78c.jpg?v=1690915363" width="490" height="490">


Dear subscriber – as the fundraising continues for <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>, I thought I’d update you with work behind the scenes: the not inconsiderable task of illustrating the book! I estimate I’ll need to produce around 40 linocut illustrations to give balance to the translation; reflecting its “feel good” theme, I’ve chosen a gentler illustrative style than with King Arthur; more akin to my Gawain translation.


 Printing decisions


The photos give you a flavour of this style - and what you can look forward to when the book arrives. The narrative is engaging – the mediaeval scribe, also called William, chose to remove considerable violence from the French source – so I’ve decided to produce images in tune with his ambition.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/IMG_9500_7469ce1c-3aae-47e4-bec0-7957cd0512b5.jpg?v=1690915364" width="375" height="500">



 (above: William's Dream - inked up plate in the foreground)


I am working through the narrative sequentially, so my early prints are from the beginning of the romance: William’s discovery by the cowherd; his life in the forest; the creation of the werewolf; William’s dream of Melior; William proving himself as a knight; the lovers’ escape dressed as bears.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/IMG_9510_5b408cb3-71dd-4e3f-8dea-47c2487b32b4.jpg?v=1690915363" width="375" height="500">



 (Above:output with bananas - a chaotic artistic composition for the new book!)


Those of you who follow me on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/MythicalBritain">Twitter </a>may have seen some of these images before although I am showing more here. I hope you like what you see – as with my other translations, this will be another ‘illuminated manuscript for the modern age’ and will, as with the others, also feature decorated/historiated capitals at the beginning of each section.

Printing method


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/IMG_9503_4df82b29-c32e-4257-a706-238a7db71f3b.jpg?v=1690915363" width="500" height="500">



 (Above: the Slama Press - top left - weighs around 5lb but glides across the paper)


In recent years, I’ve suffered with the effects of frozen shoulders so, when printing test prints from home, I am now using something called a Slama Press, which is made in the Czech Republic. It takes the form of a large metal plate containing about 60 ball bearings which is rolled across the paper once it is lain on the inked up linocut plate. It is much easier for me to use at home than a nipping press; however, the final prints will all be run off a Victorian Albion Press as normal, hopefully that of<a href="http://printsuejones.com/"> Sue Jones at Stoneman Press</a>.

Thank you once again for supporting my book. Please do spread the message and help make <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf </a>a reality.

Kind regards

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

William and the Werewolf new linocut illustrations

The extant survivors of Middle English romances are rarely, if ever, the work of the original author. Instead they can at best be described as a “witness” to the original text although, like any witness, their reliability is questionable. How reliable a witness is William and the Werewolf (aka William of Palerne) to its original exemplar and what clues does it give about the scribe? Origins We know that the story of William of Palerne (Palermo) is a Middle English non-rhyming, long-line alliterative redaction of a tail-rhyming Old French original, Guillaume de Palerne; more than 150 years separates the original French parent from its English child. We know this because the French text was dedicated to Countess Yolande, daughter of Baldwin IV; Yolande died between 1188 and 1200. The English text is dedicated to its patron, the invalid bibliophile, Humphrey de Bohun IX, Sixth Earl of Hereford who died in 1361. Both texts were written in the lifetimes of their patrons. Problems of dialect A feature of Middle English romances is that, in their text, they preserve the dialect if not of the author then certainly the scribe who redacted the work from the original. For example, in the four extant MSS of the Awntyrs off Arthure (the Adventures of King Arthur), each manuscript reveals different dialectical features – the romance was popular enough to be copied across England and adapted by individual scribes. In the case of William and the Werewolf, the manuscript is unique. It is the only witness text to survive and yet even here there is a complexity to the dialect of the scribe. In the words of Ralph Hanna III, the extant text contained within Cambridge, King’s College, MS 13 provides the reader with a “single surviving manuscript of dubious antecedents, particularly minmal evidence on which to base a text”. Interpreting the text Various scholars have tried to pinpoint the dialect of the romance. In his summary of these assessments, GHV Bunt reveals the complexity of what survives by showing how different scholars arrived at varying, and equally logical conclusions. Based on their analysis of text’s dialect, each scholar’s suggested origins vary between Shropshire, Gloucestershire, the “West Midlands”, the “East Midlands”, Herefordshire, Leicestershire, and the Gloucestershire/Oxfordshire borders. One scholar even advocated an innovative assessment of the scribe, suggesting he was a Northerner attempting to please his Southern patron, Humphrey. In my own reading of the text, I can see that it does not have the distinctive northernisms of texts such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the Thornton Awntyrs, or the alliterative Morte Arthure (King Arthur's Death). Its word forms are gently distinct from these poems; its dialect mellower, its spoken sound less coarse than those from the north. Coming to conclusions In his assessment, Bunt writes “we shall […] need to rest content with the provisional conclusion that the language of William of Palerne combines West Midland and Eastern, possibly Norfolk elements.” This is attractive. The content of the text alludes to Humphrey’s Gloucestershire estates but more specifically references Edward II’s tomb (below) at Gloucester cathedral (ll. 165-69); we also know that Humphrey spent most of his life at Pleshey in Essex. While the Gloucestershire references may reflect the fame of Edward’s tomb rather than a locality of authorship, Humphrey’s own estates included Haresfield, Whitminster and Southam, all close to the city. As the romance says, the translation was written for those “that know no French” (l.5533). The great scholar Thorlac Turville-Petre has argued this may refer to a generous act by Humphrey to have a work written for those in his distant estates whom he could not meet due to his own infirmity. Derek Pearsall has argued such patronage may have been “of a condescending and remote kind” although such an argument seems wilfully singular given the effort involved not simply in copying a French original but also reducing its length and then rewriting it in an entirely different poetic form. What is less clear is how close a witness the extant text is to the story as written down for Humphrey by the putative “William” named as its scribe. An accurate witness? Some Middle English romances, such as Bevis of Hampton, have clues embedded within them to allow an historical stemma to be developed showing which one was the earliest and where the others fit in relation to that. William and the Werewolf does not afford us this possibility. Perhaps what can be said fairly safely, based on its relationship to its French exemplar, is that the text is very close to the original Middle English redaction. Written in a bold textura hand of the later 14th Century (ca. 1350-75) it cannot be too distant in years from its source. Hence, it is likely that despite its varied dialectical components it does not bear the scribal variations and errors so prevalent in romances such as Bevis, whose popularity stemmed many centuries. Combining West and East Midlands with elements of Norfolk dialect, the consensus seems to be that William and the Werewolf is fundamentally linked to its patron and is seemingly a reliable witness to the original lost form. Its scribe may well be the only person who actually knew the original autograph manuscript, a text perhaps once contained in the magnificent library tower at Pleshey in Essex. Sadly, like that very tower (above) - of which only hidden foundations on an overgrown motte now survive - the extant manuscript of William and the Werewolf is today our only witness to the story once commissioned by that lord who so loved books. Michael Smith Author, Translator, Printmaker PS. As I write, William and the Werewolf is now 95% funded! I calculate just 20 more supporters are needed to help make this translation happen. If you know of anyone who would be interested in supporting this - the first ever translation of this wonderful romance - please can you ask them to pledge? Alternatively, if you have already pledged for the book but would like to consider increasing your pledge option (e.g. unsigned to signed, or signed to "original print" level), every little will help the book get over the line. We're nearly there - and none of this would have been possible without your help. Thank you.

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="238" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/MS_13_William_of_Palerne.jpg?v=1690915367" width="500">


The extant survivors of Middle English romances are rarely, if ever, the work of the original author. Instead they can at best be described as a “witness” to the original text although, like any witness, their reliability is questionable. How reliable a witness is <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf </a>(aka William of Palerne) to its original exemplar and what clues does it give about the scribe?


 Origins


We know that the story of William of Palerne (Palermo) is a Middle English non-rhyming, long-line alliterative redaction of a tail-rhyming Old French original, Guillaume de Palerne; more than 150 years separates the original French parent from its English child.

We know this because the French text was dedicated to Countess Yolande, daughter of Baldwin IV; Yolande died between 1188 and 1200. The English text is dedicated to its patron, the invalid bibliophile, Humphrey de Bohun IX, Sixth Earl of Hereford who died in 1361. Both texts were written in the lifetimes of their patrons.


 Problems of dialect


A feature of Middle English romances is that, in their text, they preserve the dialect if not of the author then certainly the scribe who redacted the work from the original. For example, in the four extant MSS of the Awntyrs off Arthure (the Adventures of King Arthur), each manuscript reveals different dialectical features – the romance was popular enough to be copied across England and adapted by individual scribes.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="347" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Ms_13_William_of_Palerne_2.jpg?v=1690915367" width="240">


In the case of William and the Werewolf, the manuscript is unique. It is the only witness text to survive and yet even here there is a complexity to the dialect of the scribe. In the words of Ralph Hanna III, the extant text contained within Cambridge, King’s College, MS 13 provides the reader with a “single surviving manuscript of dubious antecedents, particularly minmal evidence on which to base a text”.


 Interpreting the text


Various scholars have tried to pinpoint the dialect of the romance. In his summary of these assessments, GHV Bunt reveals the complexity of what survives by showing how different scholars arrived at varying, and equally logical conclusions.

Based on their analysis of text’s dialect, each scholar’s suggested origins vary between Shropshire, Gloucestershire, the “West Midlands”, the “East Midlands”, Herefordshire, Leicestershire, and the Gloucestershire/Oxfordshire borders. One scholar even advocated an innovative assessment of the scribe, suggesting he was a Northerner attempting to please his Southern patron, Humphrey.

In my own reading of the text, I can see that it does not have the distinctive northernisms of texts such as <a href="https://www.mythicalbritain.co.uk/sir-gawain-and-the-green-knight">Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</a>, the Thornton Awntyrs, or the alliterative Morte Arthure (<a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/king-arthurs-death">King Arthur's Death</a>). Its word forms are gently distinct from these poems; its dialect mellower, its spoken sound less coarse than those from the north.


 Coming to conclusions


In his assessment, Bunt writes “we shall […] need to rest content with the provisional conclusion that the language of William of Palerne combines West Midland and Eastern, possibly Norfolk elements.”

This is attractive. The content of the text alludes to Humphrey’s Gloucestershire estates but more specifically references Edward II’s tomb (below) at Gloucester cathedral (ll. 165-69); we also know that Humphrey spent most of his life at Pleshey in Essex.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Edward_II_Tomb_red.jpg?v=1690915368" width="374">


While the Gloucestershire references may reflect the fame of Edward’s tomb rather than a locality of authorship, Humphrey’s own estates included Haresfield, Whitminster and Southam, all close to the city.

As the romance says, the translation was written for those “that know no French” (l.5533). The great scholar Thorlac Turville-Petre has argued this may refer to a generous act by Humphrey to have a work written for those in his distant estates whom he could not meet due to his own infirmity.

Derek Pearsall has argued such patronage may have been “of a condescending and remote kind” although such an argument seems wilfully singular given the effort involved not simply in copying a French original but also reducing its length and then rewriting it in an entirely different poetic form.

What is less clear is how close a witness the extant text is to the story as written down for Humphrey by the putative “William” named as its scribe.


 An accurate witness?


Some Middle English romances, such as Bevis of Hampton, have clues embedded within them to allow an historical stemma to be developed showing which one was the earliest and where the others fit in relation to that. William and the Werewolf does not afford us this possibility.


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="294" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Pleshey_MS_c.jpg?v=1690915367" width="500">


Perhaps what can be said fairly safely, based on its relationship to its French exemplar, is that the text is very close to the original Middle English redaction.

Written in a bold textura hand of the later 14th Century (ca. 1350-75) it cannot be too distant in years from its source. Hence, it is likely that despite its varied dialectical components it does not bear the scribal variations and errors so prevalent in romances such as Bevis, whose popularity stemmed many centuries.

Combining West and East Midlands with elements of Norfolk dialect, the consensus seems to be that William and the Werewolf is fundamentally linked to its patron and is seemingly a reliable witness to the original lost form.

Its scribe may well be the only person who actually knew the original autograph manuscript, a text perhaps once contained in the magnificent library tower at Pleshey in Essex.

Sadly, like that very tower (above) - of which only hidden foundations on an overgrown motte now survive -  the extant manuscript of William and the Werewolf is today our only witness to the story once commissioned by that lord who so loved books.

 


 Michael Smith



 Author, Translator, Printmaker


 

PS. As I write, William and the Werewolf is now 95% funded! I calculate just 20 more supporters are needed to help make this translation happen. If you know of anyone who would be interested in supporting this - the first ever translation of this wonderful romance - please can you ask them to pledge? Alternatively, if you have already pledged for the book but would like to consider increasing your pledge option (e.g. unsigned to signed, or signed to "original print" level), every little will help the book get over the line. We're nearly there - and none of this would have been possible without your help. Thank you.

William and the Werewolf - where was it written and what does it tell us about who wrote it?

How do you translate an old manuscript when the opening pages of the original hand-written script are missing? This is the precise challenge facing any translator of the Middle English William of Palerne (William and the Werewolf): the opening folios of the only extant ME redaction of the romance, Cambridge, King's College, MS13, were lost long ago. Missing these folios, the Middle English William of Palerne therefore begins awkwardly with key action not evident; the story beginning at a point which appears not to make sense: we find a boy in the woods where he is then discovered by a friendly cowherd. It is the Old French Guillaume de Palerne - the manuscript from which the ME William of Palerne is drawn - which helps us understand what has happened previously. In it, we learn that the boy (prince William) has been kidnapped from his home by a werewolf and that, strangely, the werewolf treats him and loves him with all the honour and respect due to a royal lord. At this stage, we do not know the full story, but the French scribe has masterfully created suspense early on. Old themes freshly presented for a new audience Drawing from the Anglo-Norman Bisclavret, Guillaume builds on elements of Marie de France's story of a lord cruelly deprived of his castle by his wicked wife. That story, in which the original reason for the lord being a werewolf is not explained, nonetheless focuses heavily on the notion of the illegal deprivation of an estate by the evil deeds of another. It is this theme which fundamentally drives Guillaume de Palerne and which is manifested in its Middle English redaction; the notion of loss of rights - and their subsequent recovery - is fundamental to the poem. In Guillaume, the original scribe tells us right at the beginning: Nus ne se doit celer ne taire, S'il set chose qui doie plaire ... ... Por ce ne voel mon sens respondre Que tot li mauvais puissent fondre Or, roughly translated, No one should himself conceal the truth nor keep quiet, If he knows something which is given to please... ...Therefore I do not wish to conceal what I know, Such that all those who are evil might perish The Old French narrator is telling us from the very beginning that this romance is about sharing a joyous message and not hiding it - in order that its audience might better understand the evil ways of others. On one level it is about the righting of wrongs and the importance of honour and honesty to princes; on another is asks its audience never to accept the outward behaviour of others as demonstrative of their inner honesty. Hence, we have wicked lords and ladies in fine clothes, whose aim is to rule lands which are not theirs (whilst apparently being their legitimate heirs). Then we also have the heroes of the story, William and Alphonse, who are compelled to hide their honour beneath the skins and forms of wild animals. It is crucial, therefore, to any translation of this masterful Middle English romance that its opening themes are not lost; to do so takes away the very meaning for its original translation from the French.This is a feel good story but one with a profound message for society - especially, in the case of the English redaction, at a time when the old order was under threat from the impact of the Black Death. The importance of not hiding truth and honour lies at the heart of the English redaction as it does in the French original. In an earlier update, I explained how Humphrey de Bohun - the English book's patron - was cruelly denied his due place in the hierarchy of England not by the wickedness of men but by the whimsy of fate: born an invalid (alhtough his condition is unknown), he was fated never to move much beyond his estates in Pleshey, Essex. It was here he established his own workshop which was responsible for some of the finest mediaeval English manuscripts outside royal circles. William of Palerne - William and the Werewolf - was deliberately translated and rendered into the alliterative form for the benefit of English people. This is stated in the words of the manuscript itself. It outlines to audiences outside Humphrey's Essex estates that feudal lords - even maganates like himself - had a fundamental understanding of the lives of ordinary people. It highlights to such audiences, how to spot poor lordship and what a good lord (or lady) should look like. It is about deeds not words, legitimacy not duplicity. The Old French introduction is fundamental to understanding the Middle English William. As the original French scribe says of the knowledge contained within the story, Car sens celes qui n'est ois Est autresi, ce m'est avis, Com main tresor enferme sont, Qui nului bien ne preu ne font, Tant comme il soient si enclos. Or, to translate crudely, For such learning which is not heard Is like, in my judgement, Many treasures which are locked up, Which truly nowhere are good or made profitable As long as they are so hidden. I hope I have preserved the direction of the French scribe in my forthcoming translation of the Middle English redaction which you have so generously supported. William and the Werewolf carries a message which these days, sadly, is more relevant than ever before as lies are presented as truths, illegality repitched as legitimate. Please do encourage others to support this book if you can. William has a real voice for today. Michael Smith Translator and Printmaker

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/Window_people_1_MB.jpg?v=1690915371" width="500">


How do you translate an old manuscript when the opening pages of the original hand-written script are missing? This is the precise challenge facing any translator of the Middle English William of Palerne (<a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">William and the Werewolf</a>): the opening folios of the only extant ME redaction of the romance, Cambridge, King's College, MS13, were lost long ago.

Missing these folios, the Middle English William of Palerne therefore begins awkwardly with key action not evident; the story beginning at a point which appears not to make sense: we find a boy in the woods where he is then discovered by a friendly cowherd.

It is the Old French Guillaume de Palerne - the manuscript from which the ME William of Palerne is drawn - which helps us understand what has happened previously. In it, we learn that the boy (prince William) has been kidnapped from his home by a werewolf and that, strangely, the werewolf treats him and loves him with all the honour and respect due to a royal lord. At this stage, we do not know the full story, but the French scribe has masterfully created suspense early on.


 Old themes freshly presented for a new audience


Drawing from the Anglo-Norman Bisclavret, Guillaume builds on elements of Marie de France's story of a lord cruelly deprived of his castle by his wicked wife. That story, in which the original reason for the lord being a werewolf is not explained, nonetheless focuses heavily on the notion of the illegal deprivation of an estate by the evil deeds of another. 

It is this theme which fundamentally drives Guillaume de Palerne and which is manifested in its Middle English redaction; the notion of loss of rights - and their subsequent recovery - is fundamental to the poem. In Guillaume, the original scribe tells us right at the beginning:

<blockquote>
Nus ne se doit celer ne taire,

S'il set chose qui doie plaire ...

... Por ce ne voel mon sens respondre

Que tot li mauvais puissent fondre
</blockquote>

Or, roughly translated,

<blockquote>
No one should himself conceal the truth nor keep quiet,

If he knows something which is given to please...

...Therefore I do not wish to conceal what I know,

Such that all those who are evil might perish
</blockquote>

The Old French narrator is telling us from the very beginning that this romance is about sharing a joyous message and not hiding it - in order that its audience might better understand the evil ways of others. On one level it is about the righting of wrongs and the importance of honour and honesty to princes; on another is asks its audience never to accept the outward behaviour of others as demonstrative of their inner honesty. 

Hence, we have wicked lords and ladies in fine clothes, whose aim is to rule lands which are not theirs (whilst apparently being their legitimate heirs). Then we also have the heroes of the story, William and Alphonse, who are compelled to hide their honour beneath the skins and forms of wild animals.


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It is crucial, therefore, to any translation of this masterful Middle English romance that its opening themes are not lost; to do so takes away the very meaning for its original translation from the French.This is a feel good story but one with a profound message for society - especially, in the case of the English redaction, at a time when the old order was under threat from the impact of the Black Death. The importance of not hiding truth and honour lies at the heart of the English redaction as it does in the French original.

In an<a href="https://unbound.com/books/werewolf/updates/m-r-james-humphrey-de-bohun-and-william-and-the-werewolf"> earlier update</a>, I explained how Humphrey de Bohun - the English book's patron - was cruelly denied his due place in the hierarchy of England not by the wickedness of men but by the whimsy of fate: born an invalid (alhtough his condition is unknown), he was fated never to move much beyond his estates in Pleshey, Essex. It was here he established his own workshop which was responsible for some of the finest mediaeval English manuscripts outside royal circles.


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William of Palerne - William and the Werewolf - was deliberately translated and rendered into the alliterative form for the benefit of English people. This is stated in the words of the manuscript itself. It outlines to audiences outside Humphrey's Essex estates that feudal lords - even maganates like himself - had a fundamental understanding of the lives of ordinary people. It highlights to such audiences, how to spot poor lordship and what a good lord (or lady) should look like. It is about deeds not words, legitimacy not duplicity.


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The Old French introduction is fundamental to understanding the Middle English William. As the original French scribe says of the knowledge contained within the story,

<blockquote>
Car sens celes qui n'est ois

Est autresi, ce m'est avis,

Com main tresor enferme sont,

Qui nului bien ne preu ne font,

Tant comme il soient si enclos.
</blockquote>

Or, to translate crudely,

<blockquote>
For such learning which is not heard

Is like, in my judgement,

Many treasures which are locked up,

Which truly nowhere are good or made profitable

As long as they are so hidden.
</blockquote>

 

I hope I have preserved the direction of the French scribe in my forthcoming translation of the Middle English redaction which you have so generously supported. William and the Werewolf carries a message which these days, sadly, is more relevant than ever before as lies are presented as truths, illegality repitched as legitimate.

Please do encourage others to <a href="http://www.unbound.com/books/werewolf">support this book</a> if you can. William has a real voice for today.

 


 Michael Smith


Translator and Printmaker

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