The Dedalus Book of Medieval Literature

by Brian Murdoch

  The covenant was sealed with his own ring,

  and his own blood was used for the writing,

  not ink, and then I promised everything.

  Then his dignity was restored to him.’

  This good Christian was trapped indeed,

  but now again he has been freed

  by God’s handmaid.

  Mary the Virgin, undismayed

  brought him out of the trap he’d made,

  so let us all now, in our praise

  for this great thing

  stand and Te deum laudamus sing!

  THUS ENDS THE MIRACLE OF THEOPHILUS.

  A Black Mass

  Not surprisingly, we don’t have too many records of actual black masses. This mock one, from a play in Cornish, is designed to frighten anyone inclined to put his or her trust in the forces of darkness. These were often viewed in the Middle Ages as a grotesque conglomerate of satanism, a misunderstood and (since it is actually not polytheistic) ignorantly maligned Islam, and classical mythology. Written in around 1500, the Life of St Meriasek is a two-day play cycle showing us the deeds of the Breton St Mereadoc (and his adventures in Cornwall). In an integrated but separate story, a young Christian is captured by a pagan tyrant king, whose hard-drinking but underpaid and bullied torturers go in for devil-worship. Incidentally, the lad is rescued miraculously by the Virgin after a little celestial blackmail by his mother, who removes the statue of the Christ-child from a church and holds it as a hostage. The torturers go (presumably) to hell.

  The Cornish Life of St Meriasek

  FIRST DEMON

  Peace, I say, to wild and tame,

  I say Moufras is my name;

  never had I any shame

  furthering sin.

  Lots of servants work for me,

  worshipping me busily.

  One day I’ll lock’em all in!

  SECOND DEMON

  With your tricks and with your spells

  you catch people very well,

  but I’m worse yet!

  My name is Shirlywit

  Anyone who wants a bit,

  I’ll acquit myself, you bet!

  FIRST DEMON

  Come on, off to our temple!

  The tyrant king says he will

  sacrifice now!

  He’s out to do evil deeds –

  a quick look is all we need.

  It won’t help him anyhow!

  [The demons descend to the temple]

  TYRANT KING

  Come into the temple, come!

  Our god is not a simple one.

  All honour to him is due!

  [all genuflect]

  Here’s a white-necked bull’s head,

  I offer it with due dread.

  Take! I am your servant true.

  FIRST TORTURER

  I shall not let my god down!

  Here’s a ram’s head, O Mahound,

  I’ve gilded the horns – it shows.

  My present should suit you well –

  it has a fine pungent smell,

  so I’ll set it by your nose.

  SECOND TORTURER

  I’ve a horse’s head for you,

  please take and keep that, too,

  a worthy prize!

  It’s an extremely fine piece

  worth ten quid or so at least,

  and a fine sight for your eyes.

  THIRD TORTURER

  To my god, Jove the benign,

  three ravens I here assign,

  marvellously formed, I’d say.

  They are worth a bob or two,

  and I got them all for you

  on horseback, from far away.

  CALO (THE TYRANT KING’S SKIVVY)

  To Jove my god, directly,

  here is a tomcat from me,

  the best mouser you could find.

  I bought him down in Morville

  where the devil lives in hell.

  Let him take all from my hand:

  a goat’s head, one skinned as well,

  my god, our service is kind!

  [They all sing]

  FIRST DEMON

  Left-handed blessings on you!

  Evil and nastiness too,

  use them by choice!

  Make sure you steal from the poor;

  the curses that on you pour

  will make your spirits rejoice.

  FIRST TORTURER

  Now on our way we may go.

  Our Holy-Father-Below

  to us has sent

  his benediction and law,

  to go forth and rob the poor

  and this is his commandment.

  SECOND TORTURER

  I’ve got a great itching in

  my hands to commit a sin!

  So let us go!

  If we can find a traitor

  or any malefactor,

  we’ll get him – we won’t be slow!

  THIRD TORTURER

  Who cares where we head for now?

  We’ll not be back anyhow!

  ’’People seek us everywhere,

  even those nearest and dear,

  but we’ll keep ourselves well clear

  and we’ll never have a care!

  [They all leave]

  Religious Parody

  This parody of the liturgy comes from a manuscript of the fifteenth century which is now in the Palatine Library in Rome, with a parallel manuscript in Halberstadt. Of German origin, it is one of very many different Latin versions, just as there are plenty of parodies of prayers, the Psalms and even the Gospels. There is similar material in the Carmina Burana. The various elements play upon actual introits and familiar prayers, with Bacchus, god of drink, and Decius, god of the dice, taking over the main parts. Puns like leccator, ‘scrounger, crook’ or potator, ‘drinker,’ for peccator ‘sinner,’ and omnipotans ‘all-drinking’ instead of omnipotens, ‘all-powerful’ are predictably tricky to translate, and imitation is the best one can hope for.

  The Drinkers’ Mass

  LET US confess to Lord Bacchus, inasmuch as he is good, and inasmuch as in goblets and tankards is his great potability. For I am a wretch, and I have conned.

  CONFITEOR. Therefore do I make confession to Naughty Bacchus and all Tankards, and in the sight of all of you drinkers, that I, a drinker weak, have drunk to excess in my life, drinking whilst sitting, drinking whilst throwing dice, drinking whilst invoking the name of Christ Almighty, yea, gambling away my shirt. My most grievous sin, my most grievous sin. Therefore do I implore ye, O my brothers in drink, that ye imbibe with me, a drinker, to Naughty Bacchus in his infinite Wine-vat, that he may have mercy upon me, a poor drinker.

  MAY THE LORD Bacchus in his infinite Wineskin have mercy upon thee, and may he lead thee into the hostelry of the blessed, that thou mayst lose thy shirt, thy teeth and also thine eyes, and that thou mayst no longer walk nor feel thy hands. For this is the malediction of the Unholy Dice, which doth afflict the spirit. Which drinketh and slurpeth from boozer to boozer, pissed without end.

  Bar-men.

  MAY THE LORD Bacchus, who boozeth and reigneth in discord and in wretchedness, visit upon thee indigence, dissoluteness, delusion, perdition, and great persistence without any hope of winning, even unto the loss of the shirt off thy back, yea, even thine underpants, through his most Unholy Dice.

  Bar-men.

  Booze be with us in the name of Bacchus, who did create Tavern and Jug.

  INTROIT. Let us all cry out to him, filled with mild-and-bitterness, with weeping and lamentations for the failings of the cubed and vengeful Dice, through the throwing of which the impoverished are caused to weep and blaspheme in the name of Christ.

  PSALM. Blessed are those who dwell in thy Taverns, O Bacchus, for they shall laud thee from boozer to boozer. Yet to me shall come no glory, for lo! my purse is empty.

  Piss-ups be with you.

  And with thy spirituous liquors.

  LET US DRINK. O Lord, who has rewarded three rolling dic
e with sixty-three spots, we beseech thee to grant that all who wish to place their shirts thereupon, that they, by the throwing of these dice, be fleeced. Through the most holy wines-and-spirits of our grandfather Bacchus, who inbibeth and guzzleth with us from boozer to boozer, pissed without end.

  Bar-men.

  THE LESSON. From the Epissed-all to the Home-brews. My brothers, in those days there was in the tavern a great multitude of drinkers, and their bodies were naked, having no shirts. And there was not one amongst them that had a thing he could call his own, for verily they were all in it together.

  And those amongst them that were possessed of the price of a drink, verily, they were held with honour in the sight of the drinkers. And there was with them in those days a certain legless one, and his name was called Boozi, which signifieth a slob of the worst sort. And he had amassed unto himself much lucre, causing great indebtedness amongst the peoples. And he gaveth unto the drinkers there assembled a reason for dicing and imbibing, inasmuch as they set great store by keeping their shirts.

  GRADUAL. Cast thy thoughts unto the Unholy Dice, and it shall deceive thee. For this is the work of the bottle, and it doeth great wonders unto our purses.

  ALLLELUIA. Halitosis. In my cups did I drink even unto leglessness, and the Unholy Dice undid me. Hail, O tosis.

  SEQUENCE. Wine with a nose is good for you,

  the abbot drinks it and the prior too,

  in a crowd or with just a few,

  stops you being sad.

  Here’s to the liquor, jolly good stuff,

  water of life and that’s enough,

  every bar-counter’s smooth, not rough,

  prop it up, my lad.

  Lucky old belly when the wine goes in,

  lucky old you when it wets your chin,

  lucky old tongue slopping over him,

  makes your lips feel glad.

  O how warm is its appeal,

  O how the fire is truly real,

  O how good it makes you feel,

  if you’re sloshed, too bad!

  Let us pray: give us it neat,

  makes all our racketing sound sweet,

  joyous voices then all meet,

  praising with a roar.

  Let the monks come in a crowd,

  clergy! everyone’s allowed,

  let us drink and sing out loud

  now and evermore.

  GOSPEL. May the booze be with you. And with your wines-and-spirits. The reading is from the Gospel according to Bacchus, to whom be Glory, Fraud and Horror.

  In their daze, the drinkers spake amongst themselves, saying: ‘Let us go forth even unto the tavern and see for ourselves whether those words be true which the good landlord hath told us of a land flowing with mild and bitter. And entering therefore the tavern, they made haste towards the tabernacles of the host, who did spread a table in their sight, and there were goblets upon it. And drinking, therefore, they did acknowledge Bacchus and saw that what he had told them of the contents of the barrels was true. And the good landlord did reckon up in his heart what value these men might place upon their shirts. And when that they were rat-arsed, then did he divide them from their garments. And lo, the drinkers returned again to their own dwelling-places glorifying and praising Bacchus and cursing the name of Dice.

  For is it not written in the Gospels? And if a man falleth into the ditch, so shall that be tough luck on him.

  OFFERTORY. Hangovers be with you. And with thy D.T.s. O Bacchus, most mighty of drinkers, who bringeth forth stupidity out of the wise and evil out of the good, fill us now with thine insobriety and tarry not!

  PREFACE. From boozer to boozer. Bar-men. Thickness be in your heads. And up thine, buddy. I shall raise my hopes in the Unholy Dice. Let us give thanks to Naughty Bacchus, our help in vintages past.

  For merrily I say unto thee, in the imbibing of his infinite wine-bar is our salutation. Therefore ought we to give thanks and praise, bless and preach the good wines in his taverns. For that they are swilled by the poorest peasant; and for that they are drunk by noble lords and clerics; and for that they are adored by priests; and for that they are of great price; and for that they may be supped to satisfaction; and for that they restore health and strength unto a man, causing the wretched to laugh, the clergy to sing, and the inebriates to chant without ceasing day by day in one voice, saying:

  Lovely, lovely, lovely, Lord Bacchus of Mine-Hosts. The tankards and bars are filled with thy glory. Hosanna in excesses. Cursed be he who drinketh the shirt off his own back. Pollyanna sex in Chelsea.

  From boozer to boozer. Bar-men.

  LET US DRINK. For the good landlord taught us to drink good wines, saying: OUR BACCHUS, which art in tankards, swallowed be thy wine. Thy kingdom come. Thy wildness be done, with dice as it is in taverns. Give us this day our daily booze, and forgive us our pissartistry as we forgive them that welsh upon us. Lead us not into good company, but deliver us from our cash. Bar-men.

  From boozer to boozer. Bar-men.

  Sods be with you. And may the fraud-squad have mercy.

  O Slob of Bacchus, who taketh away the sobriety of the world, give us a drop. O Slob of wine, who owneth the pub of the world, give us our drink.

  O Slob of Slobs, who taketh away our last halfpenny, give us thy pint.

  COMMUNION. Come, O ye children of Bacchus and look upon the booze which he hath prepared for you from the beginning of time. Hangovers shall be with you.

  And with thy D.T.s.

  LET US QUAFF: O God of Wine, who soweth perpetual discord between the clergy and the peasants, and who hath caused many of the peasantry to plunge into penury and indebtedness, grant we beseech thee now and forever that we may live off them and abuse their wives and children and rejoice at their downfall. In the name of our slurred Bacchus, who imbibeth and raveth from boozer to boozer, pissed without end. Bar-men.

  May the fraud-squad be with thee.

  Ite, piss-up est. For it is opening time. Thanks be to Bacchus.

  Amazing liquor, how smooth thy taste, for through thy grace is a layman made into a lawyer, a monk into an abbot and a peasant into a pillock. For I came even unto his boozer and I tarried not.

  Preaching About Blue Ducks

  Thomas Murner (1475–1537) was one of Martin Luther’s opponents (and a vigorous one – see the next piece!), but in fact he anticipated some of his reforms. A Franciscan with a lively eye for abuse, he attacked a range of follies in the Guild of Fools in 1512, much in the style of Brant’s Ship of Fools. Here Murner has a go at populist preachers who waste time on nonsense. If the choice of ‘blue ducks’ as a nonsense theme seems a bit odd, it is because the German word for ‘ducks’ – Enten – rhymes with theological words like ‘sacraments’ or ‘Testaments.’ The English word ‘duck’ is unfortunate in that potential rhymes are, well, unfortunate.

  Thomas Murner

  The Guild of Fools

  ‘I am the first one in this herd,

  because I mock God’s holy word.

  When I proclaim God’s mystery

  I do it very flippantly,

  as if the Christians I’d confuse,

  and ‘blue ducks’ is the theme I choose.

  Odds guts! Odds bodikins! I swear

  that preacher would be quite unfair

  who threw the Bible in my face

  on matters of the soul or grace;

  no, let him tell a joke instead,

  or some news that he’s lately read,

  and laugh and joke us out of hell.

  Since all the priests join in as well

  and make what’s serious a game,

  I reckon I’ll just do the same!

  I find God’s word as serious

  as chewing on a piece of grass,

  and that’s as long as it will last.’

  When God’s word is my heart’s desire,

  they read me Bulls about hell-fire,

  or news of John or Jack or Jill,

  or who’s refused to pay so
me bill,

  or how the towns of such and such

  are fighting over nothing much,

  or all about some local fair,

  or at the dance, what you should wear.

  But when I want to hear God’s word

  I hear this rubbish – it’s absurd –

  people shouting each other down

  as loud as fishwives in the town.

  Each calls the next a liar and more;

  instead of Gospels, we get war

  up in the pulpit in God’s sight!

  Now, is that pious? Is that right?

  They are supposed to teach us things –

  but all we get is arguing,

  and they distort all God’s teaching.

  The damage they do is far-reaching

  when ‘blue ducks’ is their theme for preaching.

  Thomas Murner and the Protestants

  Unlike the last piece, the ideas of which are quite close to Luther’s, this one is an attack on him. Protestants like Ruf had criticised a Catholic Church run by such morally suspect (if art-loving, not to say fun-loving) families as the Borgias or the Medicis, but Catholicism saw the reformers as a decadent lot, because they threw out most of the sacraments and thereby gave licence, it was claimed, to unrestricted vice. Murner was a sharp enemy because he focussed on genuine details of Protestant doctrine, accusing them of using their insistence on the Scriptures only when they could find Biblical justification for smashing monasteries and general mayhem. In this huge work – nearly five thousand lines – the Great Fool is the Reformation, with Luther as a little fool in its belly. Murner adopts the role the Protestant polemicists gave him, that of Murr-Narr, the ‘Tomcat-Fool’ (Murr is a name for a cat in German and Narr means fool), and has Luther offer him his daughter in marriage. Accepting Luther’s wonderfully lax doctrines, Murner marries her, but then rejects her because she has a revolting skin disease, and marriage isn’t a sacrament anyway. Luther dies, and because extreme unction has also been scrapped, he is dumped in the privy, while a cats’ chorus supplants the last rites.