‘Heer Y die in thy presence’: The Rewriting of Martyrs in and after Hoccleve

‘Heer Y die in thy presence’: The Rewriting of Martyrs in and after Hoccleve ABSTRACT The Remonstrance to Sir John Oldcastle by Thomas Hoccleve (c.1367–1426) was written in 1415 and survives in one of Hoccleve’s holograph manuscripts. It was later twice copied by Richard James (bap. 1591–1638), accompanied by copious notes rereading the poem in the light of Oldcastle’s then status as a proto-protestant martyr. This essay proposes that noticing James’s little-studied manuscript editions and the reading and editing practices in which they are engaged can, first, enrich the reception history of Hoccleve and other late-medieval writers; and, second, prompt a re-examination of Hoccleve’s own responses to the idea of martyrdom. Hoccleve’s layered use of allegory and analogy between exemplary figures and readers—including his own poetic persona—draws the public anti-Lollard rhetoric of the Remonstrance into contact with personal and penitential reflections in The Regiment of Princes and the Series, and I argue that the figure of the martyr is a significant touchstone to assess the resulting blend of discourses and perspectives. Finally, I suggest that the conceptual gap between Hoccleve’s and James’s copies of the Remonstrance can be narrowed by recognizing that they are both recontextualizations of the poem, and their different contexts and forms effect their meanings. In Summer 1415, Privy Seal clerk Thomas Hoccleve wrote a 512-line poem remonstrating with Sir John Oldcastle, urging him to abandon his heretical beliefs and return to more acceptable knightly activities, such as fighting the French and reading romances.1 Oldcastle was in hiding, but might still have been pardoned by repenting and seeking mercy. Instead, two years later he was captured and executed for heresy and rebellion.2 In the early 1420s, Hoccleve copied the Remonstrance to Sir John Oldcastle into a collection of his shorter writings, now San Marino, Huntington Library, MS HM 111.3 About two hundred years later, the scholar Richard James transcribed the Remonstrance, almost certainly from Hoccleve’s holograph, along with copious notes defending the Lollard beliefs that Hoccleve attacks and celebrating Oldcastle as a proto-protestant martyr. Two copies in James’s hand survive: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS James 34, and London, British Library, MS Add. 33785.4 In this essay, I analyse how Richard James’s seventeenth-century edition of the poem (en)counters Hoccleve’s anti-Lollard rhetoric in the Remonstrance. I then examine a topic that emerges afresh when reading Hoccleve through his later reception: the claim that Oldcastle was a proto-protestant martyr, which was vigorously pursued by early modern commentators. James reads Hoccleve’s poem against the grain, recategorizing it as a martyr’s legend. Further, reading James’s version prompts us to reconsider how Hoccleve himself approaches the suffering speaker, author and reader. The martyr’s voice or dying sinner’s cry engage Hoccleve’s commitments as a writer, and emerge as a compelling part of his claim on readers. Finally, in a brief coda I suggest that approaching Hoccleve through his early modern reception sheds light on Hoccleve’s version of the Remonstrance in HM 111. This is an author’s holograph, but is still a copy, made over five years after the poem’s composition, and its manuscript environment helps shape its meaning there. Oldcastle was a cause célèbre of the Reformation, his martyrdom gruesomely illustrated in Foxe’s Acts and Monuments along with discussion of his trial, defence, escape, capture and execution, and his involvement with the Lollard ‘uprising’ at Ficket’s (St Giles’s) Field outside London in January 1414.5 In a dedicatory epistle to his edition, Richard James refers his addressee Sir Henry Bourchier to Foxe and to ‘Bales brief cronicle of his martyrdome’.6 Bale’s tract, published in Antwerp in 1544, helped to rewrite Oldcastle’s history, and gave impetus to a particular kind of revisionist historical enquiry.7 Indeed, Annabel Patterson has called Oldcastle ‘one of those cultural icons in which are epitomized a society’s conflicting and shifting values’, referring especially to his rewriting by Bale and Foxe; by Shakespeare in Henry IV part I; and by the anonymous author of its ‘counter-play’ of 1599, The First Part of Sir John Old-castle.8 Richard James’s two Remonstrance manuscripts have hardly featured in those investigations of Oldcastle’s Protean life, death and reincarnations, but initially James and Hoccleve seem to represent opposing sides of the larger debate over heretics and martyrs in the late-medieval and early modern period. Thus one way of characterizing Hoccleve is as an orthodox propagandist and Lancastrian apologist, who urged Henry V to counter Lollardy and whose poem describing a Marian miracle was inserted into The Canterbury Tales as an orthodox Plowman’s Tale.9 His reputation and circulation, never matching those of Chaucer, Gower and Lydgate, fell away after the Reformation, and although his poetry was read by some in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, the Remonstrance to Oldcastle only survives in manuscript in the copies written by Hoccleve and James, and was not printed until 1880.10 James, on the other hand, was a protestant polemicist and fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford. After travelling to Greenland and Russia, he established a reputation as an antiquarian, and became librarian to Sir Robert Cotton, serving Cotton’s son Sir Thomas after the former’s death in 1631. His unpublished magnum opus (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS James 1) is the Decanonizatio Thomae Cantuariensis et suorum, an attack on that other famous English martyr, Thomas Becket.11 In what follows, however, I will suggest that their positions are more complex that this apparent binary opposition, first reading Hoccleve’s poem alongside James’s notes. In the layered commentaries of poem and paratext, Hoccleve and James signal linguistically their investment in Oldcastle as errant sinner or steadfast martyr. Contemporary anxieties over the stability of Church doctrine and authority emerge throughout Hoccleve’s poem: Lete holy chirche medle of the doctryne Of Crystes lawes and of his byleeue, And lete alle othir folke ther-to enclyne, And of our feith noon argumentes meeue. For if we mighte our feith by reson preeue, We sholde no meryt of our feith haue. But now a dayes a Baillif or Reeue Or man of craft wole in it dote or raue. (137–44) Such images of moving, stretching, bending, and meddling frequently recur, interacting with social rank and gender as means to goad or mock Oldcastle.12 However, Hoccleve’s rhetoric verges on the self-defeating. Unable to maintain a distinction between stable doctrine and errant heretics, each party moves or shifts: the Church can ‘medle’; devout believers must ‘enclyne’ to Christ’s laws, but not ‘meeue’ arguments; and Lollards ‘dote or raue’.13 The line between these activities itself becomes flimsy, a matter of assertion. Hoccleve starts the poem more confidently, recalling the Christian duty to help ‘if our brothir be falle / In to errour’ (2–3) by finding ways ‘[h]ow we may him ageyn to vertu calle’ (5). He describes Oldcastle as ‘twynned and goon’ (8) from the faith, having made a ‘permutacion’ (17) from Christ’s doctrine. A repeated ‘fro…to’ pattern characterizes this stanza: ‘Fro seuretee vn-to vnsikirnesse; / Fro ioie and ese vn-to wo and pyne, / Fro light of trouthe vn-to dirke falsnesse’ (22–4), developing discourses of disease, fortune and the understanding of error literally as movement and metaphorically as heresy. Hoccleve’s linguistic contrary motion, requiring the wayward Oldcastle to bend instead to the Church’s authority—‘To god and holy chirche thow thee bende!’ (79)—culminates in a demand to return to the spiritual and political fold: ‘Retourne knyghtly now vn-to [Christ’s] lore!’ (496); ‘vn-to our cristen kyng / Thee hie as faste as þat thow canst dyuyse’ (510–11). Hoccleve’s rhetorical patterns of movement and return shadow the circumstance of Henry V’s departure for France, to which Hoccleve links the poem by its incipit in HM 111.14 The poem redirects attention from the King’s potentially dangerous absence at a moment of threat, and instead imagines a stable conjunction of doctrine, royal policy and chivalric duty which stands firm against heretical deviance. Richard James’s notes, by contrast, produce an Oldcastle whose essential characteristic is steadfast suffering—‘in testimonie of evangelical truth he was patient and constant in his martyrdom’ (161)—a still centre against a paranoid and ‘cruel religion’ (138).15 James claims that the Church encouraged Henry V’s foreign campaigns to distract him from ecclesiastical reform, and he cites Hoccleve and Gower praising peace elsewhere.16 With the title ‘The Legend and Defence of that noble knight and martyr Sir John Oldcastle’, James generically recategorizes Hoccleve’s poem as a martyr’s legendum.17 This exemplifies the Reformation hermeneutics at work in James’s edition: a detailed and explicitly partial account of a text and event in England’s Catholic ‘dark age’; citing early Church authorities to undermine late-medieval practices;18 appropriating Chaucer, Gower, Langland and Lydgate as witnesses against Rome;19 and, in a final section, transforming popish devotion to saints’ remains into the antiquarian’s interest in surviving monuments. While no miraculous powers are claimed for these ‘reliques’, they still draw visitors and devotees. This section of ‘Memories’ of Oldcastle derives from information received ‘from ye courtesie of Mr Tho: Philpott herald’: ‘Vppon a grauestone in ye middle of ye great chancell in Ashchurch neere Sandwich in Kent is ye figure of Roger Clyderow and ……. his wife daughter of sr Jhon Oldcastell insculped in brasse…There is allso a verie faire monument for sr. John Oldcastell in ye said church of Ash’.20 Through these strategies of debate, academic referencing and the stabilizing of Oldcastle’s presence through his family connections and memorials, James’s edition enters into a contest of survival and authenticity, which he implies has been won by Oldcastle’s posthumous fame, a contest made all the more marked by the Remonstrance’s imagery of error, return and stability. Thomas Hoccleve and Richard James seem, then, to represent two sides of an ideological and chronological divide, connected by their (re)writing of a particular historical moment. However, a simple opposition is less easy to maintain than might appear. Amongst reformed readers in the sixteenth century, Hoccleve’s Catholic orthodoxy was under question, and I shall briefly show how sixteenth-century scholarship imagined a Hoccleve more aligned with revisionist understandings of Chaucer as a closet Lollard. In John Bale’s catalogue of British writers—like his work on Oldcastle, an attempt both to reclaim and revise the past to align with reformist teleology as well as antiquarian instincts—Hoccleve receives a lengthy entry. Bale notes Hoccleve’s connections with Chaucer and, surprisingly, describes him as a Lollard: Iohannis Vuicleui, & ipsius Berengarii, in religione doctrinam sequebatur: prout Thomas Vualsingham in suis narrat Chronicis. Ocklefe Anglus (inquit) Berengarii opinionem astruebat, in altari scilicet manere panem & uinum post consecrationem a sacerdote factam, &c.21 [He was a follower of John Wyclif and this same Berengarius in religious doctrine: just as Thomas Walsingham relates in his Chronicles: ‘Ocklefe the Englishman’, he says, ‘held to Berengarius’s view, namely that in the [sacrament of] the altar, the bread and wine remained after the consecration was carried out by a priest, etc’.] Bale’s source is probably a passage in Thomas Walsingham’s Chronica maiora (for 1381): [Wyclif] reassumens quidem dampnatas opiniones Berengarii et Oklefe, astruere laborauit, post consecracionem in missa a sacerdote factam, remanere ibidem uerum panem et uinum, ut fuere per prius.22 [{Wyclif}, embracing again the condemned opinions of Berengar and Oklefe, endeavoured to prove that after the consecration carried out by the priest in the Mass, the bread and wine remain exactly as they were before the consecration.] Berengar is the eleventh-century theologian Berengar of Tours, whose views on the Eucharist were condemned in 1059.23 Walsingham’s ‘Ocklefe’ is almost certainly, in fact, William of Ockham (c.1287–1347). Nevertheless, Bale’s misidentification was perpetuated in editions of Chaucer: Speght’s 1598 Works, for example.24 Speght, following Foxe and others, positioned Chaucer as holding heterodox views: speculating that he had been ‘in some trouble in the daies of King Richard’ (fol. b.6v); assuming that he wrote Thomas Usk’s Testament of Love; and stating that he had studied in Oxford, ‘by all likelihood in Canterburie or in Merton Colledge, with Iohn Wickelife, whose opinions in religion he much affected’ (fol. b.3r). Hoccleve’s poetic and personal relationship with Chaucer meant that their reputations were intertwined;25 the fact that Bale had given Hoccleve Wyclifitte credentials thus also helped to colour Chaucer as a more ideologically acceptable literary forerunner to post-Reformation audiences. There remained many inconsistencies, however, in this colouring. For example, Speght’s edition boasts an illustrated ‘Progenie of Geffrey Chaucer’ (fol. a.6r), including a portrait of Chaucer deriving from Hoccleve’s Regiment of Princes: ‘The true portraiture of GEFFREY CHAUCER the famous English poet: as by THOMAS OCCLEUE is described who lived in his time, and was his Scholar’. The ‘Progenie’ stresses Chaucer’s productive lineage, both in genealogical and literary senses. Chaucer’s picture is accompanied by a royal line stretching from John of Gaunt, Blanche of Lancaster and Catherine Swinford on one side down to Henry VII; and on the other from Chaucer and his (here unnamed) wife Philippa down through his son Thomas, and granddaughter Alice, who married William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk. The lines are linked at the top by Payne Roet, Catherine and Philippa’s father. As with Richard James’s interest in Oldcastle’s family tomb, which provides an ongoing physical presence to his ‘[m]emories’, the ‘Progenie’ illustrates Thomas Chaucer’s tomb, laden with armorial shields. The Chaucer portrait here closely matches the famous marginal picture in Hoccleve’s Regiment in London, British Library, MS Harley 4866, fol. 88r. Now full length in Speght, Chaucer retains his sober dress, though the cut of his robe is more reminiscent of a protestant clergyman than a medieval academic. Surrounded by his burgeoning family, he still fingers the equally fecund pen hanging round his neck. However, he also continues to hold rosary beads in his left hand: this image of continuity and continuing productivity sits uneasily with the edition’s subsequent suggestions of quiet opposition and Wycliffite association. The facing page poem ‘The Reader to Geffrey Chaucer’ by HB reflects this contradiction by transforming Hoccleve’s lament that others had ‘lost thoght and mynde’ of Chaucer26 into a suggestion that he has been hiding and exiled: Rea. Where hast thou dwelt, good Geffrey al this while, Vnknowne to vs, save only by thy books? Chau.  In haulks, and hernes, God wot, and in exile, Where none vouchsaft to yeeld me words or lookes: (fol. a.5v)27 Hoccleve’s role in this dance of contradictions around Catholic orthodoxy and premature Reformation is as a contemporary witness to Chaucer’s greatness, but also a supporting figure in sixteenth-century attempts retrospectively to re(-)form an English literary canon. The presentation of Hoccleve as a Lollard was implausible for anyone attentively reading his poetry, but does provide an acute example of the pressure that Reformation reading practices placed on medieval writers to become literary martyrs, or prophets with a concealed reforming agenda.28 By contrast, Richard James’s Remonstrance edition does not claim Hoccleve for the premature reformation, but James exploits the strained tone of Hoccleve’s Remonstrance, its extravagant rhetoric and exempla, and its suggestion that Oldcastle could recant and return to the fold, all of which leave ideological and textual loopholes. James reverses the examples; counters imagery of instability with steadfastness; revises Hoccleve’s authorities in the light of reformist exegesis; and highlights contradictory statements elsewhere in Hoccleve’s and others’ writings. James knew from the Remonstrance that Hoccleve was no Lollard, but James was exceptionally well-read; there were plenty of less committed readers who could have assumed from Bale or editions of Chaucer that Hoccleve was a Wycliffite sympathizer. Reviewing Hoccleve’s shadowy early modern presence via Richard James, then, complicates versions of reception history that see Hoccleve’s orthodoxy as a given. Instead, the fact that Hoccleve’s reputation was keyed to Chaucer meant that as the latter’s religious affiliations were reframed to suit early modern priorities, so too were Hoccleve’s altered. James’s re-orientation of the Remonstrance as a martyr’s memorial complicates landscapes of historical period and of belief. Further, it can focus attention on Hoccleve’s own responses to martyrdom. Recent work on reception and medievalism has indeed explored the ways in which re-reading and reflection can shift our perspective on a prior text and allow a raking light to emphasize unexpected contours and patterns.29 From the nineteenth century, when his works were edited in full, Hoccleve’s religious views were predominantly regarded as unreflectively orthodox, and his poetry as apologism for political and religious authority. Increasingly nuanced approaches to Hoccleve’s rhetorical and religious positions now address shifts in the alignment between secular and religious power, and complex attitudes to Lollardy.30 He worked in Westminster while legislation to convict and burn heretics, and to scrutinize discussion of theology in English, was being formulated and enacted, and the subject of martyrdom shadows his writing in a number of ways, some of which I shall now explore, before returning to the Remonstrance at the conclusion of this essay.31 Fault-lines in how different religious, literary and political traditions represent heresy and martyrdom can be seen throughout Hoccleve’s writing, and are still at work in James’s Remonstrance edition. The Remonstrance, for example, is uneven in tone and content; Charity Scott Stokes has even suggested that it is heavily ironic, winking at Oldcastle and being intentionally self-defeating over Church possessions, papal authority and sinful priests.32 I am not finally persuaded by that reading, but Stokes does highlight evidence that Hoccleve’s superior, Keeper of the Privy Seal John Prophete, had family connections with Oldcastle and attempted to help Oldcastle’s wife Lady Cobham after his goods were declared forfeit in 1414. When the poem was written Oldcastle still had ties with the King’s circle; Hoccleve’s poem—part jocular, part scathing, but retaining the possibility of reconciliation—displays some of that undecidedness that accompanied the complex manoeuvres around prominent Lollard sympathizers in the early fifteenth century, amidst cross-currents flowing between (inter)national politics and religious reform.33 Hoccleve’s engagement with this interplay of redemptive and judgemental responses to Lollardy is already apparent in his description of the burning of John Badby on 5 March 1410. Early in the Regiment of Princes (written 1410–1411), Hoccleve’s alter ego ascribes his ‘hevynesse’ to ‘encombrous thoght’ (92, 185), which makes him dazed and confused: A poore old hoor man cam walkynge by me, And seide, ‘Good day, sire, and God yow blesse!’ But I no word, for my seekly distresse Forbad myn eres usen hir office. (122–5) In Hoccleve’s conflicted state, his ears fail in their proper function, with ‘office’ punning on ecclesiastical or liturgical duty: Hoccleve’s body is, then, experiencing its own schism or apostasy. Specifically, his sickness stops him hearing God’s blessing. Given these symptoms of despair, the Old Man suspects that Hoccleve’s ‘bisy thoght’ (270) is a breeding ground for heresy.34 He warns of the consequences by describing Badby’s execution, at which Prince Henry intervened: ‘My lord the Prince…of his soule hadde greet tendrenesse, / Thristynge sore his sauvacioun’ (295; 297–8). After offering to act as an intermediary with the King, and to give Badby a pension, Henry summons the Eucharistic sacrament   this wrecche to converte, And make our feith to synken in his herte. But al for naght, it wolde nat betyde; He heeld foorth his oppinioun dampnable, And caste our holy Cristen feith asyde As he that was to the feend acceptable. By any outward tokne resonable, If he inward hadde any repentance, That woot He that of nothyng hath doutance. (314–22) This passage could be read as a characteristic Lancastrian narrative, giving to Henry the power of salvation over the bodies of his subjects. Hoccleve’s poem would then reproduce Henry’s signifying acts of power, intervention and orthodoxy, and the Badby episode would attempt to unite the nation by defining its enemies as heretical and treacherous, since they attack both clerical orthodoxy and royal authority.35 If the Prince was trying to align Lollardy with rebellion, however, it was against a complicated backdrop, especially given his own connections with Lollard sympathizers, including Oldcastle. Peter McNiven suggests that Henry acted partly under the pressure of these links, his intervention also being part of an ongoing antagonism with Archbishop Arundel. The Badby episode—both Henry’s public action and Hoccleve’s poetic reaction—might, then, not only have propagandistic or ‘Lancastrian’ meanings, but more ambivalent, personal ones too. The Regiment provides a textual space to consider redemption and return, both for Badby (who refuses it and is martyred), and for Hoccleve (who takes it up), with a meditation on the interplay between public demonstrations of orthodoxy and loyalty (‘any outward tokne’) and inner conscience or intention (‘[i]f he inward hadde any repentance’). This passage also portrays Prince Henry as a sympathetic figure, willing to listen to repentance until the final moment, while being a powerful and ultimately just authority. Such portrayals can have illocutionary force, aiming to produce the monarch that they imaginatively portray.36 Badby’s fate provokes a swift response from Hoccleve: ‘Of oure feith wole I nat despute at al’ (379). By disaggregating his alter ego’s ‘seekly distresse’ (124) from the charge of religious doubt, Hoccleve clears space for a ‘loyal critique’ of the state of England, voiced through the Dialogue’s interlocutors. But amidst his commitments to public poetry, Hoccleve never forgets the troubled writing subject and writing body. The Old Man mirrors Hoccleve’s persona—and of course, any literary dialogue must to an extent employ such projection or doubling.37 Here, then, Hoccleve in effect interrogates himself for heresy. He poses the questions ‘How does someone become a Lollard? Is it happening to me too? What is the distance between me and an executed heretic like Badby?’ through the divided persona that the dialogue form creates.38 As Knapp notes, Hoccleve is wandering close to Smithfield, where Badby’s execution took place, and so Hoccleve’s escape from the confines of London is also a blunder into dangerous territory; Katherine Little likewise powerfully argues that Hoccleve mingles discourses of heresy and confession, suggesting that ‘Lollardy has already arrived on the inside, and the problem is how to get it out’.39 And while it prompts an affirmation of Hoccleve’s obedience, Badby’s fate is a signal that dangerous thought can disrupt the political, social and religious fabric of the nation if its ills are not addressed. The Badby passage thus becomes a means to broach the dangers of thoght, focussing on questions of belief, intention and interpretation that the Lollard controversy inevitably raises, and which intermingle with Hoccleve’s melancholy self-projection.40 Badby’s death is not the only description of violent execution in The Regiment of Princes. In the Regiment proper, Hoccleve tells the story of an inventor who creates for his king a new punishment: an ingenious brass bull into which the condemned are to be placed and roasted with a fire kindled below, their screams of agony metamorphosed into the bull’s bellowing.41 This story disturbingly echoes that of Badby’s execution. Such repetition or recursion is already dangerous for Hoccleve’s text, but further, the narrative’s king is a tyrant and the inventor a cynical flatterer. This ‘losengour’ (3027) gets his come-uppance by being the bull’s first victim, the tyrant telling him:  ‘Thow that art more cruel Than I, the maydenhede of this jewel Shalt preeve anoon; this is my jugement.’ And so as blyve he was therin ybrent. (3035–8) This exemplum is integral to Hoccleve’s views on counsel, flattery and literary production, but is also troubling in the context of the Badby episode. It exposes the cruelty of burning as a punishment, refuses the correlation between dissent, error and rebellion, and figures the ruler as a tyrant and his inventor-cum-counsellor as a flatterer. While technically the bull’s victims are roasted inside, Hoccleve uses the phrase ‘brennen and bake’ (3017); the inventor is subsequently ‘ybrent’ (3038), echoing the fact that Badby was ‘brent’ (287). In the resulting ethical confusion, God’s role as the ‘auctor’ of ‘pitee’ (3025) does not prevent the bull from being used on its inventor, and potentially on anyone challenging the tyrant’s power. Here, burning those who speak out against authority is an act of cruelty, prompted by flattering deceivers. In another narrative of voice and martyrdom, the just councillor Theodorus Cyrenaicus is crucified for condemning his ruler’s faults. But rather than silencing Theodorus, the cross provides a public platform to castigate sycophants surrounding the king: ‘I dye an innocent, I do thee knowe; / I dye to deffende rightwisnesse’ (2579–80). The trope of the dying man’s testament—a voice all the more powerful since at the point of physical disintegration—is reinforced by the speaker’s martyr-status. In both these Regiment exempla, martyrdom is imagined politically as an attempt by flatterers to silence dissident voices. This accords with one of Hoccleve’s possible aims in the Regiment: to promote the value of public counsel and encourage rulers to listen to advice. However, it also signals fault-lines in how different religious, literary and political traditions represent martyrdom, which are still operating in James’s version. The Old Man dismisses Badby as one of ‘Crystes foos’ (327), who ‘heeld foorth his oppinioun dampnable’ (317). In the narrative of Theodorus Cyrenaicus, though, the reader confronts the power of dying testimony and is invited to sympathize with the speaker.42 The Regiment can scarcely reconcile these attitudes to martyrdom: one a condemnation of the heretic-martyr, born out of fear and division, the other acknowledging that a martyr’s death can transform—albeit temporarily—relationships of power. Lollard accounts of resistance such as the Testimony of William Thorpe notably use the martyr’s voice as a powerful rhetorical position against a Church whose ideology relies on the Crucifixion as itself a redemptive martyrdom. The Regiment’s examples of martyric or judicial death take their place amongst the many stories of bodily sacrifice and generosity that prompt political fracture or reintegration in the poem’s exemplary narratives, but they attract additional and unpredictable force by their analogy with Badby’s fate in the Dialogue.43 In Hoccleve’s writing, martyrdom and the suffering body are not only explored in the context of religious or political sacrifice: the sense of a body under threat is also used more personally as a force that shapes his own writing life, and links that life and body to the wider polity. In the Regiment’s Dialogue, Hoccleve depicts himself as a writer under physical constraint, and as a psyche under threat of disintegration. He describes the writing work of the Privy Seal clerks as a bodily torment, which ‘smertith him ful sore / In every veyne and place of his body’ (1025–6). This underlines Hoccleve’s claim to be pushed to the edge of the court and of sanity, but also gives his work physical presence and thus value in a world of otherwise deceitful promises and flattering speech.44 The link between suffering, complaint, sickness and writing are vital to reading Hoccleve’s collocation of political, religious and inward perspectives. This is no more true than in Hoccleve’s Series, a collection of narratives and texts framed by a dialogue between Hoccleve and a ‘Friend’ (which can of course be read as another inner dialogue), and introduced by Hoccleve’s Complaint, where the writer’s body and mind are again at breaking point.45 Thomas describes his ‘wilde infirmite’, during which ‘the substaunce of my memorie / Wente to pleie as for a certein space’ (50–1), and which is now, he claims, cured.46 Nevertheless, his former companions still shun him:   by my sauacioun, Sith that time haue I be sore sette on fire And lyued in greet turment and martire. For thouʒ that my wit were hoom come aʒein, Men wolde it not so vndirstonde or take. With me to dele hadden they disdein   .  .  .  .  .  .  . The worlde me made a straunge countinaunce. (61–6; 70) It is against this ‘martire’—metaphorically but tellingly by burning—that Hoccleve struggles to establish a claim to mental health, authorial independence and bodily integrity in the Series. Hoccleve’s use of martire as an abstract noun in parallel to ‘turment’ extends its usual meanings, which relate either to religious martyrdom or suffering, or to love longing. The Middle English Dictionary does not quote his usage here, and no other cited uses develop its meaning in quite this way.47 Hoccleve’s extension of martire’s semantic range, I believe, innovatively harnesses the word’s signifying power from religious and secular fields. Applying it to his writing self, he deepens the interrelationship between physical pain, mental suffering and exemplary narrative that the Series will probe in each of its linked texts. The Series is sometimes thought of as Hoccleve’s Canterbury Tales, but is as much his Legend of Good Women: an open-ended group of narratives written in the face of a menacing readership and focusing on exemplary suffering and redemption, whether of the writer-compiler, love’s martyrs or those facing death unprepared.48 Hoccleve tells two stories of suffering, deceit, forgiveness and justice in the Series, both taken from the Gesta Romanorum, with Lerne to Dye between them. The first tale obsessively repeats a pattern of trust betrayed. The emperor Jereslaus’ wife suffers torments and near-deaths familiar from martyrs’ legends, including being strung by her hair from a tree. Later, sold into the power of a shipman by a servant whom she had saved from the gallows, she narrowly escapes rape by praying for a storm. She becomes a nun, and is reconciled with her assailants when they confess to her, unaware of her identity. She pardons them in a final triumph of patient generosity. A moralization is then inserted at the behest of Hoccleve’s friend, but as with Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale, we are left uneasy about how far religious allegory overwrites literal accounts of suffering. The moralization’s ad hoc insertion reinforces the notions of divided self or conflicted readership that Hoccleve’s dialogic mode of writing nurtures. The other—bitterly misogynistic—tale again concerns itself with assault, trust, and revenge. Here the evil Fellicula is eventually struck down with leprosy by Jonathas, whom she has repeatedly tricked out of wealth and possessions. These stories, with the sudden reversals, punishments and denouements of popular romance and martyr legends, form a kind of vernacular gloss on the central text, Lerne to Dye, which Hoccleve adapts from one section of Heinrich Suso’s Horologium Sapientiae. In one of the first sustained attempts to understand the place of Lerne to Dye in the Series, Christina von Nolcken sees its eponymous message as the Series’ crucial focus, from which the other sections are a distraction, showing Hoccleve’s unwillingness to face his own death.49 Recently, Amy Appleford’s study of ‘death culture’ in late-medieval London views Lerne to Dye in the context of a developing interest in ascetic texts for lay readers. Appleford generates a strong reading of the Series centred on Lerne to Dye, but points it away from the penitential, arguing that by this point Hoccleve’s persona has, he claims, recovered his health, while such adaptations of Suso position the reader as an ascetic aficionado, treating suffering as a mark of special status rather than punishment: ‘readers are now members of the select few who have knowledge of the doctrine of death’.50 While Appleford develops a rich picture of lay asceticism in London, placing Hoccleve’s text amidst its early development, I am less convinced of her claim that the poem allows those ‘select few’ to enjoy their suffering, or validates Hoccleve’s continued isolation, now because of spiritual insight rather than illness or social ostracization. Instead I would emphasize how imaginative engagement with texts has life-saving properties for someone contemplating their own suffering and mortality, in ways that bind the Series with other of Hoccleve’s poems, including the Regiment and the Remonstrance. My reading is closer to Robyn Malo’s analysis of penitential discourse in the Series; she sees Hoccleve adapting confessional language but rejecting the idea that the self is therefore made up of a group of sins: ‘available confessional identities…do not define the self so much as personify various mainstream attributes of sin’.51 Malo describes Hoccleve as unwilling to discard the categories and language of ‘schryft’, but able to deploy them in a shifting set of ideas about spiritual, mental and physical sickness and health, part of ‘his constant revision of confessional paradigms’.52 Lerne to Dye’s protagonist, Disciple, is given the chance to repent and prepare for the Last Things through an image of a dying sinner which he conjures up at the instigation of ‘eterne Sapience’ (2). In a scenario reminiscent of The Book of the Duchess but transposed from an amatory to a penitential environment, the Disciple becomes the unprepared counsellor of ‘a yong man of excellent fairnesse / Whom deeth so ny ransakid had and sought / Þat he withynne a whyle sholde dye’ (91–3). The Disciple attempts in vain to rouse the Image from the final stages of spiritual despair, before promising to prepare for his own death. In this highly charged spiritual setting, Hoccleve’s fascination is with the representation and understanding of other voices, entering the mind of those whom their interlocutors might otherwise dismiss or reject (analogous to his own voice as ‘recovered’ from madness in his Dialogue with a Friend) and revealing the conflicting positions of sinner and penitent, reader and protagonist that can co-exist within a single textual figure. Like Badby or Oldcastle, Hoccleve represents the dying man as slipping away from salvation while tantalizingly close to being reprieved. Unlike them, however, in this more intimate and imaginative context, the Disciple can learn from the Image, in a way presented only prospectively in the Remonstrance (held out as a hope if Oldcastle turns away from error) and retrospectively in the Regiment (Prince Henry’s offer, stubbornly refused, to re-integrate Badby into the Church and body politic). To emphasize its ability to prompt spiritual healing, Hoccleve enhances the performative quality of Suso’s text, highlighting the physical and temporal presence of the experience through deixis and exclamation:   So beholde often and see Thy soule in the flaumbes of fyr brennynge, With a wrecchid vois thus to thee cryynge   .  .  .  .  .  .  . ‘See how y brenne. O, rewe on my langour. Be for me so freendly a purueyour Þat in this hoot prisoun y no lenger Tormentid be. Lat it nat thus me der.’ (495–7; 501–4) These appeals collapse the distance between sinner, disciple, Hoccleve and the reader: we too have internalized the Image of the dying man.53 Our inner ‘ymage’ should also conjure up forceful pictures of our soul ‘in the flaumbes of fyr brennynge’, imagery linking a heretic’s burning to one’s own projected fate. The text’s imaginative claim on its readers peaks with ‘For a memorie leue Y this sentence / To thee, and heer Y die in thy presence’ (740–1), combining authoritative memory with the affective power of vivid performance. Lollards such as Badby and Oldcastle thus become available as figures analogous to the reader’s soul in need of purging and prayer: the rhetoric of distance, refusal and error in Hoccleve’s anti-Lollard writings is seen here to have a highly permeable linguistic membrane barely separating it from the rhetoric of affective engagement and yearning for pity. The Image’s impact on the audience is modelled for readers by the Disciple, who calls out: Wher art thow now, o Sapience eterne? O, good lord, haast þou now forsaken me? Wilt thow thy grace me denye and werne? Thow seidest sapience Y sholde lerne, And now Y am broght to the deeth almoost, So troublid is my spirit and my goost. (744–9) The echo of Psalm 22:1 (‘My God my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’, itself echoed in Matthew 27:46 and Mark 15:34) helps draw the Disciple and Hoccleve’s audience perilously close to a despairing death. In doing so, does it also contain the materials for salvation and escape from the flames? Appleford argues that the narrator (of the Series) is figured neither as the disciple who learns the “doctrine of death” from Wisdom nor as the dying youth, who does not know the pain of sin until too late, but as the spiritually advanced reader, whose viewpoint is already that of Wisdom and who can thus enjoy, in pity and terror, the sufferings of those common folk not prepared for death in this life by the God-given gift of tribulation.54 She further argues against a close analogy between the dying man in Lerne to Dye and Hoccleve as narrator or author in his illness or social isolation: ‘Although this passage has been taken to suggest that the dying youth is here a figure for Hoccleve in the social death he has undergone after his illness, its logic is ascetic’.55 I believe that Hoccleve’s language of suffering, martyrdom and potential reintegration is not as separable as this assessment implies, and that readings that close up the distance between narrator and imagined narrative figures, at numerous layers of the text, are constantly available. The Series regularly encourages its audience to make such imaginative shifts, and as J. A. Burrow influentially showed, the self-consciously bookish nature of Hoccleve’s sequence also promotes reflective engagement by its readers.56 This occurs at the moment in the Complaint when Thomas/Hoccleve remembers reading a consolatory text:  a lamentacioun Of a wooful man in a book I sy, To whom wordis of consolacioun Resoun ʒaf spekynge effectuelly. (309–12) Such moments of reflection on the relationship between reading and the construction of the self in the Series argue for a more connected, more anxious relationship between narrator, Disciple and Image in Lerne to Dye too. The Complaint places Thomas’s illness in the past, but reading it re-ignites his symptoms and suffering. Likewise, the time-lag between his recovery and the still-disdainful or cautious attitude of others does not allow us to place his suffering as completed: it still resonates. The Friend compares Thomas to a thief who has escaped execution once, but returns to his crimes until the gallows intervenes, and he fears that Thomas’s bookishness is a destructive force akin to a predator or fire: ‘Ioie hastow for to muse / Vpon thy book, and therin stare and poure, / Til þat it thy wit consume and deuoure’ (Dialogue with a Friend, 404–6). In an insightful study of Hoccleve’s melancholy persona, Lynn Dunlop stresses that Hoccleve’s clinching argument in persuading his Friend that he is well enough to write is a declaration of his privacy, the unknowability of another mind: ‘Freend…he lyueth nat þat can / Knowe how it standith with another wight / So wel as himself’ (477–9).57 Hoccleve nevertheless repeatedly stages dramatic reconstructions of mental processes, speculation and scrutiny, using the urge to engage with a person undergoing ‘martire’ as a driving force for that scrutiny. Even a narrative with little or no overt reflection or glimpse of interiority, that of Jereslaus’ Wife, is later subject to moral exegesis: ‘This emperour at Y spak of aboue is our lord Ihesu Cryst. His wyf is the soule’ (981). Moral reading here turns the narrative outside in through the desire to understand human failure, forgiveness and suffering. In the context of the late-medieval image debate, Shannon Gayk likewise argues that Hoccleve ‘replicates and layers images of himself’ in the Series, and that this ‘multiplication of images enables affective identification’.58 Hoccleve harnesses this power of staged voices and layers of analogy and allegory in Lerne to Dye: ‘[Y] am in doute wher the soothe woneth— / That is to meene, if this be in liknesse / Or in deede, swich is my mazidnesse’ (752–4). These lines are spoken by the Disciple, but voice our confusion as readers. Within the scope of human understanding here there is no ‘outside text’, though the worrying implications of that realisation are then pushed away by appealing to God as precisely that stabilizing force on the text and reader: ‘But how it be, lord, Y byseeche thee / Be my confort in this perplexitee’ (755–6). Whether at this intimate moment of doubt and appeal to God, or in the layers of narrative and commentary that constitute its structure, the Series operates in an open weave to accommodate rewriting, the intrusion of other readers and voices, the messiness of textual transmission and a constantly provisional sense of poetic and ethical closure, which continues beyond Hoccleve’s construction of the text(s) with the Series’ manuscript history and compilation.59 Hoccleve’s engagement with historical, exemplary and inward ‘martire’ as the point at which suffering makes the self readable is a significant feature of that poetic and personal fabric. We seem to have travelled far from Hoccleve’s public voice in the Remonstrance, and James’s edition-cum-riposte. But reading Hoccleve from the perspective of early modern preoccupations such as martyrdom can bring something of value to both these textual environments, along with our own. We do not have to read the Remonstrance as deliberately self-defeating in order to find its yearning for wholeness after division at a number of levels throughout Hoccleve’s work, interacting with other figures of errancy or suffering such as Badby or Thomas/Hoccleve himself.60 These implications are not taken up by Richard James in the senses available to a reflective but orthodox audience of the early fifteenth century, but James’s seventeenth-century edition uses Hoccleve’s allusive and open style in another way, by picking apart the threads and, through his notes and textual presentation, weaving a new version shot through with contrasting polemical colours. Our own readings continue this process of refashioning, which had begun well before James completed MSS James 34 and Add. 33785, and by way of a coda I shall return to Hoccleve’s holograph of the Remonstrance in HM 111. The Remonstrance now begins on fol. 1r, and lines 1–96 occupy fols. 1r–2v. However, fol. 3r then starts with line 43 of Hoccleve’s Complaint of the Virgin. The rest of the Remonstrance follows on fols. 8r–16v, after the Complaint. Burrow and Doyle suggest that fols. 1–2 were probably moved to the start of the manuscript when it was being rebound in the early seventeenth century, to conceal a lost leaf at the start of the Complaint, the first item in Hoccleve’s compilation.61 The fact that the manuscript now starts somewhat messily can obscure the compilatory decisions that Hoccleve made in the early 1420s. In concluding I should like to suggest how the Remonstrance has already been reframed by Hoccleve through its placement in HM 111. Hoccleve first copied the Complaint of the Virgin, followed by the Remonstrance, and then the Male Regle. These three poems can indeed be read together as explorations of Hoccleve’s acute attention to movements of doubt, hope, sinful wandering and faithful return, whether the Virgin Mary’s anger and grief at her martyred son’s death; attacks on Oldcastle combined with appeals for return and redemption; or Hoccleve’s moral and financial lack, and hoped-for relief and reformation in the Male Regle’s autography. Placed between the Complaint and the Male Regle, Hoccleve’s Remonstrance loses some of its brittle, polemical surface, and encourages a reading of Oldcastle as also a sinful, doubtful soul comparable to Hoccleve’s—or the reader’s. As in the Series, Hoccleve’s narratives of loss and recovery here operate on many levels, and the most public-voiced poetry can—when performed as part of a compilation such as HM 111, or a rewriting such as James’s—also contain some of the most strikingly inward perspectives on loss, faith, selfhood and recovery. I have discussed the ideas surrounding this article over a number of years, especially with colleagues in Cambridge and Oxford. I am particularly grateful to James Simpson for inviting me to speak at a conference on martyrdom at Queens’ College Cambridge in 2002, when I first presented the core material. I also thank the editors and anonymous readers for RES, whose scrutiny has been very valuable. Footnotes 1 The Remonstrance is in Hoccleve’s Works: The Minor Poems, ed. Frederick J. Furnivall and I. Gollancz, rev. Jerome Mitchell and A. I. Doyle, EETS e.s. 61, 73, repr. in 1 vol. (London, 1970), 8–24 (from which I quote, with abbreviations regularized); and in Selections from Hoccleve, ed. M. C. Seymour (Oxford, 1981), 61–74. See J. A. Burrow, Thomas Hoccleve (Aldershot, 1994), 21, for the Remonstrance. 2 See John A. F. Thomson, ‘Oldcastle, John, Baron Cobham (d. 1417)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (pubd online May 2008) <http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/20674> accessed 14 September 2016; and Paul Strohm, Sir John Oldcastle: Another Ill-Framed Knight (London, 1997). 3 Thomas Hoccleve: A Facsimile of the Autograph Verse Manuscripts, ed. J. A. Burrow and A. I. Doyle, EETS s.s.19 (Oxford, 2002). 4 For descriptions, see R. Hunt, F. Madan and P. D. Record, A Summary Catalogue of Western Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, 7 vols in 8 (Oxford, 1895–1953), II. 768 (SC 3871); and Catalogue of Additions to the Manuscripts in the British Museum, 1888–1893 (London, 1894), 109. James likely retained for his own use MS James 34, which came to the Bodleian in 1678 among a group of his manuscripts, along with those of his friend Thomas Greaves (1611–1676). 5 John Foxe, The Unabridged Acts and Monuments Online (1563 edition) (HRI Online Publications, Sheffield, 2001) <https://www.johnfoxe.org> accessed 15 October 2016, Book 2, 313–33. Strohm, Sir John Oldcastle, discusses conflicting evidence about the events of 1414. 6 The Poems etc. of Richard James, ed. A. B. Grosart (London, 1880), 137–88, at 182. For Bourchier, see Victor Stater, ‘Bourchier, Henry, fifth earl of Bath (c.1587–1654)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, (pubd online, May 2006) <http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/66562> accessed 12 May 2016. James dedicated his edition to Bourchier before the latter became Earl of Bath in 1637. 7 John Bale, A Brefe Chronycle concernynge the Examinacyon and Death of the Blessed Martyr of Christ Syr Iohan Oldecastell the Lorde Cobham ([Antwerp], 1544). See also William Tyndale and George Constantine, The examinacion of Master William Thorpe… The examinacion of the honorable knight syr Jhon Oldcastell Lorde Cobham… (Antwerp, 1530), and John Weever, The mirror of martyrs, or The life and death of that thrice valiant capitaine, and most godly martyre Sir Iohn Old-castle knight Lord Cobham (London, 1601). 8 Annabel Patterson, ‘Sir John Oldcastle as a Symbol of Reformation Historiography’, in Donna B. Hamilton and Richard Strier (eds), Religion, Literature and Politics in Post-Reformation England, 1540–1688 (Cambridge, 1996), 6–26. For Shakespeare’s Oldcastle/Falstaff, see Peter Corbin and Douglas Sedge (eds), The Oldcastle Controversy: ‘Sir John Oldcastle, part I’ and ‘The famous victories of Henry V’ (Manchester, 1991). James cites a query about Shakespeare’s Falstaff from a ‘Gentle Ladie’ (137) as the prompt for his Remonstrance edition. 9 The Hocclevean Plowman’s Tale is in John M. Bowers (ed.), The Canterbury Tales: Fifteenth-Century Continuations and Additions (Kalamazoo, MI, 1992). 10 For post-1500 readers of Hoccleve, see A. S. G. Edwards, ‘Medieval Manuscripts Owned by William Browne of Tavistock (1590/1? – 1643/5?)’, in James P. Carley and Colin G. C. Tite (eds), Books and Collectors, 1200–1700: Essays Presented to Andrew Watson (London, 1997), 441–9, and Nicholas Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment of Princes’: Counsel and Constraint (Cambridge, 2001), 151–4; 168–77. Burrow and Doyle (Thomas Hoccleve: A Facsimile, xxiii) note that HM 111’s cover is embossed with arms ‘supposedly’ of Henry, Prince of Wales, but which could have been used after Henry’s death in 1612 for his brother Charles. James could plausibly have seen the Hoccleve manuscript via Patrick Young (d.1652), the royal librarian, who had exchanges with Robert Cotton. For cognate Chaucerian reading circles, see now Philip Knox, Mark Griffith and William Poole, ‘Reading Chaucer in New College, Oxford, in the 1630s: the Commendatory Verses to Francis Kynaston’s Amorum Troili et Creseidae’, Medium Ævum, 85 (2016), 33–58. 11 See Tom Beaumont James, ‘James, Richard (bap. 1591, d. 1638)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (pubd online Jan 2008) http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/14617 accessed 12 May 2016; for James’s relationship with Cotton, see Kevin Sharpe, Sir Robert Cotton, 1586–1631: History and Politics in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1979), esp. 210–22, and Colin C. G. Tite, The Manuscript Library of Sir Robert Cotton (London, 1994), 57–63. 12 For gendered language in the Remonstrance, see Ruth Nissé, ‘ “Oure Fadres Olde and Modres”: Gender, Heresy, and Hoccleve’s Literary Politics’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 21 (1999), 275–99, and David Watt, The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’ (Liverpool, 2013), 125–34. With his references to ‘a Baillif or a Reeve’ who ‘dote or rave’, Hoccleve mingles stereotypes of rank and gender. Hoccleve possibly recalls both Langland’s Holy Church, and Chaucer’s Reeve, whose Norfolk origins would connect him with an outpost of Lollard activity (on the Reeve’s Norfolk dialect, see Simon Horobin, ‘Chaucer’s Norfolk Reeve’, Neophilologus, 86 (2002), 609–12). 13 The Middle English Dictionary cites Hoccleve’s use here as an example of medlen (v.), meaning 2 (a), ‘to do something, busy oneself, exert oneself’ (pubd online 2006) <http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/m/mec/med-idx?type=id&id=MED27188> accessed 10 May 2016. However, the verb can have pejorative associations (e.g. meaning 2 (b), ‘to interfere, be officious, meddle’), complicating the tone here. 14 For Henry V’s response to the threat from Oldcastle and his affiliates, see Maureen Jurkowski, ‘Henry V’s Suppresssion of the Oldcastle Revolt’, in Henry V: New Interpretations, ed. Gwilym Dodd (Woodbridge, 2013), 103–29, who, however, does not mention Hoccleve’s poem. See also Malcolm Vale, Henry V: The Conscience of a King (New Haven, CT, 2016), 186–92 for an assessment balancing Henry’s attempts ‘to convince dissenters of the error of their ways’ (186) with suppression of Lollard activity when perceived as a threat to secular and ecclesiastical authority. 15 Here James echoes Tyndale and Constantine, The examinacion of …syr Jhon Oldcastell Lorde Cobham, who were followed by Foxe, Acts and Monuments: see Book II, 325, quoting a bill supposedly circulated by Oldcastle’s associates, saying that ‘he neuer…varied in any poynte’ in relation to the Eucharist, and restating his reported belief that ‘in the blessed sacrament of the altar is verelye and treulye Christes bodye, in fourme of bread’. 16 James, Observations, 172, 173. 17 Foxe’s Acts and Monuments gave rise, of course, to numerous books of martyrs; see John N. King, Foxe’s ‘Book of Martyrs’ and Early Modern Print Culture (Cambridge, 2006), and Jesse M. Lander, Religion, Print, and Literary Culture in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2006), 56–79. 18 E.g. James, Observations, 181, citing Jerome and Gregory of Nyssa as making ‘no great commendations’ about pilgrimage, then aligning this with references to Juvenal, Chaucer, Lydgate, and to Bale’s report of Oldcastle’s trial, presenting such critiques as if with the force of a continuous tradition. 19 James, Observations, 181, on pilgrimages; and 182–5 on church possessions and monasteries. James also quotes several lines from ‘Lo, He that Can Be Cristes Clerc’, a poem dated 1414–1417 attacking Oldcastle, which survives in London, British Library MS Cotton Vespasian B. xvi; printed in Medieval English Political Writings, ed. James M. Dean (Kalamazoo, MI, 1996). 20 James, Observations, 187–8. It is likely that James’s ‘Roger Clyderow’ is an error for Richard Clitherow (Roger was his son). See J. R. Planché, A Corner of Kent; or, Some Account of the Parish of Ash-next-Sandwich, its Historical Sites and Existing Antiquities (London, 1864), 251, and the current guidebook of St Nicholas Church, Ash <http://www.s8nicholas.talktalk.net/documents/St_Nicholas_Historical_Guide_Revised_2015.pdf>, accessed 25 September 2016. 21 John Bale, Scriptorum illustrium maioris Brytanniae…Catalogus, 2 vols (Basel, 1557, 1559; facsimile reprint, Farnsworth, 1971), I. 537. 22 The St Albans Chronicle: The Chronica maiora of Thomas Walsingham, I, 1376–1394, ed. and trans. John Taylor, Wendy R. Childs and Leslie Watkiss (Oxford, 2003), 402–3. 23 See Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge, 1991), 17–21. 24 The Workes of our Antient and Lerned English Poet, Geffrey Chaucer, Newly Printed (London, 1598); note on fol. ci, which repeats Bale’s comments. 25 See e.g. Ethan Knapp, The Bureaucratic Muse: Thomas Hoccleve and the Literature of Late Medieval England (University Park, PA, 2001), ch. 4. 26 Thomas Hoccleve, The Regiment of Princes, ed. Charles R. Blyth (Kalamazoo, MI, 1999), line 4997. 27 The phrase ‘haulks and hernes’ is itself Chaucerian; cf. Canterbury Tales V. 1121 (Franklin’s Tale), and the Canon’s Yeoman’s admission that he and the Canon spend time ‘Lurkynge in hernes’ (The Riverside Chaucer, ed. Larry D. Benson (Oxford, 1988), VIII, 658). On responses to the antiquity and register of Chaucerian language, see Alexandra Gillespie, ‘Unknowe, unkow, Vncothe, uncouth: From Chaucer and Gower to Spenser and Milton’, in Andrew King and Matthew Woodcock (eds), Medieval into Renaissance: Essays for Helen Cooper (Cambridge, 2016), 15–33; and on Speght’s role in developing Chaucer’s status, see Tim William Machan, ‘Speght’s Works and the Invention of Chaucer’, Text, 8 (1995), 145–70. 28 See e.g. Helen Cooper, ‘Poetic Fame’, in James Simpson and Brian Cummings (eds), Cultural Reformations: Medieval and Renaissance in Literary History (Oxford, 2010), 361–77, at 369–75, and Eric Weiskott, ‘Prophetic Piers Plowman: New Sixteenth-Century Excerpts’, Review of English Studies, n.s. 67 (2015), 21–41. On Reformation reading practices, see Brian Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation: Grammar and Grace (Oxford, 2002), and James Simpson, Burning to Read: English Fundamentalism and its Reformation Opponents (Cambridge, MA, 2007). 29 On the complexity of time and period engaged by this sort of reading, see Paul Strohm, Theory and the Premodern Text (Minneapolis, MN, 2000), esp. ch. 6; Carolyn Dinshaw, How Soon is Now?: Medieval Texts, Amateur Readers, and the Queerness of Time (Durham, NC, 2012); Helen Barr, Transporting Chaucer (Manchester, 2013), esp. ch. 4. See also discussions of medieval–early modern periodicity and its discontents in ‘Medieval/Renaissance: After Periodization’, a special issue of Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 37, no. 3 (Fall 2007). 30 See e.g. Nissé, ‘ “Oure Fadres Olde and Modres” ’; Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, ch. 5; Andrew Cole, Literature and Heresy in the Age of Chaucer (Cambridge, 2008), ch. 5. 31 On anti-Lollard legislation see Peter McNiven, Heresy and Politics in the Reign of Henry IV: The Burning of John Badby (Woodbridge, 1987); Anne Hudson, The Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Oxford, 1988); Ian Forrest, The Detection of Heresy in Late Medieval England (Oxford, 2005). On Arundel’s Constitutions see Nicholas Watson, ‘Censorship and Cultural Change in Late-Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate, and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409’, Speculum, 70 (1995), 822–64, and Vincent Gillespie and Kantik Ghosh (eds), After Arundel: Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century England (Turnhout, 2011). 32 Charity Scott Stokes, ‘Sir John Oldcastle, the Office of the Privy Seal, and Thomas Hoccleve’s “Remonstrance Against Oldcastle” of 1415’, Anglia, 118 (2001), 556–70. See also Burrow, Thomas Hoccleve, 21. 33 Thomson (‘Oldcastle, John’) notes that Oldcastle might have taken up a pardon issued by Henry V in December of 1414; another pardon to him is recorded in December 1415. For the ‘polyphony, or cacophony’ of voices in late-medieval heterodox and orthodox writing, complicating any simple oppositional model, see Mishtooni Bose, ‘Writing, Heresy, and the Anticlerical Muse’, in Elaine Treharne and Greg Walker (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Literature in English (Oxford, 2010), 276–96, quoting 279. 34 See Siegfried Wenzel, The Sin of Sloth: Acedia in Medieval Thought and Literature (Chapel Hill, NC, 1967); on Sloth as an aspect of Hoccleve’s voice here, see David Lawton, ‘Voice after Arundel’, in Gillespie and Ghosh, After Arundel, 133–51, at 141–4. 35 For readings of the Regiment as supporting Lancastrian legitimacy (albeit complexly), see Derek Pearsall, ‘Thomas Hoccleve’s Regement of Princes: The Poetics of Royal Self-Representation’, Speculum, 69 (1994), 386–410, and Paul Strohm, England’s Empty Throne: Usurpation and the Language of Legitimation, 1399–1422 (New Haven, CT, 1998), 173–95. 36 See Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 50–84, for the performativity of advice literature. 37 See, e.g., Sarah Tolmie, ‘The Prive Scilence of Thomas Hoccleve’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 22 (2000), 281–309. 38 For Hoccleve’s responses to religious reform and heresy, see also Sebastian Langdell, ‘Religious Reform, Transnational Poetics, and Literary Tradition in the Work of Thomas Hoccleve’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Oxford, 2014). 39 Bureaucratic Muse, 136; Katherine Little, Confession and Resistance: Defining the Self in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame, IN, 2006), 113–28, quoting 116. 40 See Kantik Ghosh, The Wycliffite Heresy: Authority and the Interpretation of Texts (Cambridge, 2002). 41 For Hoccleve’s sources here, and Ovidian analogues, see Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 104–6. 42 The testamentary force of dying words bears comparison to Chaucer’s poem on Love’s martyrs, The Legend of Good Women; see James Simpson, ‘Ethics and Interpretation: Reading Wills in Chaucer’s Legend of Good Women’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 20 (1998), 73–100. 43 For mirroring relationships between the Dialogue and Regiment proper, see Anna Torti, The Glass of Form: Mirroring Structures from Chaucer to Skelton (Cambridge, 1991), ch. 3, and Anthony J. Hasler, ‘Hoccleve’s Unregimented Body’, Paragraph, 13 (1990), 164–83. 44 See Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 39–49; 143–50. 45 See James Simpson, ‘Madness and Texts: Hoccleve’s Series’, in Julia Boffey and Janet Cowan (eds), Chaucer and Fifteenth-Century Poetry (London, 1991), 15–29; and Lee Patterson, ‘ “What is me?”: Self and Society in the Poetry of Thomas Hoccleve’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 23 (2002), 437–70. Hoccleve’s complex persona has been much debated since J. A. Burrow’s seminal ‘Autobiographical Poetry in the Middle Ages: the Case of Thomas Hoccleve’, Proceedings of the British Academy, 68 (1982), 389–412, and ‘Hoccleve’s Series: Experience and Books’, in Fifteenth-Century Studies: Recent Essays, ed. Robert F. Yeager (Hamden, CT, 1984), 259–73. See also Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, ch. 6; Matthew Boyd Goldie, ‘Hoccleve’s Psychosomatic Illness and Identity’, Exemplaria, 11 (1999), 23–52; and now A. C. Spearing, Medieval Autographies: The ‘I’ of the Text (Notre Dame, IN, 2012), ch. 6. I do not have space to discuss these in detail, but I hope that this essay’s approach contributes to drawing together material focused on Hoccleve’s autographies such as the Complaint, and material focused on penitential or polemical texts. When discussing the Series, I use ‘Thomas’, ‘Hoccleve’ or ‘Thomas/Hoccleve’ to refer to the poem’s speaking and composing protagonist. 46 Thomas Hoccleve, ‘My Compleinte’ and other Poems, ed. Roger Ellis (Exeter, 2001). 47 Middle English Dictionary, martir(e (n.), meaning (b), <http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/m/mec/med-idx?type=id&id=MED26975>, accessed 12 September 2016. A search for martire and variants in late-medieval texts using the Literature Online database likewise showed that its overwhelming use is either for a person who is martyred; or the physical or mental suffering caused by religious martyrdom or metaphorical martyrdom from love’s anguish: <www.literature.proquest.com>, accessed 25 January 2017. 48 The Legend of Good Women also lurks behind Hoccleve’s portrayal of a hostile audience of women, who, the Friend argues, need placating after taking offence at Hoccleve’s Letter of Cupid, a complexly ironic adaptation of Christine de Pizan’s anti-misogynist Epistre de Cupide, into which Hoccleve wove references to Chaucer’s poem. 49 Christina von Nolcken, ‘ “O, why ne had y lerned for to die?”: Lerne for to Dye and the Author’s Death in Thomas Hoccleve’s Series’, Essays in Medieval Studies, 10 (1993), 27–51. 50 Amy Appleford, Learning to Die in London, 1380–1540 (Philadelphia, PA, 2015), 125. 51 Robyn Malo, ‘Penitential Discourse in Hoccleve’s Series’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 34 (2012), 277–305, at 298. I focus on these recent contributions, which have moved the debate on from earlier discussions of the religious contexts of Hoccleve’s selfhood such as Stephan Kohl, ‘More than Virtues and Vices: Self-Analysis in Hoccleve’s “Autobiographies” ’, Fifteenth Century Studies, 14 (1988), 115–26. 52 Malo, ‘Penitential Discourse’, 305. 53 For concepts of image and likeness in Hoccleve’s treatment of Suso, see Steven Rozenski, ‘ “Your Ensaumple and Your Mirour”: Hoccleve’s Amplification of the Imagery and Intimacy of Henry Suso’s Ars Moriendi’, Parergon, 25 (2008), 1–16. 54 Appleford, Learning to Die, 134–5. 55 Appleford, Learning to Die, 135. 56 Burrow, ‘Experience and Books’. Watt, The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’, ch. 5, discusses Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Selden supra 53 as a book for personal meditation and devotional reflection. 57 Lynn Dunlop, ‘Cities without Walls: The Politics of Melancholy from Machaut to Lydgate’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Cambridge, 1998), 105–39; see also Goldie, ‘Psychosomatic Illness’, 50. 58 Shannon Gayk, Image, Text, and Religious Reform in Fifteenth-Century England (Cambridge, 2010), 74–83, quoting 78, 79; Ellis also notes Hoccleve’s ‘deliberate confusion of levels of fictional reality’, ‘My Compleinte’, 226. 59 This extends, for example, to Hoccleve’s addition of a prose passage on heavenly Jerusalem rounding off Lerne to Dye in Durham University Library MS Cosin V. iii. 9 (his other holograph copy of Lerne to Dye ends incomplete in San Marino, Huntington Library MS HM 744, with leaves lost after fol. 68); and the Friend persuading Thomas to include the Tale of Jonathas after Lerne to Dye. For compilation decisions and audiences of the Series manuscripts, see especially Watt, The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’, chs. 1–3. Watt argues (104–5) that Hoccleve’s decision only to translate the first part of Suso’s text is bound up with debates over religious reform and the impact of Arundel’s Constitutions. In five Series manuscripts the accretive structure of the text is continued by the addition of John Lydgate’s Dance of Death; see Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 163–7. 60 Watt (The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’, 140–3) suggestively parallels attempts to heal schism in the Church at the Council of Konstanz (1414–18) with Hoccleve’s writing, though he does not discuss the Remonstrance in that context. See also Sebastian Langdell, ‘ “What World is this? How Vndirstande am I?”: A Reappraisal of Poetic Authority in Thomas Hoccleve’s Series’, Medium Ævum, 78 (2009), 281–99, and Vincent Gillespie, ‘Chichele’s Church: Vernacular Theology in England after Thomas Arundel’, in Gillespie and Ghosh, After Arundel, 3–42, at 38–41, who discuss links between personal and wider religious reform. 61 Burrow and Doyle, xxiii and xxv. In his edition, Furnivall speculates that this rearranging is evidence of ‘at least one rascaly bookseller in James I’s time’ (1). Hoccleve’s own heading for the Remonstrance has been squeezed into the space at the top of fol. 1r, possibly in a revision of the manuscript, or in response to Henry V’s death. © The Author 2017. Published by Oxford University Press 2017; all rights reserved http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Review of English Studies Oxford University Press

‘Heer Y die in thy presence’: The Rewriting of Martyrs in and after Hoccleve

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© The Author 2017. Published by Oxford University Press 2017; all rights reserved
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Abstract

ABSTRACT The Remonstrance to Sir John Oldcastle by Thomas Hoccleve (c.1367–1426) was written in 1415 and survives in one of Hoccleve’s holograph manuscripts. It was later twice copied by Richard James (bap. 1591–1638), accompanied by copious notes rereading the poem in the light of Oldcastle’s then status as a proto-protestant martyr. This essay proposes that noticing James’s little-studied manuscript editions and the reading and editing practices in which they are engaged can, first, enrich the reception history of Hoccleve and other late-medieval writers; and, second, prompt a re-examination of Hoccleve’s own responses to the idea of martyrdom. Hoccleve’s layered use of allegory and analogy between exemplary figures and readers—including his own poetic persona—draws the public anti-Lollard rhetoric of the Remonstrance into contact with personal and penitential reflections in The Regiment of Princes and the Series, and I argue that the figure of the martyr is a significant touchstone to assess the resulting blend of discourses and perspectives. Finally, I suggest that the conceptual gap between Hoccleve’s and James’s copies of the Remonstrance can be narrowed by recognizing that they are both recontextualizations of the poem, and their different contexts and forms effect their meanings. In Summer 1415, Privy Seal clerk Thomas Hoccleve wrote a 512-line poem remonstrating with Sir John Oldcastle, urging him to abandon his heretical beliefs and return to more acceptable knightly activities, such as fighting the French and reading romances.1 Oldcastle was in hiding, but might still have been pardoned by repenting and seeking mercy. Instead, two years later he was captured and executed for heresy and rebellion.2 In the early 1420s, Hoccleve copied the Remonstrance to Sir John Oldcastle into a collection of his shorter writings, now San Marino, Huntington Library, MS HM 111.3 About two hundred years later, the scholar Richard James transcribed the Remonstrance, almost certainly from Hoccleve’s holograph, along with copious notes defending the Lollard beliefs that Hoccleve attacks and celebrating Oldcastle as a proto-protestant martyr. Two copies in James’s hand survive: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS James 34, and London, British Library, MS Add. 33785.4 In this essay, I analyse how Richard James’s seventeenth-century edition of the poem (en)counters Hoccleve’s anti-Lollard rhetoric in the Remonstrance. I then examine a topic that emerges afresh when reading Hoccleve through his later reception: the claim that Oldcastle was a proto-protestant martyr, which was vigorously pursued by early modern commentators. James reads Hoccleve’s poem against the grain, recategorizing it as a martyr’s legend. Further, reading James’s version prompts us to reconsider how Hoccleve himself approaches the suffering speaker, author and reader. The martyr’s voice or dying sinner’s cry engage Hoccleve’s commitments as a writer, and emerge as a compelling part of his claim on readers. Finally, in a brief coda I suggest that approaching Hoccleve through his early modern reception sheds light on Hoccleve’s version of the Remonstrance in HM 111. This is an author’s holograph, but is still a copy, made over five years after the poem’s composition, and its manuscript environment helps shape its meaning there. Oldcastle was a cause célèbre of the Reformation, his martyrdom gruesomely illustrated in Foxe’s Acts and Monuments along with discussion of his trial, defence, escape, capture and execution, and his involvement with the Lollard ‘uprising’ at Ficket’s (St Giles’s) Field outside London in January 1414.5 In a dedicatory epistle to his edition, Richard James refers his addressee Sir Henry Bourchier to Foxe and to ‘Bales brief cronicle of his martyrdome’.6 Bale’s tract, published in Antwerp in 1544, helped to rewrite Oldcastle’s history, and gave impetus to a particular kind of revisionist historical enquiry.7 Indeed, Annabel Patterson has called Oldcastle ‘one of those cultural icons in which are epitomized a society’s conflicting and shifting values’, referring especially to his rewriting by Bale and Foxe; by Shakespeare in Henry IV part I; and by the anonymous author of its ‘counter-play’ of 1599, The First Part of Sir John Old-castle.8 Richard James’s two Remonstrance manuscripts have hardly featured in those investigations of Oldcastle’s Protean life, death and reincarnations, but initially James and Hoccleve seem to represent opposing sides of the larger debate over heretics and martyrs in the late-medieval and early modern period. Thus one way of characterizing Hoccleve is as an orthodox propagandist and Lancastrian apologist, who urged Henry V to counter Lollardy and whose poem describing a Marian miracle was inserted into The Canterbury Tales as an orthodox Plowman’s Tale.9 His reputation and circulation, never matching those of Chaucer, Gower and Lydgate, fell away after the Reformation, and although his poetry was read by some in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, the Remonstrance to Oldcastle only survives in manuscript in the copies written by Hoccleve and James, and was not printed until 1880.10 James, on the other hand, was a protestant polemicist and fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford. After travelling to Greenland and Russia, he established a reputation as an antiquarian, and became librarian to Sir Robert Cotton, serving Cotton’s son Sir Thomas after the former’s death in 1631. His unpublished magnum opus (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS James 1) is the Decanonizatio Thomae Cantuariensis et suorum, an attack on that other famous English martyr, Thomas Becket.11 In what follows, however, I will suggest that their positions are more complex that this apparent binary opposition, first reading Hoccleve’s poem alongside James’s notes. In the layered commentaries of poem and paratext, Hoccleve and James signal linguistically their investment in Oldcastle as errant sinner or steadfast martyr. Contemporary anxieties over the stability of Church doctrine and authority emerge throughout Hoccleve’s poem: Lete holy chirche medle of the doctryne Of Crystes lawes and of his byleeue, And lete alle othir folke ther-to enclyne, And of our feith noon argumentes meeue. For if we mighte our feith by reson preeue, We sholde no meryt of our feith haue. But now a dayes a Baillif or Reeue Or man of craft wole in it dote or raue. (137–44) Such images of moving, stretching, bending, and meddling frequently recur, interacting with social rank and gender as means to goad or mock Oldcastle.12 However, Hoccleve’s rhetoric verges on the self-defeating. Unable to maintain a distinction between stable doctrine and errant heretics, each party moves or shifts: the Church can ‘medle’; devout believers must ‘enclyne’ to Christ’s laws, but not ‘meeue’ arguments; and Lollards ‘dote or raue’.13 The line between these activities itself becomes flimsy, a matter of assertion. Hoccleve starts the poem more confidently, recalling the Christian duty to help ‘if our brothir be falle / In to errour’ (2–3) by finding ways ‘[h]ow we may him ageyn to vertu calle’ (5). He describes Oldcastle as ‘twynned and goon’ (8) from the faith, having made a ‘permutacion’ (17) from Christ’s doctrine. A repeated ‘fro…to’ pattern characterizes this stanza: ‘Fro seuretee vn-to vnsikirnesse; / Fro ioie and ese vn-to wo and pyne, / Fro light of trouthe vn-to dirke falsnesse’ (22–4), developing discourses of disease, fortune and the understanding of error literally as movement and metaphorically as heresy. Hoccleve’s linguistic contrary motion, requiring the wayward Oldcastle to bend instead to the Church’s authority—‘To god and holy chirche thow thee bende!’ (79)—culminates in a demand to return to the spiritual and political fold: ‘Retourne knyghtly now vn-to [Christ’s] lore!’ (496); ‘vn-to our cristen kyng / Thee hie as faste as þat thow canst dyuyse’ (510–11). Hoccleve’s rhetorical patterns of movement and return shadow the circumstance of Henry V’s departure for France, to which Hoccleve links the poem by its incipit in HM 111.14 The poem redirects attention from the King’s potentially dangerous absence at a moment of threat, and instead imagines a stable conjunction of doctrine, royal policy and chivalric duty which stands firm against heretical deviance. Richard James’s notes, by contrast, produce an Oldcastle whose essential characteristic is steadfast suffering—‘in testimonie of evangelical truth he was patient and constant in his martyrdom’ (161)—a still centre against a paranoid and ‘cruel religion’ (138).15 James claims that the Church encouraged Henry V’s foreign campaigns to distract him from ecclesiastical reform, and he cites Hoccleve and Gower praising peace elsewhere.16 With the title ‘The Legend and Defence of that noble knight and martyr Sir John Oldcastle’, James generically recategorizes Hoccleve’s poem as a martyr’s legendum.17 This exemplifies the Reformation hermeneutics at work in James’s edition: a detailed and explicitly partial account of a text and event in England’s Catholic ‘dark age’; citing early Church authorities to undermine late-medieval practices;18 appropriating Chaucer, Gower, Langland and Lydgate as witnesses against Rome;19 and, in a final section, transforming popish devotion to saints’ remains into the antiquarian’s interest in surviving monuments. While no miraculous powers are claimed for these ‘reliques’, they still draw visitors and devotees. This section of ‘Memories’ of Oldcastle derives from information received ‘from ye courtesie of Mr Tho: Philpott herald’: ‘Vppon a grauestone in ye middle of ye great chancell in Ashchurch neere Sandwich in Kent is ye figure of Roger Clyderow and ……. his wife daughter of sr Jhon Oldcastell insculped in brasse…There is allso a verie faire monument for sr. John Oldcastell in ye said church of Ash’.20 Through these strategies of debate, academic referencing and the stabilizing of Oldcastle’s presence through his family connections and memorials, James’s edition enters into a contest of survival and authenticity, which he implies has been won by Oldcastle’s posthumous fame, a contest made all the more marked by the Remonstrance’s imagery of error, return and stability. Thomas Hoccleve and Richard James seem, then, to represent two sides of an ideological and chronological divide, connected by their (re)writing of a particular historical moment. However, a simple opposition is less easy to maintain than might appear. Amongst reformed readers in the sixteenth century, Hoccleve’s Catholic orthodoxy was under question, and I shall briefly show how sixteenth-century scholarship imagined a Hoccleve more aligned with revisionist understandings of Chaucer as a closet Lollard. In John Bale’s catalogue of British writers—like his work on Oldcastle, an attempt both to reclaim and revise the past to align with reformist teleology as well as antiquarian instincts—Hoccleve receives a lengthy entry. Bale notes Hoccleve’s connections with Chaucer and, surprisingly, describes him as a Lollard: Iohannis Vuicleui, & ipsius Berengarii, in religione doctrinam sequebatur: prout Thomas Vualsingham in suis narrat Chronicis. Ocklefe Anglus (inquit) Berengarii opinionem astruebat, in altari scilicet manere panem & uinum post consecrationem a sacerdote factam, &c.21 [He was a follower of John Wyclif and this same Berengarius in religious doctrine: just as Thomas Walsingham relates in his Chronicles: ‘Ocklefe the Englishman’, he says, ‘held to Berengarius’s view, namely that in the [sacrament of] the altar, the bread and wine remained after the consecration was carried out by a priest, etc’.] Bale’s source is probably a passage in Thomas Walsingham’s Chronica maiora (for 1381): [Wyclif] reassumens quidem dampnatas opiniones Berengarii et Oklefe, astruere laborauit, post consecracionem in missa a sacerdote factam, remanere ibidem uerum panem et uinum, ut fuere per prius.22 [{Wyclif}, embracing again the condemned opinions of Berengar and Oklefe, endeavoured to prove that after the consecration carried out by the priest in the Mass, the bread and wine remain exactly as they were before the consecration.] Berengar is the eleventh-century theologian Berengar of Tours, whose views on the Eucharist were condemned in 1059.23 Walsingham’s ‘Ocklefe’ is almost certainly, in fact, William of Ockham (c.1287–1347). Nevertheless, Bale’s misidentification was perpetuated in editions of Chaucer: Speght’s 1598 Works, for example.24 Speght, following Foxe and others, positioned Chaucer as holding heterodox views: speculating that he had been ‘in some trouble in the daies of King Richard’ (fol. b.6v); assuming that he wrote Thomas Usk’s Testament of Love; and stating that he had studied in Oxford, ‘by all likelihood in Canterburie or in Merton Colledge, with Iohn Wickelife, whose opinions in religion he much affected’ (fol. b.3r). Hoccleve’s poetic and personal relationship with Chaucer meant that their reputations were intertwined;25 the fact that Bale had given Hoccleve Wyclifitte credentials thus also helped to colour Chaucer as a more ideologically acceptable literary forerunner to post-Reformation audiences. There remained many inconsistencies, however, in this colouring. For example, Speght’s edition boasts an illustrated ‘Progenie of Geffrey Chaucer’ (fol. a.6r), including a portrait of Chaucer deriving from Hoccleve’s Regiment of Princes: ‘The true portraiture of GEFFREY CHAUCER the famous English poet: as by THOMAS OCCLEUE is described who lived in his time, and was his Scholar’. The ‘Progenie’ stresses Chaucer’s productive lineage, both in genealogical and literary senses. Chaucer’s picture is accompanied by a royal line stretching from John of Gaunt, Blanche of Lancaster and Catherine Swinford on one side down to Henry VII; and on the other from Chaucer and his (here unnamed) wife Philippa down through his son Thomas, and granddaughter Alice, who married William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk. The lines are linked at the top by Payne Roet, Catherine and Philippa’s father. As with Richard James’s interest in Oldcastle’s family tomb, which provides an ongoing physical presence to his ‘[m]emories’, the ‘Progenie’ illustrates Thomas Chaucer’s tomb, laden with armorial shields. The Chaucer portrait here closely matches the famous marginal picture in Hoccleve’s Regiment in London, British Library, MS Harley 4866, fol. 88r. Now full length in Speght, Chaucer retains his sober dress, though the cut of his robe is more reminiscent of a protestant clergyman than a medieval academic. Surrounded by his burgeoning family, he still fingers the equally fecund pen hanging round his neck. However, he also continues to hold rosary beads in his left hand: this image of continuity and continuing productivity sits uneasily with the edition’s subsequent suggestions of quiet opposition and Wycliffite association. The facing page poem ‘The Reader to Geffrey Chaucer’ by HB reflects this contradiction by transforming Hoccleve’s lament that others had ‘lost thoght and mynde’ of Chaucer26 into a suggestion that he has been hiding and exiled: Rea. Where hast thou dwelt, good Geffrey al this while, Vnknowne to vs, save only by thy books? Chau.  In haulks, and hernes, God wot, and in exile, Where none vouchsaft to yeeld me words or lookes: (fol. a.5v)27 Hoccleve’s role in this dance of contradictions around Catholic orthodoxy and premature Reformation is as a contemporary witness to Chaucer’s greatness, but also a supporting figure in sixteenth-century attempts retrospectively to re(-)form an English literary canon. The presentation of Hoccleve as a Lollard was implausible for anyone attentively reading his poetry, but does provide an acute example of the pressure that Reformation reading practices placed on medieval writers to become literary martyrs, or prophets with a concealed reforming agenda.28 By contrast, Richard James’s Remonstrance edition does not claim Hoccleve for the premature reformation, but James exploits the strained tone of Hoccleve’s Remonstrance, its extravagant rhetoric and exempla, and its suggestion that Oldcastle could recant and return to the fold, all of which leave ideological and textual loopholes. James reverses the examples; counters imagery of instability with steadfastness; revises Hoccleve’s authorities in the light of reformist exegesis; and highlights contradictory statements elsewhere in Hoccleve’s and others’ writings. James knew from the Remonstrance that Hoccleve was no Lollard, but James was exceptionally well-read; there were plenty of less committed readers who could have assumed from Bale or editions of Chaucer that Hoccleve was a Wycliffite sympathizer. Reviewing Hoccleve’s shadowy early modern presence via Richard James, then, complicates versions of reception history that see Hoccleve’s orthodoxy as a given. Instead, the fact that Hoccleve’s reputation was keyed to Chaucer meant that as the latter’s religious affiliations were reframed to suit early modern priorities, so too were Hoccleve’s altered. James’s re-orientation of the Remonstrance as a martyr’s memorial complicates landscapes of historical period and of belief. Further, it can focus attention on Hoccleve’s own responses to martyrdom. Recent work on reception and medievalism has indeed explored the ways in which re-reading and reflection can shift our perspective on a prior text and allow a raking light to emphasize unexpected contours and patterns.29 From the nineteenth century, when his works were edited in full, Hoccleve’s religious views were predominantly regarded as unreflectively orthodox, and his poetry as apologism for political and religious authority. Increasingly nuanced approaches to Hoccleve’s rhetorical and religious positions now address shifts in the alignment between secular and religious power, and complex attitudes to Lollardy.30 He worked in Westminster while legislation to convict and burn heretics, and to scrutinize discussion of theology in English, was being formulated and enacted, and the subject of martyrdom shadows his writing in a number of ways, some of which I shall now explore, before returning to the Remonstrance at the conclusion of this essay.31 Fault-lines in how different religious, literary and political traditions represent heresy and martyrdom can be seen throughout Hoccleve’s writing, and are still at work in James’s Remonstrance edition. The Remonstrance, for example, is uneven in tone and content; Charity Scott Stokes has even suggested that it is heavily ironic, winking at Oldcastle and being intentionally self-defeating over Church possessions, papal authority and sinful priests.32 I am not finally persuaded by that reading, but Stokes does highlight evidence that Hoccleve’s superior, Keeper of the Privy Seal John Prophete, had family connections with Oldcastle and attempted to help Oldcastle’s wife Lady Cobham after his goods were declared forfeit in 1414. When the poem was written Oldcastle still had ties with the King’s circle; Hoccleve’s poem—part jocular, part scathing, but retaining the possibility of reconciliation—displays some of that undecidedness that accompanied the complex manoeuvres around prominent Lollard sympathizers in the early fifteenth century, amidst cross-currents flowing between (inter)national politics and religious reform.33 Hoccleve’s engagement with this interplay of redemptive and judgemental responses to Lollardy is already apparent in his description of the burning of John Badby on 5 March 1410. Early in the Regiment of Princes (written 1410–1411), Hoccleve’s alter ego ascribes his ‘hevynesse’ to ‘encombrous thoght’ (92, 185), which makes him dazed and confused: A poore old hoor man cam walkynge by me, And seide, ‘Good day, sire, and God yow blesse!’ But I no word, for my seekly distresse Forbad myn eres usen hir office. (122–5) In Hoccleve’s conflicted state, his ears fail in their proper function, with ‘office’ punning on ecclesiastical or liturgical duty: Hoccleve’s body is, then, experiencing its own schism or apostasy. Specifically, his sickness stops him hearing God’s blessing. Given these symptoms of despair, the Old Man suspects that Hoccleve’s ‘bisy thoght’ (270) is a breeding ground for heresy.34 He warns of the consequences by describing Badby’s execution, at which Prince Henry intervened: ‘My lord the Prince…of his soule hadde greet tendrenesse, / Thristynge sore his sauvacioun’ (295; 297–8). After offering to act as an intermediary with the King, and to give Badby a pension, Henry summons the Eucharistic sacrament   this wrecche to converte, And make our feith to synken in his herte. But al for naght, it wolde nat betyde; He heeld foorth his oppinioun dampnable, And caste our holy Cristen feith asyde As he that was to the feend acceptable. By any outward tokne resonable, If he inward hadde any repentance, That woot He that of nothyng hath doutance. (314–22) This passage could be read as a characteristic Lancastrian narrative, giving to Henry the power of salvation over the bodies of his subjects. Hoccleve’s poem would then reproduce Henry’s signifying acts of power, intervention and orthodoxy, and the Badby episode would attempt to unite the nation by defining its enemies as heretical and treacherous, since they attack both clerical orthodoxy and royal authority.35 If the Prince was trying to align Lollardy with rebellion, however, it was against a complicated backdrop, especially given his own connections with Lollard sympathizers, including Oldcastle. Peter McNiven suggests that Henry acted partly under the pressure of these links, his intervention also being part of an ongoing antagonism with Archbishop Arundel. The Badby episode—both Henry’s public action and Hoccleve’s poetic reaction—might, then, not only have propagandistic or ‘Lancastrian’ meanings, but more ambivalent, personal ones too. The Regiment provides a textual space to consider redemption and return, both for Badby (who refuses it and is martyred), and for Hoccleve (who takes it up), with a meditation on the interplay between public demonstrations of orthodoxy and loyalty (‘any outward tokne’) and inner conscience or intention (‘[i]f he inward hadde any repentance’). This passage also portrays Prince Henry as a sympathetic figure, willing to listen to repentance until the final moment, while being a powerful and ultimately just authority. Such portrayals can have illocutionary force, aiming to produce the monarch that they imaginatively portray.36 Badby’s fate provokes a swift response from Hoccleve: ‘Of oure feith wole I nat despute at al’ (379). By disaggregating his alter ego’s ‘seekly distresse’ (124) from the charge of religious doubt, Hoccleve clears space for a ‘loyal critique’ of the state of England, voiced through the Dialogue’s interlocutors. But amidst his commitments to public poetry, Hoccleve never forgets the troubled writing subject and writing body. The Old Man mirrors Hoccleve’s persona—and of course, any literary dialogue must to an extent employ such projection or doubling.37 Here, then, Hoccleve in effect interrogates himself for heresy. He poses the questions ‘How does someone become a Lollard? Is it happening to me too? What is the distance between me and an executed heretic like Badby?’ through the divided persona that the dialogue form creates.38 As Knapp notes, Hoccleve is wandering close to Smithfield, where Badby’s execution took place, and so Hoccleve’s escape from the confines of London is also a blunder into dangerous territory; Katherine Little likewise powerfully argues that Hoccleve mingles discourses of heresy and confession, suggesting that ‘Lollardy has already arrived on the inside, and the problem is how to get it out’.39 And while it prompts an affirmation of Hoccleve’s obedience, Badby’s fate is a signal that dangerous thought can disrupt the political, social and religious fabric of the nation if its ills are not addressed. The Badby passage thus becomes a means to broach the dangers of thoght, focussing on questions of belief, intention and interpretation that the Lollard controversy inevitably raises, and which intermingle with Hoccleve’s melancholy self-projection.40 Badby’s death is not the only description of violent execution in The Regiment of Princes. In the Regiment proper, Hoccleve tells the story of an inventor who creates for his king a new punishment: an ingenious brass bull into which the condemned are to be placed and roasted with a fire kindled below, their screams of agony metamorphosed into the bull’s bellowing.41 This story disturbingly echoes that of Badby’s execution. Such repetition or recursion is already dangerous for Hoccleve’s text, but further, the narrative’s king is a tyrant and the inventor a cynical flatterer. This ‘losengour’ (3027) gets his come-uppance by being the bull’s first victim, the tyrant telling him:  ‘Thow that art more cruel Than I, the maydenhede of this jewel Shalt preeve anoon; this is my jugement.’ And so as blyve he was therin ybrent. (3035–8) This exemplum is integral to Hoccleve’s views on counsel, flattery and literary production, but is also troubling in the context of the Badby episode. It exposes the cruelty of burning as a punishment, refuses the correlation between dissent, error and rebellion, and figures the ruler as a tyrant and his inventor-cum-counsellor as a flatterer. While technically the bull’s victims are roasted inside, Hoccleve uses the phrase ‘brennen and bake’ (3017); the inventor is subsequently ‘ybrent’ (3038), echoing the fact that Badby was ‘brent’ (287). In the resulting ethical confusion, God’s role as the ‘auctor’ of ‘pitee’ (3025) does not prevent the bull from being used on its inventor, and potentially on anyone challenging the tyrant’s power. Here, burning those who speak out against authority is an act of cruelty, prompted by flattering deceivers. In another narrative of voice and martyrdom, the just councillor Theodorus Cyrenaicus is crucified for condemning his ruler’s faults. But rather than silencing Theodorus, the cross provides a public platform to castigate sycophants surrounding the king: ‘I dye an innocent, I do thee knowe; / I dye to deffende rightwisnesse’ (2579–80). The trope of the dying man’s testament—a voice all the more powerful since at the point of physical disintegration—is reinforced by the speaker’s martyr-status. In both these Regiment exempla, martyrdom is imagined politically as an attempt by flatterers to silence dissident voices. This accords with one of Hoccleve’s possible aims in the Regiment: to promote the value of public counsel and encourage rulers to listen to advice. However, it also signals fault-lines in how different religious, literary and political traditions represent martyrdom, which are still operating in James’s version. The Old Man dismisses Badby as one of ‘Crystes foos’ (327), who ‘heeld foorth his oppinioun dampnable’ (317). In the narrative of Theodorus Cyrenaicus, though, the reader confronts the power of dying testimony and is invited to sympathize with the speaker.42 The Regiment can scarcely reconcile these attitudes to martyrdom: one a condemnation of the heretic-martyr, born out of fear and division, the other acknowledging that a martyr’s death can transform—albeit temporarily—relationships of power. Lollard accounts of resistance such as the Testimony of William Thorpe notably use the martyr’s voice as a powerful rhetorical position against a Church whose ideology relies on the Crucifixion as itself a redemptive martyrdom. The Regiment’s examples of martyric or judicial death take their place amongst the many stories of bodily sacrifice and generosity that prompt political fracture or reintegration in the poem’s exemplary narratives, but they attract additional and unpredictable force by their analogy with Badby’s fate in the Dialogue.43 In Hoccleve’s writing, martyrdom and the suffering body are not only explored in the context of religious or political sacrifice: the sense of a body under threat is also used more personally as a force that shapes his own writing life, and links that life and body to the wider polity. In the Regiment’s Dialogue, Hoccleve depicts himself as a writer under physical constraint, and as a psyche under threat of disintegration. He describes the writing work of the Privy Seal clerks as a bodily torment, which ‘smertith him ful sore / In every veyne and place of his body’ (1025–6). This underlines Hoccleve’s claim to be pushed to the edge of the court and of sanity, but also gives his work physical presence and thus value in a world of otherwise deceitful promises and flattering speech.44 The link between suffering, complaint, sickness and writing are vital to reading Hoccleve’s collocation of political, religious and inward perspectives. This is no more true than in Hoccleve’s Series, a collection of narratives and texts framed by a dialogue between Hoccleve and a ‘Friend’ (which can of course be read as another inner dialogue), and introduced by Hoccleve’s Complaint, where the writer’s body and mind are again at breaking point.45 Thomas describes his ‘wilde infirmite’, during which ‘the substaunce of my memorie / Wente to pleie as for a certein space’ (50–1), and which is now, he claims, cured.46 Nevertheless, his former companions still shun him:   by my sauacioun, Sith that time haue I be sore sette on fire And lyued in greet turment and martire. For thouʒ that my wit were hoom come aʒein, Men wolde it not so vndirstonde or take. With me to dele hadden they disdein   .  .  .  .  .  .  . The worlde me made a straunge countinaunce. (61–6; 70) It is against this ‘martire’—metaphorically but tellingly by burning—that Hoccleve struggles to establish a claim to mental health, authorial independence and bodily integrity in the Series. Hoccleve’s use of martire as an abstract noun in parallel to ‘turment’ extends its usual meanings, which relate either to religious martyrdom or suffering, or to love longing. The Middle English Dictionary does not quote his usage here, and no other cited uses develop its meaning in quite this way.47 Hoccleve’s extension of martire’s semantic range, I believe, innovatively harnesses the word’s signifying power from religious and secular fields. Applying it to his writing self, he deepens the interrelationship between physical pain, mental suffering and exemplary narrative that the Series will probe in each of its linked texts. The Series is sometimes thought of as Hoccleve’s Canterbury Tales, but is as much his Legend of Good Women: an open-ended group of narratives written in the face of a menacing readership and focusing on exemplary suffering and redemption, whether of the writer-compiler, love’s martyrs or those facing death unprepared.48 Hoccleve tells two stories of suffering, deceit, forgiveness and justice in the Series, both taken from the Gesta Romanorum, with Lerne to Dye between them. The first tale obsessively repeats a pattern of trust betrayed. The emperor Jereslaus’ wife suffers torments and near-deaths familiar from martyrs’ legends, including being strung by her hair from a tree. Later, sold into the power of a shipman by a servant whom she had saved from the gallows, she narrowly escapes rape by praying for a storm. She becomes a nun, and is reconciled with her assailants when they confess to her, unaware of her identity. She pardons them in a final triumph of patient generosity. A moralization is then inserted at the behest of Hoccleve’s friend, but as with Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale, we are left uneasy about how far religious allegory overwrites literal accounts of suffering. The moralization’s ad hoc insertion reinforces the notions of divided self or conflicted readership that Hoccleve’s dialogic mode of writing nurtures. The other—bitterly misogynistic—tale again concerns itself with assault, trust, and revenge. Here the evil Fellicula is eventually struck down with leprosy by Jonathas, whom she has repeatedly tricked out of wealth and possessions. These stories, with the sudden reversals, punishments and denouements of popular romance and martyr legends, form a kind of vernacular gloss on the central text, Lerne to Dye, which Hoccleve adapts from one section of Heinrich Suso’s Horologium Sapientiae. In one of the first sustained attempts to understand the place of Lerne to Dye in the Series, Christina von Nolcken sees its eponymous message as the Series’ crucial focus, from which the other sections are a distraction, showing Hoccleve’s unwillingness to face his own death.49 Recently, Amy Appleford’s study of ‘death culture’ in late-medieval London views Lerne to Dye in the context of a developing interest in ascetic texts for lay readers. Appleford generates a strong reading of the Series centred on Lerne to Dye, but points it away from the penitential, arguing that by this point Hoccleve’s persona has, he claims, recovered his health, while such adaptations of Suso position the reader as an ascetic aficionado, treating suffering as a mark of special status rather than punishment: ‘readers are now members of the select few who have knowledge of the doctrine of death’.50 While Appleford develops a rich picture of lay asceticism in London, placing Hoccleve’s text amidst its early development, I am less convinced of her claim that the poem allows those ‘select few’ to enjoy their suffering, or validates Hoccleve’s continued isolation, now because of spiritual insight rather than illness or social ostracization. Instead I would emphasize how imaginative engagement with texts has life-saving properties for someone contemplating their own suffering and mortality, in ways that bind the Series with other of Hoccleve’s poems, including the Regiment and the Remonstrance. My reading is closer to Robyn Malo’s analysis of penitential discourse in the Series; she sees Hoccleve adapting confessional language but rejecting the idea that the self is therefore made up of a group of sins: ‘available confessional identities…do not define the self so much as personify various mainstream attributes of sin’.51 Malo describes Hoccleve as unwilling to discard the categories and language of ‘schryft’, but able to deploy them in a shifting set of ideas about spiritual, mental and physical sickness and health, part of ‘his constant revision of confessional paradigms’.52 Lerne to Dye’s protagonist, Disciple, is given the chance to repent and prepare for the Last Things through an image of a dying sinner which he conjures up at the instigation of ‘eterne Sapience’ (2). In a scenario reminiscent of The Book of the Duchess but transposed from an amatory to a penitential environment, the Disciple becomes the unprepared counsellor of ‘a yong man of excellent fairnesse / Whom deeth so ny ransakid had and sought / Þat he withynne a whyle sholde dye’ (91–3). The Disciple attempts in vain to rouse the Image from the final stages of spiritual despair, before promising to prepare for his own death. In this highly charged spiritual setting, Hoccleve’s fascination is with the representation and understanding of other voices, entering the mind of those whom their interlocutors might otherwise dismiss or reject (analogous to his own voice as ‘recovered’ from madness in his Dialogue with a Friend) and revealing the conflicting positions of sinner and penitent, reader and protagonist that can co-exist within a single textual figure. Like Badby or Oldcastle, Hoccleve represents the dying man as slipping away from salvation while tantalizingly close to being reprieved. Unlike them, however, in this more intimate and imaginative context, the Disciple can learn from the Image, in a way presented only prospectively in the Remonstrance (held out as a hope if Oldcastle turns away from error) and retrospectively in the Regiment (Prince Henry’s offer, stubbornly refused, to re-integrate Badby into the Church and body politic). To emphasize its ability to prompt spiritual healing, Hoccleve enhances the performative quality of Suso’s text, highlighting the physical and temporal presence of the experience through deixis and exclamation:   So beholde often and see Thy soule in the flaumbes of fyr brennynge, With a wrecchid vois thus to thee cryynge   .  .  .  .  .  .  . ‘See how y brenne. O, rewe on my langour. Be for me so freendly a purueyour Þat in this hoot prisoun y no lenger Tormentid be. Lat it nat thus me der.’ (495–7; 501–4) These appeals collapse the distance between sinner, disciple, Hoccleve and the reader: we too have internalized the Image of the dying man.53 Our inner ‘ymage’ should also conjure up forceful pictures of our soul ‘in the flaumbes of fyr brennynge’, imagery linking a heretic’s burning to one’s own projected fate. The text’s imaginative claim on its readers peaks with ‘For a memorie leue Y this sentence / To thee, and heer Y die in thy presence’ (740–1), combining authoritative memory with the affective power of vivid performance. Lollards such as Badby and Oldcastle thus become available as figures analogous to the reader’s soul in need of purging and prayer: the rhetoric of distance, refusal and error in Hoccleve’s anti-Lollard writings is seen here to have a highly permeable linguistic membrane barely separating it from the rhetoric of affective engagement and yearning for pity. The Image’s impact on the audience is modelled for readers by the Disciple, who calls out: Wher art thow now, o Sapience eterne? O, good lord, haast þou now forsaken me? Wilt thow thy grace me denye and werne? Thow seidest sapience Y sholde lerne, And now Y am broght to the deeth almoost, So troublid is my spirit and my goost. (744–9) The echo of Psalm 22:1 (‘My God my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’, itself echoed in Matthew 27:46 and Mark 15:34) helps draw the Disciple and Hoccleve’s audience perilously close to a despairing death. In doing so, does it also contain the materials for salvation and escape from the flames? Appleford argues that the narrator (of the Series) is figured neither as the disciple who learns the “doctrine of death” from Wisdom nor as the dying youth, who does not know the pain of sin until too late, but as the spiritually advanced reader, whose viewpoint is already that of Wisdom and who can thus enjoy, in pity and terror, the sufferings of those common folk not prepared for death in this life by the God-given gift of tribulation.54 She further argues against a close analogy between the dying man in Lerne to Dye and Hoccleve as narrator or author in his illness or social isolation: ‘Although this passage has been taken to suggest that the dying youth is here a figure for Hoccleve in the social death he has undergone after his illness, its logic is ascetic’.55 I believe that Hoccleve’s language of suffering, martyrdom and potential reintegration is not as separable as this assessment implies, and that readings that close up the distance between narrator and imagined narrative figures, at numerous layers of the text, are constantly available. The Series regularly encourages its audience to make such imaginative shifts, and as J. A. Burrow influentially showed, the self-consciously bookish nature of Hoccleve’s sequence also promotes reflective engagement by its readers.56 This occurs at the moment in the Complaint when Thomas/Hoccleve remembers reading a consolatory text:  a lamentacioun Of a wooful man in a book I sy, To whom wordis of consolacioun Resoun ʒaf spekynge effectuelly. (309–12) Such moments of reflection on the relationship between reading and the construction of the self in the Series argue for a more connected, more anxious relationship between narrator, Disciple and Image in Lerne to Dye too. The Complaint places Thomas’s illness in the past, but reading it re-ignites his symptoms and suffering. Likewise, the time-lag between his recovery and the still-disdainful or cautious attitude of others does not allow us to place his suffering as completed: it still resonates. The Friend compares Thomas to a thief who has escaped execution once, but returns to his crimes until the gallows intervenes, and he fears that Thomas’s bookishness is a destructive force akin to a predator or fire: ‘Ioie hastow for to muse / Vpon thy book, and therin stare and poure, / Til þat it thy wit consume and deuoure’ (Dialogue with a Friend, 404–6). In an insightful study of Hoccleve’s melancholy persona, Lynn Dunlop stresses that Hoccleve’s clinching argument in persuading his Friend that he is well enough to write is a declaration of his privacy, the unknowability of another mind: ‘Freend…he lyueth nat þat can / Knowe how it standith with another wight / So wel as himself’ (477–9).57 Hoccleve nevertheless repeatedly stages dramatic reconstructions of mental processes, speculation and scrutiny, using the urge to engage with a person undergoing ‘martire’ as a driving force for that scrutiny. Even a narrative with little or no overt reflection or glimpse of interiority, that of Jereslaus’ Wife, is later subject to moral exegesis: ‘This emperour at Y spak of aboue is our lord Ihesu Cryst. His wyf is the soule’ (981). Moral reading here turns the narrative outside in through the desire to understand human failure, forgiveness and suffering. In the context of the late-medieval image debate, Shannon Gayk likewise argues that Hoccleve ‘replicates and layers images of himself’ in the Series, and that this ‘multiplication of images enables affective identification’.58 Hoccleve harnesses this power of staged voices and layers of analogy and allegory in Lerne to Dye: ‘[Y] am in doute wher the soothe woneth— / That is to meene, if this be in liknesse / Or in deede, swich is my mazidnesse’ (752–4). These lines are spoken by the Disciple, but voice our confusion as readers. Within the scope of human understanding here there is no ‘outside text’, though the worrying implications of that realisation are then pushed away by appealing to God as precisely that stabilizing force on the text and reader: ‘But how it be, lord, Y byseeche thee / Be my confort in this perplexitee’ (755–6). Whether at this intimate moment of doubt and appeal to God, or in the layers of narrative and commentary that constitute its structure, the Series operates in an open weave to accommodate rewriting, the intrusion of other readers and voices, the messiness of textual transmission and a constantly provisional sense of poetic and ethical closure, which continues beyond Hoccleve’s construction of the text(s) with the Series’ manuscript history and compilation.59 Hoccleve’s engagement with historical, exemplary and inward ‘martire’ as the point at which suffering makes the self readable is a significant feature of that poetic and personal fabric. We seem to have travelled far from Hoccleve’s public voice in the Remonstrance, and James’s edition-cum-riposte. But reading Hoccleve from the perspective of early modern preoccupations such as martyrdom can bring something of value to both these textual environments, along with our own. We do not have to read the Remonstrance as deliberately self-defeating in order to find its yearning for wholeness after division at a number of levels throughout Hoccleve’s work, interacting with other figures of errancy or suffering such as Badby or Thomas/Hoccleve himself.60 These implications are not taken up by Richard James in the senses available to a reflective but orthodox audience of the early fifteenth century, but James’s seventeenth-century edition uses Hoccleve’s allusive and open style in another way, by picking apart the threads and, through his notes and textual presentation, weaving a new version shot through with contrasting polemical colours. Our own readings continue this process of refashioning, which had begun well before James completed MSS James 34 and Add. 33785, and by way of a coda I shall return to Hoccleve’s holograph of the Remonstrance in HM 111. The Remonstrance now begins on fol. 1r, and lines 1–96 occupy fols. 1r–2v. However, fol. 3r then starts with line 43 of Hoccleve’s Complaint of the Virgin. The rest of the Remonstrance follows on fols. 8r–16v, after the Complaint. Burrow and Doyle suggest that fols. 1–2 were probably moved to the start of the manuscript when it was being rebound in the early seventeenth century, to conceal a lost leaf at the start of the Complaint, the first item in Hoccleve’s compilation.61 The fact that the manuscript now starts somewhat messily can obscure the compilatory decisions that Hoccleve made in the early 1420s. In concluding I should like to suggest how the Remonstrance has already been reframed by Hoccleve through its placement in HM 111. Hoccleve first copied the Complaint of the Virgin, followed by the Remonstrance, and then the Male Regle. These three poems can indeed be read together as explorations of Hoccleve’s acute attention to movements of doubt, hope, sinful wandering and faithful return, whether the Virgin Mary’s anger and grief at her martyred son’s death; attacks on Oldcastle combined with appeals for return and redemption; or Hoccleve’s moral and financial lack, and hoped-for relief and reformation in the Male Regle’s autography. Placed between the Complaint and the Male Regle, Hoccleve’s Remonstrance loses some of its brittle, polemical surface, and encourages a reading of Oldcastle as also a sinful, doubtful soul comparable to Hoccleve’s—or the reader’s. As in the Series, Hoccleve’s narratives of loss and recovery here operate on many levels, and the most public-voiced poetry can—when performed as part of a compilation such as HM 111, or a rewriting such as James’s—also contain some of the most strikingly inward perspectives on loss, faith, selfhood and recovery. I have discussed the ideas surrounding this article over a number of years, especially with colleagues in Cambridge and Oxford. I am particularly grateful to James Simpson for inviting me to speak at a conference on martyrdom at Queens’ College Cambridge in 2002, when I first presented the core material. I also thank the editors and anonymous readers for RES, whose scrutiny has been very valuable. Footnotes 1 The Remonstrance is in Hoccleve’s Works: The Minor Poems, ed. Frederick J. Furnivall and I. Gollancz, rev. Jerome Mitchell and A. I. Doyle, EETS e.s. 61, 73, repr. in 1 vol. (London, 1970), 8–24 (from which I quote, with abbreviations regularized); and in Selections from Hoccleve, ed. M. C. Seymour (Oxford, 1981), 61–74. See J. A. Burrow, Thomas Hoccleve (Aldershot, 1994), 21, for the Remonstrance. 2 See John A. F. Thomson, ‘Oldcastle, John, Baron Cobham (d. 1417)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (pubd online May 2008) <http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/20674> accessed 14 September 2016; and Paul Strohm, Sir John Oldcastle: Another Ill-Framed Knight (London, 1997). 3 Thomas Hoccleve: A Facsimile of the Autograph Verse Manuscripts, ed. J. A. Burrow and A. I. Doyle, EETS s.s.19 (Oxford, 2002). 4 For descriptions, see R. Hunt, F. Madan and P. D. Record, A Summary Catalogue of Western Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, 7 vols in 8 (Oxford, 1895–1953), II. 768 (SC 3871); and Catalogue of Additions to the Manuscripts in the British Museum, 1888–1893 (London, 1894), 109. James likely retained for his own use MS James 34, which came to the Bodleian in 1678 among a group of his manuscripts, along with those of his friend Thomas Greaves (1611–1676). 5 John Foxe, The Unabridged Acts and Monuments Online (1563 edition) (HRI Online Publications, Sheffield, 2001) <https://www.johnfoxe.org> accessed 15 October 2016, Book 2, 313–33. Strohm, Sir John Oldcastle, discusses conflicting evidence about the events of 1414. 6 The Poems etc. of Richard James, ed. A. B. Grosart (London, 1880), 137–88, at 182. For Bourchier, see Victor Stater, ‘Bourchier, Henry, fifth earl of Bath (c.1587–1654)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, (pubd online, May 2006) <http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/66562> accessed 12 May 2016. James dedicated his edition to Bourchier before the latter became Earl of Bath in 1637. 7 John Bale, A Brefe Chronycle concernynge the Examinacyon and Death of the Blessed Martyr of Christ Syr Iohan Oldecastell the Lorde Cobham ([Antwerp], 1544). See also William Tyndale and George Constantine, The examinacion of Master William Thorpe… The examinacion of the honorable knight syr Jhon Oldcastell Lorde Cobham… (Antwerp, 1530), and John Weever, The mirror of martyrs, or The life and death of that thrice valiant capitaine, and most godly martyre Sir Iohn Old-castle knight Lord Cobham (London, 1601). 8 Annabel Patterson, ‘Sir John Oldcastle as a Symbol of Reformation Historiography’, in Donna B. Hamilton and Richard Strier (eds), Religion, Literature and Politics in Post-Reformation England, 1540–1688 (Cambridge, 1996), 6–26. For Shakespeare’s Oldcastle/Falstaff, see Peter Corbin and Douglas Sedge (eds), The Oldcastle Controversy: ‘Sir John Oldcastle, part I’ and ‘The famous victories of Henry V’ (Manchester, 1991). James cites a query about Shakespeare’s Falstaff from a ‘Gentle Ladie’ (137) as the prompt for his Remonstrance edition. 9 The Hocclevean Plowman’s Tale is in John M. Bowers (ed.), The Canterbury Tales: Fifteenth-Century Continuations and Additions (Kalamazoo, MI, 1992). 10 For post-1500 readers of Hoccleve, see A. S. G. Edwards, ‘Medieval Manuscripts Owned by William Browne of Tavistock (1590/1? – 1643/5?)’, in James P. Carley and Colin G. C. Tite (eds), Books and Collectors, 1200–1700: Essays Presented to Andrew Watson (London, 1997), 441–9, and Nicholas Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment of Princes’: Counsel and Constraint (Cambridge, 2001), 151–4; 168–77. Burrow and Doyle (Thomas Hoccleve: A Facsimile, xxiii) note that HM 111’s cover is embossed with arms ‘supposedly’ of Henry, Prince of Wales, but which could have been used after Henry’s death in 1612 for his brother Charles. James could plausibly have seen the Hoccleve manuscript via Patrick Young (d.1652), the royal librarian, who had exchanges with Robert Cotton. For cognate Chaucerian reading circles, see now Philip Knox, Mark Griffith and William Poole, ‘Reading Chaucer in New College, Oxford, in the 1630s: the Commendatory Verses to Francis Kynaston’s Amorum Troili et Creseidae’, Medium Ævum, 85 (2016), 33–58. 11 See Tom Beaumont James, ‘James, Richard (bap. 1591, d. 1638)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (pubd online Jan 2008) http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/14617 accessed 12 May 2016; for James’s relationship with Cotton, see Kevin Sharpe, Sir Robert Cotton, 1586–1631: History and Politics in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1979), esp. 210–22, and Colin C. G. Tite, The Manuscript Library of Sir Robert Cotton (London, 1994), 57–63. 12 For gendered language in the Remonstrance, see Ruth Nissé, ‘ “Oure Fadres Olde and Modres”: Gender, Heresy, and Hoccleve’s Literary Politics’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 21 (1999), 275–99, and David Watt, The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’ (Liverpool, 2013), 125–34. With his references to ‘a Baillif or a Reeve’ who ‘dote or rave’, Hoccleve mingles stereotypes of rank and gender. Hoccleve possibly recalls both Langland’s Holy Church, and Chaucer’s Reeve, whose Norfolk origins would connect him with an outpost of Lollard activity (on the Reeve’s Norfolk dialect, see Simon Horobin, ‘Chaucer’s Norfolk Reeve’, Neophilologus, 86 (2002), 609–12). 13 The Middle English Dictionary cites Hoccleve’s use here as an example of medlen (v.), meaning 2 (a), ‘to do something, busy oneself, exert oneself’ (pubd online 2006) <http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/m/mec/med-idx?type=id&id=MED27188> accessed 10 May 2016. However, the verb can have pejorative associations (e.g. meaning 2 (b), ‘to interfere, be officious, meddle’), complicating the tone here. 14 For Henry V’s response to the threat from Oldcastle and his affiliates, see Maureen Jurkowski, ‘Henry V’s Suppresssion of the Oldcastle Revolt’, in Henry V: New Interpretations, ed. Gwilym Dodd (Woodbridge, 2013), 103–29, who, however, does not mention Hoccleve’s poem. See also Malcolm Vale, Henry V: The Conscience of a King (New Haven, CT, 2016), 186–92 for an assessment balancing Henry’s attempts ‘to convince dissenters of the error of their ways’ (186) with suppression of Lollard activity when perceived as a threat to secular and ecclesiastical authority. 15 Here James echoes Tyndale and Constantine, The examinacion of …syr Jhon Oldcastell Lorde Cobham, who were followed by Foxe, Acts and Monuments: see Book II, 325, quoting a bill supposedly circulated by Oldcastle’s associates, saying that ‘he neuer…varied in any poynte’ in relation to the Eucharist, and restating his reported belief that ‘in the blessed sacrament of the altar is verelye and treulye Christes bodye, in fourme of bread’. 16 James, Observations, 172, 173. 17 Foxe’s Acts and Monuments gave rise, of course, to numerous books of martyrs; see John N. King, Foxe’s ‘Book of Martyrs’ and Early Modern Print Culture (Cambridge, 2006), and Jesse M. Lander, Religion, Print, and Literary Culture in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2006), 56–79. 18 E.g. James, Observations, 181, citing Jerome and Gregory of Nyssa as making ‘no great commendations’ about pilgrimage, then aligning this with references to Juvenal, Chaucer, Lydgate, and to Bale’s report of Oldcastle’s trial, presenting such critiques as if with the force of a continuous tradition. 19 James, Observations, 181, on pilgrimages; and 182–5 on church possessions and monasteries. James also quotes several lines from ‘Lo, He that Can Be Cristes Clerc’, a poem dated 1414–1417 attacking Oldcastle, which survives in London, British Library MS Cotton Vespasian B. xvi; printed in Medieval English Political Writings, ed. James M. Dean (Kalamazoo, MI, 1996). 20 James, Observations, 187–8. It is likely that James’s ‘Roger Clyderow’ is an error for Richard Clitherow (Roger was his son). See J. R. Planché, A Corner of Kent; or, Some Account of the Parish of Ash-next-Sandwich, its Historical Sites and Existing Antiquities (London, 1864), 251, and the current guidebook of St Nicholas Church, Ash <http://www.s8nicholas.talktalk.net/documents/St_Nicholas_Historical_Guide_Revised_2015.pdf>, accessed 25 September 2016. 21 John Bale, Scriptorum illustrium maioris Brytanniae…Catalogus, 2 vols (Basel, 1557, 1559; facsimile reprint, Farnsworth, 1971), I. 537. 22 The St Albans Chronicle: The Chronica maiora of Thomas Walsingham, I, 1376–1394, ed. and trans. John Taylor, Wendy R. Childs and Leslie Watkiss (Oxford, 2003), 402–3. 23 See Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge, 1991), 17–21. 24 The Workes of our Antient and Lerned English Poet, Geffrey Chaucer, Newly Printed (London, 1598); note on fol. ci, which repeats Bale’s comments. 25 See e.g. Ethan Knapp, The Bureaucratic Muse: Thomas Hoccleve and the Literature of Late Medieval England (University Park, PA, 2001), ch. 4. 26 Thomas Hoccleve, The Regiment of Princes, ed. Charles R. Blyth (Kalamazoo, MI, 1999), line 4997. 27 The phrase ‘haulks and hernes’ is itself Chaucerian; cf. Canterbury Tales V. 1121 (Franklin’s Tale), and the Canon’s Yeoman’s admission that he and the Canon spend time ‘Lurkynge in hernes’ (The Riverside Chaucer, ed. Larry D. Benson (Oxford, 1988), VIII, 658). On responses to the antiquity and register of Chaucerian language, see Alexandra Gillespie, ‘Unknowe, unkow, Vncothe, uncouth: From Chaucer and Gower to Spenser and Milton’, in Andrew King and Matthew Woodcock (eds), Medieval into Renaissance: Essays for Helen Cooper (Cambridge, 2016), 15–33; and on Speght’s role in developing Chaucer’s status, see Tim William Machan, ‘Speght’s Works and the Invention of Chaucer’, Text, 8 (1995), 145–70. 28 See e.g. Helen Cooper, ‘Poetic Fame’, in James Simpson and Brian Cummings (eds), Cultural Reformations: Medieval and Renaissance in Literary History (Oxford, 2010), 361–77, at 369–75, and Eric Weiskott, ‘Prophetic Piers Plowman: New Sixteenth-Century Excerpts’, Review of English Studies, n.s. 67 (2015), 21–41. On Reformation reading practices, see Brian Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation: Grammar and Grace (Oxford, 2002), and James Simpson, Burning to Read: English Fundamentalism and its Reformation Opponents (Cambridge, MA, 2007). 29 On the complexity of time and period engaged by this sort of reading, see Paul Strohm, Theory and the Premodern Text (Minneapolis, MN, 2000), esp. ch. 6; Carolyn Dinshaw, How Soon is Now?: Medieval Texts, Amateur Readers, and the Queerness of Time (Durham, NC, 2012); Helen Barr, Transporting Chaucer (Manchester, 2013), esp. ch. 4. See also discussions of medieval–early modern periodicity and its discontents in ‘Medieval/Renaissance: After Periodization’, a special issue of Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 37, no. 3 (Fall 2007). 30 See e.g. Nissé, ‘ “Oure Fadres Olde and Modres” ’; Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, ch. 5; Andrew Cole, Literature and Heresy in the Age of Chaucer (Cambridge, 2008), ch. 5. 31 On anti-Lollard legislation see Peter McNiven, Heresy and Politics in the Reign of Henry IV: The Burning of John Badby (Woodbridge, 1987); Anne Hudson, The Premature Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Oxford, 1988); Ian Forrest, The Detection of Heresy in Late Medieval England (Oxford, 2005). On Arundel’s Constitutions see Nicholas Watson, ‘Censorship and Cultural Change in Late-Medieval England: Vernacular Theology, the Oxford Translation Debate, and Arundel’s Constitutions of 1409’, Speculum, 70 (1995), 822–64, and Vincent Gillespie and Kantik Ghosh (eds), After Arundel: Religious Writing in Fifteenth-Century England (Turnhout, 2011). 32 Charity Scott Stokes, ‘Sir John Oldcastle, the Office of the Privy Seal, and Thomas Hoccleve’s “Remonstrance Against Oldcastle” of 1415’, Anglia, 118 (2001), 556–70. See also Burrow, Thomas Hoccleve, 21. 33 Thomson (‘Oldcastle, John’) notes that Oldcastle might have taken up a pardon issued by Henry V in December of 1414; another pardon to him is recorded in December 1415. For the ‘polyphony, or cacophony’ of voices in late-medieval heterodox and orthodox writing, complicating any simple oppositional model, see Mishtooni Bose, ‘Writing, Heresy, and the Anticlerical Muse’, in Elaine Treharne and Greg Walker (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Literature in English (Oxford, 2010), 276–96, quoting 279. 34 See Siegfried Wenzel, The Sin of Sloth: Acedia in Medieval Thought and Literature (Chapel Hill, NC, 1967); on Sloth as an aspect of Hoccleve’s voice here, see David Lawton, ‘Voice after Arundel’, in Gillespie and Ghosh, After Arundel, 133–51, at 141–4. 35 For readings of the Regiment as supporting Lancastrian legitimacy (albeit complexly), see Derek Pearsall, ‘Thomas Hoccleve’s Regement of Princes: The Poetics of Royal Self-Representation’, Speculum, 69 (1994), 386–410, and Paul Strohm, England’s Empty Throne: Usurpation and the Language of Legitimation, 1399–1422 (New Haven, CT, 1998), 173–95. 36 See Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 50–84, for the performativity of advice literature. 37 See, e.g., Sarah Tolmie, ‘The Prive Scilence of Thomas Hoccleve’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 22 (2000), 281–309. 38 For Hoccleve’s responses to religious reform and heresy, see also Sebastian Langdell, ‘Religious Reform, Transnational Poetics, and Literary Tradition in the Work of Thomas Hoccleve’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Oxford, 2014). 39 Bureaucratic Muse, 136; Katherine Little, Confession and Resistance: Defining the Self in Late Medieval England (Notre Dame, IN, 2006), 113–28, quoting 116. 40 See Kantik Ghosh, The Wycliffite Heresy: Authority and the Interpretation of Texts (Cambridge, 2002). 41 For Hoccleve’s sources here, and Ovidian analogues, see Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 104–6. 42 The testamentary force of dying words bears comparison to Chaucer’s poem on Love’s martyrs, The Legend of Good Women; see James Simpson, ‘Ethics and Interpretation: Reading Wills in Chaucer’s Legend of Good Women’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 20 (1998), 73–100. 43 For mirroring relationships between the Dialogue and Regiment proper, see Anna Torti, The Glass of Form: Mirroring Structures from Chaucer to Skelton (Cambridge, 1991), ch. 3, and Anthony J. Hasler, ‘Hoccleve’s Unregimented Body’, Paragraph, 13 (1990), 164–83. 44 See Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 39–49; 143–50. 45 See James Simpson, ‘Madness and Texts: Hoccleve’s Series’, in Julia Boffey and Janet Cowan (eds), Chaucer and Fifteenth-Century Poetry (London, 1991), 15–29; and Lee Patterson, ‘ “What is me?”: Self and Society in the Poetry of Thomas Hoccleve’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 23 (2002), 437–70. Hoccleve’s complex persona has been much debated since J. A. Burrow’s seminal ‘Autobiographical Poetry in the Middle Ages: the Case of Thomas Hoccleve’, Proceedings of the British Academy, 68 (1982), 389–412, and ‘Hoccleve’s Series: Experience and Books’, in Fifteenth-Century Studies: Recent Essays, ed. Robert F. Yeager (Hamden, CT, 1984), 259–73. See also Knapp, Bureaucratic Muse, ch. 6; Matthew Boyd Goldie, ‘Hoccleve’s Psychosomatic Illness and Identity’, Exemplaria, 11 (1999), 23–52; and now A. C. Spearing, Medieval Autographies: The ‘I’ of the Text (Notre Dame, IN, 2012), ch. 6. I do not have space to discuss these in detail, but I hope that this essay’s approach contributes to drawing together material focused on Hoccleve’s autographies such as the Complaint, and material focused on penitential or polemical texts. When discussing the Series, I use ‘Thomas’, ‘Hoccleve’ or ‘Thomas/Hoccleve’ to refer to the poem’s speaking and composing protagonist. 46 Thomas Hoccleve, ‘My Compleinte’ and other Poems, ed. Roger Ellis (Exeter, 2001). 47 Middle English Dictionary, martir(e (n.), meaning (b), <http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/m/mec/med-idx?type=id&id=MED26975>, accessed 12 September 2016. A search for martire and variants in late-medieval texts using the Literature Online database likewise showed that its overwhelming use is either for a person who is martyred; or the physical or mental suffering caused by religious martyrdom or metaphorical martyrdom from love’s anguish: <www.literature.proquest.com>, accessed 25 January 2017. 48 The Legend of Good Women also lurks behind Hoccleve’s portrayal of a hostile audience of women, who, the Friend argues, need placating after taking offence at Hoccleve’s Letter of Cupid, a complexly ironic adaptation of Christine de Pizan’s anti-misogynist Epistre de Cupide, into which Hoccleve wove references to Chaucer’s poem. 49 Christina von Nolcken, ‘ “O, why ne had y lerned for to die?”: Lerne for to Dye and the Author’s Death in Thomas Hoccleve’s Series’, Essays in Medieval Studies, 10 (1993), 27–51. 50 Amy Appleford, Learning to Die in London, 1380–1540 (Philadelphia, PA, 2015), 125. 51 Robyn Malo, ‘Penitential Discourse in Hoccleve’s Series’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, 34 (2012), 277–305, at 298. I focus on these recent contributions, which have moved the debate on from earlier discussions of the religious contexts of Hoccleve’s selfhood such as Stephan Kohl, ‘More than Virtues and Vices: Self-Analysis in Hoccleve’s “Autobiographies” ’, Fifteenth Century Studies, 14 (1988), 115–26. 52 Malo, ‘Penitential Discourse’, 305. 53 For concepts of image and likeness in Hoccleve’s treatment of Suso, see Steven Rozenski, ‘ “Your Ensaumple and Your Mirour”: Hoccleve’s Amplification of the Imagery and Intimacy of Henry Suso’s Ars Moriendi’, Parergon, 25 (2008), 1–16. 54 Appleford, Learning to Die, 134–5. 55 Appleford, Learning to Die, 135. 56 Burrow, ‘Experience and Books’. Watt, The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’, ch. 5, discusses Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Selden supra 53 as a book for personal meditation and devotional reflection. 57 Lynn Dunlop, ‘Cities without Walls: The Politics of Melancholy from Machaut to Lydgate’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Cambridge, 1998), 105–39; see also Goldie, ‘Psychosomatic Illness’, 50. 58 Shannon Gayk, Image, Text, and Religious Reform in Fifteenth-Century England (Cambridge, 2010), 74–83, quoting 78, 79; Ellis also notes Hoccleve’s ‘deliberate confusion of levels of fictional reality’, ‘My Compleinte’, 226. 59 This extends, for example, to Hoccleve’s addition of a prose passage on heavenly Jerusalem rounding off Lerne to Dye in Durham University Library MS Cosin V. iii. 9 (his other holograph copy of Lerne to Dye ends incomplete in San Marino, Huntington Library MS HM 744, with leaves lost after fol. 68); and the Friend persuading Thomas to include the Tale of Jonathas after Lerne to Dye. For compilation decisions and audiences of the Series manuscripts, see especially Watt, The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’, chs. 1–3. Watt argues (104–5) that Hoccleve’s decision only to translate the first part of Suso’s text is bound up with debates over religious reform and the impact of Arundel’s Constitutions. In five Series manuscripts the accretive structure of the text is continued by the addition of John Lydgate’s Dance of Death; see Perkins, Hoccleve’s ‘Regiment’, 163–7. 60 Watt (The Making of Thomas Hoccleve’s ‘Series’, 140–3) suggestively parallels attempts to heal schism in the Church at the Council of Konstanz (1414–18) with Hoccleve’s writing, though he does not discuss the Remonstrance in that context. See also Sebastian Langdell, ‘ “What World is this? How Vndirstande am I?”: A Reappraisal of Poetic Authority in Thomas Hoccleve’s Series’, Medium Ævum, 78 (2009), 281–99, and Vincent Gillespie, ‘Chichele’s Church: Vernacular Theology in England after Thomas Arundel’, in Gillespie and Ghosh, After Arundel, 3–42, at 38–41, who discuss links between personal and wider religious reform. 61 Burrow and Doyle, xxiii and xxv. In his edition, Furnivall speculates that this rearranging is evidence of ‘at least one rascaly bookseller in James I’s time’ (1). Hoccleve’s own heading for the Remonstrance has been squeezed into the space at the top of fol. 1r, possibly in a revision of the manuscript, or in response to Henry V’s death. © The Author 2017. Published by Oxford University Press 2017; all rights reserved

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