#7: Medieval Humor
by Michael Delahoyde
Late in the spring semester 1984 at the University of Michigan, one of the purple mimeographed options for our final paper topics in English 541 suggested an assessment of medieval humor. Now, amid a nasty and chaotic mid-life crisis requiring a thoroughgoing reevaluation of the "matere" shown to me by the Ghosts of Semesters Past, Present, and Future, I've recently recognized yet another instance of where I went wrong in life. Instead of strapping myself to a contraption we called a typewriter in what shall forever be known as "the box" (1212 University Towers, across from the offices of the Middle English Dictionaryand Sherman Kuhn's unfiltered Camels) in order to craft and submit by April 25th to 2625 Haven Hall a scholarly masterpiece addressing the aesthetics of Middle English poetry in the face of philological ambiguity, Robertsonianism, and reception theory within a transhistorical problematic, I guess I thought I could just repeat jokes I heard in class. Worse still, my primary "research" -- that is, the humor recorded in the margins of my class notes -- came from the professor.
It has been said that trying to date the composition of Havelok the Dane "is like following red herrings on wild goose chases."1 The same may be said of trying to identify instances of medieval humor. What the modern reader may take to be punning or wit often is nothing more than a coincidence, a phantasm spontaneously generated in the cultural communication chasm, or the impulse towards overreading in order to find something amusing -- this last a phenomenon attendant upon the misfortune of spending one's twenties under the Reagan regime. Fortunately, "medieval humor" need not emerge solely from authors and poets dead, lo, the better part of this millennium. A broader definition of the term might incorporate such amusement as is occasioned by the texts. If we examine the entire pedagogical milieu of the medieval literature class, we find ample examples of the risible, the ludicrous, and the jocular to overshadow the sense of pedantry traditionally associated with such a course devoted to rather arcane material.
The Beowulf poet, for example, may not be the mead-swilling proto-Wolverine-fan that his Anglo-Saxon affiliation initially betokens. In fact, his dry sense of humor occasionally runs the risk of puncturing the grandeur of the epic. After Grendel's nocturnal, culinary attacks on those seeking repose in that beacon of civilization, the local bar, the poet asserts that "Tha waes eathfynde the him elles hwaer / gerumlicor raeste sohte" (ll. 138-39) ["then was easily found him who elsewhere far away sought rest"]. In other words, like Monty Python's Sir Robin, when danger reared its ugly head, the boast-bolstered Ring-Danes bravely turned their tails and fled. Later, on the morning following the beloved Aeschere's death, Beowulf vacuously asks King Hrothgar "gif him waere / aefter neodlathum niht getaese" (ll. 1319-20) ["if the night were agreeable to him according to his desires"]. We can reasonably assume that these examples of heavyhanded irony are intentional on the part of the poet. Indeed, an instance of dark, sinister humor occurs when, after Grendel's "earm ond eaxle" (l. 835) ["arm and shoulder"] have been torn out and the hall, Heorot, is "gold fahne ond Grendles hond" (l. 927) ["decorated with gold and Grendel's hand"], the Beowulf poet reports: "Tha waes haten hrethe Heort innanweard / folmum gefraetwod" (ll. 991-92) ["Then was it commanded that quickly the interior of Heorot be adorned with hands"]. The idiomatic and superfluous phrase "with hands," or "by hands," functions as a grim pun in this grisly context. But investigation into further humor becomes speculative. As the troops discover Aeschere's head upon the cliffs above the mere and view the sea-monsters swimming through the lake, the poet offers the following: Flod blode weol -- folc to saegon --, hatan heolfre. Horn stundum song fuslic fyrdleoth. Fetha eal gesaet. (ll. 1422-24) [The flood boiled with blood -- the men looked upon it -- with hot gore. Again and again the horn sang its urgent war-song. The whole troop sat down.]
The anticlimax of that last line lends delightful cartoon-style slapstick to the work, but was this intentional?
For a surer enjoyment of the poem, the classroom context for Beowulf can potentially add to the experience of the work an awareness of certain absurdities. For example, the genealogical tables for Beowulf demonstrate the cohesiveness of Anglo-Saxon society such that the disarmingly practical instructor might cut to the chase: "All these people killed each other in one way or another." Likewise, the tradition of ring-giving exemplified by the ritual between Hrothgar and his thanes survives into modern history: "of course, it's the Queen now, and the Beatles get medals." Even the potentially arid lecture on the history of the Beowulf manuscript can capitalize on moments of compelling irony. After all, the manuscript was transported in the eighteenth century to Ashburnham House -- "for safety." In addition to the fire which claimed that aptly named building, one learns that Beowulf evaded the fate of many manuscripts destroyed by other fires, Vikings, mold, leaky roofs, and "ignorance: manuscripts being used for fish and chips or whatever." Ultimately, if Beowulf can get some laughs, there's hope for the medieval literature class.
The difficulty in identifying intentional medieval humor is epitomized in the notion and literature of courtly love. A debate instigated by E. Talbot Donaldson, late mentor of noted Chaucerian, Thomas J. Garbáty, throws into question whether Andreas Capellanus' De Arte Honeste Amandi is an historical document sincerely attempting to systematize the art of courtly love or instead is a satire, albeit a clerical and tediously pedantic one. While the literature itself remains ambiguous, other forms of humor inevitably arise from contemporary discussion summarizing the codified phenomenon of fin amor. Supplementary illustration by the instructor to the high-flown ideals of the rituals involved in the process may include an early stage in which the love texts, or "complaints," are evoked visually as "poems tied to a rock thrown in a window." In a subsequent stage, we learn that the lady may lean out of her window and bestow a smile on the suitor, and perhaps that "she gets another poem in the teeth." Lastly, the lover must perform tasks in accord with the woman's carte blanche: she may say to him, "Get the molars of the Sultan of Baghdad. So he has to swim the highest mountain and climb the deepest sea, and so forth." Love is absurd, and the Middle Ages invented it.
King Horn and Havelock the Dane, two "Neanderthal romances," are noted for their unintended quaintness and ineptitude. The Horn poet's wit is limited to the thudding pun on the word "horn" (e.g., ll. 211f, 1117, 1129, 1153, 1166f). But a good snicker can be derived inappropriately in the inane rhyming of this maladroit poet: Her buth payns arived; Well mo thane five.... (ll. 813-14) [Here are pagans arrived; Many more than five....]
The hectic offhandedness of Horn is similarly enjoyable. Motivation in the plot is usually lacking, but the instructor can convey the absurdity without too harshly criticizing the poetry. As Horn returns to his own land, "A palmere he thar mette" (l. 1035). "Thank heavens!" interrupts the instructor. "Because he knew he automatically could change clothes with this man!" Horn's grand speech as he subsequently reveals his identity, surrounded by enemies at Rymenhilde's wedding feast (ll. 1221f), can be accurately paraphrased thus: "We will kill them all! -- My wedding gift to you!" After this bloody resolution and near the conclusion of the poem, we read:
The savvy instructor anticipates student criticism: "'But,' you say, 'he's not dead yet!' But he will be, he will be." This, of course, is no explanation, and it points out that there is no explanation to be given. The attempted rationale is as bizarre as the poem itself. Or one may finally capitalize on the ludicrousness of the poetry by offering a translation of the following lines in the conclusion:
Not exactly an uproarious riot, right? Again, though, paraphrase can successfully point out absurdities in the text. The Havelok poet will occasionally indulge in attempted description:
"Brains lying all over the stones, out in the moonlight -- yes, it's very poetic, isn't it?"
A paraphrase from Godard's perspective also undercuts the effect of a gruesome scene.
The gratuitous goriness on the part of the poet is indirectly acknowledged by the instructor's summary: "He's playing with them and his knife slipped." Of course, pedagogical humor need not always be appropriate to the text. Any light comment, particularly those pertinent to English studies, will be well-received by the weary literature-crammed student cerebrum. For example, the imprisoned Havelok speaks to Godard on behalf of his sisters, "'For us hungreth swithe sore,' / Saiden he, 'We wolden more!'" (ll. 455-56) ["For we hunger very sorely," / Said he, "We want more!"]. The instructor may take the opportunity to digress: "'More? MORE?! -- which of course Charles Dickens took from Havelok the Dane."
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, alliteratively dubbed "the Rolls Royce of Romances," may be delightful enough on its own to make supplementary humor unnecessary. The Gawain poet gives examples of the standard comedy of cowardice -- a sly, dry, British type of humor seen already in Horn and possibly Beowulf.
Here the poet ironically excuses the knights for allowing Arthur to accept the Green Knight's challenge. The Gawain poet has a keen wit and also gives evidence that punning is intentional. He provides a lengthy description of the Green Knight's decapitation, including the flow of blood, but never mentions the color of the blood.
The pairing of the b-rhyme would suggest a subtle pun on the word "redde." Even if this is tenuous, another instance of possible punning seems undeniable. When Sir Bertilak on the second day of the "game" presents Gawain with the decapitated head of the boar, this sinister host immediately says, "Now, Gawayn ... this gomen is your awen" (l. 1635) ["Now, Gawain ... the game is yours"]. The wildlife is indeed Gawain's according to the rules of the deal set up by the two previously. But the "game" is also Gawain's in that the beheading pact began as a game. The presentation of the boar's head at this moment indicates that a very grisly pun is intended. Still, the medievalist can add to the enjoyment of Sir Gawain. While the boar-hunt is in progress, and Gawain encounters Bertilak's wife for the second time alone, the instructor may tentatively add, "This time the woman is going whole-hog."
The medieval author does not lack a sense of humor. But literature of the period offers too few intentionally comic moments that survive the centuries (Chaucer being an entirely different semester). Responsibility for humor in medieval studies rests, therefore, to a large extent on the instructor who, if he foregoes the traditional pedantry of the university professor and is willing to open up the texts with colorful explication, a modern sensibility, a degree of roguishness, and his own joy in the literature, can transform an academic "trial by ordeal" into an engaging and enjoyable experience never to be forgotten.
Michael Delahoyde teaches at Washington State University; his most recent article, "'Heryng th'Effect' of the Names in Troilus and Criseyde" Beowulf. Ed. F. Klaeber. 3rd ed. Lexington, MA: D.C. Heath and Co., 1950.
Donaldson, E. Talbot. "The Myth of Courtly Love." In Speaking of Chaucer. NY: W.W. Norton and Co., Inc., 1970.
email Prof. Delahoyde
Horn makede Arnoldin thare
King after King Aylmare.
Of all Westernesse
For his meoknesse. (ll. 1505-08)
All folk hem mighte rewe
That loveden hem so trewe.
Nu ben hi bothe dede --
Christ to hevene hem lede! (ll. 1533-36)
He maden here backes also bloute
Als here wombes and made hem route
Als he weren cradelbarnes --
So dos the child that moder tharnes. (ll. 1910-13)
[He made their backs as pulpy
As their stomachs and made them roar
As they were babies --
So does the child who loses its mother.]
Havelok lifte up the dore-tree
And at a dint he slow hem three.
Was non of hem that hise hernes
Ne lay ther-ute again the sternes. (ll. 1806-09)
[Havelok lifted up the door-bar
And at a blow he slew them three.
There was none of them whose brains
Weren't laying out there against the stones.]
Godard herde here wa,
Ther-offe yaf he nought a stra,
But took the maidnes bothe samen --
Also it were up-on his gamen,
Also he wolde with hem leike --
That weren for hunger grene and bleike.
Of bothen he carf on two here throtes,
And sithen hem all to grotes.
Ther was sorrwe, who-so it sawe,
Whan the children by the wawe
Layen and sprauleden in the blood. (ll. 465-74)
[Godard heard their woe,
Thereof he gave not a straw,
But took the maidens both together --
As if it were for sport,
As if he would with them play --
Who were for hunger green and pale.
Of both he carved in two their throats,
And afterwards cut them all to pieces.
There was sorrow, whoever saw it.
When the children by the wall
Lay and sprawled in the blood.]
As al were slypped upon slepe so slaked hor lotes in hyye.
I deme hit not al for doute,
Bot sum for cortaysye;
Bot let hym that al schulde loute
Cast unto that wyye. (ll. 244-49)
[As though all fell asleep,
so was their talk stilled at a word.
Not just for fear, I think,
But some for courtesy;
Letting him who all revere
To that man reply.]
He brayde his bluk aboute,
That ugly bodi that bledde;
Moni on of hym had doute,
Bi that his resouns were redde. (ll. 440-43)
[He turned his body about,
That ugly body that bled;
Many of him had fear,
When all his thoughts were known.]
1All uncited examples of pedagogical, or classroom, humor were supplied, despite these being the painful "rotary cuff" days, by Professor Thomas J. Garbáty, English 541.001 (Literature of the Medieval Period), January to April 1984, MWF 11:00-12:00.
Havelok the Dane. In Middle English Verse Romances. Ed. Donald B. Sands. NY: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1966. 55-129.
King Horn. In Middle English Verse Romances. Ed. Donald B. Sands. NY: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1966. 15-54.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. In Pearl, Cleanness, Patience, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Ed. A.C. Cawley and J.J. Anderson. London: J.M. Dent and Sons, Ltd., 1962. 157-254.