Mary's Christmas!

A little stocking stuffer of a bonus episode: a couple of Middle English poems taking a look at Mary, the mother of Jesus, at the Nativity.  Happy happy joy joy!

Transcript

Hello everyone – season’s greetings and happy holidays to you all: Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Bodhi, Yule, and all the high holy days celebrated in this month of December.  Blessings on you all and welcome to the Classic English Literature Podcast. 

I thought I’d stuff your stocking with a brief bonus episode to mark the occasion.  Since, in our overall survey of English literature we are in the Middle Ages, I felt it meet to offer a couple of poems.  While looking around for appropriate candidates, I was reminded of the high reverence in which Mary, the mother of Jesus, was held by medieval Europeans.  Most of the Christmas poems I found (or at least a notable preponderance) focused not so much on Christ’s incarnation as they did on Mary’s motherhood.  You may recall from earlier episodes that the so-called Cult of the Virgin exercised a great influence over romance and courtly love poetry at the time.  The poems today dwell upon the central mysterious paradox of Mary’s virginity: her concomitant motherhood.

Here’s an anonymous lyric from about 1400 called “I Sing of a Maiden.”

Middle English original

I syng of a mayden

That is makeles,

king of alle kinges

to here sone che chees.

He cam also stille

Ther his moder was

As dew in Aprylle,

That fallyt on the gras.

He cam also stille

To his modres bowr

As dew in Aprylle,

That falleth on the flowr.

He cam also stille

Ther his moder lay

As dew in Aprylle,

That falleth on the spray.

Moder & mayden

Was nevere noon but she:

Well may swich a lady

Godes moder be.

Modern English version

I sing of a maiden

That is matchless,

King of all kings

For her son she chose.

He came as still

Where his mother was

As dew in April

That falls on the grass.

He came as still

To his mother’s bower

As dew in April

That falls on the flower.

He came as still

Where his mother lay

As dew in April

That falls on the spray.

Mother and maiden

There was never, ever one but she;

Well may such a lady

God’s mother be.

Did you notice the little twist the poet puts on the event of the Annunciation (that time the angel Gabriel informs young Mary that she will bear the Saviour)?  He writes: “king of alle kinges

to here sone che chees.”  She chose the Messiah as her child – it’s a deft little elevation of Mary’s agency.  She’s a partner, not a servant, in the salvation project.  I also note the refrain of April’s dew.  Despite our celebration of Christmas in late December (around the solstice, the longest night of the year, the darkest time when we most need God’s light, the thinking goes), the poet reminds us of life’s renewal in the lush springtime – when Chaucer’s pilgrims set out and the cuckoo bird loudly sings.

Here’s another poem called “Mary Is With Child”:

Nowel! nowel! nowel!

Sing we with mirth!

Christ is come well

With us to dwell,

By his most noble birth.

Under a tree

In sporting me,

Alone by a wod-side,

I hard a maid

That swetly said,

" I am with child this tide.

" Graciously

Conceived have I

The Son of God so swete:

His gracious will

I put me till,

As moder him to kepe.

" Both night and day

I will him pray,

And her his lawes taught,

And every dell

His trewe gospell

In his apostles fraught.

" This ghostly case

Doth me embrace,

Without despite or mock;

With my derling,

" Lullay, " to sing,

And lovely him to rock.

" Without distress

In grete lightness

I am both night and day.

This hevenly fod

In his childhod

Shall daily with me play.

" Soone must I sing

With rejoicing,

For the time is all ronne

That I shall child,

All undefil'd,

The King of Heven's Sonne."

Here’s a quick and dirty translation by Yours Truly.  I opted to communicate the sense of the poem at the expense of its poetic properties because I’m not a very good translator.

Noel! noel! noel!

Sing we with mirth!

Christ is come well

With us to dwell,

By his most noble birth.

Under a tree

In sporting me,

Alone by a wood’s side,

I heard a maid

That sweetly said,

"I‘m with child at this time.

"Graciously

Conceived have I

The Son of God so sweet:

His gracious will

I put me till,

As mother him to keep.

"Both night and day

I will to him pray,

And hear his laws taught,

And every way

His true gospel

By his apostles carried.

"This spiritual act

I do embrace,

Without despite or mockery;

With my darling,

" Lullaby, " to sing,

And lovely him to rocking.

"Without distress

In great lightness

I am both night and day.

This heavenly babe

In his childhood

Shall daily with me play.

"Soon must I sing

With rejoicing,

For the time has run out

That I shall give birth to,

All undefiled,

The King of Heaven's Son."

The speaker comes upon Mary swollen with child who looks forward to her maternity as well as her instruction by her child.  She is eternally happy and will sing all her life.  This poem focuses more on the traditional idea of motherhood as sacrifice and surrender to the child’, but this is, of course, leavened by the dramatic parallel that her sacrifice makes possible his sacrifice for the redemption of humanity in 33 years or so.  You know?

Well, I don’t wish to keep you long from your festivities.  Please do eat too much, drink too much, sleep too much, and laugh too much.  Sing “Noel!” too loudly.

Happy crimble and a very new year!