was infeasible. However, as Foucault has taught us, social regulation can take different forms, and there are clear signs that many of those who participated in the discourse of fairyland in the Middle Ages felt themselves under surveillance. Moreover, from the fifteenth century onward, as education began to close the cultural gap between clerical and secular authorities, the control of vernacular belief became more and more exacting, culminating in the terrible witch hunts of the early modern period.
Accordingly the last three chapters of this book will examine the church’s attempts to regulate fairyland in three critical domains. Chapter 3 follows its campaign to marginalize popular attitudes to copulation, pregnancy, and childbirth and in particular its demonization of one especially prominent fairy lover, Merlin’s father. In Chapter 4 we see how a motif popularly associated with child rearing, that of the fairy changeling, disturbed the sensibilities of both churchmen and patresfamilias, and how it resisted their attempts to suppress it; here we focus particularly on the representation of the changeling in the mystery plays. In Chapter 5 we consider fairyland as the resort of old heroes such as King Arthur and some of the ways in which the church responded to the scandalous notion of a deathless survival in Avalon; an exploration of the role played by Avalon in the twelfth-century ‘birth of purgatory’ concludes this study. In a brief Postscript I discuss fairy lore as an important target for sixteenth-century witch-hunters and associate the comparative leniency of English witch-hunting with a discourse of skepticism that can be traced in part to the prestige of Geoffrey Chaucer, a celebrated fairy unbeliever.
CHAPTER 1
Believing in Fairies
One asking what hee thought of Fayries: hee answered, he thought they were spirits; but hee distinguished betweene them and other spirites, as commonly men distinguish betweene good witches and bad witches.
—Richard Greenham, Pastor of Drayton (1597)
Let us begin with some thoughts on the marvelous from what was intended to be the first chapter of a book that C. S. Lewis never lived to complete:
The reader who sees in all the (let us call them) “ferlies” [marvels] of medieval romance mere “sports of fancy” … utterly misunderstands the best specimens of the genre he is reading…. A satisfactory theory of ferlies and their effect is, I believe, still to seek. I suspect that it will not succeed unless it fulfils two conditions. In the first place, it will have to be sure that it has exhausted the possibilities of purely literary diagnosis before it looks further afield…. The second condition … is that the theory should deeply study the ferlies as things (in a sense) in the real world [my italics]. Probably such things did not occur. But if no one in real life had either seen, or thought he saw, or accepted on hearsay, or dreaded, or hoped for, any such things, the poet and romancer could do nothing with them. As anthropologists we may want to know how belief in them originated. But it will illuminate the literary problem more if we can imagine what it would feel like to witness, or think we had witnessed, or merely to believe in, the things. What it would feel like, and why.1
Perhaps the innate elusiveness of all such ferlies must render any theory of them finally inadequate (“the medieval fantastic,” writes Francis Dubost, “is just as evanescent as its modern counterpart”),2 but for whatever reason, more than fifty years later Lewis’s challenge is still to be met.
Progress, however, has been made on both fronts. In fulfillment of Lewis’s first condition, that of purely literary analysis, we can point to a number of fine studies. In England, Helen Cooper, Corinne Saunders, and James Wade have recently made important contributions,3 and in France literary study of le merveilleux is now regarded as mainstream.4 In the United States literary scholars such as Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and Geraldine Heng have concerned themselves with the more extreme manifestations of the marvelous, in particular associating the grotesque and the monstrous with issues of race, identity, and gender.5 Fulfillment of Lewis’s second condition, the study of ferlies as things, has been made much easier by the work of historians of medieval mentalités, particularly that of the annalistes Jacques Le Goff and Jean-Claude Schmitt in France6 and in the English-speaking world by a number of premodernists following in the footsteps of Keith Thomas.7 Though it should now be much simpler than it would have been in 1966 to illuminate the ferlies of romance by imagining “what it would feel like … to believe in the things,” the dominant mode of critical analysis has remained stubbornly functionalist (“magic used as a literary tool”),8 at least in the Anglophone world.9 Even Fredric Jameson, for all that his recognition that magical narratives (that is, romances) belong to a world where nature remains “a mysterious and alien border around the still precarious and minute human activities of village and field,”10 treats magic as a literary device, a solution to the problem of apprehending unstable chivalric loyalties in a period of emergent class solidarity (p. 161). My own conviction is that we will make real progress only when we learn to treat magic, or at least its manifestations in medieval literature (those things that Lewis called ferlies), less as tenor and more as vehicle, to adapt I. A. Richards’s terminology; the first task is not to establish what such ferlies represent or exemplify or epitomize, but rather to ask what they are and what cultural work they are doing. From this perspective Lewis was putting the cart before the horse: literary diagnosis, I believe, should properly follow, not precede, the study of ferlies as things. Even with this proviso, however, I cannot pretend to be responding to Lewis’s general call to arms here; my aim in what follows is rather more modest: to elucidate not the whole territory of the medieval marvelous but merely one of its most prominent fiefdoms—that of fairyland.
For sixteenth-century England, it is a comparatively simple matter, in M. W. Latham’s words, “to reproduce the everyday belief of the Elizabethans concerning the fairies, to treat the fairies not as mythical personages or as fanciful creations of the literary imagination or of popular superstition, but to regard them, as did their human contemporaries of the 16th century, as credible entities and as actual and existing beings.”11 For the Middle Ages, however, the problem of trying to imagine what it would feel like to believe in fairies is compounded by the fact that much of what little evidence there is comes from texts written by members of a clerical elite who officially did not believe in them, at least not “as credible entities and as actual and existing beings,” and who felt obliged for the most part to show open hostility to all such beliefs. Nevertheless the attempts of such people to rationalize, negate, or dismiss fairy beliefs can tell us a great deal about both their vigor and their ubiquity.
One of the most concise and thorough descriptions of the kind of creature I am concerned with in this book appears in a treatise on the geography of Iceland written in the late sixteenth century probably by Oddur Einarsson, the Lutheran bishop of Skálholt; it will provide us with a useful point of departure:
But some [beings], who live in the hills close to men, are more amicable and not so dangerous unless they chance to have been harmed by some kind of injury and provoked to wickedness. They seem, indeed, to be endowed with bodies of incredible subtlety, since they are even thought to enter into mountains and hills. They are invisible to us unless they wish to appear of their own volition, yet the properties of certain men’s eyes are such that the presence of no spirit can ever escape their sight (as was Lynceus’s unhappy situation). They know a thousand devices and an infinite number of tricks with which they harass men in wretched ways, but their young people are said to have a similar stature, clothing, and even way of life to that of their human neighbors, and to take excessive pleasure in coupling with humans. Examples are not lacking of a
