The Voyage to Northumberland
(NLC, 100-51; CA, II, 704-51)
Kurt E. Douglass

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After the slaughter of Christians during the feast to celebrate the marriage of Constance and the Saracen sultan in Trevet’s Of the Noble Lady Constance, Constance’s fate takes her out of Saracen lands and to the kingdom of Northumberland.  Trevet devotes roughly 580 words to his account of Constance’s journey to and arrival in Northumberland, which I summarize here:

Finding herself alone among Saracen enemies, Constance resists pressure to deny her Christianity and convert to Islam, so the mother of the sultan devises a plan to torture Constance by setting her adrift on the high seas.  She has Constance packed onto a boat with enough provisions to sustain her for three years and the treasure she has brought with her as dowry for her marriage to the sultan.  At the sultaness’s command, sailors tow Constance’s boat out of sight of land and leave her to the mercy of the four winds without sail, oar, or any sort of human assistance.  After three years and eight months pass God leads her boat to Northumberland.  It lands on Christmas Eve in sight of a Saxon castle along the Humber.  Some nearby sailors spot her boat, note the abundant treasure and the beautiful woman of noble bearing on board, and tell the warden of the castle, Olda, the news.  Olda goes to the boat and asks Constance to give an account of herself.  The multilingual Constance tells Olda her story in fluent Saxon, but she omits significant details.  Olda learns that she is a Christian of noble birth, that she was married to a powerful lord, and that she has been exiled from that lord’s dominions after somehow displeasing other powerful people in his kingdom.  Constance keeps secret from Olda that she is the child of Emperor Tiberius and that she has been married to the Saracen sultan.  Impressed by her fluency in Saxon and the great treasure in her possession, Olda reckons that Constance hails from a distant Saxon land and must be the daughter of a Saxon king.  He welcomes her enthusiastically to the castle and makes sure to safeguard her treasure in a chest, keeping one key to the chest for himself and giving a second to Constance.  Olda then commands his wife, Hermegild, to receive Constance honorably.  After freshening up and having something to eat Constance recovers her health and beauty, which nonetheless do not outshine her exceptional virtue.  Constance’s obvious nobility and great virtue cause Hermegild to love and become ardently loyal to her.  

Gower condenses his own account of this scene in the Confessio Amantis to roughly 275 words: 

After having orchestrated the slaughter of the sultan and all those who have been instrumental in arranging his marriage to Constance, the sultaness arranges for Constance to be set adrift on the high seas in a rudderless ship.  Constance is put on the ship with all the treasure she has brought to Saracen lands and five years’ worth of provisions.  She is then abandoned to the wind and waves.  God, however, watches over her and, after she spends three years at sea, guides the ship to Northumberland.  On a summer day, her ship comes up the Humber with the tide, landing near a castle that stands on the banks of the river.  When the castle’s warden and king’s chamberlain, Elda, spies the ship, he dispatches some men to investigate.  After a short time Elda and his wife, Hermyngheld, also go to meet Constance, whereupon they notice the great treasure she has with her.  When they ask her about herself Constance refuses to divulge any information.  Elda and Hermyngheld, nevertheless, honorably take her into their fellowship.  Despite their friendliness, Constance is greatly saddened at finding herself in a heathen land.  Still, she is nicely accommodated by Elda and Hermyngheld and comes to live with them, Hermyngheld feeling as much love for Constance as she does for her own life.

The framework Gower uses for Constance’s sea voyage and arrival in Northumberland is generally faithful to Trevet’s account of her journey.  Gower does, however, change a number of details, which causes us to interpret the episode differently than we interpret Trevet’s version of it.  I focus here on important alterations Gower makes with regard to when and how Constance reaches Northumberland, who exactly is responsible for setting Constance adrift in the first place, and how Constance is received by the Saxon couple once she arrives in Northumberland.  These changes are important because through them Gower, first, does away with suggestions in Trevet’s account that God was the author of the evil as well as the good that befell Constance; Gower makes God, instead, more clearly the antithesis of evil.  Second, he removes potentially blasphemous hints in Trevet’s version that Constance was a kind of Christ figure and in general downplays the mythic aura Trevet bestowed upon her in the episode.  In this way, Gower makes Constance a more fully human—and merely human—instrument of God’s will and recipient of God’s beneficence.  Finally, Gower suggests that, in addition to accepting Christianity as the true faith and being witness to a miracle or two, the true Christian is one possessed by the spirit of love and charity. 

Gower omits details of Constance’s voyage that in Trevet’s tale raised the troubling question of whether God was as much the cause of Constance’s tribulations as he was the cause of her salvation.  Trevet described the sultaness as “le membre au diable” [“that member of the devil”] (NLC, 102-03) and attributed the diabolical plan to persecute Constance by setting her adrift at sea to the sultaness’s malicious will: “la soudane, se enpensa de une novel tourment, qe tut le vensit de cruele volunté” [“the Sultaness . . . planned a new torture for her, which . . . came entirely from her cruel will”] (NLC, 103-04).  Yet Trevet also wrote, “nepurquant la purveaunce Dieux n’i failli point” [“the providence of God was not lacking therein”] (NLC, 104), which reminded us that Constance’s troubles were part of God’s plan for her.  Trevet’s tale thus complicated the issue of who was to blame for Constance’s troubles.  Was it the sultaness alone?  Was it the devil, since the sultaness was but a “member” or extension of him?  Was it God, who was in charge of everything?  Or was it a combination of the three? 

Gower, on the other hand, simplifies things.  When describing what causes Constance to be set helplessly adrift, he removes God from the equation.  It is the sultaness, “this olde fend [fiend]” (CA, II, 705), who devises and initiates the plan to “take anon this Constantine” (CA, II, 706) and set her upon the wild waves in a “nakid Schip withoute stiere” (CA, II, 709).  God comes into the picture only in the role of helper and protector:

Bot he which alle thing mai schilde,
Thre yer, til that sche cam to londe,
Hire Schip to stiere hath take in honde,
And in Northumberlond aryveth. (CA, II, 714-17)

God is here the force that shields or defends Constance from evil, and Gower places evil clearly in the hands of dark forces.  The term “fend” can be read two ways: that the sultaness has an evil nature or that she is the devil himself in human form.  Either way, Gower seems concerned to eliminate any suggestion that God has a hand in the evil that befalls Constance, to remove the mystery we found in Trevet regarding the origins of good and evil.  There is a more Manichean vision—a simpler, more dualistic vision—of good and evil at work in Gower’s telling of the episode than in Trevet’s.  In fact, Gower’s God also appears to be a little more vigilant and merciful than Trevet’s was in watching over Constance.  He steers Constance’s ship to safe harbor after three years—when, as far as we know, she still has two years’ worth of provisions left (CA, II, 715).  In Trevet’s tale, it was not until “[le oitime] mois del quart an” [“the eighth month of the fourth year”] (NLC, 117) that God “maunda un vent covenable et enchasa la nef en Engleterre” [“sent a favorable wind and drove the boat to England”] (NLC, 118-19), eventually landing Constance in Northumberland.  That is, it was only well after her three years’ supply of provisions had presumably run out that Trevet’s God saw fit to bring her lonesome voyage to an end.

The difference between Gower’s tale and Trevet’s tale with respect to the timing of Constance’s arrival in Northumberland also makes Constance seem more human in Gower than she appeared in Trevet.  Trevet’s Constance arrived in heathen Northumberland on “la veille de la Nativité Nostre Seignur Jhesu Crist” [“the eve of the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ”] (NLC, 120-21).  Trevet thereby drew a parallel between Constance and Christ, indicating perhaps that she herself had some element of divinity in her.  Christ’s birth, in the Christian view, was the coming of God in human form to redeem humanity of its sins.  Because Trevet had Constance arrive in a heathen land on the eve of Christ’s birthday, he hinted that she played a role similar to Christ’s: she was figuratively “born” with Christ-like timing into a world mired in the sin of false belief, which she set about converting to true belief.  Perhaps Gower was uncomfortable with Trevet’s account, feeling that he came too close to saying that Constance was a Christ-figure herself.  By transferring the date of her landing in Northumberland to a mundane summer day, Gower eliminates any potentially blasphemous implication that Constance is somehow equivalent to Christ; he makes it clear that, while she might be an agent of God, she is not herself of divine stock.

Gower makes a second change to the details of Constance’s landing in England that causes his Constance to appear more ordinary than Trevet’s: he omits Trevet’s reference to Noah.  Trevet set up an analogy between Constance in her boat and Noah in his ark by writing, “Dieux, qi governa le nef le seint homme Noé en le grant deluve, maunda un vent covenable et enchasa la nef en Engleterre desouz une chastel en le roialme de Northumbreland” [“God, who steered the ship of the holy man Noah in the great Flood, sent a favorable wind and drove the boat to England, beneath a castle in the kingdom of Northumberland”] (NLC, 117-19).  Gower does away with any mention of Noah and substitutes the lines quoted above: “he [God] which alle thing mai schilde, / [ . . .] / Hire Schip to stiere hath take in honde, / And in Northumberlond aryveth” (CA, II, 714-17).  Whereas Trevet stressed Constance’s mythic stature by placing her in the lineage of a Biblical “great” such as Noah, Gower implies that, if God watches over Constance during her journey, it is only because he watches over everything.  That is, God merely does what he does for everyone when he looks after Constance—God shields all of us as much as he shields Constance.  Through aligning Constance generally with “alle thing” rather than specifically with someone literally of Biblical proportions, Gower tells us that the favor Constance finds with God is equally available to us all, and is not reserved for a select group of the chosen.   

Gower’s treatment of Constance’s reaction to her plight serves a similar purpose.  Trevet did not indicate that Constance betrayed any emotion when her fellow Christians were slaughtered at her wedding feast.  Likewise, Trevet’s Constance betrayed no emotion when God deposited her among the unchristian inhabitants of Northumberland.  For all we know, she dealt stoically with all of the events surrounding her voyage to Northumberland, for she was come “cele qe Dieux avoit predestiné a grace et vertue [en] temptacion et joie” [“as one whom God had predestined for grace and virtue in temptation and joy”] (NLC, 148-49).  Gower’s Constance, conversely, is more prone to betray emotion in the face of these events.  Just as she weeps and wails, making “many a wofull mone,” when her wedding festivities become a scene of mass murder, so she is disappointed and distraught upon learning that Northumberland is not a Christian kingdom: “Bot sche no maner joie made, / Bot sorweth sore of that sche fond / No cristendom in thilke lond” (CA, II, 744-46).  Unlike Trevet’s Constance, she is not entirely above bemoaning the circumstances into which the “honde” of God has placed her.  These emotional displays on the part of Gower’s Constance emphasize her humanity, her fallibility.  Her emotions understandably get the better of her as she lives through what is, to say the least, a rather stressful period: the slaughter of her new husband and of all those “that hadden be / [ . . .] / Of conseil to the mariage” (CA, II, 685-87), banishment from her adopted homeland, a number of years helplessly adrift on the high seas at the mercy of the wind and the “wawes wilde” (CA, II, 713), and arrival in yet another new land that, to her mind, is sunk in heathen darkness.  In contrast, the apparent imperturbability and self-possession of Trevet’s Constance when faced with the same series of life-changing events seemed extraordinary and almost superhuman.

The manner in which Trevet depicted Constance’s introduction to Olda and his wife Hermegild also intimated that, in the eyes of the couple, the young woman had some special significance in the greater world.  During her first encounter with Olda, Trevet’s Constance did not reveal to him the most specific details about her identity: “Et entre ses ditz riens ne voleit reconustre de Tyberie l’emperour, son piere, ne del soudan, qar l’aventure del murdre del soudan et de les Cristiens lui estoit ia [conue] par totes terres” [“And in her words she would reveal nothing about the Emperor Tiberius, her father, nor about the Sultan, for the story of the murder of the Sultan and the Christians was already known throughout all lands”] (NLC, 134-37).  She did, however, reveal enough information about herself to allow Olda some idea of what sort of person she was: 

Et [ele] lui respoundi en Sessoneis, qe fu langage Olda [ . . .] et lui disoit qe quant a sa creance ele estoit de Cristiene foi; quant a linage qe ele estoit de riches et nobles gentz estret; et qe par son linage estoit ele doné en mariage a un grant prince, mes pur ceo qe ele desplut as grantz de la terre, pur ceo fu ele en tiele manere exilé [And she . . . answered him in Saxon, which was Olda’s language, and told him that as to her religion she was of the Christian faith; as to her lineage she was born of a rich and noble family, and that because of her lineage she was given in marriage to a great prince, but because she displeased the great ones of the land she was in such manner exiled]. (NLC, 129-34)

Although Trevet’s Constance did not give away her exact identity to Olda, she did give him enough information to make him aware that he had stumbled upon a woman from a rather elevated social station, a woman of some worldly significance.  It seems fair to say, therefore, that Trevet meant this information to figure as much as her “grant tresour” [“great treasure”] (NLC, 123) and fluent Saxon into Olda’s assessment and approval of Constance: “esperoit qe ele estoit fille de ascun roi des Sessouns outre mere, come d’Alemayne, oue de Sessoine, ou de Suece, oue de Denemarche.  Et a grant [joye], courteisement et honurablement, la resceut en son chastel” [“he supposed she was the daughter of some king of the Saxons beyond the sea, as of Germany, or Saxony, or Sweden, or Denmark, and with great joy he received her courteously and honorably into his castle”] (NLC, 138-41).  We might reasonably interpret the enthusiastic reception of Constance by Olda and Hermegild—Olda “comanda sa compaigne qe ele resceut la damoisele honurablement” [“ordered his wife to receive the maiden honorably”] (NLC, 143-44)—as grounded largely in Olda’s recognition of ethnic loyalties and adherence to feudal social codes, specifically, his obligation to show due honor and respect to his social betters.  Only after he had concluded that Constance was, like him, a Saxon, and confirmed that she was of a class that, according to social custom, made her particularly worthy of his respect and honor, did Olda so enthusiastically welcome her into his home.    

Elda and Hermyngheld’s introduction to Constance in Gower occurs rather differently.  They do notice the “gret richesse” (CA, II, 737) Constance has with her in the ship, but beyond that, the two receive no clues about her identity or background, for “sche hire wolde noght confesse, / Whan thei hire axen what sche was” (CA, II, 738-39).  Despite knowing effectively nothing about who exactly she is, the couple “with gret worschipe / [ . . .] toke hire into felaschipe, / As thei that weren of hir glade” (CA, II, 741-43).  It would be misguided to attribute this warm welcome to any suspect motivation on Elda and Hermyngheld’s part, such as greed roused by the sight of her riches, since Gower informs us earlier in the episode that Elda is a “knyhtly man after his lawe” (CA, II, 727), that he is a man of good character.  On the contrary, the fact that the couple embraces Constance so heartily despite knowing more or less nothing about her makes them seem almost like a childless couple with abundant parental love to offer a foundling.  Whereas, for example, Trevet’s Hermegild became fervently devoted to Constance only after observing her “noble vie et vertuouse” [“noble and virtuous way of life”] (NLC, 150), Gower’s Elda and Hermyngheld are immediately glad to bestow their “worschipe” and “felaschipe” upon this woman who is a total stranger to them.  Elda and Hermyngheld display more basic human trust than Trevet’s Olda and Hermegild by unhesitatingly taking in this young stranger.  Gower’s couple love and accept Constance simply because she is another human being that life has brought their way. 

In other words, although they are not Christians at this point in Gower’s story, the couple already demonstrates the principal Christian virtues of charity and love of one’s neighbor.  Gower seems to want to suggest that this trust demonstrates that Elda and his wife are already halfway to becoming true Christians, that they already, in a way, have the seeds of Christianity—love and charity—within them when Constance arrives on their shores.  It is only logical, then, that Hermyngheld quickly comes to love Constance “lich hire oghne lif” (CA, II, 750) without knowing anything about her background and receives the “creance” Constance has “tawhte” her “so parfitly” (CA, II, 754-55) because Constance merely nurtures the seeds of faith that are already in Hermyngheld.  And although Elda officially converts to Christianity after seeing the miracle Hermyngheld performs—when she cures the blind man simply by advising him to trust in “‘Cristes lawe’”—Gower wants us to see that his conversion is not simply due to the miracle: Elda’s conversion is consistent with his moral character as a “knyhtly man” (CA, II, 727).  In this regard, Gower’s tale implies that true faith spreads not simply as a result of obviously exceptional and holy people going around giving spectacular empirical proof, through miracles, of Christianity’s truth; rather, faith comes when one is morally or spiritually equipped to accept that truth.

It is important to note as well that Gower takes care not to demonize the Saxon heathens of Northumberland.  He portrays them as essentially good people overall: similar to Elda, the Northumbrian king, Allee, is a “worthi knyht” (CA, II, 723) whose only flaw is that he happens to believe “noght aright” (CA, II, 724).  The basic goodness of the Northumbrians makes it relatively unproblematic for them to embrace Christianity and fix that flaw, as we see with Elda and Hermyngheld’s conversion, a stark contrast to the Saracen sultaness who is so infected with “Envie” (CA, II, 640) that she spectacularly and murderously rejects Christianity. 

Through these modifications to the tale he borrowed from Trevet, Gower makes the Christian worldview that Constance brings with her to Northumberland one that is defined by compassion and that is somewhat more accessible than it seems in Trevet’s telling.  Trevet’s Constance appeared at times—through her seamless, perhaps cold, impassivity in the face of suffering and the hint that there was a streak of the divine or mythic in her—to be made of superhuman stuff.  Gower’s Constance, conversely, appears to be a bit more like us—a flawed human being—so that we are that much more able to identify with her.  Similarly, Gower’s God is, in the episode, not quite a fire-and-brimstone, angry father given to testing his children’s faith with trials and tribulations.  He is more of a friend and benefactor who watches over his children and helps them through their troubles.  Lastly, by depicting the good-hearted heathens Elda and Hermyngheld as model Christians-in-waiting, Gower implies that Christianity is a kind of natural fit for compassionate, kindhearted people of all stripes.