Chapter 31

“These olde gentle Bretons, in their days, Of divers aventures made lays,<2> Rhymeden in their firste Breton tongue; Which layes with their instruments they sung, Or elles reade them for their pleasance; And one of them have I in remembrance, Which I shall say with good will as I can. But, Sirs, because I am a borel* man, *rude, unlearned At my beginning first I you beseech Have me excused of my rude speech. I learned never rhetoric, certain; Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain. I slept never on the mount of Parnasso, Nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero. Coloures know I none, withoute dread,* *doubt But such colours as growen in the mead, Or elles such as men dye with or paint; Colours of rhetoric be to me quaint;* *strange My spirit feeleth not of such mattere. But, if you list, my tale shall ye hear.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Franklin’s Tale

1. In the older editions, the verses here given as the prologue were prefixed to the Merchant’s Tale, and put into his mouth. Tyrwhitt was abundantly justified, by the internal evidence afforded by the lines themselves, in transferring them to their present place.

2. The “Breton Lays” were an important and curious element in the literature of the Middle Ages; they were originally composed in the Armorican language, and the chief collection of them extant was translated into French verse by a poetess calling herself “Marie,” about the middle of the thirteenth century. But though this collection was the most famous, and had doubtless been read by Chaucer, there were other British or Breton lays, and from one of those the Franklin’s Tale is taken. Boccaccio has dealt with the same story in the “Decameron” and the “Philocopo,” altering the circumstances to suit the removal of its scene to a southern clime.

THE TALE.

In Armoric’, that called is Bretagne, There was a knight, that lov’d and *did his pain* *devoted himself, To serve a lady in his beste wise; strove* And many a labour, many a great emprise,* *enterprise He for his lady wrought, ere she were won: For she was one the fairest under sun, And eke thereto come of so high kindred, That *well unnethes durst this knight for dread,* *see note <1>* Tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress But, at the last, she for his worthiness, And namely* for his meek obeisance, *especially Hath such a pity caught of his penance,* *suffering, distress That privily she fell of his accord To take him for her husband and her lord (Of such lordship as men have o’er their wives); And, for to lead the more in bliss their lives, Of his free will he swore her as a knight, That never in all his life he day nor night Should take upon himself no mastery Against her will, nor kithe* her jealousy, *show But her obey, and follow her will in all, As any lover to his lady shall; Save that the name of sovereignety That would he have, for shame of his degree. She thanked him, and with full great humbless She saide; “Sir, since of your gentleness Ye proffer me to have so large a reign, *Ne woulde God never betwixt us twain, As in my guilt, were either war or strife:* *see note <2>* Sir, I will be your humble true wife, Have here my troth, till that my hearte brest.”* *burst Thus be they both in quiet and in rest.

For one thing, Sires, safely dare I say, That friends ever each other must obey, If they will longe hold in company. Love will not be constrain’d by mastery. When mast’ry comes, the god of love anon Beateth <3> his wings, and, farewell, he is gone. Love is a thing as any spirit free. Women *of kind* desire liberty, *by nature* And not to be constrained as a thrall,* *slave And so do men, if soothly I say shall. Look who that is most patient in love, He *is at his advantage all above.* *enjoys the highest Patience is a high virtue certain, advantages of all* For it vanquisheth, as these clerkes sayn, Thinges that rigour never should attain. For every word men may not chide or plain. Learne to suffer, or, so may I go,* *prosper Ye shall it learn whether ye will or no. For in this world certain no wight there is, That he not doth or saith sometimes amiss. Ire, or sickness, or constellation,* *the influence of Wine, woe, or changing of complexion, the planets* Causeth full oft to do amiss or speaken: On every wrong a man may not be wreaken.* *revenged After* the time must be temperance *according to To every wight that *can of* governance. *is capable of* And therefore hath this worthy wise knight (To live in ease) sufferance her behight;* *promised And she to him full wisly* gan to swear *surely That never should there be default in her. Here may men see a humble wife accord; Thus hath she ta’en her servant and her lord, Servant in love, and lord in marriage. Then was he both in lordship and servage? Servage? nay, but in lordship all above, Since he had both his lady and his love: His lady certes, and his wife also, The which that law of love accordeth to. And when he was in this prosperrity, Home with his wife he went to his country, Not far from Penmark,<4> where his dwelling was, And there he liv’d in bliss and in solace.* *delight Who coulde tell, but* he had wedded be, *unless The joy, the ease, and the prosperity, That is betwixt a husband and his wife? A year and more lasted this blissful life, Till that this knight, of whom I spake thus, That of Cairrud <5> was call’d Arviragus, Shope* him to go and dwell a year or twain *prepared, arranged In Engleland, that call’d was eke Britain, To seek in armes worship and honour (For all his lust* he set in such labour); *pleasure And dwelled there two years; the book saith thus.

Now will I stint* of this Arviragus, *cease speaking And speak I will of Dorigen his wife, That lov’d her husband as her hearte’s life. For his absence weepeth she and siketh,* *sigheth As do these noble wives when them liketh; She mourneth, waketh, waileth, fasteth, plaineth; Desire of his presence her so distraineth, That all this wide world she set at nought. Her friendes, which that knew her heavy thought, Comforte her in all that ever they may; They preache her, they tell her night and day, That causeless she slays herself, alas! And every comfort possible in this case They do to her, with all their business,* *assiduity And all to make her leave her heaviness. By process, as ye knowen every one, Men may so longe graven in a stone, Till some figure therein imprinted be: So long have they comforted her, till she Received hath, by hope and by reason, Th’ imprinting of their consolation, Through which her greate sorrow gan assuage; She may not always duren in such rage. And eke Arviragus, in all this care, Hath sent his letters home of his welfare, And that he will come hastily again, Or elles had this sorrow her hearty-slain. Her friendes saw her sorrow gin to slake,* *slacken, diminish And prayed her on knees for Godde’s sake To come and roamen in their company, Away to drive her darke fantasy; And finally she granted that request, For well she saw that it was for the best.

Now stood her castle faste by the sea, And often with her friendes walked she, Her to disport upon the bank on high, There as many a ship and barge sigh,* *saw Sailing their courses, where them list to go. But then was that a parcel* of her woe, *part For to herself full oft, “Alas!” said she, Is there no ship, of so many as I see, Will bringe home my lord? then were my heart All warish’d* of this bitter paine’s smart.” *cured <6> Another time would she sit and think, And cast her eyen downward from the brink; But when she saw the grisly rockes blake,* *black For very fear so would her hearte quake, That on her feet she might her not sustene* *sustain Then would she sit adown upon the green, And piteously *into the sea behold,* *look out on the sea* And say right thus, with *careful sikes* cold: *painful sighs* “Eternal God! that through thy purveyance Leadest this world by certain governance, *In idle,* as men say, ye nothing make; *idly, in vain* But, Lord, these grisly fiendly rockes blake, That seem rather a foul confusion Of work, than any fair creation Of such a perfect wise God and stable, Why have ye wrought this work unreasonable? For by this work, north, south, or west, or east, There is not foster’d man, nor bird, nor beast: It doth no good, to my wit, but *annoyeth.* *works mischief* <7> See ye not, Lord, how mankind it destroyeth? A hundred thousand bodies of mankind Have rockes slain, *all be they not in mind;* *though they are Which mankind is so fair part of thy work, forgotten* Thou madest it like to thine owen mark.* *image Then seemed it ye had a great cherte* *love, affection Toward mankind; but how then may it be That ye such meanes make it to destroy? Which meanes do no good, but ever annoy. I wot well, clerkes will say as them lest,* *please By arguments, that all is for the best, Although I can the causes not y-know; But thilke* God that made the wind to blow, *that As keep my lord, this is my conclusion: To clerks leave I all disputation: But would to God that all these rockes blake Were sunken into helle for his sake These rockes slay mine hearte for the fear.” Thus would she say, with many a piteous tear.

Her friendes saw that it was no disport To roame by the sea, but discomfort, And shope* them for to playe somewhere else. *arranged They leade her by rivers and by wells, And eke in other places delectables; They dancen, and they play at chess and tables.* *backgammon So on a day, right in the morning-tide, Unto a garden that was there beside, In which that they had made their ordinance* *provision, arrangement Of victual, and of other purveyance, They go and play them all the longe day: And this was on the sixth morrow of May, Which May had painted with his softe showers This garden full of leaves and of flowers: And craft of manne’s hand so curiously Arrayed had this garden truely, That never was there garden of such price,* *value, praise *But if* it were the very Paradise. *unless* Th’odour of flowers, and the freshe sight, Would have maked any hearte light That e’er was born, *but if* too great sickness *unless* Or too great sorrow held it in distress; So full it was of beauty and pleasance. And after dinner they began to dance And sing also, save Dorigen alone Who made alway her complaint and her moan, For she saw not him on the dance go That was her husband, and her love also; But natheless she must a time abide And with good hope let her sorrow slide.

Upon this dance, amonge other men, Danced a squier before Dorigen That fresher was, and jollier of array *As to my doom,* than is the month of May. *in my judgment* He sang and danced, passing any man, That is or was since that the world began; Therewith he was, if men should him descrive, One of the *beste faring* men alive, *most accomplished* Young, strong, and virtuous, and rich, and wise, And well beloved, and holden in great price.* *esteem, value And, shortly if the sooth I telle shall, *Unweeting of* this Dorigen at all, *unknown to* This lusty squier, servant to Venus, Which that y-called was Aurelius, Had lov’d her best of any creature Two year and more, as was his aventure;* *fortune But never durst he tell her his grievance; Withoute cup he drank all his penance. He was despaired, nothing durst he say, Save in his songes somewhat would he wray* *betray His woe, as in a general complaining; He said, he lov’d, and was belov’d nothing. Of suche matter made he many lays, Songes, complaintes, roundels, virelays <8> How that he durste not his sorrow tell, But languished, as doth a Fury in hell; And die he must, he said, as did Echo For Narcissus, that durst not tell her woe. In other manner than ye hear me say, He durste not to her his woe bewray, Save that paraventure sometimes at dances, Where younge folke keep their observances, It may well be he looked on her face In such a wise, as man that asketh grace, But nothing wiste she of his intent. Nath’less it happen’d, ere they thennes* went, *thence (from the Because that he was her neighebour, garden)* And was a man of worship and honour, And she had knowen him *of time yore,* *for a long time* They fell in speech, and forth aye more and more Unto his purpose drew Aurelius; And when he saw his time, he saide thus: Madam,” quoth he, “by God that this world made, So that I wist it might your hearte glade,* *gladden I would, that day that your Arviragus Went over sea, that I, Aurelius, Had gone where I should never come again; For well I wot my service is in vain. My guerdon* is but bursting of mine heart. *reward Madame, rue upon my paine’s smart, For with a word ye may me slay or save. Here at your feet God would that I were grave. I have now no leisure more to say: Have mercy, sweet, or you will *do me dey.”* *cause me to die*

She gan to look upon Aurelius; “Is this your will,” quoth she, “and say ye thus? Ne’er erst,”* quoth she, “I wiste what ye meant: *before But now, Aurelius, I know your intent. By thilke* God that gave me soul and life, *that Never shall I be an untrue wife In word nor work, as far as I have wit; I will be his to whom that I am knit; Take this for final answer as of me.” But after that *in play* thus saide she. *playfully, in jest* “Aurelius,” quoth she, “by high God above, Yet will I grante you to be your love (Since I you see so piteously complain); Looke, what day that endelong* Bretagne *from end to end of Ye remove all the rockes, stone by stone, That they not lette* ship nor boat to gon, *prevent I say, when ye have made this coast so clean Of rockes, that there is no stone seen, Then will I love you best of any man; Have here my troth, in all that ever I can; For well I wot that it shall ne’er betide. Let such folly out of your hearte glide. What dainty* should a man have in his life *value, pleasure For to go love another manne’s wife, That hath her body when that ever him liketh?” Aurelius full often sore siketh;* *sigheth Is there none other grace in you?” quoth he, “No, by that Lord,” quoth she, “that maked me. Woe was Aurelius when that he this heard, And with a sorrowful heart he thus answer’d. “Madame, quoth he, “this were an impossible. Then must I die of sudden death horrible.” And with that word he turned him anon.

Then came her other friends many a one, And in the alleys roamed up and down, And nothing wist of this conclusion, But suddenly began to revel new, Till that the brighte sun had lost his hue, For th’ horizon had reft the sun his light (This is as much to say as it was night); And home they go in mirth and in solace; Save only wretch’d Aurelius, alas He to his house is gone with sorrowful heart. He said, he may not from his death astart.* *escape Him seemed, that he felt his hearte cold. Up to the heav’n his handes gan he hold, And on his knees bare he set him down. And in his raving said his orisoun.* *prayer For very woe out of his wit he braid;* *wandered He wist not what he spake, but thus he said; With piteous heart his plaint hath he begun Unto the gods, and first unto the Sun. He said; “Apollo God and governour Of every plante, herbe, tree, and flower, That giv’st, after thy declination, To each of them his time and his season, As thine herberow* changeth low and high; *dwelling, situation Lord Phoebus: cast thy merciable eye On wretched Aurelius, which that am but lorn.* *undone Lo, lord, my lady hath my death y-sworn, Withoute guilt, but* thy benignity *unless Upon my deadly heart have some pity. For well I wot, Lord Phoebus, if you lest,* *please Ye may me helpe, save my lady, best. Now vouchsafe, that I may you devise* *tell, explain How that I may be holp,* and in what wise. *helped Your blissful sister, Lucina the sheen, <9> That of the sea is chief goddess and queen, — Though Neptunus have deity in the sea, Yet emperess above him is she; — Ye know well, lord, that, right as her desire Is to be quick’d* and lighted of your fire, *quickened For which she followeth you full busily, Right so the sea desireth naturally To follow her, as she that is goddess Both in the sea and rivers more and less. Wherefore, Lord Phoebus, this is my request, Do this miracle, or *do mine hearte brest;* *cause my heart That flow, next at this opposition, to burst* Which in the sign shall be of the Lion, As praye her so great a flood to bring, That five fathom at least it overspring The highest rock in Armoric Bretagne, And let this flood endure yeares twain: Then certes to my lady may I say, “Holde your hest,” the rockes be away. Lord Phoebus, this miracle do for me, Pray her she go no faster course than ye; I say this, pray your sister that she go No faster course than ye these yeares two: Then shall she be even at full alway, And spring-flood laste bothe night and day. And *but she* vouchesafe in such mannere *if she do not* To grante me my sov’reign lady dear, Pray her to sink every rock adown Into her owen darke regioun Under the ground, where Pluto dwelleth in Or nevermore shall I my lady win. Thy temple in Delphos will I barefoot seek. Lord Phoebus! see the teares on my cheek And on my pain have some compassioun.” And with that word in sorrow he fell down, And longe time he lay forth in a trance. His brother, which that knew of his penance,* *distress Up caught him, and to bed he hath him brought, Despaired in this torment and this thought Let I this woeful creature lie; Choose he for me whe’er* he will live or die. *whether

Arviragus with health and great honour (As he that was of chivalry the flow’r) Is come home, and other worthy men. Oh, blissful art thou now, thou Dorigen! Thou hast thy lusty husband in thine arms, The freshe knight, the worthy man of arms, That loveth thee as his own hearte’s life: *Nothing list him to be imaginatif* *he cared not to fancy* If any wight had spoke, while he was out, To her of love; he had of that no doubt;* *fear, suspicion He not intended* to no such mattere, *occupied himself with But danced, jousted, and made merry cheer. And thus in joy and bliss I let them dwell, And of the sick Aurelius will I tell In languor and in torment furious Two year and more lay wretch’d Aurelius, Ere any foot on earth he mighte gon; Nor comfort in this time had he none, Save of his brother, which that was a clerk.* *scholar He knew of all this woe and all this work; For to none other creature certain Of this matter he durst no worde sayn; Under his breast he bare it more secree Than e’er did Pamphilus for Galatee.<10> His breast was whole withoute for to seen, But in his heart aye was the arrow keen, And well ye know that of a sursanure <11> In surgery is perilous the cure, But* men might touch the arrow or come thereby. *except His brother wept and wailed privily, Till at the last him fell in remembrance, That while he was at Orleans <12> in France, — As younge clerkes, that be likerous* — *eager To readen artes that be curious, Seeken in every *halk and every hern* *nook and corner* <13> Particular sciences for to learn,— He him remember’d, that upon a day At Orleans in study a book he say* *saw Of magic natural, which his fellaw, That was that time a bachelor of law All* were he there to learn another craft, *though Had privily upon his desk y-laft; Which book spake much of operations Touching the eight and-twenty mansions That longe to the Moon, and such folly As in our dayes is not worth a fly; For holy church’s faith, in our believe,* *belief, creed Us suff’reth none illusion to grieve. And when this book was in his remembrance Anon for joy his heart began to dance, And to himself he saide privily; “My brother shall be warish’d* hastily *cured For I am sicker* that there be sciences, *certain By which men make divers apparences, Such as these subtle tregetoures play. *tricksters <14> For oft at feaste’s have I well heard say, That tregetours, within a halle large, Have made come in a water and a barge, And in the halle rowen up and down. Sometimes hath seemed come a grim lioun, And sometimes flowers spring as in a mead; Sometimes a vine, and grapes white and red; Sometimes a castle all of lime and stone; And, when them liked, voided* it anon: *vanished Thus seemed it to every manne’s sight. Now then conclude I thus; if that I might At Orleans some olde fellow find, That hath these Moone’s mansions in mind, Or other magic natural above. He should well make my brother have his love. For with an appearance a clerk* may make, *learned man To manne’s sight, that all the rockes blake Of Bretagne were voided* every one, *removed And shippes by the brinke come and gon, And in such form endure a day or two; Then were my brother warish’d* of his woe, *cured Then must she needes *holde her behest,* *keep her promise* Or elles he shall shame her at the least.” Why should I make a longer tale of this? Unto his brother’s bed he comen is, And such comfort he gave him, for to gon To Orleans, that he upstart anon, And on his way forth-ward then is he fare,* *gone In hope for to be lissed* of his care. *eased of <15>