Chapter 41

Lucan, to thee this story I recommend, And to Sueton’, and Valerie also, That of this story write *word and end* *the whole* <25> How that to these great conquerores two Fortune was first a friend, and since* a foe. *afterwards No manne trust upon her favour long, But *have her in await for evermo’;* *ever be watchful against her* Witness on all these conquerores strong.

The riche CROESUS, <26> whilom king of Lyde, — Of which Croesus Cyrus him sore drad,* — *dreaded Yet was he caught amiddes all his pride, And to be burnt men to the fire him lad; But such a rain down *from the welkin shad,* *poured from the sky* That slew the fire, and made him to escape: But to beware no grace yet he had, Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.

When he escaped was, he could not stint* *refrain For to begin a newe war again; He weened well, for that Fortune him sent Such hap, that he escaped through the rain, That of his foes he mighte not be slain. And eke a sweven* on a night he mette,** *dream **dreamed Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain,* *glad That he in vengeance all his hearte set.

Upon a tree he was set, as he thought, Where Jupiter him wash’d, both back and side, And Phoebus eke a fair towel him brought To dry him with; and therefore wax’d his pride. And to his daughter that stood him beside, Which he knew in high science to abound, He bade her tell him what it signified; And she his dream began right thus expound.

“The tree,” quoth she, “the gallows is to mean, And Jupiter betokens snow and rain, And Phoebus, with his towel clear and clean, These be the sunne’s streames* sooth to sayn; *rays Thou shalt y-hangeth be, father, certain; Rain shall thee wash, and sunne shall thee dry.” Thus warned him full plat and eke full plain His daughter, which that called was Phanie.

And hanged was Croesus the proude king; His royal throne might him not avail. Tragedy is none other manner thing, Nor can in singing crien nor bewail, But for that Fortune all day will assail With unware stroke the regnes* that be proud:<27> *kingdoms For when men truste her, then will she fail, And cover her bright face with a cloud.

O noble, O worthy PEDRO, <28> glory OF SPAIN, Whem Fortune held so high in majesty, Well oughte men thy piteous death complain. Out of thy land thy brother made thee flee, And after, at a siege, by subtlety, Thou wert betray’d, and led unto his tent, Where as he with his owen hand slew thee, Succeeding in thy regne* and in thy rent.** *kingdom *revenues

The field of snow, with th’ eagle of black therein, Caught with the lion, red-colour’d as the glede,* *burning coal He brew’d this cursedness,* and all this sin; *wickedness, villainy The wicked nest was worker of this deed; Not Charles’ Oliver, <29> that took aye heed Of truth and honour, but of Armorike Ganilien Oliver, corrupt for meed,* *reward, bribe Broughte this worthy king in such a brike.* *breach, ruin

O worthy PETRO, King of CYPRE <30> also, That Alexandre won by high mast’ry, Full many a heathnen wroughtest thou full woe, Of which thine owen lieges had envy; And, for no thing but for thy chivalry, They in thy bed have slain thee by the morrow; Thus can Fortune her wheel govern and gie,* *guide And out of joy bringe men into sorrow.

Of Milan greate BARNABO VISCOUNT,<30> God of delight, and scourge of Lombardy, Why should I not thine clomben* wert so high? *climbed Thy brother’s son, that was thy double ally, For he thy nephew was and son-in-law, Within his prison made thee to die, But why, nor how, *n’ot I* that thou were slaw.* *I know not* *slain*

Of th’ Earl HUGOLIN OF PISE the languour* *agony There may no tongue telle for pity. But little out of Pisa stands a tow’r, In whiche tow’r in prison put was he, Aud with him be his little children three; The eldest scarcely five years was of age; Alas! Fortune, it was great cruelty Such birdes for to put in such a cage.

Damned was he to die in that prison; For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise, Had on him made a false suggestion, Through which the people gan upon him rise, And put him in prison, in such a wise As ye have heard; and meat and drink he had So small, that well unneth* it might suffice, *scarcely And therewithal it was full poor and bad.

And on a day befell, that in that hour When that his meate wont was to be brought, The jailor shut the doores of the tow’r; He heard it right well, but he spake nought. And in his heart anon there fell a thought, That they for hunger woulde *do him dien;* *cause him to die* “Alas!” quoth he, “alas that I was wrought!”* *made, born Therewith the teares fell from his eyen.

His youngest son, that three years was of age, Unto him said, “Father, why do ye weep? When will the jailor bringen our pottage? Is there no morsel bread that ye do keep? I am so hungry, that I may not sleep. Now woulde God that I might sleepen ever! Then should not hunger in my wombe* creep; *stomach There is no thing, save bread, that one were lever.”* *dearer

Thus day by day this child begun to cry, Till in his father’s barme* adown he lay, *lap And saide, “Farewell, father, I must die;” And kiss’d his father, and died the same day. And when the woeful father did it sey,* *see For woe his armes two he gan to bite, And said, “Alas! Fortune, and well-away! To thy false wheel my woe all may I wite.”* *blame

His children ween’d that it for hunger was That he his armes gnaw’d, and not for woe, And saide, “Father, do not so, alas! But rather eat the flesh upon us two. Our flesh thou gave us, our flesh take us fro’, And eat enough;” right thus they to him said. And after that, within a day or two, They laid them in his lap adown, and died.

Himself, despaired, eke for hunger starf.* *died Thus ended is this Earl of Pise; From high estate Fortune away him carf.* *cut off Of this tragedy it ought enough suffice Whoso will hear it *in a longer wise,* *at greater length* Reade the greate poet of ltale, That Dante hight, for he can it devise <32> From point to point, not one word will he fail.

Notes to the Monk’s Tale

1. The Monk’s Tale is founded in its main features on Bocccacio’s work, “De Casibus Virorum Illustrium;” (“Stories of Illustrious Men”) but Chaucer has taken the separate stories of which it is composed from different authors, and dealt with them after his own fashion.

2. Boccaccio opens his book with Adam, whose story is told at much greater length than here. Lydgate, in his translation from Boccaccio, speaks of Adam and Eve as made “of slime of the erth in Damascene the felde.”

3. Judges xiii. 3. Boccaccio also tells the story of Samson; but Chaucer seems, by his quotation a few lines below, to have taken his version direct from the sacred book.

4. Oliveres: olive trees; French, “oliviers.”

5. “Liber Judicum,” the Book of Judges; chap. xv.

6. Querne: mill; from Anglo-Saxon, “cyrran,” to turn, “cweorn,” a mill,

7.Harpies: the Stymphalian Birds, which fed on human flesh.

8. Busiris, king of Egypt, was wont to sacrifice all foreigners coming to his dominions. Hercules was seized, bound, and led to the altar by his orders, but the hero broke his bonds and slew the tyrant.

9. The feats of Hercules here recorded are not all these known as the “twelve labours;” for instance, the cleansing of the Augean stables, and the capture of Hippolyte’s girdle are not in this list — other and less famous deeds of the hero taking their place. For this, however, we must accuse not Chaucer, but Boethius, whom he has almost literally translated, though with some change of order.

10. Trophee: One of the manuscripts has a marginal reference to “Tropheus vates Chaldaeorum” (“Tropheus the prophet of the Chaldees”); but it is not known what author Chaucer meant — unless the reference is to a passage in the “Filostrato” of Boccaccio, on which Chaucer founded his “Troilus and Cressida,” and which Lydgate mentions, under the name of “Trophe,” as having been translated by Chaucer.

11. Pres: near; French, “pres;” the meaning seems to be, this nearer, lower world.

12 Chaucer has taken the story of Zenobia from Boccaccio’s work “De Claris Mulieribus.” (“Of Illustrious Women”)

13. Odenatus, who, for his services to the Romans, received from Gallienus the title of “Augustus;” he was assassinated in A.D. 266 — not, it was believed, without the connivance of Zenobia, who succeeded him on the throne.

14. Sapor was king of Persia, who made the Emperor Valerian prisoner, conquered Syria, and was pressing triumphantly westward when he was met and defeated by Odenatus and Zenobia.

15. Aurelain became Emperor in A.D. 270.

16. Vitremite: The signification of this word, which is spelled in several ways, is not known. Skinner’s explanation, “another attire,” founded on the spelling “autremite,” is obviously insufficient.

17. Great part of this “tragedy” of Nero is really borrowed, however, from the “Romance of the Rose.”

18. Trice: thrust; from Anglo-Saxon, “thriccan.”

19. So, in the Man of Law’s Tale, the Sultaness promises her son that she will “reny her lay.”

20. As the “tragedy” of Holofernes is founded on the book of Judith, so is that of Antiochus on the Second Book of the Maccabees, chap. ix.

21. By the insurgents under the leadership of Judas Maccabeus; 2 Macc. chap. viii.

22. Six: the highest cast on a dicing-cube; here representing the highest favour of fortune.

23. Pompey had married his daughter Julia to Caesar; but she died six years before Pompey’s final overthrow.

24. At the battle of Pharsalia, B.C. 48.

25. Word and end: apparently a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon phrase, “ord and end,” meaning the whole, the beginning and the end.

26. At the opening of the story of Croesus, Chaucer has copied from his own translation of Boethius; but the story is mainly taken from the “Romance of the Rose”

27. “This reflection,” says Tyrwhttt, “seems to have been suggested by one which follows soon after the mention of Croesus in the passage just cited from Boethius. ‘What other thing bewail the cryings of tragedies but only the deeds of fortune, that with an awkward stroke, overturneth the realms of great nobley?’” — in some manuscripts the four “tragedies” that follow are placed between those of Zenobia and Nero; but although the general reflection with which the “tragedy” of Croesus closes might most appropriately wind up the whole series, the general chronological arrangement which is observed in the other cases recommends the order followed in the text. Besides, since, like several other Tales, the Monk’s tragedies were cut short by the impatience of the auditors, it is more natural that the Tale should close abruptly, than by such a rhetorical finish as these lines afford.

28. Pedro the Cruel, King of Aragon, against whom his brother Henry rebelled. He was by false pretences inveigled into his brother’s tent, and treacherously slain. Mr Wright has remarked that “the cause of Pedro, though he was no better than a cruel and reckless tyrant, was popular in England from the very circumstance that Prince Edward (the Black Prince) had embarked in it.”

29. Not the Oliver of Charlemagne — but a traitorous Oliver of Armorica, corrupted by a bribe. Ganilion was the betrayer of the Christian army at Roncevalles (see note 9 to the Shipman’s Tale); and his name appears to have been for a long time used in France to denote a traitor. Duguesclin, who betrayed Pedro into his brother’s tent, seems to be intended by the term “Ganilion Oliver,” but if so, Chaucer has mistaken his name, which was Bertrand — perhaps confounding him, as Tyrwhttt suggests, with Oliver du Clisson, another illustrious Breton of those times, who was also Constable of France, after Duguesclin. The arms of the latter are supposed to be described a little above

30. Pierre de Lusignan, King of Cyprus, who captured Alexandria in 1363 (see note 6 to the Prologue to the Tales). He was assassinated in 1369.

31. Bernabo Visconti, Duke of Milan, was deposed and imprisoned by his nephew, and died a captive in 1385. His death is the latest historical fact mentioned in the Tales; and thus it throws the date of their composition to about the sixtieth year of Chaucer’s age.

32. The story of Ugolino is told in the 33rd Canto of the “Inferno.”

THE NUN’S PRIEST’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

“Ho!” quoth the Knight, “good sir, no more of this; That ye have said is right enough, y-wis,* *of a surety And muche more; for little heaviness Is right enough to muche folk, I guess. I say for me, it is a great disease,* *source of distress, annoyance Where as men have been in great wealth and ease, To hearen of their sudden fall, alas! And the contrary is joy and great solas,* *delight, comfort As when a man hath been in poor estate, And climbeth up, and waxeth fortunate, And there abideth in prosperity; Such thing is gladsome, as it thinketh me, And of such thing were goodly for to tell.”

“Yea,” quoth our Hoste, “by Saint Paule’s bell. Ye say right sooth; this monk hath clapped* loud; *talked He spake how Fortune cover’d with a cloud I wot not what, and als’ of a tragedy Right now ye heard: and pardie no remedy It is for to bewaile, nor complain That that is done, and also it is pain, As ye have said, to hear of heaviness. Sir Monk, no more of this, so God you bless; Your tale annoyeth all this company; Such talking is not worth a butterfly, For therein is there no sport nor game; Therefore, Sir Monke, Dan Piers by your name, I pray you heart’ly, tell us somewhat else, For sickerly, n’ere* clinking of your bells, *were it not for the That on your bridle hang on every side, By heaven’s king, that for us alle died, I should ere this have fallen down for sleep, Although the slough had been never so deep; Then had your tale been all told in vain. For certainly, as these clerkes sayn, Where as a man may have no audience, Nought helpeth it to telle his sentence. And well I wot the substance is in me, If anything shall well reported be. Sir, say somewhat of hunting, <1> I you pray.”

“Nay,” quoth the Monk, “I have *no lust to play;* *no fondness for Now let another tell, as I have told.” jesting* Then spake our Host with rude speech and bold, And said unto the Nunne’s Priest anon, “Come near, thou Priest, come hither, thou Sir John, <2> Tell us such thing as may our heartes glade.* *gladden Be blithe, although thou ride upon a jade. What though thine horse be bothe foul and lean? If he will serve thee, reck thou not a bean; Look that thine heart be merry evermo’.”

“Yes, Host,” quoth he, “so may I ride or go, But* I be merry, y-wis I will be blamed.” *unless And right anon his tale he hath attamed* *commenced <3> And thus he said unto us every one, This sweete priest, this goodly man, Sir John.

Notes to the Prologue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

1. The request is justified by the description of Monk in the Prologue as “an out-rider, that loved venery.”

2. On this Tyrwhitt remarks; “I know not how it has happened, that in the principal modern languages, John, or its equivalent, is a name of contempt or at least of slight. So the Italians use ‘Gianni,’ from whence ‘Zani;’ the Spaniards ‘Juan,’ as ‘Bobo Juan,’ a foolish John; the French ‘Jean,’ with various additions; and in English, when we call a man ‘a John,’ we do not mean it as a title of honour.” The title of “Sir” was usually given by courtesy to priests.

3. Attamed: commenced, broached. Compare French, “entamer”, to cut the first piece off a joint; thence to begin.

THE TALE. <1>

A poor widow, *somedeal y-stept* in age, *somewhat advanced* Was whilom dwelling in a poor cottage, Beside a grove, standing in a dale. This widow, of which I telle you my tale, Since thilke day that she was last a wife, In patience led a full simple life, For little was *her chattel and her rent.* *her goods and her income* By husbandry* of such as God her sent, *thrifty management She found* herself, and eke her daughters two. *maintained Three large sowes had she, and no mo’; Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte Mall. Full sooty was her bow’r,* and eke her hall, *chamber In which she ate full many a slender meal. Of poignant sauce knew she never a deal.* *whit No dainty morsel passed through her throat; Her diet was *accordant to her cote.* *in keeping with her cottage* Repletion her made never sick; Attemper* diet was all her physic, *moderate And exercise, and *hearte’s suffisance.* *contentment of heart* The goute *let her nothing for to dance,* *did not prevent her Nor apoplexy shente* not her head. from dancing* *hurt No wine drank she, neither white nor red: Her board was served most with white and black, Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack, Seind* bacon, and sometimes an egg or tway; *singed For she was as it were *a manner dey.* *kind of day labourer* <2> A yard she had, enclosed all about With stickes, and a drye ditch without, In which she had a cock, hight Chanticleer; In all the land of crowing *n’as his peer.* *was not his equal* His voice was merrier than the merry orgon,* *organ <3> On masse days that in the churches gon. Well sickerer* was his crowing in his lodge, *more punctual* Than is a clock, or an abbay horloge.* *clock <4> By nature he knew each ascension Of th’ equinoctial in thilke town; For when degrees fiftene were ascended, Then crew he, that it might not be amended. His comb was redder than the fine coral, Embattell’d <5> as it were a castle wall. His bill was black, and as the jet it shone; Like azure were his legges and his tone;* *toes His nailes whiter than the lily flow’r, And like the burnish’d gold was his colour, This gentle cock had in his governance Sev’n hennes, for to do all his pleasance, Which were his sisters and his paramours, And wondrous like to him as of colours. Of which the fairest-hued in the throat Was called Damoselle Partelote, Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair, And companiable,* and bare herself so fair, *sociable Since the day that she sev’n night was old, That truely she had the heart in hold Of Chanticleer, locked in every lith;* *limb He lov’d her so, that well was him therewith, But such a joy it was to hear them sing, When that the brighte sunne gan to spring, In sweet accord, *“My lefe is fare in land.”* <6> *my love is For, at that time, as I have understand, gone abroad* Beastes and birdes coulde speak and sing.

And so befell, that in a dawening, As Chanticleer among his wives all Sat on his perche, that was in the hall, And next him sat this faire Partelote, This Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat, As man that in his dream is dretched* sore, *oppressed And when that Partelote thus heard him roar, She was aghast,* and saide, “Hearte dear, *afraid What aileth you to groan in this mannere? Ye be a very sleeper, fy for shame!” And he answer’d and saide thus; “Madame, I pray you that ye take it not agrief;* *amiss, in umbrage By God, *me mette* I was in such mischief,** *I dreamed* **trouble Right now, that yet mine heart is sore affright’. Now God,” quoth he, “my sweven* read aright *dream, vision. And keep my body out of foul prisoun. *Me mette,* how that I roamed up and down *I dreamed* Within our yard, where as I saw a beast Was like an hound, and would have *made arrest* *siezed* Upon my body, and would have had me dead. His colour was betwixt yellow and red; And tipped was his tail, and both his ears, With black, unlike the remnant of his hairs. His snout was small, with glowing eyen tway; Yet of his look almost for fear I dey;* *died This caused me my groaning, doubteless.”

“Away,” <7> quoth she, “fy on you, hearteless!* *coward Alas!” quoth she, “for, by that God above! Now have ye lost my heart and all my love; I cannot love a coward, by my faith. For certes, what so any woman saith, We all desiren, if it mighte be, To have husbandes hardy, wise, and free, And secret,* and no niggard nor no fool, *discreet Nor him that is aghast* of every tool,** *afraid **rag, trifle Nor no avantour,* by that God above! *braggart How durste ye for shame say to your love That anything might make you afear’d? Have ye no manne’s heart, and have a beard? Alas! and can ye be aghast of swevenes?* *dreams Nothing but vanity, God wot, in sweven is, Swevens *engender of repletions,* *are caused by over-eating* And oft of fume,* and of complexions, *drunkenness When humours be too abundant in a wight. Certes this dream, which ye have mette tonight, Cometh of the great supefluity Of youre rede cholera,* pardie, *bile Which causeth folk to dreaden in their dreams Of arrows, and of fire with redde beams, Of redde beastes, that they will them bite, Of conteke,* and of whelpes great and lite;** *contention **little Right as the humour of melancholy Causeth full many a man in sleep to cry, For fear of bulles, or of beares blake, Or elles that black devils will them take, Of other humours could I tell also, That worke many a man in sleep much woe; That I will pass as lightly as I can. Lo, Cato, which that was so wise a man, Said he not thus, *‘Ne do no force of* dreams,’<8> *attach no weight to* Now, Sir,” quoth she, “when we fly from these beams, For Godde’s love, as take some laxatife; On peril of my soul, and of my life, I counsel you the best, I will not lie, That both of choler, and melancholy, Ye purge you; and, for ye shall not tarry, Though in this town is no apothecary, I shall myself two herbes teache you, That shall be for your health, and for your prow;* *profit And in our yard the herbes shall I find, The which have of their property by kind* *nature To purge you beneath, and eke above. Sire, forget not this for Godde’s love; Ye be full choleric of complexion; Ware that the sun, in his ascension, You finde not replete of humours hot; And if it do, I dare well lay a groat, That ye shall have a fever tertiane, Or else an ague, that may be your bane, A day or two ye shall have digestives Of wormes, ere ye take your laxatives, Of laurel, centaury, <9> and fumeterere, <10> Or else of elder-berry, that groweth there, Of catapuce, <11> or of the gaitre-berries, <12> Or herb ivy growing in our yard, that merry is: Pick them right as they grow, and eat them in, Be merry, husband, for your father’s kin; Dreade no dream; I can say you no more.”