Chapter 53

6. Melpomene was the tragic muse.

7. The same is said of Griselda, in The Clerk’s Tale; though she was of tender years, “yet in the breast of her virginity there was inclos’d a sad and ripe corage”

8. The confusion which Chaucer makes between Cithaeron and Cythera, has already been remarked. See note 41 to the Knight’s Tale.

9. Balais: Bastard rubies; said to be so called from Balassa, the Asian country where they were found. Turkeis: turquoise stones.

10. Spenser, in his description of the House of Busirane, speaks of the sad distress into which Phoebus was plunged by Cupid, in revenge for the betrayal of “his mother’s wantonness, when she with Mars was meint [mingled] in joyfulness”

11. Alcestis, daughter of Pelias, was won to wife by Admetus, King of Pherae, who complied with her father’s demand that he should come to claim her in a chariot drawn by lions and boars. By the aid of Apollo — who tended the flocks of Admetus during his banishment from heaven — the suitor fulfilled the condition; and Apollo further induced the Moirae or Fates to grant that Admetus should never die, if his father, mother, or wife would die for him. Alcestis devoted herself in his stead; and, since each had made great efforts or sacrifices for love, the pair are fitly placed as king and queen in the Court of Love.

12. In the prologue to the “Legend of Good Women,” Chaucer says that behind the God of Love, upon the green, he “saw coming in ladies nineteen;” but the stories of only nine good women are there told. In the prologue to The Man of Law’s Tale, sixteen ladies are named as having their stories written in the “Saints’ Legend of Cupid” — now known as the “Legend of Good Women” — (see note 5 to the Prologue to the Man of Law’s Tale); and in the “Retractation,” at the end of the Parson’s Tale, the “Book of the Twenty-five Ladies” is enumerated among the works of which the poet repents — but there “xxv” is supposed to have been by some copyist written for “xix.”

13. fele: many; German, “viele.”

14. Arras: tapestry of silk, made at Arras, in France.

15. Danger, in the Provencal Courts of Love, was the allegorical personification of the husband; and Disdain suitably represents the lover’s corresponding difficulty from the side of the lady.

16. In The Knight’s Tale, Emily’s yellow hair is braided in a tress, or plait, that hung a yard long behind her back; so that, both as regards colour and fashion, a singular resemblance seems to have existed between the female taste of 1369 and that of 1869.

17. In an old monkish story — reproduced by Boccaccio, and from him by La Fontaine in the Tale called “Les Oies de Frere Philippe” — a young man is brought up without sight or knowledge of women, and, when he sees them on a visit to the city, he is told that they are geese.

18. Tabernacle: A shrine or canopy of stone, supported by pillars.

19. Mister folk: handicraftsmen, or tradesmen, who have learned “mysteries.”

20. The loves “Of Queen Annelida and False Arcite” formed the subject of a short unfinished poem by Chaucer, which was afterwards worked up into The Knight’s Tale.

21. Blue was the colour of truth. See note 36 to the Squire’s Tale.

22. Blife: quickly, eagerly; for “blive” or “belive.”

23. It will be seen afterwards that Philogenet does not relish it, and pleads for its relaxation.

24. Feat: dainty, neat, handsome; the same as “fetis,” oftener used in Chaucer; the adverb “featly” is still used, as applied to dancing, &c.

25. Solomon was beguiled by his heathenish wives to forsake the worship of the true God; Samson fell a victim to the wiles of Delilah.

26. Compare the speech of Proserpine to Pluto, in The Merchant’s Tale.

27. See note 91 to the Knight’s Tale for a parallel.

28. Flaw: yellow; Latin, “flavus,” French, “fauve.”

29. Bass: kiss; French, “baiser;” and hence the more vulgar “buss.”

30. Maximian: Cornelius Maximianus Gallus flourished in the time of the Emperor Anastasius; in one of his elegies, he professed a preference for flaming and somewhat swelling lips, which, when he tasted them, would give him full kisses.

31. Dwale: sleeping potion, narcotic. See note 19 to the Reeve’s Tale.

32. Environ: around; French, “a l’environ.”

33. Cast off thine heart: i.e. from confidence in her.

34. Nesh: soft, delicate; Anglo-Saxon, “nese.”

35. Perfection: Perfectly holy life, in the performance of vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and other modes of mortifying the flesh.

36. All the sin must on our friendes be: who made us take the vows before they knew our own dispositions, or ability, to keep them.

37. Cope: The large vestment worn in singing the service in the choir. In Chaucer’s time it seems to have been a distinctively clerical piece of dress; so, in the prologue to The Monk’s Tale, the Host, lamenting that so stalwart a man as the Monk should have gone into religion, exclaims, “Alas! why wearest thou so wide a cope?”

38. The three of fatal destiny: The three Fates.

39. Cythere: Cytherea — Venus, so called from the name of the island, Cythera, into which her worship was first introduced from Phoenicia.

40. Avaunter: Boaster; Philobone calls him out.

41. The statute: i.e. the 16th.

42. “Metamorphoses” Lib. ii. 768 et seqq., where a general description of Envy is given.

43. Golden Love and Leaden Love represent successful and unsuccessful love; the first kindled by Cupid’s golden darts, the second by his leaden arrows.

44. “Domine, labia mea aperies — et os meam annunciabit laudem tuam” (“Lord, open my lips — and my mouth will announce your praise”) Psalms li. 15, was the verse with which Matins began. The stanzas which follow contain a paraphrase of the matins for Trinity Sunday, allegorically setting forth the doctrine that love is the all-controlling influence in the government of the universe.

45. “Venite, exultemus,” (“Come, let us rejoice”) are the first words of Psalm xcv. called the “Invitatory.”

46. “Domine Dominus noster:” The opening words of Psalm viii.; “O Lord our Lord.”

47. “Coeli enarrant:” Psalm xix. 1; “The heavens declare (thy glory).”

48. “Domini est terra”: Psalm xxiv. I; “The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof.” The first “nocturn” is now over, and the lessons from Scripture follow.

49. “Jube, Domine:” “Command, O Lord;” from Matthew xiv. 28, where Peter, seeing Christ walking on the water, says “Lord, if it be thou, bid me come to thee on the water.”

50: “Tu autem:” the formula recited by the reader at the end of each lesson; “Tu autem, Domine, miserere nobis.” (“But do thou, O Lord, have pity on us!”)

51. “Te Deum Amoris:” “Thee, God of Love (we praise).”

52. Not Tubal, who was the worker in metals; but Jubal, his brother, “who was the father of all such as handle the harp and organ” (Genesis iv. 21).

53. “Dominus regnavit:” Psalm xciii. 1, “The Lord reigneth.” With this began the “Laudes,” or morning service of praise.

54. “Jubilate:” Psalm c. 1, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.”

55. “Benedicite:” “Bless ye the Lord;” the opening of the Song of the Three Children

56. “Laudate:” Psalm cxlvii.; “Praise ye the Lord.”

57. “O admirabile:” Psalm viii 1; “O Lord our God, how excellent is thy name.”

58. “Benedictus”: The first word of the Song of Zacharias (Luke i. 68); “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel”

59. In The Knight’s Tale we have exemplifications of the custom of gathering and wearing flowers and branches on May Day; where Emily, “doing observance to May,” goes into the garden at sunrise and gathers flowers, “party white and red, to make a sotel garland for her head”; and again, where Arcite rides to the fields “to make him a garland of the greves; were it of woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves”

THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

[THE noble vindication of true love, as an exalting, purifying, and honour-conferring power, which Chaucer has made in “The Court of Love,” is repeated in “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale.” At the same time, the close of the poem leads up to “The Assembly of Fowls;” for, on the appeal of the Nightingale, the dispute between her and the Cuckoo, on the merits and blessings of love, is referred to a parliament of birds, to be held on the morrow after Saint Valentine’s Day. True, the assembly of the feathered tribes described by Chaucer, though held on Saint Valentine’s Day, and engaged in the discussion of a controversy regarding love, is not occupied with the particular cause which in the present poem the Nightingale appeals to the parliament. But “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale” none the less serves as a link between the two poems; indicating as it does the nature of those controversies, in matters subject to the supreme control of the King and Queen of Love, which in the subsequent poem we find the courtiers, under the guise of birds, debating in full conclave and under legal forms. Exceedingly simple in conception, and written in a metre full of musical irregularity and forcible freedom, “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale” yields in vividness, delicacy, and grace to none of Chaucer’s minor poems. We are told that the poet, on the third night of May, is sleepless, and rises early in the morning, to try if he may hear the Nightingale sing. Wandering by a brook-side, he sits down on the flowery lawn, and ere long, lulled by the sweet melody of many birds and the well-according music of the stream, he falls into a kind of doze — “not all asleep, nor fully waking.” Then (an evil omen) he hears the Cuckoo sing before the Nightingale; but soon he hears the Nightingale request the Cuckoo to remove far away, and leave the place to birds that can sing. The Cuckoo enters into a defence of her song, which becomes a railing accusation against Love and a recital of the miseries which Love’s servants endure; the Nightingale vindicates Love in a lofty and tender strain, but is at last overcome with sorrow by the bitter words of the Cuckoo, and calls on the God of Love for help. On this the poet starts up, and, snatching a stone from the brook, throws it at the Cuckoo, who flies away full fast. The grateful Nightingale promises that, for this service, she will be her champion’s singer all that May; she warns him against believing the Cuckoo, the foe of Love; and then, having sung him one of her new songs, she flies away to all the other birds that are in that dale, assembles them, and demands that they should do her right upon the Cuckoo. By one assent it is agreed that a parliament shall be held, “the morrow after Saint Valentine’s Day,” under a maple before the window of Queen Philippa at Woodstock, when judgment shall be passed upon the Cuckoo; then the Nightingale flies into a hawthorn, and sings a lay of love so loud that the poet awakes. The five-line stanza, of which the first, second, and fifth lines agree in one rhyme, the third and fourth in another, is peculiar to this poem; and while the prevailing measure is the decasyllabic line used in the “Canterbury Tales,” many of the lines have one or two syllables less. The poem is given here without abridgement.] (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

THE God of Love, ah! benedicite, How mighty and how great a lord is he! <1> For he can make of lowe heartes high, And of high low, and like for to die, And harde heartes he can make free.

He can make, within a little stound,* *moment Of sicke folke whole, and fresh, and sound, And of the whole he can make sick; He can bind, and unbinden eke, What he will have bounden or unbound.

To tell his might my wit may not suffice; For he can make of wise folk full nice,* — *foolish For he may do all that he will devise, — And lither* folke to destroye vice, *idle, vicious And proude heartes he can make agrise.* *tremble

Shortly, all that ever he will he may; Against him dare no wight say nay; For he can glad and grieve *whom him liketh.* *whom he pleases* And who that he will, he laugheth or siketh,* *sigheth And most his might he sheddeth ever in May.

For every true gentle hearte free, That with him is, or thinketh for to be, Against May now shall have some stirring,* *impulse Either to joy, or else to some mourning, In no season so much, as thinketh me.

For when that they may hear the birdes sing, And see the flowers and the leaves spring, That bringeth into hearte’s remembrance A manner ease, *medled with grievance,* *mingled with sorrow* And lusty thoughtes full of great longing.

And of that longing cometh heaviness, And thereof groweth greate sickeness, And <2> for the lack of that that they desire: And thus in May be heartes set on fire, So that they brennen* forth in great distress. *burn

I speake this of feeling truely; If I be old and unlusty, Yet I have felt the sickness thorough May *Both hot and cold, an access ev’ry day,* *every day a hot and a How sore, y-wis, there wot no wight but I. cold fit*

I am so shaken with the fevers white, Of all this May sleep I but lite;* *little And also it is not like* unto me *pleasing That any hearte shoulde sleepy be, In whom that Love his fiery dart will smite,

But as I lay this other night waking, I thought how lovers had a tokening,* *significance And among them it was a common tale, That it were good to hear the nightingale Rather than the lewd cuckoo sing.

And then I thought, anon* it was day, *whenever I would go somewhere to assay If that I might a nightingale hear; For yet had I none heard of all that year, And it was then the thirde night of May.

And anon as I the day espied, No longer would I in my bed abide; But to a wood that was fast by, I went forth alone boldely, And held the way down by a brooke’s side,

Till I came to a laund* of white and green, *lawn So fair a one had I never in been; The ground was green, *y-powder’d with daisy,* *strewn with daisies* The flowers and the *greves like high,* *bushes of the same height* All green and white; was nothing elles seen.

There sat I down among the faire flow’rs, And saw the birdes trip out of their bow’rs, There as they rested them alle the night; They were so joyful of the daye’s light, They began of May for to do honours.

They coud* that service all by rote; *knew There was many a lovely note! Some sange loud as they had plain’d, And some in other manner voice feign’d, And some all out with the full throat.

They proined* them, and made them right gay, *preened their feathers And danc’d and leapt upon the spray; And evermore two and two in fere,* *together Right so as they had chosen them to-year* *this year In Feverere* upon Saint Valentine’s Day. *February

And the river that I sat upon,* *beside It made such a noise as it ran, Accordant* with the birde’s harmony, *keeping time with Me thought it was the beste melody That might be heard of any man.

And for delight, I wote never how, I fell in such a slumber and a swow, — *swoon Not all asleep, nor fully waking, — And in that swow me thought I hearde sing The sorry bird, the lewd cuckow;

And that was on a tree right faste by. But who was then *evil apaid* but I? *dissatisfied “Now God,” quoth I, “that died on the crois,* *cross Give sorrow on thee, and on thy lewed voice! Full little joy have I now of thy cry.”

And as I with the cuckoo thus gan chide, I heard, in the next bush beside, A nightingale so lustily sing, That her clear voice she made ring Through all the greenwood wide.

“Ah, good Nightingale,” quoth I then, “A little hast thou been too long hen;* *hence, absent For here hath been the lewd cuckow, And sung songs rather* than hast thou: *sooner I pray to God that evil fire her bren!”* *burn

But now I will you tell a wondrous thing: As long as I lay in that swooning, Me thought I wist what the birds meant, And what they said, and what was their intent And of their speech I hadde good knowing.

There heard I the nightingale say: “Now, good Cuckoo, go somewhere away, And let us that can singe dwelle here; For ev’ry wight escheweth* thee to hear, *shuns Thy songes be so elenge,* in good fay.”** *strange **faith

“What,” quoth she, “what may thee all now It thinketh me, I sing as well as thou, For my song is both true and plain, Although I cannot crakel* so in vain, *sing tremulously As thou dost in thy throat, I wot ne’er how.

“And ev’ry wight may understande me, But, Nightingale, so may they not do thee, For thou hast many a nice quaint* cry; *foolish I have thee heard say, ‘ocy, ocy;’ <3> How might I know what that should be?”

“Ah fool,” quoth she, “wost thou not what it is? When that I say, ‘ocy, ocy,’ y-wis, Then mean I that I woulde wonder fain That all they were shamefully slain, *die That meanen aught againe love amiss.

“And also I would that all those were dead, That thinke not in love their life to lead, For who so will the god of Love not serve, I dare well say he is worthy to sterve,* *die And for that skill,* ‘ocy, ocy,’ I grede.”** *reason **cry

“Ey!” quoth the cuckoo, “this is a quaint* law, *strange That every wight shall love or be to-draw!* *torn to pieces But I forsake alle such company; For mine intent is not for to die, Nor ever, while I live, *on Love’s yoke to draw.* *to put on love’s yoke* “For lovers be the folk that be alive, That most disease have, and most unthrive,* *misfortune And most endure sorrow, woe, and care, And leaste feelen of welfare: What needeth it against the truth to strive?”

“What?” quoth she, “thou art all out of thy mind! How mightest thou in thy churlishness find To speak of Love’s servants in this wise? For in this world is none so good service To ev’ry wight that gentle is of kind;

“For thereof truly cometh all gladness, All honour and all gentleness, Worship, ease, and all hearte’s lust,* *pleasure Perfect joy, and full assured trust, Jollity, pleasance, and freshness,

“Lowlihead, largess, and courtesy, Seemelihead, and true company, Dread of shame for to do amiss; For he that truly Love’s servant is, Were lother* to be shamed than to die. *more reluctant

“And that this is sooth that I say, In that belief I will live and dey; And, Cuckoo, so I rede* that thou, do y-wis.” *counsel “Then,” quoth he, “let me never have bliss, If ever I to that counsail obey!

“Nightingale, thou speakest wondrous fair, But, for all that, is the sooth contrair; For love is in young folk but rage, And in old folk a great dotage; Who most it useth, moste shall enpair.* *suffer harm

“For thereof come disease and heaviness, Sorrow and care, and many a great sickness, Despite, debate, anger, envy, Depraving,* shame, untrust, and jealousy, *loss of fame or character Pride, mischief, povert’, and woodness.* *madness

“Loving is an office of despair, And one thing is therein that is not fair; For who that gets of love a little bliss, *But if he be away therewith, y-wis, He may full soon of age have his hair.* *see note <5>*

“And, Nightingale, therefore hold thee nigh; For, ’lieve me well, for all thy quainte cry, If thou be far or longe from thy make,* *mate Thou shalt be as other that be forsake, And then thou shalt hoten* as do I.” *be called

“Fie,” quoth she, “on thy name and on thee! The god of Love let thee never the!* *thrive For thou art worse a thousand fold than wood,* *mad For many one is full worthy and full good, That had been naught, ne hadde Love y-be.

“For evermore Love his servants amendeth, And from all evile taches* them defendeth, *blemishes And maketh them to burn right in a fire, In truth and in worshipful* desire, *honourable And, when him liketh, joy enough them sendeth.”

“Thou Nightingale,” he said, “be still! For Love hath no reason but his will; For ofttime untrue folk he easeth, And true folk so bitterly displeaseth, That for default of grace* he lets them spill.”** *favour **be ruined

Then took I of the nightingale keep, How she cast a sigh out of her deep, And said, “Alas, that ever I was bore! I can for teen* not say one worde more;” *vexation, grief And right with that word she burst out to weep.

“Alas!” quoth she, “my hearte will to-break To heare thus this lewd bird speak Of Love, and of his worshipful service. Now, God of Love, thou help me in some wise, That I may on this cuckoo be awreak!”* *revenged

Methought then I start up anon, And to the brook I ran and got a stone, And at the cuckoo heartly cast; And for dread he flew away full fast, And glad was I when he was gone.

And evermore the cuckoo, as he flay,* *flew He saide, “Farewell, farewell, popinjay,” As though he had scorned, thought me; But ay I hunted him from the tree, Until he was far out of sight away.

And then came the nightingale to me, And said, “Friend, forsooth I thank thee That thou hast lik’d me to rescow;* *rescue And one avow to Love make I now, That all this May I will thy singer be.”

I thanked her, and was right *well apaid:* *satisfied “Yea,” quoth she, “and be thou not dismay’d, Though thou have heard the cuckoo *erst than* me; <6> *before For, if I live, it shall amended be The next May, if I be not afraid.

“And one thing I will rede* thee also, Believe thou not the cuckoo, the love’s foe, For all that he hath said is strong leasing.”* *falsehood “Nay,” quoth I, “thereto shall nothing me bring For love, and it hath done me much woe.”

“Yea? Use,” quoth she, “this medicine, Every day this May ere thou dine: Go look upon the fresh daisy, And, though thou be for woe in point to die, That shall full greatly less thee of thy pine.* *sorrow

“And look alway that thou be good and true, And I will sing one of my songes new For love of thee, as loud as I may cry:” And then she began this song full high: “I shrew* all them that be of love untrue.” *curse

And when she had sung it to the end, “Now farewell,” quoth she, “for I must wend,* *go And, God of Love, that can right well and may, As much joy sende thee this day, As any lover yet he ever send!”

Thus took the nightingale her leave of me. I pray to God alway with her be, And joy of love he send her evermore, And shield us from the cuckoo and his lore; For there is not so false a bird as he.

Forth she flew, the gentle nightingale, To all the birdes that were in that dale, And got them all into a place in fere,* *together And besought them that they would hear Her disease,* and thus began her tale. *distress, grievance

“Ye witte* well, it is not for to hide, *know How the cuckoo and I fast have chide,* *quarrelled Ever since that it was daylight; I pray you all that ye do me right On that foul false unkind bride.”* *bird