Chapter 69

Then said the lordes of the host, And so concluded least and most, That they would ay in houses of thack* *thatch Their lives lead, <10> and wear but black, And forsake all their pleasances, And turn all joy to penances; And bare the dead prince to the barge, And named *them should* have the charge; *those who should* And to the hearse where lay the queen The remnant went, and down on kneen, Holding their hands on high, gan cry, “Mercy! mercy!” *evereach thry;* *each one thrice* And curs’d the time that ever sloth Should have such masterdom of troth. And to the barge, a longe mile, They bare her forth; and, in a while, All the ladies, one and one, By companies were brought each one. And pass’d the sea, and took the land, And in new hearses, on a sand, Put and brought were all anon, Unto a city clos’d with stone, Where it had been used ay The kinges of the land to lay, After they reigned in honours; And writ was which were conquerours; In an abbey of nunnes black, Which accustom’d were to wake, And of usage rise each a-night, To pray for ev’ry living wight. And so befell, as is the guise, Ordain’d and said was the service Of the prince and eke of the queen, So devoutly as mighte be’n; And, after that, about the hearses, Many orisons and verses, Withoute note* <11> full softely *music Said were, and that full heartily; That all the night, till it was day, The people in the church gan pray Unto the Holy Trinity, Of those soules to have pity.

And when the nighte past and run Was, and the newe day begun, — The young morrow with rayes red, Which from the sun all o’er gan spread, Attemper’d* cleare was and fair, *clement, calm And made a time of wholesome air, — Befell a wondrous case* and strange *chance, event Among the people, and gan change Soon the word, and ev’ry woe Unto a joy, and some to two.

A bird, all feather’d blue and green, With brighte rays like gold between, As small thread over ev’ry joint, All full of colour strange and coint,* *quaint Uncouth* and wonderful to sight, *unfamiliar Upon the queene’s hearse gan light, And sung full low and softely Three songes in their harmony, *Unletted of* every wight; *unhindered by* Till at the last an aged knight, Which seem’d a man in greate thought, Like as he set all thing at nought, With visage and eyes all forwept,* *steeped in tears And pale, as a man long unslept, By the hearses as he stood, With hasty handling of his hood Unto a prince that by him past, Made the bird somewhat aghast.* *frightened Wherefore he rose and left his song, And departed from us among, And spread his winges for to pass By the place where he enter’d was. And in his haste, shortly to tell, Him hurt, that backward down he fell, From a window richly paint, With lives of many a divers saint, And beat his winges and bled fast, And of the hurt thus died and past; And lay there well an hour and more Till, at the last, of birds a score Came and assembled at the place Where the window broken was, And made such waimentatioun,* *lamentation That pity was to hear the soun’, And the warbles of their throats, And the complaint of their notes, Which from joy clean was reversed. And of them one the glass soon pierced, And in his beak, of colours nine, An herb he brought, flow’rless, all green, Full of smalle leaves, and plain,* *smooth Swart,* and long, with many a vein. *black And where his fellow lay thus dead, This herb he down laid by his head, And dressed* it full softely, *arranged And hung his head, and stood thereby. Which herb, in less than half an hour, Gan over all knit,* and after flow’r *bud Full out; and waxed ripe the seed; And, right as one another feed Would, in his beak he took the grain, And in his fellow’s beak certain It put, and thus within the third* *i.e. third hour after it Upstood and pruned him the bird, had died Which dead had been in all our sight; And both together forth their flight Took, singing, from us, and their leave; Was none disturb them would nor grieve. And, when they parted were and gone, Th’ abbess the seedes soon each one Gathered had, and in her hand The herb she took, well avisand* *considering <12> The leaf, the seed, the stalk, the flow’r, And said it had a good savour, And was no common herb to find, And well approv’d of *uncouth kind,* *strange nature* And more than other virtuous; Whoso might it have for to use In his need, flower, leaf, or grain, Of his heal might be certain. [She] laid it down upon the hearse Where lay the queen; and gan rehearse Each one to other what they had seen. And, *taling thus,* the seed wax’d green, *as they gossiped* And on the dry hearse gan to spring, — Which me thought was a wondrous thing, — And, after that, flow’r and new seed; Of which the people all took heed, And said it was some great miracle, Or medicine fine more than treacle; <12> And were well done there to assay If it might ease, in any way, The corpses, which with torchelight They waked had there all that night. Soon did the lordes there consent, And all the people thereto content, With easy words and little fare;* *ado, trouble And made the queene’s visage bare, Which showed was to all about, Wherefore in swoon fell all the rout,* *company, crowd And were so sorry, most and least, That long of weeping they not ceas’d; For of their lord the remembrance Unto them was such displeasance.* *cause of grief That for to live they called pain, So were they very true and plain. And after this the good abbess Of the grains gan choose and dress* *prepare Three, with her fingers clean and smale,* *small And in the queenes mouth, by tale, One after other, full easily She put, and eke full cunningly.* *skilfully Which showed some such virtue. That proved was the medicine true. For with a smiling countenance The queen uprose, and of usance* *custom As she was wont, to ev’ry wight She *made good cheer;* for whiche sight *showed a gracious The people, kneeling on the stones, countenance* Thought they in heav’n were, soul and bones; And to the prince, where that he lay, They went to make the same assay.* *trial, experiment And when the queen it understood, And how the medicine was good, She pray’d that she might have the grains, To relieve him from the pains Which she and he had both endur’d. And to him went, and so him cur’d, That, within a little space, Lusty and fresh alive he was, And in good heal, and whole of speech, And laugh’d, and said, *“Gramercy, leach!”* *“Great thanks, For which the joy throughout the town my physician!”* So great was, that the belles’ soun’ Affray’d the people a journey* *to the distance of About the city ev’ry way; a day’s journey* And came and ask’d the cause, and why They rungen were so stately.* *proudly, solemnly And after that the queen, th’abbess, Made diligence, <14> ere they would cease, Such, that of ladies soon a rout* *company, crowd Suing* the queen was all about; *following And, call’d by name each one and told,* *numbered Was none forgotten, young nor old. There mighte men see joyes new, When the medicine, fine and true, Thus restor’d had ev’ry wight, So well the queen as the knight, Unto perfect joy and heal, That *floating they were in such weal* *swimming in such As folk that woulden in no wise happiness* Desire more perfect paradise.

On the morrow a general assembly was convoked, and it was resolved that the wedding feast should be celebrated within the island. Messengers were sent to strange realms, to invite kings, queens, duchesses, and princesses; and a special embassy was despatched, in the magic barge, to seek the poet’s mistress — who was brought back after fourteen days, to the great joy of the queen. Next day took place the wedding of the prince and all the knights to the queen and all the ladies; and a three months’ feast followed, on a large plain “under a wood, in a champaign, betwixt a river and a well, where never had abbey nor cell been, nor church, house, nor village, in time of any manne’s age.” On the day after the general wedding, all entreated the poet’s lady to consent to crown his love with marriage; she yielded; the bridal was splendidly celebrated; and to the sound of marvellous music the poet awoke, to find neither lady nor creature — but only old portraitures on the tapestry, of horsemen, hawks, and hounds, and hurt deer full of wounds. Great was his grief that he had lost all the bliss of his dream; and he concludes by praying his lady so to accept his love-service, that the dream may turn to reality.

Or elles, without more I pray, That this night, ere it be day, I may unto my dream return, And sleeping so forth ay sojourn Aboute the Isle of Pleasance, *Under my lady’s obeisance,* *subject to my lady* In her service, and in such wise, As it may please her to devise; And grace once to be accept’, Like as I dreamed when I slept, And dure a thousand year and ten In her good will: Amen, amen!

Notes to Chaucer’s Dream

1. The birds on the weathervanes were set up facing the wind, so that it entered their open mouths, and by some mechanism produced the musical sound.

2. “And to you been of governance Such as you found in whole pleasance” That is, “and have governed you in a manner which you have found wholly pleasant.”

3. Hext: highest; from “high,” as “next” from “nigh.” Compare the sounds of the German, “hoechst,” highest, and “naechst,” next.

4. “Your brother friend,” is the common reading; but the phrase has no apparent applicability; and perhaps the better reading is “our bother friend” — that is, the lady who has proved herself a friend both to me and to you. In the same way, Reason, in Troilus’ soliloquy on the impending loss of his mistress, is made, addressing Troilus and Cressida, to speaks of “your bother,” or “bothe,” love.

5. The ships had high embattled poops and forecastles, as in mediaeval ships of war.

6. Compare Spenser’s account of Phaedria’s barque, in “The Faerie Queen,” canto vi. book ii.; and, mutatis mutandis, Chaucer’s description of the wondrous horse, in The Squire’s Tale.

7. Salad: a small helmet; french, “salade.”

8. Gardebrace: French, “garde-bras,” an arm-shield; probably resembling the “gay bracer” which the Yeoman, in the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, wears on his arm.

9. Confession and prayer were the usual preliminaries of any enterprise in those superstitious days; and in these days of enlightenment the fashion yet lingers among the most superstitious class — the fisher-folk.

10. The knights resolved that they would quit their castles and houses of stone for humble huts.

11. The knight and lady were buried without music, although the office for the dead was generally sung.

12. Avisand: considering; present participle from “avise” or “advise.”

13. Treacle; corrupted from Latin, “therisca,” an antidote. The word is used for medicine in general.

14. The abbess made diligence: i.e. to administer the grain to the dead ladies.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN.

[SOME difference of opinion exists as to the date at which Chaucer wrote “The Legend of Good Women.” Those who would fix that date at a period not long before the poet’s death — who would place the poem, indeed, among his closing labours — support their opinion by the fact that the Prologue recites most of Chaucer’s principal works, and glances, besides, at a long array of other productions, too many to be fully catalogued. But, on the other hand, it is objected that the “Legend” makes no mention of “The Canterbury Tales” as such; while two of those Tales — the Knight’s and the Second Nun’s — are enumerated by the titles which they bore as separate compositions, before they were incorporated in the great collection: “The Love of Palamon and Arcite,” and “The Life of Saint Cecile” (see note 1 to the Second Nun’s tale). Tyrwhitt seems perfectly justified in placing the composition of the poem immediately before that of Chaucer’s magnum opus, and after the marriage of Richard II to his first queen, Anne of Bohemia. That event took place in 1382; and since it is to Anne that the poet refers when he makes Alcestis bid him give his poem to the queen “at Eltham or at Sheen,” the “Legend” could not have been written earlier. The old editions tell us that “several ladies in the Court took offence at Chaucer’s large speeches against the untruth of women; therefore the queen enjoin’d him to compile this book in the commendation of sundry maidens and wives, who show’d themselves faithful to faithless men. This seems to have been written after The Flower and the Leaf.” Evidently it was, for distinct references to that poem are to be found in the Prologue; but more interesting is the indication which it furnishes, that “Troilus and Cressida” was the work, not of the poet’s youth, but of his maturer age. We could hardly expect the queen — whether of Love or of England — to demand seriously from Chaucer a retractation of sentiments which he had expressed a full generation before, and for which he had made atonement by the splendid praises of true love sung in “The Court of Love,” “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,” and other poems of youth and middle life. But “Troilus and Cressida” is coupled with “The Romance of the Rose,” as one of the poems which had given offence to the servants and the God of Love; therefore we may suppose it to have more prominently engaged courtly notice at a later period of the poet’s life, than even its undoubted popularity could explain. At whatever date, or in whatever circumstances, undertaken, “The Legend of Good Women” is a fragment. There are several signs that it was designed to contain the stories of twenty-five ladies, although the number of the good women is in the poem itself set down at nineteen; but nine legends only were actually composed, or have come down to us. They are, those of Cleopatra Queen of Egypt (126 lines), Thisbe of Babylon (218), Dido Queen of Carthage (442), Hypsipyle and Medea (312), Lucrece of Rome (206), Ariadne of Athens (340), Phiomela (167), Phyllis (168), and Hypermnestra (162). Prefixed to these stories, which are translated or imitated from Ovid, is a Prologue containing 579 lines — the only part of the “Legend” given in the present edition. It is by far the most original, the strongest, and most pleasing part of the poem; the description of spring, and of his enjoyment of that season, are in Chaucer’s best manner; and the political philosophy by which Alcestis mitigates the wrath of Cupid, adds another to the abounding proofs that, for his knowledge of the world, Chaucer fairly merits the epithet of “many-sided” which Shakespeare has won by his knowledge of man.]

A THOUSAND times I have hearde tell, That there is joy in heav’n, and pain in hell; And I accord* it well that it is so; *grant, agree But, natheless, yet wot* I well also, *know That there is none dwelling in this country That either hath in heav’n or hell y-be;* *been Nor may of it no other wayes witten* *know But as he hath heard said, or found it written; For by assay* there may no man it preve.** *practical trial **prove, test But God forbid but that men should believe Well more thing than men have seen with eye! Men shall not weenen ev’ry thing a lie *But if* himself it seeth, or else do’th; *unless For, God wot, thing is never the less sooth,* *true Though ev’ry wighte may it not y-see. Bernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie! <1> Then muste we to bookes that we find (Through which that olde thinges be in mind), And to the doctrine of these olde wise, Give credence, in ev’ry skilful* wise, *reasonable That tellen of these old approved stories, Of holiness, of regnes,* of victories, *reigns, kingdoms Of love, of hate, and other sundry things Of which I may not make rehearsings; And if that olde bookes were away, Y-lorn were of all remembrance the key. Well ought we, then, to honour and believe These bookes, where we have none other preve.* *proof

And as for me, though that I know but lite,* *little On bookes for to read I me delight, And to them give I faith and good credence, And in my heart have them in reverence, So heartily, that there is *game none* <2> *no amusement* That from my bookes maketh me to go’n, But it be seldom on the holyday; Save, certainly, when that the month of May Is comen, and I hear the fowles sing, And that the flowers ginnen for to spring, Farewell my book and my devotion!

Now have I then such a condition, That, above all the flowers in the mead, Then love I most these flowers white and red, Such that men calle Day’s-eyes in our town; To them have I so great affectioun, As I said erst, when comen is the May, That in my bed there dawneth me no day That I n’am* up, and walking in the mead, *am not To see this flow’r against the sunne spread, When it upriseth early by the morrow; That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow, So glad am I, when that I have presence Of it, to do it alle reverence, As she that is of alle flowers flow’r, Fulfilled of all virtue and honour, And ever alike fair, and fresh of hue; As well in winter, as in summer new, This love I ever, and shall until I die; All* swear I not, of this I will not lie, *although There loved no wight hotter in his life. And when that it is eve, I runne blife,* *quickly, eagerly As soon as ever the sun begins to west,* *decline westward To see this flow’r, how it will go to rest, For fear of night, so hateth she darkness! Her cheer* is plainly spread in the brightness *countenance Of the sunne, for there it will unclose. Alas! that I had English, rhyme or prose, Sufficient this flow’r to praise aright! But help me, ye that have *cunning or might;* *skill or power* Ye lovers, that can make of sentiment, In this case ought ye to be diligent To further me somewhat in my labour, Whether ye be with the Leaf or the Flow’r; <3> For well I wot, that ye have herebefore Of making ropen,* and led away the corn; <4> *reaped And I come after, gleaning here and there, And am full glad if I may find an ear Of any goodly word that you have left. And though it hap me to rehearsen eft* *again What ye have in your freshe songes said, Forbeare me, and be not *evil apaid,* *displeased* Since that ye see I do it in th’honour Of love, and eke in service of the flow’r Whom that I serve as I have wit or might. <5> She is the clearness, and the very* light, *true That in this darke world me winds* and leads; *turns, guides The heart within my sorrowful breast you dreads, And loves so sore, that ye be, verily, The mistress of my wit, and nothing I. My word, my works, are knit so in your bond, That, as a harp obeyeth to the hand, That makes it sound after his fingering, Right so may ye out of my hearte bring Such voice, right as you list, to laugh or plain;* *complain, mourn Be ye my guide, and lady sovereign. As to mine earthly god, to you I call, Both in this work, and in my sorrows all.