The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems Part 91

Well worth of this thing greate clerks, <2> That treat of this and other works; For I of none opinion Will as now make mention; But only that the holy Rood Turn us every dream to good.

For never since that I was born, Nor no man elles me beforn, Mette,* as I trowe steadfastly, *dreamed So wonderful a dream as I, The tenthe day now of December; The which, as I can it remember, I will you tellen ev'ry deal.* *whit

But at my beginning, truste weel,* *well I will make invocation, With special devotion, Unto the G.o.d of Sleep anon, That dwelleth in a cave of stone, <3> Upon a stream that comes from Lete, That is a flood of h.e.l.l unsweet, Beside a folk men call Cimmerie; There sleepeth ay this G.o.d unmerry, With his sleepy thousand sones, That alway for to sleep their won* is; *wont, custom And to this G.o.d, that I *of read,* *tell of*

Pray I, that he will me speed My sweven for to tell aright, If ev'ry dream stands in his might.

And he that Mover is of all That is, and was, and ever shall, So give them joye that it hear, Of alle that they dream to-year;* *this year And for to standen all in grace* *favour Of their loves, or in what place That them were liefest* for to stand, *most desired And shield them from povert' and shand,* *shame And from ev'ry unhap and disease, And send them all that may them please, That take it well, and scorn it not, Nor it misdeemen* in their thought, *misjudge Through malicious intention; And whoso, through presumption.

Or hate, or scorn, or through envy, Despite, or j.a.pe,* or villainy, *jesting Misdeem it, pray I Jesus G.o.d, That dream he barefoot, dream he shod, That ev'ry harm that any man Hath had since that the world began, Befall him thereof, ere he sterve,* *die And grant that he may it deserve,* *earn, obtain Lo! with such a conclusion As had of his avision Croesus, that was the king of Lyde,<4> That high upon a gibbet died; This prayer shall he have of me; I am *no bet in charity.* *no more charitable*

Now hearken, as I have you said, What that I mette ere I abraid,* *awoke Of December the tenthe day; When it was night to sleep I lay, Right as I was wont for to do'n, And fell asleepe wonder soon, As he that *weary was for go*<5> *was weary from going*

On pilgrimage miles two To the corsaint* Leonard, *relics of <6> To make lithe that erst was hard.

But, as I slept, me mette I was Within a temple made of gla.s.s; In which there were more images Of gold, standing in sundry stages, And more riche tabernacles, And with pierrie* more pinnacles, *gems And more curious portraitures, And *quainte manner* of figures *strange kinds*

Of golde work, than I saw ever.

But, certainly, I wiste* never *knew Where that it was, but well wist I It was of Venus readily, This temple; for in portraiture I saw anon right her figure Naked floating in a sea, <7> And also on her head, pardie, Her rose garland white and red, And her comb to comb her head, Her doves, and Dan Cupido, Her blinde son, and Vulcano, <8> That in his face was full brown.

As he "roamed up and down," the dreamer saw on the wall a tablet of bra.s.s inscribed with the opening lines of the Aeneid; while the whole story of Aeneas was told in the "portraitures"

and gold work. About three hundred and fifty lines are devoted to the description; but they merely embody Virgil's account of Aeneas' adventures from the destruction of Troy to his arrival in Italy; and the only characteristic pa.s.sage is the following reflection, suggested by the death of Dido for her perfidious but fate-compelled guest:

Lo! how a woman doth amiss, To love him that unknowen is!

For, by Christ, lo! thus it fareth, It is not all gold that glareth.* *glitters For, all so brook I well my head, There may be under goodlihead* *fair appearance Cover'd many a shrewed* vice; *cursed Therefore let no wight be so nice* *foolish To take a love only for cheer,* *looks Or speech, or for friendly mannere; For this shall ev'ry woman find, That some man, *of his pure kind,* *by force of his nature Will showen outward the fairest, Till he have caught that which him lest;* *pleases And then anon will causes find, And sweare how she is unkind, Or false, or privy* double was. *secretly All this say I by* Aeneas *with reference to And Dido, and her *nice lest,* *foolish pleasure*

That loved all too soon a guest; Therefore I will say a proverb, That he that fully knows the herb May safely lay it to his eye; Withoute dread,* this is no lie. *doubt

When the dreamer had seen all the sights in the temple, he became desirous to know who had worked all those wonders, and in what country he was; so he resolved to go out at the wicket, in search of somebody who might tell him.

When I out at the doores came, I fast aboute me beheld; Then saw I but a large feld,* *open country As far as that I mighte see, WIthoute town, or house, or tree, Or bush, or gra.s.s, or ered* land, *ploughed <9> For all the field was but of sand, As small* as men may see it lie *fine In the desert of Libye; Nor no manner creature That is formed by Nature, There saw I, me to *rede or wiss.* *advise or direct*

"O Christ!" thought I, "that art in bliss, From *phantom and illusion* *vain fancy and deception*

Me save!" and with devotion Mine eyen to the heav'n I cast.

Then was I ware at the last That, faste by the sun on high, *As kennen might I* with mine eye, *as well as I might discern*

Me thought I saw an eagle soar, But that it seemed muche more* *larger Than I had any eagle seen; This is as sooth as death, certain, It was of gold, and shone so bright, That never saw men such a sight, But if* the heaven had y-won, *unless All new from G.o.d, another sun; So shone the eagle's feathers bright: And somewhat downward gan it light.* *descend, alight

The Second Book opens with a brief invocation of Venus and of Thought; then it proceeds:

This eagle, of which I have you told, That shone with feathers as of gold, Which that so high began to soar, I gan beholde more and more, To see her beauty and the wonder; But never was there dint of thunder, Nor that thing that men calle foudre,* *thunderbolt That smote sometimes a town to powder, And in his swifte coming brenn'd,* *burned That so swithe* gan descend, *rapidly As this fowl, when that it beheld That I a-roam was in the feld; And with his grim pawes strong, Within his sharpe nailes long, Me, flying, at a swap* he hent,** *swoop *seized And with his sours <10> again up went, Me carrying in his clawes stark* *strong As light as I had been a lark, How high, I cannot telle you, For I came up, I wist not how.

The poet faints through bewilderment and fear; but the eagle, speaking with the voice of a man, recalls him to himself, and comforts him by the a.s.surance that what now befalls him is for his instruction and profit. Answering the poet's unspoken inquiry whether he is not to die otherwise, or whether Jove will him stellify, the eagle says that he has been sent by Jupiter out of his "great ruth,"

"For that thou hast so truely So long served ententively* *with attentive zeal His blinde nephew* Cupido, *grandson And faire Venus also, Withoute guuerdon ever yet, And natheless hast set thy wit (Although that in thy head full lite* is) *little To make bookes, songs, and ditties, In rhyme or elles in cadence, As thou best canst, in reverence Of Love, and of his servants eke, That have his service sought, and seek, And pained thee to praise his art, Although thou haddest never part; <11> Wherefore, all so G.o.d me bless, Jovis holds it great humbless, And virtue eke, that thou wilt make A-night full oft thy head to ache, In thy study so thou writest, And evermore of love enditest, In honour of him and praisings, And in his folke's furtherings, And in their matter all devisest,* *relates And not him nor his folk despisest, Although thou may'st go in the dance Of them that him list not advance.

Wherefore, as I said now, y-wis, Jupiter well considers this; And also, beausire,* other things; *good sir That is, that thou hast no tidings Of Love's folk, if they be glad, Nor of naught elles that G.o.d made; And not only from far country That no tidings come to thee, But of thy very neighebours, That dwellen almost at thy doors, Thou hearest neither that nor this.

For when thy labour all done is, And hast y-made thy reckonings, <12> Instead of rest and newe things, Thou go'st home to thy house anon, And, all so dumb as any stone, Thou sittest at another book, Till fully dazed* is thy look; *blinded And livest thus as a hermite Although thine abstinence is lite."* <13> *little

Therefore has Jove appointed the eagle to take the poet to the House of Fame, to do him some pleasure in recompense for his devotion to Cupid; and he will hear, says the bird,

"When we be come there as I say, More wondrous thinges, dare I lay,* *bet Of Love's folke more tidings, Both *soothe sawes and leasings;* *true sayings and lies*

And more loves new begun, And long y-served loves won, And more loves casually That be betid,* no man knows why, *happened by chance But as a blind man starts a hare; And more jollity and welfare, While that they finde *love of steel,* *love true as steel*

As thinketh them, and over all weel; More discords, and more jealousies, More murmurs, and more novelties, And more dissimulations, And feigned reparations; And more beardes, in two hours, Withoute razor or scissours Y-made, <14> than graines be of sands; And eke more holding in hands,* *embracings And also more renovelances* *renewings Of old *forleten acquaintances;* *broken-off acquaintanceships*

More love-days,<15> and more accords,* *agreements Than on instruments be chords; And eke of love more exchanges Than ever cornes were in granges."* *barns

The poet can scarcely believe that, though Fame had all the pies [magpies] and all the spies in a kingdom, she should hear so much; but the eagle proceeds to prove that she can.

First shalt thou heare where she dwelleth; And, so as thine own booke telleth, <16> Her palace stands, as I shall say, Right ev'n in middes of the way Betweene heav'n, and earth, and sea, That whatsoe'er in all these three Is spoken, *privy or apert,* *secretly or openly*

The air thereto is so overt,* *clear And stands eke in so just* a place, *suitable That ev'ry sound must to it pace, Or whatso comes from any tongue, Be it rowned,* read, or sung, *whispered Or spoken in surety or dread,* *doubt Certain *it must thither need."* *it must needs go thither*

The eagle, in a long discourse, demonstrates that, as all natural things have a natural place towards which they move by natural inclination, and as sound is only broken air, so every sound must come to Fame's House, "though it were piped of a mouse"

-- on the same principle by which every part of a ma.s.s of water is affected by the casting in of a stone. The poet is all the while borne upward, entertained with various information by the bird; which at last cries out --

"Hold up thy head, for all is well!

Saint Julian, lo! bon hostel! <17> See here the House of Fame, lo May'st thou not heare that I do?"

"What?" quoth I. "The greate soun',"

Quoth he, "that rumbleth up and down In Fame's House, full of tidings, Both of fair speech and of chidings, And of false and sooth compouned;* *compounded, mingled Hearken well; it is not rowned.* *whispered Hearest thou not the greate swough?"* *confused sound "Yes, pardie!" quoth I, "well enough."

And what sound is it like?" quoth he "Peter! the beating of the sea,"

Quoth I, "against the rockes hollow, When tempests do the shippes swallow.

And let a man stand, out of doubt, A mile thence, and hear it rout.* *roar Or elles like the last humbling* *dull low distant noise After the clap of a thund'ring, When Jovis hath the air y-beat; But it doth me for feare sweat."

"Nay, dread thee not thereof," quoth he; "It is nothing will bite thee, Thou shalt no harme have, truly."

And with that word both he and I As nigh the place arrived were, As men might caste with a spear.

I wist not how, but in a street He set me fair upon my feet, And saide: "Walke forth apace, And take *thine adventure or case,* *thy chance of what That thou shalt find in Fame's place." may befall*

"Now," quoth I, "while we have s.p.a.ce To speak, ere that I go from thee, For the love of G.o.d, as telle me, In sooth, that I will of thee lear,* *learn If this noise that I hear Be, as I have heard thee tell, Of folk that down in earthe dwell, And cometh here in the same wise As I thee heard, ere this, devise?

And that there living body n'is* *is not In all that house that yonder is, That maketh all this loude fare?"* *hubbub, ado "No," answered he, "by Saint Clare, And all *so wisly G.o.d rede me;* *so surely G.o.d But one thing I will warne thee, guide me*

Of the which thou wilt have wonder.

Lo! to the House of Fame yonder, Thou know'st how cometh ev'ry speech; It needeth not thee eft* to teach. *again But understand now right well this; When any speech y-comen is Up to the palace, anon right It waxeth* like the same wight** *becomes **person Which that the word in earthe spake, Be he cloth'd in red or black; And so weareth his likeness, And speaks the word, that thou wilt guess* *fancy That it the same body be, Whether man or woman, he or she.

And is not this a wondrous thing?"

"Yes," quoth I then, "by Heaven's king!"

And with this word, "Farewell," quoth he, And here I will abide* thee, *wait for And G.o.d of Heaven send thee grace Some good to learen* in this place." *learn And I of him took leave anon, And gan forth to the palace go'n.

At the opening of the Third Book, Chaucer briefly invokes Apollo's guidance, and entreats him, because "the rhyme is light and lewd," to "make it somewhat agreeable, though some verse fail in a syllable." If the G.o.d answers the prayer, the poet promises to kiss the next laurel-tree <18> he sees; and he proceeds:

When I was from this eagle gone, I gan behold upon this place; And certain, ere I farther pace, I will you all the shape devise* *describe Of house and city; and all the wise How I gan to this place approach, That stood upon so high a roche,* *rock <19> Higher standeth none in Spain; But up I climb'd with muche pain, And though to climbe *grieved me,* *cost me painful effort*

Yet I ententive* was to see, *attentive And for to pore* wondrous low, *gaze closely If I could any wise know What manner stone this rocke was, For it was like a thing of gla.s.s, But that it shone full more clear But of what congealed mattere It was, I wist not readily, But at the last espied I, And found that it was *ev'ry deal* *entirely*

A rock of ice, and not of steel.

Thought I, "By Saint Thomas of Kent, <20> This were a feeble fundament* *foundation *To builden* a place so high; *on which to build He ought him lite* to glorify *little That hereon built, G.o.d so me save!"

Then saw I all the half y-grave <21> With famous folke's names fele,* *many That hadde been in muche weal,* *good fortune And their fames wide y-blow.

But well unnethes* might I know *scarcely Any letters for to read Their names by; for out of dread* *doubt They were almost off thawed so, That of the letters one or two Were molt* away of ev'ry name, *melted So unfamous was wox* their fame; *become But men say, "What may ever last?"

Then gan I in my heart to cast* *conjecture That they were molt away for heat, And not away with stormes beat; For on the other side I sey* *saw Of this hill, that northward lay, How it was written full of names Of folke that had greate fames Of olde times, and yet they were As fresh as men had writ them there The selfe day, right ere that hour That I upon them gan to pore.

But well I wiste what it made;* *meant It was conserved with the shade, All the writing which I sigh,* *saw Of a castle that stood on high; And stood eke on so cold a place, That heat might it not deface.* *injure, destroy

Then gan I on this hill to go'n, And found upon the cop* a won,** *summit <22> **house That all the men that be alive Have not the *cunning to descrive* *skill to describe*

The beauty of that like place, Nor coulde *caste no compa.s.s* *find no contrivance*

Such another for to make, That might of beauty be its make,* *match, equal Nor one so wondrously y-wrought, That it astonieth yet my thought, And maketh all my wit to swink,* *labour Upon this castle for to think; So that the greate beauty, Cast,* craft, and curiosity, *ingenuity Ne can I not to you devise;* *describe My witte may me not suffice.

But natheless all the substance I have yet in my remembrance; For why, me thoughte, by Saint Gile, Alle was of stone of beryle, Bothe the castle and the tow'r, And eke the hall, and ev'ry bow'r,* *chamber Withoute pieces or joinings, But many subtile compa.s.sings,* *contrivances As barbicans* and pinnacles, *watch-towers Imageries and tabernacles, I saw; and eke full of windows, As flakes fall in greate snows.

And eke in each of the pinnacles Were sundry habitacles,* *apartments or niches In which stooden, all without, Full the castle all about, Of all manner of minstrales And gestiours,<23> that telle tales Both of weeping and of game,* *mirth Of all that longeth unto Fame.

There heard I play upon a harp, That sounded bothe well and sharp, Him, Orpheus, full craftily; And on this side faste by Satte the harper Arion,<24> And eke Aeacides Chiron <25> And other harpers many a one, And the great Glasgerion; <26> And smalle harpers, with their glees,* *instruments Satten under them in sees,* *seats And gan on them upward to gape, And counterfeit them as an ape, Or as *craft counterfeiteth kind.* *art counterfeits nature*

Then saw I standing them behind, Afar from them, all by themselve, Many thousand times twelve, That made loude minstrelsies In cornmuse and eke in shawmies, <27> And in many another pipe, That craftily began to pipe, Both in dulcet <28> and in reed, That be at feastes with the bride.

And many a flute and lilting horn, And pipes made of greene corn, As have these little herde-grooms,* *shepherd-boys That keepe beastes in the brooms.

There saw I then Dan Citherus, And of Athens Dan p.r.o.nomus, <29> And Marsyas <30> that lost his skin, Both in the face, body, and chin, For that he would envyen, lo!

To pipe better than Apollo.

There saw I famous, old and young, Pipers of alle Dutche tongue, <31> To learne love-dances and springs, Reyes, <32> and these strange things.

Then saw I in another place, Standing in a large s.p.a.ce, Of them that make b.l.o.o.d.y* soun', *martial In trumpet, beam,* and clarioun; *horn <33> For in fight and blood-sheddings Is used gladly clarionings.

There heard I trumpe Messenus. <34> Of whom speaketh Virgilius.

There heard I Joab trump also, <35> Theodamas, <36> and other mo', And all that used clarion In Catalogne and Aragon, That in their times famous were To learne, saw I trumpe there.