Chapter D: Laing Purves (27)

Then came the seventh rout anon, And fell on knees ev’ry one, And saide, “Lady, grant us soon The same thing, the same boon, Which *this next folk* you have done.” *the people just before us* “Fy on you,” quoth she, “ev’ry one! Ye nasty swine, ye idle wretches, Full fill’d of rotten slowe tetches!* *blemishes <75> What? false thieves! ere ye would *Be famous good,* and nothing n’ould *have good fame* Deserve why, nor never raught,* *recked, cared (to do so) Men rather you to hangen ought. For ye be like the sleepy cat, That would have fish; but, know’st thou what? He woulde no thing wet his claws. Evil thrift come to your jaws, And eke to mine, if I it grant, Or do favour you to avaunt.* *boast your deeds Thou Aeolus, thou King of Thrace, Go, blow this folk a *sorry grace,”* *disgrace Quoth she, “anon; and know’st thou how? As I shall telle thee right now, Say, these be they that would honour Have, and do no kind of labour, Nor do no good, and yet have laud, And that men ween’d that Belle Isaude <76> *Could them not of love wern;* *could not refuse them her love* And yet she that grinds at the quern* *mill <77> Is all too good to ease their heart.” This Aeolus anon upstart, And with his blacke clarioun He gan to blazen out a soun’ As loud as bellows wind in hell; And eke therewith, the sooth to tell, This sounde was so full of japes,* *jests As ever were mows* in apes; *grimaces And that went all the world about, That ev’ry wight gan on them shout, And for to laugh as they were wood;* *mad *Such game found they in their hood.* <78> *so were they ridiculed*

Then came another company, That hadde done the treachery, The harm, and the great wickedness, That any hearte coulde guess; And prayed her to have good fame, And that she would do them no shame, But give them los and good renown, And *do it blow* in clarioun. *cause it to be blown* “Nay, wis!” quoth she, “it were a vice; All be there in me no justice, Me liste not to do it now, Nor this will I grant to you.”

Then came there leaping in a rout,* *crowd And gan to clappen* all about *strike, knock Every man upon the crown, That all the hall began to soun’; And saide; “Lady lefe* and dear, *loved We be such folk as ye may hear. To tellen all the tale aright, We be shrewes* every wight, *wicked, impious people And have delight in wickedness, As goode folk have in goodness, And joy to be y-knowen shrews, And full of vice and *wicked thews;* *evil qualities* Wherefore we pray you *on a row,* *all together* That our fame be such y-know In all things right as it is.” “I grant it you,” quoth she, “y-wis. But what art thou that say’st this tale, That wearest on thy hose a pale,* *vertical stripe And on thy tippet such a bell?” “Madame,” quoth he, “sooth to tell, I am *that ilke shrew,* y-wis, *the same wretch* That burnt the temple of Isidis, In Athenes, lo! that city.” <79> “And wherefore didst thou so?” quoth she. “By my thrift!” quoth he, “Madame, I woulde fain have had a name As other folk had in the town; Although they were of great renown For their virtue and their thews,* *good qualities Thought I, as great fame have shrews (Though it be naught) for shrewdeness, As good folk have for goodeness; And since I may not have the one, The other will I not forgo’n. So for to gette *fame’s hire,* *the reward of fame* The temple set I all afire. *Now do our los be blowen swithe, As wisly be thou ever blithe.”* *see note <80> “Gladly,” quoth she; “thou Aeolus, Hear’st thou what these folk prayen us?” “Madame, I hear full well,” quoth he, “And I will trumpen it, pardie!” And took his blacke trumpet fast, And gan to puffen and to blast, Till it was at the worlde’s end.

With that I gan *aboute wend,* *turn* For one that stood right at my back Me thought full goodly* to me spake, *courteously, fairly And saide, “Friend, what is thy name? Art thou come hither to have fame?” “Nay, *for soothe,* friend!” quoth I; *surely* “I came not hither, *grand mercy,* *great thanks* For no such cause, by my head! Sufficeth me, as I were dead, That no wight have my name in hand. I wot myself best how I stand, For what I dree,* or what I think, *suffer I will myself it alle drink, Certain, for the more part, As far forth as I know mine art.” “What doest thou here, then,” quoth he. Quoth I, “That will I telle thee; The cause why I stande here, Is some new tidings for to lear,* *learn Some newe thing, I know not what, Tidings either this or that, Of love, or suche thinges glad. For, certainly, he that me made To come hither, said to me I shoulde bothe hear and see In this place wondrous things; But these be not such tidings As I meant of.” “No?” quoth he. And I answered, “No, pardie! For well I wot ever yet, Since that first I hadde wit, That some folk have desired fame Diversely, and los, and name; But certainly I knew not how Nor where that Fame dwelled, ere now Nor eke of her description, Nor also her condition, Nor *the order of her doom,* *the principle of her judgments* Knew I not till I hither come.” “Why, then, lo! be these tidings, That thou nowe hither brings, That thou hast heard?” quoth he to me. “But now *no force,* for well I see *no matter* What thou desirest for to lear.” Come forth, and stand no longer here. And I will thee, withoute dread,* *doubt Into another place lead, Where thou shalt hear many a one.”

Then gan I forth with him to go’n Out of the castle, sooth to say. Then saw I stand in a vally, Under the castle faste by, A house, that domus Daedali, That Labyrinthus <81> called is, N’as* made so wondrously, y-wis, *was not Nor half so quaintly* was y-wrought. *strangely And evermore, as swift as thought, This quainte* house aboute went, *strange That nevermore it *stille stent;* *ceased to move* And thereout came so great a noise, That had it stooden upon Oise, <82> Men might have heard it easily To Rome, I *trowe sickerly.* *confidently believe* And the noise which I heard, For all the world right so it far’d As doth the routing* of the stone *rushing noise* That from the engine<83> is let go’n. And all this house of which I read* *tell you Was made of twigges sallow,* red, *willow And green eke, and some were white, Such as men *to the cages twight,* *pull to make cages* Or maken of these panniers, Or elles hutches or dossers;* *back-baskets That, for the swough* and for the twigs, *rushing noise This house was all so full of gigs,* *sounds of wind And all so full eke of chirkings,* *creakings And of many other workings; And eke this house had of entries As many as leaves be on trees, In summer when that they be green, And on the roof men may yet see’n A thousand holes, and well mo’, To let the soundes oute go. And by day *in ev’ry tide* *continually* Be all the doores open wide, And by night each one unshet;* *unshut, open Nor porter there is none to let* *hinder No manner tidings in to pace; Nor ever rest is in that place, That it n’is* fill’d full of tidings, *is not Either loud, or of whisperings; And ever all the house’s angles Are full of *rownings and of jangles,* *whisperings and chatterings* Of wars, of peace, of marriages, Of rests, of labour, of voyages, Of abode, of death, of life, Of love, of hate, accord, of strife, Of loss, of lore, and of winnings, Of health, of sickness, of buildings, Of faire weather and tempests, Of qualm* of folkes and of beasts; *sickness Of divers transmutations Of estates and of regions; Of trust, of dread,* of jealousy, *doubt Of wit, of cunning, of folly, Of plenty, and of great famine, Of *cheap, of dearth,* and of ruin; *cheapness & dearness (of food)* Of good or of mis-government, Of fire, and diverse accident. And lo! this house of which I write, *Sicker be ye,* it was not lite;* *be assured* *small For it was sixty mile of length, All* was the timber of no strength; *although Yet it is founded to endure, *While that it list to Adventure,* *while fortune pleases* That is the mother of tidings, As is the sea of wells and springs; And it was shapen like a cage. “Certes,” quoth I, “in all mine age,* *life Ne’er saw I such a house as this.”

And as I wonder’d me, y-wis, Upon this house, then ware was I How that mine eagle, faste by, Was perched high upon a stone; And I gan straighte to him go’n, And saide thus; “I praye thee That thou a while abide* me, *wait for For Godde’s love, and let me see What wonders in this place be; For yet parauntre* I may lear** *peradventure **learn Some good thereon, or somewhat hear, That *lefe me were,* ere that I went.” *were pleasing to me* “Peter! that is mine intent,” Quoth he to me; “therefore I dwell;* *tarry But, certain, one thing I thee tell, That, but* I bringe thee therein, *unless Thou shalt never *can begin* *be able* To come into it, out of doubt, So fast it whirleth, lo! about. But since that Jovis, of his grace, As I have said, will thee solace Finally with these ilke* things, *same These uncouth sightes and tidings, To pass away thy heaviness, Such ruth* hath he of thy distress *compassion That thou suff’rest debonairly,* *gently And know’st thyselven utterly Desperate of alle bliss, Since that Fortune hath made amiss The fruit of all thy hearte’s rest Languish, and eke *in point to brest;* *on the point of breaking* But he, through his mighty merite, Will do thee ease, all be it lite,* *little And gave express commandement, To which I am obedient, To further thee with all my might, And wiss* and teache thee aright, *direct Where thou may’st moste tidings hear, Shalt thou anon many one lear.”

And with this word he right anon Hent* me up betwixt his tone,** *caught **toes And at a window in me brought, That in this house was, as me thought; And therewithal me thought it stent,* *stopped And nothing it aboute went; And set me in the floore down. But such a congregatioun Of folk, as I saw roam about, Some within and some without, Was never seen, nor shall be eft,* *again, hereafter That, certes, in the world n’ is* left *is not So many formed by Nature, Nor dead so many a creature, That well unnethes* in that place *scarcely Had I a foote breadth of space; And ev’ry wight that I saw there Rown’d* evereach in other’s ear *whispered A newe tiding privily, Or elles told all openly Right thus, and saide, “Know’st not thou What is betid,* lo! righte now?” *happened “No,” quoth he; “telle me what.” And then he told him this and that, And swore thereto, that it was sooth; “Thus hath he said,” and “Thus he do’th,” And “Thus shall ’t be,” and “Thus heard I say “That shall be found, that dare I lay;”* *wager That all the folk that is alive Have not the cunning to descrive* *describe The thinges that I hearde there, What aloud, and what in th’ear. But all the wonder most was this; When one had heard a thing, y-wis, He came straight to another wight, And gan him tellen anon right The same tale that to him was told, Or it a furlong way was old, <84> And gan somewhat for to eche* *eke, add To this tiding in his speech, More than it ever spoken was. And not so soon departed n’as* *was He from him, than that he met With the third; and *ere he let Any stound,* he told him als’; *without delaying a momen* Were the tidings true or false, Yet would he tell it natheless, And evermore with more increase Than it was erst.* Thus north and south *at first Went ev’ry tiding from mouth to mouth, And that increasing evermo’, As fire is wont to *quick and go* *become alive, and spread* From a spark y-sprung amiss, Till all a city burnt up is. And when that it was full up-sprung, And waxen* more on ev’ry tongue *increased Than e’er it was, it went anon Up to a window out to go’n; Or, but it mighte thereout pass, It gan creep out at some crevass,* *crevice, chink And fly forth faste for the nonce. And sometimes saw I there at once *A leasing, and a sad sooth saw,* *a falsehood and an earnest That gan *of adventure* draw true saying* *by chance Out at a window for to pace; And when they metten in that place, They were checked both the two, And neither of them might out go; For other so they gan *to crowd,* *push, squeeze, each other* Till each of them gan cryen loud, “Let me go first!” — “Nay, but let me! And here I will ensure thee, With vowes, if thou wilt do so, That I shall never from thee go, But be thine owen sworen brother! We will us medle* each with other, *mingle That no man, be he ne’er so wroth, Shall have one of us two, but both At ones, as *beside his leave,* *despite his desire* Come we at morning or at eve, Be we cried or *still y-rowned.”* *quietly whispered* Thus saw I false and sooth, compouned,* *compounded Together fly for one tiding. Then out at holes gan to wring* *squeeze, struggle Every tiding straight to Fame; And she gan give to each his name After her disposition, And gave them eke duration, Some to wax and wane soon, As doth the faire white moon; And let them go. There might I see Winged wonders full fast flee, Twenty thousand in a rout,* *company As Aeolus them blew about. And, Lord! this House in alle times Was full of shipmen and pilgrimes, <85> With *scrippes bretfull of leasings,* *wallets brimful of falsehoods* Entremedled with tidings* *true stories And eke alone by themselve. And many thousand times twelve Saw I eke of these pardoners,<86> Couriers, and eke messengers, With boistes* crammed full of lies *boxes As ever vessel was with lyes.* *lees of wine And as I altherfaste* went *with all speed About, and did all mine intent Me *for to play and for to lear,* *to amuse and instruct myself* And eke a tiding for to hear That I had heard of some country, That shall not now be told for me; — For it no need is, readily; Folk can sing it better than I. For all must out, or late or rath,* *soon All the sheaves in the lath;* *barn <87> I heard a greate noise withal In a corner of the hall, Where men of love tidings told; And I gan thitherward behold, For I saw running ev’ry wight As fast as that they hadde might, And ev’reach cried, “What thing is that?” And some said, “I know never what.” And when they were all on a heap, Those behinde gan up leap, And clomb* upon each other fast, <88> *climbed And up the noise on high they cast, And trodden fast on others’ heels, And stamp’d, as men do after eels.

But at the last I saw a man, Which that I not describe can; But that he seemed for to be A man of great authority. And therewith I anon abraid* *awoke Out of my sleepe, half afraid; Rememb’ring well what I had seen, And how high and far I had been In my ghost; and had great wonder Of what the mighty god of thunder Had let me know; and gan to write Like as ye have me heard endite. Wherefore to study and read alway I purpose to do day by day. And thus, in dreaming and in game, Endeth this little book of Fame.

Here endeth the Book of Fame

Notes to The House of Fame

1. Rood: the cross on which Christ was crucified; Anglo-Saxon, “Rode.”

2. Well worth of this thing greate clerks: Great scholars set much worth upon this thing — that is, devote much labour, attach much importance, to the subject of dreams.

3. The poet briefly refers to the description of the House of Somnus, in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” 1. xi. 592, et seqq.; where the cave of Somnus is said to be “prope Cimmerios,” (“near the Cimmerians”) and “Saxo tamen exit ab imo Rivus aquae Lethes.” (“A stream of Lethe’s water issues from the base of the rock”)

4. See the account of the vision of Croesus in The Monk’s Tale.

5. The meaning of the allusion is not clear; but the story of the pilgrims and the peas is perhaps suggested by the line following — “to make lithe [soft] what erst was hard.” St Leonard was the patron of captives.

5. Corsaint: The “corpus sanctum” — the holy body, or relics, preserved in the shrine.

7. So, in the Temple of Venus described in The Knight’s Tale, the Goddess is represented as “naked floating in the large sea”.

8. Vulcano: Vulcan, the husband of Venus.

9. Ered: ploughed; Latin, “arare,” Anglo-Saxon, “erean,” plough.

10. Sours: Soaring ascent; a hawk was said to be “on the soar” when he mounted, “on the sours” or “souse” when he descended on the prey, and took it in flight.

11. This is only one among many instances in which Chaucer disclaims the pursuits of love; and the description of his manner of life which follows is sufficient to show that the disclaimer was no mere mock-humble affectation of a gallant.

12. This reference, approximately fixing the date at which the poem was composed, points clearly to Chaucer’s daily work as Comptroller of the Customs — a post which he held from 1374 to 1386.

13. This is a frank enough admission that the poet was fond of good cheer; and the effect of his “little abstinence” on his corporeal appearance is humorously described in the Prologue to the Tale of Sir Thopas, where the Host compliments Chaucer on being as well shapen in the waist as himself.

14. “To make the beard” means to befool or deceive. See note 15 to the Reeve’s Tale. Precisely the same idea is conveyed in the modern slang word “shave” — meaning a trick or fraud.

15. Love-days: see note 21 to the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.

16. If this reference is to any book of Chaucer’s in which the House of Fame was mentioned, the book has not come down to us. It has been reasonably supposed, however, that Chaucer means by “his own book” Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” of which he was evidently very fond; and in the twelfth book of that poem the Temple of Fame is described.

17. Saint Julian was the patron of hospitality; so the Franklin, in the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales is said to be “Saint Julian in his country,” for his open house and liberal cheer. The eagle, at sight of the House of Fame, cries out “bon hostel!” — “a fair lodging, a glorious house, by St Julian!”

18. The laurel-tree is sacred to Apollo. See note 11 to The Assembly of Fowls.

19. French, “roche,” a rock.

20. St. Thomas of Kent: Thomas a Beckett, whose shrine was at Canterbury.

21. The half or side of the rock which was towards the poet, was inscribed with, etc.

22. Cop: summit; German, “kopf”; the head.

23. Gestiours: tellers of stories; reciters of brave feats or “gests.”

24. Arion: the celebrated Greek bard and citharist, who, in the seventh century before Christ, lived at the court of Periander, tyrant of Corinth. The story of his preservation by the dolphin, when the covetous sailors forced him to leap into the sea, is well known.

25. Chiron the Centaur was renowned for skill in music and the arts, which he owed to the teaching of Apollo and Artemis. He became in turn the instructor of Peleus, Achilles, and other descendants of Aeacus; hence he is called “Aeacides” — because tutor to the Aeacides, and thus, so to speak, of that “family.”

26. Glasgerion is the subject of a ballad given in “Percy’s Reliques,” where we are told that “Glasgerion was a king’s own son, And a harper he was good; He harped in the king’s chamber, Where cup and candle stood.”

27. Cornemuse: bagpipe; French, “cornemuse.” Shawmies: shalms or psalteries; an instrument resembling a harp.

28. Dulcet: a kind of pipe, probably corresponding with the “dulcimer;” the idea of sweet — French, “doux;” Latin, “dulcis” — is at the root of both words.

29. In the early printed editions of Chaucer, the two names are “Citherus” and “Proserus;” in the manuscript which Mr Bell followed (No. 16 in the Fairfax collection) they are “Atileris” and “Pseustis.” But neither alternative gives more than the slightest clue to identification. “Citherus” has been retained in the text; it may have been employed as an appellative of Apollo, derived from “cithara,” the instrument on which he played; and it is not easy to suggest a better substitute for it than “Clonas” - - an early Greek poet and musician who flourished six hundred years before Christ. For “Proserus,” however, has been substituted “Pronomus,” the name of a celebrated Grecian player on the pipe, who taught Alcibiades the flute, and who therefore, although Theban by birth, might naturally be said by the poet to be “of Athens.”

30. Marsyas: The Phrygian, who, having found the flute of Athena, which played of itself most exquisite music, challenged Apollo to a contest, the victor in which was to do with the vanquished as he pleased. Marsyas was beaten, and Apollo flayed him alive.

31. The German (Deutsche) language, in Chaucer’s time, had not undergone that marked literary division into German and Dutch which was largely accomplished through the influence of the works of Luther and the other Reformers. Even now, the flute is the favourite musical instrument of the Fatherland; and the devotion of the Germans to poetry and music has been celebrated since the days of Tacitus.

32. Reyes: a kind of dance, or song to be accompanied with dancing.

33. Beam: horn, trumpet; Anglo-Saxon, “bema.”

34. Messenus: Misenus, son of Aeolus, the companion and trumpeter of Aeneas, was drowned near the Campanian headland called Misenum after his name. (Aeneid, vi. 162 et seqq.)

35. Joab’s fame as a trumpeter is founded on two verses in 2 Samuel (ii. 28, xx. 22), where we are told that he “blew a trumpet,” which all the people of Israel obeyed, in the one case desisting from a pursuit, in the other raising a siege.

36. Theodamas or Thiodamas, king of the Dryopes, plays a prominent part in the tenth book of Statius’ “Thebaid.” Both he and Joab are also mentioned as great trumpeters in The Merchant’s Tale.

37. Jongelours: jugglers; French, “jongleur.”

38. Tregetours: tricksters, jugglers. For explanation of this word, see note 14 to the Franklin’s tale.

39. Pythonesses: women who, like the Pythia in Apollo’s temple at Delphi, were possessed with a spirit of divination or prophecy. The barbarous Latin form of the word was “Pythonissa” or “Phitonissa.” See note 9 to the Friar’s Tale.

40. Subfumigations: a ceremony employed to drive away evil spirits by burning incense; the practice of smoking cattle, corn, &c., has not died out in some country districts.

41. In certain ascendents: under certain planetary influences. The next lines recall the alleged malpractices of witches, who tortured little images of wax, in the design of causing the same torments to the person represented — or, vice versa, treated these images for the cure of hurts or sickness.

42. Medea: celebrated for her magical power, through which she restored to youth Aeson, the father of Jason; and caused the death of Jason’s wife, Creusa, by sending her a poisoned garment which consumed her to ashes.

43. Circes: the sorceress Circe, who changed the companions of Ulysses into swine.

44. Calypsa: Calypso, on whose island of Ogygia Ulysses was wrecked. The goddess promised the hero immortality if he remained with her; but he refused, and, after a detention of seven years, she had to let him go.

45. Hermes Ballenus: this is supposed to mean Hermes Trismegistus (of whom see note 19 to the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale); but the explanation of the word “Ballenus” is not quite obvious. The god Hermes of the Greeks (Mercurius of the Romans) had the surname “Cyllenius,” from the mountain where he was born — Mount Cyllene, in Arcadia; and the alteration into “Ballenus” would be quite within the range of a copyist’s capabilities, while we find in the mythological character of Hermes enough to warrant his being classed with jugglers and magicians.

46. Limote and Colle Tregetour seem to have been famous sorcerers or jugglers, but nothing is now known of either.

47. Simon Magus: of whom we read in Acts viii. 9, et seqq.

48. “And made well more than it was
To seemen ev’rything, y-wis,
As kindly thing of Fame it is;”
i.e. It is in the nature of fame to exaggerate everything.

49. Corbets: the corbels, or capitals of pillars in a Gothic building; they were often carved with fantastic figures and devices.

50. A largess!: the cry with which heralds and pursuivants at a tournament acknowledged the gifts or largesses of the knights whose achievements they celebrated.

51. Nobles: gold coins of exceptional fineness. Sterlings: sterling coins; not “luxemburgs”, but stamped and authorised money. See note 9 to the Miller’s Tale and note 6 to the Prologue to the Monk’s tale.

52. Coat-armure: the sleeveless coat or “tabard,” on which the arms of the wearer or his lord were emblazoned.

53. “But for to prove in alle wise As fine as ducat of Venise” i.e. In whatever way it might be proved or tested, it would be found as fine as a Venetian ducat.

54. Lapidaire: a treatise on precious stones.

55. See imperial: a seat placed on the dais, or elevated portion of the hall at the upper end, where the lord and the honoured guests sat.

56. The starres seven: Septentrion; the Great Bear or Northern Wain, which in this country appears to be at the top of heaven.

57. The Apocalypse: The last book of the New Testament, also called Revelations. The four beasts are in chapter iv. 6.

58. “Oundy” is the French “ondoye,” from “ondoyer,” to undulate or wave.

59. Partridges’ wings: denoting swiftness.

60. Hercules lost his life with the poisoned shirt of Nessus, sent to him by the jealous Dejanira.

61. Of the secte Saturnine: Of the Saturnine school; so called because his history of the Jewish wars narrated many horrors, cruelties, and sufferings, over which Saturn was the presiding deity. See note 71 to the Knight’s tale.

62. Compare the account of the “bodies seven” given by the Canon’s Yeoman: “Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe; Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe; Saturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin, And Venus copper, by my father’s kin.”

63. Statius is called a “Tholosan,” because by some, among them Dante, he was believed to have been a native of Tolosa, now Toulouse. He wrote the “Thebais,” in twelve books, and the “Achilleis,” of which only two were finished.

64. Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis were the names attached to histories of the Trojan War pretended to have been written immediately after the fall of Troy.

65. Lollius: The unrecognisable author whom Chaucer professes to follow in his “Troilus and Cressida,” and who has been thought to mean Boccaccio.

66. Guido de Colonna, or de Colempnis, was a native of Messina, who lived about the end of the thirteenth century, and wrote in Latin prose a history including the war of Troy.

67. English Gaufrid: Geoffrey of Monmouth, who drew from Troy the original of the British race. See Spenser’s “Faerie Queen,” book ii. canto x.

68. Lucan, in his “Pharsalia,” a poem in ten books, recounted the incidents of the war between Caesar and Pompey.

69. Claudian of Alexandria, “the most modern of the ancient poets,” lived some three centuries after Christ, and among other works wrote three books on “The Rape of Proserpine.”

70. Triton was a son of Poseidon or Neptune, and represented usually as blowing a trumpet made of a conch or shell; he is therefore introduced by Chaucer as the squire of Aeolus.

71. Sky: cloud; Anglo-Saxon, “scua;” Greek, “skia.”

72. Los: reputation. See note 5 to Chaucer’s Tale of Melibœus.

73. Swart: black; German, “schwarz.”

74. Tewell: the pipe, chimney, of the furnace; French “tuyau.” In the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, the Monk’s head is described as steaming like a lead furnace.

75. Tetches: blemishes, spots; French, “tache.”

76. For the story of Belle Isaude see note 21 to the Assembly of Fowls.

77. Quern: mill. See note 6 to the Monk’s Tale.

78. To put an ape into one’s hood, upon his head, is to befool him; see the prologue to the Prioresses’s Tale, l.6.

79. Obviously Chaucer should have said the temple of Diana, or Artemis (to whom, as Goddess of the Moon, the Egyptian Isis corresponded), at Ephesus. The building, famous for its splendour, was set on fire, in B.C. 356, by Erostatus, merely that he might perpetuate his name.

80. “Now do our los be blowen swithe, As wisly be thou ever blithe.” i.e. Cause our renown to be blown abroad quickly, as surely as you wish to be glad.

81. The Labyrinth at Cnossus in Crete, constructed by Dedalus for the safe keeping of the Minotaur, the fruit of Pasiphae’s unnatural love.

82. The river Oise, an affluent of the Seine, in France.

83. The engine: The machines for casting stones, which in Chaucer time served the purpose of great artillery; they were called “mangonells,” “springolds,” &c.; and resembled in construction the “ballistae” and “catapultae” of the ancients.

84. Or it a furlong way was old: before it was older than the space of time during which one might walk a furlong; a measure of time often employed by Chaucer.

85. Shipmen and pilgrimes: sailors and pilgrims, who seem to have in Chaucer’s time amply warranted the proverbial imputation against “travellers’ tales.”

86. Pardoners: of whom Chaucer, in the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, has given us no flattering typical portrait

87. Lath: barn; still used in Lincolnshire and some parts of the north. The meaning is, that the poet need not tell what tidings he wanted to hear, since everything of the kind must some day come out — as sooner or later every sheaf in the barn must be brought forth (to be threshed).

88. A somewhat similar heaping-up of people is de scribed in Spenser’s account of the procession of Lucifera (“The Faerie Queen,” book i. canto iv.), where, as the royal dame passes to her coach, “The heaps of people, thronging in the hall, Do ride each other, upon her to gaze.”

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

[In several respects, the story of “Troilus and Cressida” may be regarded as Chaucer’s noblest poem. Larger in scale than any other of his individual works — numbering nearly half as many lines as The Canterbury Tales contain, without reckoning the two in prose — the conception of the poem is yet so closely and harmoniously worked out, that all the parts are perfectly balanced, and from first to last scarcely a single line is superfluous or misplaced. The finish and beauty of the poem as a work of art, are not more conspicuous than the knowledge of human nature displayed in the portraits of the principal characters. The result is, that the poem is more modern, in form and in spirit, than almost any other work of its author; the chaste style and sedulous polish of the stanzas admit of easy change into the forms of speech now current in England; while the analytical and subjective character of the work gives it, for the nineteenth century reader, an interest of the same kind as that inspired, say, by George Eliot’s wonderful study of character in “Romola.” Then, above all, “Troilus and Cressida” is distinguished by a purity and elevation of moral tone, that may surprise those who judge of Chaucer only by the coarse traits of his time preserved in The Canterbury Tales, or who may expect to find here the Troilus, the Cressida, and the Pandarus of Shakspeare’s play. It is to no trivial gallant, no woman of coarse mind and easy virtue, no malignantly subservient and utterly debased procurer, that Chaucer introduces us. His Troilus is a noble, sensitive, generous, pure- souled, manly, magnanimous hero, who is only confirmed and stimulated in all virtue by his love, who lives for his lady, and dies for her falsehood, in a lofty and chivalrous fashion. His Cressida is a stately, self-contained, virtuous, tender-hearted woman, who loves with all the pure strength and trustful abandonment of a generous and exalted nature, and who is driven to infidelity perhaps even less by pressure of circumstances, than by the sheer force of her love, which will go on loving — loving what it can have, when that which it would rather have is for the time unattainable. His Pandarus is a gentleman, though a gentleman with a flaw in him; a man who, in his courtier-like good-nature, places the claims of comradeship above those of honour, and plots away the virtue of his niece, that he may appease the love-sorrow of his friend; all the time conscious that he is not acting as a gentleman should, and desirous that others should give him that justification which he can get but feebly and diffidently in himself. In fact, the “Troilus and Cressida” of Chaucer is the “Troilus and Cressida” of Shakespeare transfigured; the atmosphere, the colour, the spirit, are wholly different; the older poet presents us in the chief characters to noble natures, the younger to ignoble natures in all the characters; and the poem with which we have now to do stands at this day among the noblest expositions of love’s workings in the human heart and life. It is divided into five books, containing altogether 8246 lines. The First Book (1092 lines) tells how Calchas, priest of Apollo, quitting beleaguered Troy, left there his only daughter Cressida; how Troilus, the youngest brother of Hector and son of King Priam, fell in love with her at first sight, at a festival in the temple of Pallas, and sorrowed bitterly for her love; and how his friend, Cressida’s uncle, Pandarus, comforted him by the promise of aid in his suit. The Second Book (1757 lines) relates the subtle manoeuvres of Pandarus to induce Cressida to return the love of Troilus; which he accomplishes mainly by touching at once the lady’s admiration for his heroism, and her pity for his love-sorrow on her account. The Third Book (1827 lines) opens with an account of the first interview between the lovers; ere it closes, the skilful stratagems of Pandarus have placed the pair in each other’s arms under his roof, and the lovers are happy in perfect enjoyment of each other’s love and trust. In the Fourth Book (1701 lines) the course of true love ceases to run smooth; Cressida is compelled to quit the city, in ransom for Antenor, captured in a skirmish; and she sadly departs to the camp of the Greeks, vowing that she will make her escape, and return to Troy and Troilus within ten days. The Fifth Book (1869 lines) sets out by describing the court which Diomedes, appointed to escort her, pays to Cressida on the way to the camp; it traces her gradual progress from indifference to her new suitor, to incontinence with him, and it leaves the deserted Troilus dead on the field of battle, where he has sought an eternal refuge from the new grief provoked by clear proof of his mistress’s infidelity. The polish, elegance, and power of the style, and the acuteness of insight into character, which mark the poem, seem to claim for it a date considerably later than that adopted by those who assign its composition to Chaucer’s youth: and the literary allusions and proverbial expressions with which it abounds, give ample evidence that, if Chaucer really wrote it at an early age, his youth must have been precocious beyond all actual record. Throughout the poem there are repeated references to the old authors of Trojan histories who are named in “The House of Fame”; but Chaucer especially mentions one Lollius as the author from whom he takes the groundwork of the poem. Lydgate is responsible for the assertion that Lollius meant Boccaccio; and though there is no authority for supposing that the English really meant to designate the Italian poet under that name, there is abundant internal proof that the poem was really founded on the “Filostrato” of Boccaccio. But the tone of Chaucer’s work is much higher than that of his Italian “auctour;” and while in some passages the imitation is very close, in all that is characteristic in “Troilus and Cressida,” Chaucer has fairly thrust his models out of sight. In the present edition, it has been possible to give no more than about one-fourth of the poem — 274 out of the 1178 seven-line stanzas that compose it; but pains have been taken to convey, in the connecting prose passages, a faithful idea of what is perforce omitted.]

THE FIRST BOOK.

THE double sorrow <1> of Troilus to tell, That was the King Priamus’ son of Troy, In loving how his adventures* fell *fortunes From woe to weal, and after* out of joy, *afterwards My purpose is, ere I you parte froy.* *from Tisiphone,<2> thou help me to indite These woeful words, that weep as I do write.

To thee I call, thou goddess of torment! Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain; Help me, that am the sorry instrument That helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.* *complain For well it sits,* the soothe for to sayn, *befits Unto a woeful wight a dreary fere,* *companion And to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.* *countenance

For I, that God of Love’s servants serve, Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,* <3> *unsuitableness Praye for speed,* although I shoulde sterve,** *success **die So far I am from his help in darkness; But natheless, might I do yet gladness To any lover, or any love avail,* *advance Have thou the thank, and mine be the travail.

But ye lovers that bathen in gladness, If any drop of pity in you be, Remember you for old past heaviness, For Godde’s love, and on adversity That others suffer; think how sometime ye Founde how Love durste you displease; Or elles ye have won it with great ease.

And pray for them that been in the case Of Troilus, as ye may after hear, That Love them bring in heaven to solace;* *delight, comfort And for me pray also, that God so dear May give me might to show, in some mannere, Such pain or woe as Love’s folk endure, In Troilus’ *unseely adventure* *unhappy fortune*

And pray for them that eke be despair’d In love, that never will recover’d be; And eke for them that falsely be appair’d* *slandered Through wicked tongues, be it he or she: Or thus bid* God, for his benignity, *pray To grant them soon out of this world to pace,* *pass, go That be despaired of their love’s grace.

And bid also for them that be at ease In love, that God them grant perseverance, And send them might their loves so to please, That it to them be *worship and pleasance;* *honour and pleasure* For so hope I my soul best to advance, To pray for them that Love’s servants be, And write their woe, and live in charity;

And for to have of them compassion, As though I were their owen brother dear. Now listen all with good entention,* *attention For I will now go straight to my mattere, In which ye shall the double sorrow hear Of Troilus, in loving of Cresside, And how that she forsook him ere she died.

In Troy, during the siege, dwelt “a lord of great authority, a great divine,” named Calchas; who, through the oracle of Apollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away secretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and honoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped to make use. Within the city there was great anger at the treason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his kin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in the city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.

Cressida was this lady’s name aright; *As to my doom,* in alle Troy city *in my judgment* So fair was none, for over ev’ry wight So angelic was her native beauty, That like a thing immortal seemed she, As sooth a perfect heav’nly creature, That down seem’d sent in scorning of Nature.

In her distress, “well nigh out of her wit for pure fear,” she appealed for protection to Hector; who, “piteous of nature,” and touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of safety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went on; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of their deities; most of all of “the relic hight Palladion, <4> that was their trust aboven ev’ry one.” In April, “when clothed is the mead with newe green, of jolly Ver [Spring] the prime,” the Trojans went to hold the festival of Palladion — crowding to the temple, “in all their beste guise,” lusty knights, fresh ladies, and maidens bright.

Among the which was this Cresseida, In widow’s habit black; but natheless, Right as our firste letter is now A, In beauty first so stood she makeless;* *matchless Her goodly looking gladded all the press;* *crowd Was never seen thing to be praised derre,* *dearer, more worthy Nor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre,* *star

As she was, as they saiden, ev’ry one That her behelden in her blacke weed;* *garment And yet she stood, full low and still, alone, Behind all other folk, *in little brede,* *inconspicuously* And nigh the door, ay *under shame’s drede;* *for dread of shame* Simple of bearing, debonair* of cheer, *gracious With a full sure* looking and mannere. *assured

Dan Troilus, as he was wont to guide His younge knightes, led them up and down In that large temple upon ev’ry side, Beholding ay the ladies of the town; Now here, now there, for no devotioun Had he to none, to *reave him* his rest, *deprive him of* But gan to *praise and lacke whom him lest;* *praise and disparage whom he pleased* And in his walk full fast he gan to wait* *watch, observe If knight or squier of his company Gan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait* *feed On any woman that he could espy; Then he would smile, and hold it a folly, And say him thus: “Ah, Lord, she sleepeth soft For love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.

“I have heard told, pardie, of your living, Ye lovers, and your lewed* observance, *ignorant, foolish And what a labour folk have in winning Of love, and in it keeping with doubtance;* *doubt And when your prey is lost, woe and penance;* *suffering Oh, very fooles! may ye no thing see? Can none of you aware by other be?”

But the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that despite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, “hit him at the full.”

Within the temple went he forth playing, This Troilus, with ev’ry wight about, On this lady and now on that looking, Whether she were of town, or *of without;* *from beyond the walls* And *upon cas* befell, that through the rout* *by chance* *crowd His eye pierced, and so deep it went, Till on Cresside it smote, and there it stent;* *stayed

And suddenly wax’d wonder sore astoned,* *amazed And gan her bet* behold in busy wise: *better “Oh, very god!” <5> thought he; “where hast thou woned* *dwelt That art so fair and goodly to devise?* *describe Therewith his heart began to spread and rise; And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear, And caught again his former *playing cheer.* *jesting demeanour*

*She was not with the least of her stature,* *she was tall* But all her limbes so well answering Were to womanhood, that creature Was never lesse mannish in seeming. And eke *the pure wise of her moving* *by very the way She showed well, that men might in her guess she moved* Honour, estate,* and womanly nobless. *dignity

Then Troilus right wonder well withal Began to like her moving and her cheer,* *countenance Which somedeal dainous* was, for she let fall *disdainful Her look a little aside, in such mannere Ascaunce* “What! may I not stande here?” *as if to say <6> And after that *her looking gan she light,* *her expression became That never thought him see so good a sight. more pleasant*

And of her look in him there gan to quicken So great desire, and strong affection, That in his hearte’s bottom gan to sticken Of her the fix’d and deep impression; And though he erst* had pored** up and down, *previously **looked Then was he glad his hornes in to shrink; Unnethes* wist he how to look or wink. *scarcely

Lo! he that held himselfe so cunning, And scorned them that Love’s paines drien,* *suffer Was full unware that love had his dwelling Within the subtile streames* of her eyen; *rays, glances That suddenly he thought he felte dien, Right with her look, the spirit in his heart; Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!

She thus, in black, looking to Troilus, Over all things he stoode to behold; But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus, He neither *cheere made,* nor worde told; *showed by his countenance* But from afar, *his manner for to hold,* *to observe due courtesy* On other things sometimes his look he cast, And eft* <7> on her, while that the service last.** *again **lasted

And after this, not fully all awhaped,* *daunted Out of the temple all easily be went, Repenting him that ever he had japed* *jested Of Love’s folk, lest fully the descent Of scorn fell on himself; but what he meant, Lest it were wist on any manner side, His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.

Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and jest at Love’s servants and their pains; but by and by he has to dismiss his attendants, feigning “other busy needs.” Then, alone in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again Cressida’s form as he saw her in the temple — “making a mirror of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figure.” He thinks no travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly woman; and, “full unadvised of his woe coming,”

Thus took he purpose Love’s craft to sue,* *follow And thought that he would work all privily, First for to hide his desire all *in mew* *in a cage, secretly From every wight y-born, all utterly, *But he might aught recover’d be thereby;* *unless he gained by it* Rememb’ring him, that love *too wide y-blow* *too much spoken of* Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.

And, over all this, muche more he thought What thing to speak, and what to holden in; And what to arten* her to love, he sought; *constrain <8> And on a song anon right to begin, And gan loud on his sorrow for to win;* *overcome For with good hope he gan thus to assent* *resolve Cressida for to love, and not repent.

The Song of Troilus. <9>

“If no love is, O God! why feel I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whence cometh my woe? If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh me Whence ev’ry torment and adversity That comes of love *may to me savoury think:* *seem acceptable to me* For more I thirst the more that I drink.

“And if I *at mine owen luste bren* *burn by my own will* From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint? If maugre me,<10> *whereto plain I* then? *to what avail do I complain?* I wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint. *neither O quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint!* *strange How may I see in me such quantity, But if that I consent that so it be?

“And if that I consent, I wrongfully Complain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro, All starreless within a boat am I, Middes the sea, betwixte windes two, That in contrary standen evermo’. Alas! what wonder is this malady! — For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”

Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida — though he yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess — Troilus, in spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown; then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he was now consumed with a new fear — lest she loved some other man. Bewailing his sad lot — ensnared, exposed to the scorn of those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him with some kind look — Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his friend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus’ cruelty in hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend’s desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus could never govern himself in love.

“Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,” quoth Pandare, “Though I be nice;* it happens often so, *foolish That one that access* doth full evil fare, *in an access of fever By good counsel can keep his friend therefro’. I have my selfe seen a blind man go Where as he fell that looke could full wide; A fool may eke a wise man often guide.

“A whetstone is no carving instrument, But yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles; And, if thou know’st that I have aught miswent,* *erred, failed Eschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is. *schooling, lesson Thus oughte wise men to beware by fooles; If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared; By its contrary is everything declared.

“For how might ever sweetness have been know To him that never tasted bitterness? And no man knows what gladness is, I trow, That never was in sorrow or distress: Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness, Each set by other, *more for other seemeth,* *its quality is made As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.” more obvious by the contrast* Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments, reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is called Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.