The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems Part 84

7. The Queen: Philippa of Hainault, wife of Edward III.

THE a.s.sEMBLY OF FOWLS.

[In "The a.s.sembly of Fowls" -- which Chaucer's "Retractation"

describes as "The Book of Saint Valentine's Day, or of the Parliament of Birds" -- we are presented with a picture of the mediaeval "Court of Love" far closer to the reality than we find in Chaucer's poem which bears that express t.i.tle. We have a regularly const.i.tuted conclave or tribunal, under a president whose decisions are final. A difficult question is proposed for the consideration and judgment of the Court -- the disputants advancing and vindicating their claims in person. The attendants upon the Court, through specially chosen mouthpieces, deliver their opinions on the cause; and finally a decision is authoritatively p.r.o.nounced by the president -- which, as in many of the cases actually judged before the Courts of Love in France, places the reasonable and modest wish of a sensitive and chaste lady above all the eagerness of her lovers, all the incongruous counsels of representative courtiers. So far, therefore, as the poem reproduces the characteristic features of procedure in those romantic Middle Age halls of amatory justice, Chaucer's "a.s.sembly of Fowls" is his real "Court of Love;" for although, in the castle and among the courtiers of Admetus and Alcestis, we have all the personages and machinery necessary for one of those erotic contentions, in the present poem we see the personages and the machinery actually at work, upon another scene and under other guises. The allegory which makes the contention arise out of the loves, and proceed in the a.s.sembly, of the feathered race, is quite in keeping with the fanciful yet nature-loving spirit of the poetry of Chaucer's time, in which the influence of the Troubadours was still largely present. It is quite in keeping, also, with the principles that regulated the Courts, the purpose of which was more to discuss and determine the proper conduct of love affairs, than to secure conviction or acquittal, sanction or reprobation, in particular cases -- though the jurisdiction and the judgments of such a.s.semblies often closely concerned individuals. Chaucer introduces us to his main theme through the vestibule of a fancied dream -- a method which be repeatedly employs with great relish, as for instance in "The House of Fame." He has spent the whole day over Cicero's account of the Dream of Scipio (Africa.n.u.s the Younger); and, having gone to bed, he dreams that Africa.n.u.s the Elder appears to him -- just as in the book he appeared to his namesake -- and carries him into a beautiful park, in which is a fair garden by a river-side. Here the poet is led into a splendid temple, through a crowd of courtiers allegorically representing the various instruments, pleasures, emotions, and encouragements of Love; and in the temple Venus herself is found, sporting with her porter Richess. Returning into the garden, he sees the G.o.ddess of Nature seated on a hill of flowers; and before her are a.s.sembled all the birds -- for it is Saint Valentine's Day, when every fowl chooses her mate. Having with a graphic touch enumerated and described the princ.i.p.al birds, the poet sees that on her hand Nature bears a female eagle of surpa.s.sing loveliness and virtue, for which three male eagles advance contending claims. The disputation lasts all day; and at evening the a.s.sembled birds, eager to be gone with their mates, clamour for a decision. The tercelet, the goose, the cuckoo, and the turtle -- for birds of prey, water-fowl, worm-fowl, and seed-fowl respectively -- p.r.o.nounce their verdicts on the dispute, in speeches full of character and humour; but Nature refers the decision between the three claimants to the female eagle herself, who prays that she may have a year's respite. Nature grants the prayer, p.r.o.nounces judgment accordingly, and dismisses the a.s.sembly; and after a chosen choir has sung a roundel in honour of the G.o.ddess, all the birds fly away, and the poet awakes. It is probable that Chaucer derived the idea of the poem from a French source; Mr Bell gives the outline of a fabliau, of which three versions existed, and in which a contention between two ladies regarding the merits of their respective lovers, a knight and a clerk, is decided by Cupid in a Court composed of birds, which a.s.sume their sides according to their different natures.

Whatever the source of the idea, its management, and the whole workmans.h.i.+p of the poem, especially in the more humorous pa.s.sages, are essentially Chaucer's own.]

THE life so short, the craft so long to learn, Th'a.s.say so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dreadful joy, alway that *flits so yern;* *fleets so fast*

All this mean I by* Love, that my feeling *with reference to Astoneth* with his wonderful working, *amazes So sore, y-wis, that, when I on him think, Naught wit I well whether I fleet* or sink, *float

For *all be* that I know not Love indeed, *albeit, although*

Nor wot how that he *quiteth folk their hire,* *rewards folk for Yet happeth me full oft in books to read their service*

Of his miracles, and of his cruel ire; There read I well, he will be lord and sire; I dare not saye, that his strokes be sore; But G.o.d save such a lord! I can no more.

Of usage, what for l.u.s.t and what for lore, On bookes read I oft, as I you told.

But wherefore speak I alle this? Not yore Agone, it happed me for to behold Upon a book written with letters old; And thereupon, a certain thing to learn, The longe day full fast I read and yern.* *eagerly

For out of the old fieldes, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn, from year to year; And out of olde bookes, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men lear.* *learn But now to purpose as of this mattere: To reade forth it gan me so delight, That all the day me thought it but a lite.* *little while

This book, of which I make mention, Ent.i.tled was right thus, as I shall tell; "Tullius, of the Dream of Scipion:" <1> Chapters seven it had, of heav'n, and h.e.l.l, And earth, and soules that therein do dwell; Of which, as shortly as I can it treat, Of his sentence I will you say the great.* *important part

First telleth it, when Scipio was come To Africa, how he met Ma.s.sinisse, That him for joy in armes hath y-nome.* *taken <2> Then telleth he their speech, and all the bliss That was between them till the day gan miss.* *fail And how his ancestor Africane so dear Gan in his sleep that night to him appear.

Then telleth it, that from a starry place How Africane hath him Carthage y-shew'd, And warned him before of all his grace, <3> And said him, what man, learned either lewd,* *ignorant That loveth *common profit,* well y-thew'd, *the public advantage*

He should unto a blissful place wend,* *go Where as the joy is without any end.

Then asked he,* if folk that here be dead *i.e. the younger Scipio Have life, and dwelling, in another place?

And Africane said, "Yea, withoute dread;"* *doubt And how our present worldly lives' s.p.a.ce Meant but a manner death, <4> what way we trace; And rightful folk should go, after they die, To Heav'n; and showed him the galaxy.

Then show'd he him the little earth that here is, *To regard* the heaven's quant.i.ty; *by comparison with And after show'd he him the nine spheres; <5> And after that the melody heard he, That cometh of those spheres thrice three, That wells of music be and melody In this world here, and cause of harmony.

Then said he him, since earthe was so lite,* *small And full of torment and of *harde grace,* *evil fortune That he should not him in this world delight.

Then told he him, in certain yeares' s.p.a.ce, That ev'ry star should come into his place, Where it was first; and all should *out of mind,* *perish from memory*

That in this world is done of all mankind.

Then pray'd him Scipio, to tell him all The way to come into that Heaven's bliss; And he said: "First know thyself immortal, And look aye busily that thou work and wiss* *guide affairs To common profit, and thou shalt not miss To come swiftly unto that place dear, That full of bliss is, and of soules clear.* *n.o.ble <6>

"And breakers of the law, the sooth to sayn, And likerous* folk, after that they be dead, *lecherous Shall whirl about the world always in pain, Till many a world be pa.s.sed, *out of dread;* *without doubt*

And then, forgiven all their wicked deed, They shalle come unto that blissful place, To which to come G.o.d thee sende grace!"

The day gan failen, and the darke night, That reaveth* beastes from their business, *taketh away Berefte me my book for lack of light, And to my bed I gan me for to dress,* *prepare Full fill'd of thought and busy heaviness; For both I hadde thing which that I n'old,* *would not And eke I had not that thing that I wo'ld.

But, finally, my spirit at the last, Forweary* of my labour all that day, *utterly wearied Took rest, that made me to sleepe fast; And in my sleep I mette,* as that I say, *dreamed How Africane, right in the *self array* *same garb*

That Scipio him saw before that tide,* *time Was come, and stood right at my bedde's side.

The weary hunter, sleeping in his bed, To wood again his mind goeth anon; The judge dreameth how his pleas be sped; The carter dreameth how his cartes go'n; The rich of gold, the knight fights with his fone;* *foes The sicke mette he drinketh of the tun; <7> The lover mette he hath his lady won.

I cannot say, if that the cause were, For* I had read of Africane beforn, *because That made me to mette that he stood there; But thus said he; "Thou hast thee so well borne In looking of mine old book all to-torn, Of which Macrobius *raught not a lite,* *recked not a little*

That *somedeal of thy labour would I quite."* *I would reward you for some of your labour*

Cytherea, thou blissful Lady sweet!

That with thy firebrand dauntest *when thee lest,* *when you please*

That madest me this sweven* for to mette, *dream Be thou my help in this, for thou may'st best!

As wisly* as I saw the north-north-west, <8> *surely When I began my sweven for to write, So give me might to rhyme it and endite.* *write down

This foresaid Africane me hent* anon, *took And forth with him unto a gate brought Right of a park, walled with greene stone; And o'er the gate, with letters large y-wrought, There were verses written, as me thought, On either half, of full great difference, Of which I shall you say the plain sentence.* *meaning

"Through me men go into the blissful place <9> Of hearte's heal and deadly woundes' cure; Through me men go unto the well of grace; Where green and l.u.s.ty May shall ever dure; This is the way to all good adventure; Be glad, thou reader, and thy sorrow off cast; All open am I; pa.s.s in and speed thee fast."

"Through me men go," thus spake the other side, "Unto the mortal strokes of the spear, Of which disdain and danger is the guide; There never tree shall fruit nor leaves bear; This stream you leadeth to the sorrowful weir, Where as the fish in prison is all dry; <10> Th'eschewing is the only remedy."

These verses of gold and azure written were, On which I gan astonish'd to behold; For with that one increased all my fear, And with that other gan my heart to bold;* *take courage That one me het,* that other did me cold; *heated No wit had I, for error,* for to choose *perplexity, confusion To enter or fly, or me to save or lose.

Right as betwixten adamantes* two *magnets Of even weight, a piece of iron set, Ne hath no might to move to nor fro; For what the one may hale,* the other let;** *attract **restrain So far'd I, that *n'ist whether me was bet* *knew not whether it was T' enter or leave, till Africane, my guide, better for me*

Me hent* and shov'd in at the gates wide. *caught

And said, "It standeth written in thy face, Thine error,* though thou tell it not to me; *perplexity, confusion But dread thou not to come into this place; For this writing *is nothing meant by* thee, *does not refer to*

Nor by none, but* he Love's servant be; *unless For thou of Love hast lost thy taste, I guess, As sick man hath of sweet and bitterness.

"But natheless, although that thou be dull, That thou canst not do, yet thou mayest see; For many a man that may not stand a pull, Yet likes it him at wrestling for to be, And deeme* whether he doth bet,** or he; *judge **better And, if thou haddest cunning* to endite, *skill I shall thee showe matter *of to write."* *to write about*

With that my hand in his he took anon, Of which I comfort caught,* and went in fast. *took But, Lord! so I was glad and well-begone!* *fortunate For *over all,* where I my eyen cast, *everywhere*

Were trees y-clad with leaves that ay shall last, Each in his kind, with colour fresh and green As emerald, that joy it was to see'n.

The builder oak; and eke the hardy ash; The pillar elm, the coffer unto carrain; The box, pipe tree; the holm, to whippe's lash The sailing fir; the cypress death to plain; The shooter yew; the aspe for shaftes plain; Th'olive of peace, and eke the drunken vine; The victor palm; the laurel, too, divine. <11>

A garden saw I, full of blossom'd boughes, Upon a river, in a greene mead, Where as sweetness evermore enow is, With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red, And colde welle* streames, nothing dead, *fountain That swamme full of smalle fishes light, With finnes red, and scales silver bright.

On ev'ry bough the birdes heard I sing, With voice of angels in their harmony, That busied them their birdes forth to bring; The pretty conies* to their play gan hie; *rabbits **haste And further all about I gan espy The dreadful* roe, the buck, the hart, and hind, *timid Squirrels, and beastes small, of gentle kind.* *nature

Of instruments of stringes in accord Heard I so play a ravis.h.i.+ng sweetness, That G.o.d, that Maker is of all and Lord, Ne hearde never better, as I guess: Therewith a wind, unneth* it might be less, *scarcely Made in the leaves green a noise soft, Accordant* the fowles' song on loft.** *in keeping with **above

Th'air of the place so attemper* was, *mild That ne'er was there grievance* of hot nor cold; *annoyance There was eke ev'ry wholesome spice and gra.s.s, Nor no man may there waxe sick nor old: Yet* was there more joy a thousand fold *moreover Than I can tell, or ever could or might; There ever is clear day, and never night.

Under a tree, beside a well, I sey* *saw Cupid our lord his arrows forge and file;* *polish And at his feet his bow all ready lay; And well his daughter temper'd, all the while, The heades in the well; and with her wile* *cleverness She couch'd* them after, as they shoulde serve *arranged in order Some for to slay, and some to wound and kerve.* *carve, cut

Then was I ware of Pleasance anon right, And of Array, and l.u.s.t, and Courtesy, And of the Craft, that can and hath the might To do* by force a wight to do folly; *make Disfigured* was she, I will not lie; *disguised And by himself, under an oak, I guess, Saw I Delight, that stood with Gentleness.

Then saw I Beauty, with a nice attire, And Youthe, full of game and jollity, Foolhardiness, Flattery, and Desire, Messagerie, and Meed, and other three; <12> Their names shall not here be told for me: And upon pillars great of jasper long I saw a temple of bra.s.s y-founded strong.

And [all] about the temple danc'd alway Women enough, of whiche some there were Fair of themselves, and some of them were gay In kirtles* all dishevell'd went they there; *tunics That was their office* ever, from year to year; *duty, occupation And on the temple saw I, white and fair, Of doves sitting many a thousand pair. <13>

Before the temple door, full soberly, Dame Peace sat, a curtain in her hand; And her beside, wonder discreetely, Dame Patience sitting there I fand,* *found With face pale, upon a hill of sand; And althernext, within and eke without, Behest,* and Art, and of their folk a rout.** *Promise **crowd

Within the temple, of sighes hot as fire I heard a swough,* that gan aboute ren,** *murmur **run Which sighes were engender'd with desire, That made every hearte for to bren* *burn Of newe flame; and well espied I then, That all the cause of sorrows that they dree* *endure Came of the bitter G.o.ddess Jealousy.